We all need a little playtime: Moving Over Stone in the Mandingues Mountains by risa
Since my month of Learning How To Do Nothing, I have been seriously work-oriented. Which is great, as I am getting a lot done. But it has returned me to the world of stresses, and has resulted in my increasingly obvious stress-induced weakened immune system (and my current attempt to cope with a bad case of Giardia.) To be honest, I have been getting into serious epic-withdrawal*.
But luckily ‘play’ came back into my life this past Canadian Thanksgiving weekend.
Having visited the Mandingues Mountains once before, I knew there was an amazing little bouldering spot that was calling my name. And so with thoughts of moving over stone, I woke up with the rising sun, tossed a couple of litres of water, some chocolate, my chalk bag, and climbing shoes into my pack and headed off for an adventure. Driving some 65km on a dirt road with my dependable – hah! – Yamaha 100CC and my trusty Congolian sidekick Jos, we arrived in the village of Sibi in the early morning with a beautiful blue sky and a brilliant sun shining down upon us.
The small village of Sibi is inhabitated by the Malinké, a large African tribe that can be found through much of the Mandingues region. This mountain range, as well as its inhabitants, are really an extension of the larger Fouta Djalon Mountain range of neigbouring Guinée. The stunning scenery surrounding this small village contrasts wonderfully with the polluted streets of bustling Bamako.
Jos and I dropped off my moto with a local villager, who then had his 10 year old son start us up a path that would take us into the heart of a beautiful rock landscape. As we climbed the winding trail an intense, nearly overpowering sent of mint engulfed us. It was completely intoxicating. Sure enough we were surrounded on all sides by lush fields of this potent smelling plant. We cut off as much as would reasonably fit into our packs and moved forward, knowing it would make wonderful gifts for our neighbours back in Bamako, who use this strong tasting leaf in their never-ending all night tea sessions.
Aside from an emergency break in order for me to relieve some reminant Giardia issues, our ascent was relatively effortless and resulted in our arrival on top of a giant hoop-like rock structure (this formation can actually be seen in a previous photo I sent showing yours truly pointing excitedly and yelling ‘epic!’)
After snapping some photos and screaming ‘epic’ several times, we found some shade under a huge rock, took refuge from the intense heat of the sun and dozed off in the pleasant breeze. I awoke only when the sun had crossed the sky and had moved the shade of the rock, throwing me back into the heat of the day. I got up and looked around, still amazed with where I was in the world, when all of a sudden I heard a distant but distinct ‘clink’ sound. Jos assumed it was the Toobaboos (white people) we had seen in the valley below, having a picnic. But I recognized that distinctive ‘clink’ sound and my heart began palpitating.
Sure enough, my ears did not deceive me. After hiking down the side of the mountain and following the occasional sound coming from deep in the lush greenery, I found them: local Malians teaching Toobaboos how to rock climb! That distinctive ‘clink’ was indeed the sound of quick-draws being clipped into bolts on the rock.
I chatted with the Malians and was surprised to discover that they have only been climbing for two years. They were flown to Charmonix, France for an intensive training course in rock climbing, subsidized by a development programme for entrepreneurship. They were sent tonnes of gear from France and now make their livelihoods taking tourists out climbing for 4 dollars a day. They have put up some 60 routes in the area and are busy setting up more.
I ended up climbing a few of them, starting out by leading a nice classic corner with a couple of intense moves to the anchor. It was called Voix de Moussa (Moussa’s Route) and sure enough, I was being belayed by none other than Moussa himself! The trip made my week, and I will surely be returning as soon as possible. It reminded me how important it is to give yourself a little playtime now and again.
Live and love life,
Michael
(*) Many of you know of my love of the term ‘epic’. It can be used in many situations. For example as a noun, as is most common; the epic tale of Odysseus. Or as adapted by young Californians in it’s adjective form to descibe the ‘epic-ness’ of a situation, that is, how much the situation was similar to an epic tale; ‘that was so epic dude.’ Or my personal favourite as a verb, as in, lets go epicking, i.e. lets go create are very own epic tale.
The term epic-withdrawal refers to ones state of mind when one has not been epicking for some time. Post Epic Withdrawal Syndrom, or PEWS, is a similar concept, descibing the feeling experienced on a Monday morning at work after an epic weekend, spent for instance skiing, or playing in the mountains. As an aside, I am currently reading a history of Francophone Sub-Saharan Africa where the author keeps using the word to describe historical African ‘epics.’ I smile each time I come across the word. Epic! True I might be over using it. But back off! I like it.
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