Not quite Timbukto

Dear all,

Bamako is your typical African city – dusty, noisy and colourful as people throng the streets in search of just about anything. My first day I chilled out, talking with people staying at the Catholic Mission, reading a magazine and finding the only bank that accepts a visa card! That was a heart-stopping moment after numerous failures at different ATM’s. On other days I explored the massive central market, climbed a nearby plateau for a view of the city, of which the oddest sight happened to be an (empty) Olympic size pool complete with competition dive boards. I guess the Games must have been held here at some time.

On Friday, after picking up my visa so I’m officially legal in Mali, I visited the posh hotel to spend the afternoon at the pool. There I met a cool American called Charlie who I ended up going out to dinner with. We had such a good time that I decided to stay in Bamako a while longer, which turned out to be an excellent decision.

A couple of days later I became ill and then it got worse. I don’t know what I actually had, and I won’t describe what it was like but it was probably dysentery and I think I was lucky not to end up in the hospital on an IV. Lucky because I had Charlie, the nuns (who called a Dr and even made me food) and a lovely lady called Angelique (also American) who knew a lot about homeopathy and could tell me what teas to drink to soothe my body and what to eat. Between the 3 of them, and lets not forget the drugs, I did start to feel better and, more to the point, managed to avoid an African hospital. Yippee!!

In my weakened state I figured that it probably wasn’t a good idea to carry on travelling. I had always wanted to spend this Christmas with Mum in her new home and Angelique suggested that the flow was telling me to go back to the UK. She said exactly what I’d been thinking, and after the Camino my life is all about going with the flow so I decided to fly back.

Not as easy as it sounds. A huge Muslim festival had taken place where every prayer was worth a hundred fold and all the shops were shut. I kept on thinking that Royal Air Maroc would be open the next day but it never was. By now it was Saturday and if I couldn’t change my flight then I wouldn’t make it back for Christmas anyway and might as well stay in Mali.

Standing despondently outside of the travel agents, I bumped into a man who worked there and told him my sob story although I made out that it was Mum that was ill, not me. Not sure how airlines feel about taken people sick with unknown African diseases on their aircraft so figured that was a safer bet. The kind gentleman (in full Muslim party dress – basically flowing bright blue robes) said that between 11am and 11.30am, another man would be arriving with a key to the office and he could help me.

This man turned up at midday, was very surprised when I greeted him by name and said he would phone a travel agent to come in the next 20 minutes. It was the same man who I’d booked my original ticket with only days before. When I asked if there was a fee, he paused for a moment before suggesting 50 euros. “But I don’t have 50 euros”, I replied, my standard and well-rehearsed line to any baksheesh moments. He sighed and told me to just go.

My flight was booked for 3.50am that night (well next morning) to Casablanca with the onward flight at 12pm arriving in the UK at 4pm. Excited, and a little amazed I emailed my Mum, and my two best friends to ask if they could phone my Mum, to make sure she knew I was coming. Then I did a little Christmas shopping and packed up my tent for the last time – I’d been sleeping in my tent in the hall because it was cheaper and cooler than sleeping in the dorm.

Completely gutted about not achieving my goal and reaching Timbukto, I was trying not to think about it and focusing on mince pies and Christmas Carols instead. Angelique was thrilled that I’d been able to book a ticket (Charlie had gone back to the States) and was adamant I had made the right decision. It turns out later that some other people had tried to get on the flight tonight and couldn’t because it was full. I was definitely meant to be going home for Christmas.

To be honest, I’d been saying for ages how much I wanted to, and how jealous I was of people who were going back. My life has a certain way of providing what my heart most wants, which is why I realise now that by going to Sierra Leone I was giving up Mali. I know a lot of you don’t believe in signs and half the spiritual things I believe in, but I’ve been following them long enough that I should have realised I would be in the UK for Christmas so anything I wanted to do must be done by then. I’m annoyed with myself for missing that. This trip was supposed to end in Timbukto, it was the only concrete plan I had! In that respect, I feel like I failed. However, it would have been very foolish to push onward with travelling in my then physical state.

There are consolation prizes. Whilst I would have chosen Mali over Sierra Leone, I did really enjoy my 5 day “cross country mayhem”, meeting Charlie and I treated myself to a lovely silver bracelet that I wouldn’t normally buy. I’ve also lost enough wait that I actually fit into a pair of size 10 jogging trousers!! Ok, a lot that weight I’d lost before I was ill.

It felt like it took forever to fly back to the UK, mostly because I spent nearly 24hours in airports. I had to check in at midnight for my first flight but at least their airport was old enough that most of the seats don’t have arms so you can lie down and fall asleep.

Casablanca sucked. Heathrow was closed down with fog so I spent nearly 12 hours in that delightful waiting space. It was so cold I had to go and buy more clothes to wear, nor were there any decent sleeping areas. If it hadn’t been for a group of people delayed from yesterdays’ flight giving the manager a lot of bother, I’d probably still be there. As it was, we were extremely lucky to be finally given the OK to go. The weather over Heathrow wasn’t great as we landed and it was actually one of my scarier landings. There was a burst of applause when we made it, some of it undoubtably sarcastic, but mine was genuine. Thanks pilot for not crashing!

It was great to spend Christmas with Mum in her new home. Church, carols, the tree, Christmas pudding, mince pies, all the usual and I loved it all. Spend a lot of time in Muslim countries and Christmas isn’t so cheesy or dragged out anymore. I also spoke to my Dad and my bro on Christmas Day which was pretty cool, especially as Dad had some good news about my book writing.

My original ticket back was for 12th January. My plan remains the same. People have been on at me for years to write a book and an idea came to me in Morocco that I have been working on. I’m spending the next 2 months in the UK to type it up and hopefully get it published. Cross fingers. All the signs are there, recently it seems like I only have to talk to someone for a few minutes before they ask me if I’m going to write a book. Some people have even taken my name so they can look out for it!!! Ahhhhhhh… scary.

First things first, I have to write the thing. Therefore it’s kind of lucky that my Mum lives in the middle of nowhere, I’m broke and it’s winter so there are few distractions. I’ve been spending the last few days sorting anything out that I possibly needs sorting so I can’t procrastinate. Tomorrow as the first day of the New Year is day 1 writing day.

So, this is me signing off from West Africa. I have finally updated all my photos. Unfortunately my camera broke when I left Casablanca for Marrakesh to start this adventure, so all of my photos are courtesy of Brian and Mark. Although some of them are still my own because Brian often let me use his camera.

The links for West Africa photos are below, although if you want to see all my albums, the best thing to do is join facebook – www.facebook.com and become my friend, Kathryn Witts.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=32842&l=6e64c&id=622201258
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=32852&l=8b89b&id=622201258

I have also put on all my Camino photos. I’m not going to be writing about my pilgrimage now because I’m concentrating on my book, but I have written more in the notes on each photo than usual to describe a little of what was going on in that time. When I’m famous, maybe this will be a book in itself ; ), like it was for Paulo Cohelo, one of my heroes.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=15451&l=78726&id=622201258
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=34574&l=03091&id=622201258
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=34665&l=14f4c&id=622201258


May I be one of the first (or one of the last by the time you get to read this email) to wish you a Happy New Year!! May all your dreams come true.

Love, peace and happiness,
Kathryn xxx