"Dispatches from the Combat Zone",
the new book by Andrian Kreye
available at amazon.de.
Thousands of Africans make the pilgrimage to Djenné every year, because she serves as the Mecca of African Islam, a spiritual center with great impact on the teachings of Imams and Marabouts in all of West Africa. It is an Islam much different from the political fervor of the Middle East, deeply rooted in the Islam of one thousand years ago. In Djenné that surmounts to a purist approach to spirituality, not a fundamentalist abuse of religion.
You cross the Bani river on a motor ferry. The engine has long broken down, so young men push the vessel across the slow moving water with poles. You enter the city gate and leave modernity behind. Djenné is an ancient settlement founded in the 9th century. And not much has changed. The houses are still built with a mix of sand, dung and clay. There is electricity now and once in a while a moped zips by, but the magic calm over this town of 2500 is worlds away from the hectic hustle of African cities.
The streets are narrow, barely wide enough for the car which brought us. No modern buidling is in sight. Since UNESCO declared Djenné a World Heritage Site for her historic Sudanese architecture, building a concrete structure would even violate international law. Rectangular houses nestling against each other, providing some shade from the scorching sun. There are men sitting on stoops, wearing the traditional Islamic robes in bright colors. Children walk by, tin pans with vegetables and meat on their head. Women squat in courtyards, smashing grains in wooden mortars.
At the guest house, an array of small roundly shaped stone huts, we are greeted by Omar, a young man from Burkina Faso. He has been in Djenné for almost a year now he says, one of the many students who come here to study with the marabouts in the Koranic schools. First he lived in the house of the Imam, but recently he got himself a room nearby and makes a living as a combined maid, porter and waiter at the guest house. They pay him the equivalent of US $ 20,- a month. Enough to get by he says.
Omar gives us directions to the Gendarmerie. A leftover from the days of communist bureaucracy - in every town, travellers must report to the authorities, who plaster his passport with ornate paper and rubber stamps. Though he says this would be just a formality. If we indeed plan to stay here for more than a few days, we should pay our respect to Bahasai Meíga, the Chef du Village and Mamadou Djennépo, the Imam. "They are in charge in this town", he says.
We walk over to the residence of the Chef du Village. Some elders are sitting with him, diginified men. Men of God, as they say. The Chef du Village is weary of our arrival. Tourists don't know how to beave properly in a holy city like this, he says. Just recently some tried to buy his antique table, a remnance of the day his father served as the leader. And then there is the story, when an Italian photographer took some female models into the men's part of the mosque for a fashion shoot, a sacrilegous act that led to the banning of all non-muslims to the world famous building. And to wild myths of porn films shot inside.
Even we have made a mistake, came without any offerings, no gifts for the family. "Come back tomorrow", he says. Then he will also introduce us to the head of the ADID, the assocation pour le devélopment de l'Islam á Djenné.
The next day we head to the market. We buy Cola nuts, rice and tea. Some cash will be expected, Omar tells us.
This time the Chef du Village seems in a more open mood. He tells of his family, who lead the people of Djenné for 200 years. He belongs to the tribe of the Songhay, he says, but in Djenné tribal differences come to a halt. "This is a holy city", he says. Back in the 9th century, Djenné and Timbuktu served as the spiritual centers along the route Islam took from Morocco to Africa. This area was a white spot on the maps of Europeans for centuries, since infidels were banned to enter the cities. But all that has changed. There are some Christians in the area, many peasants are animists. But the Chef du Village claims: "Every citizen of Djenné knows the Koran by heart."
A few blocks away the Imam lives in a large compound. In the backyard women sit and prepare food for the day. A few goats are tied to poles and children play in the shade. The Imam himself lies on a straw mat on the second floor, wearing a simple white robe. Five years ago he took over the post from his father, who had been the Imam for 35 years.
He writes Koranic verses onto a wooden board. Preparations for his students. "Thousands come here every year", he says. Timbuktu long gone as the spiritual center, strifed by warfare in the last years, is just a shadow of her former self. Djenné, although lacking the mythical aura Timbuktu has kept over the years, has become a center of Islam few outside the Islamic world know about.
Three years ago, the Imam remembers, Abdoullah Soubaily, the Imam of Mecca, himself paid a visit. "He loved it", he says. "He found our Islam in Djenné so pure. There is only one thing that counts for us - the word of God."
Al Bashir Tonkara, head of ADID, is one of the guardians of this purity. A tall man with grey hair and beard, lives in one of the outlying Quartiers of Djenné. He is in the process of building a new floor to his house. Young men mix the sand, mud and dung in the courtyard, plastering the newly built walls.
Presiding over the Association to promote Islam in Djenné, he is proud of his city. "We have a thousand year old tradition", he says. "A tradition few people understand." But he scolds the UNESCO. "They want us to continue building mud structures. Fine. But while they provide money for restorations, they overlook the plight of the people." Not that anybody goes hungry in Djenné. Being a strict Islamic society, everybody is provided for. But Mali, being one of the five poorest countries in the world, has other problems than the preservation of landmarks.
He wishes that there would be money for more social programs, for communication with the outside world and for the subsidy of the schools. "We are fighting the real Jihad here", he says. Immediately deflecting the harsh sound of the word. "Jihad is not a holy war fought with weapons", he says. "The fundamentalists are wrong. Nobody posseses ultimate wisdom. Only God. And he never said to kill somebody, because he is not a Muslim. Just as well as the USA might be wrong, fighting their war for a free market society all over the world. What, if we don't want it? What if it contradicts our believes?" He sighs. "We have to wait for the day, when we can speak the truth, without fighting."
All over Africa Islam has been a success. It transports society to a new level that is closer to African traditions than Christianity or worldly systems. "Look around", Al Bashir Tonkara says. "We might be poor. But you will not find unhappiness or suffering here."
On the way back we stumble upon a Madrassa, a Koranic school on the ground level of one of the houses. A marabout, a healer and teacher, sits on a piece of animal skin in the sand that covers his room that is only dimly lit by the light from the street. Around him about 40 young boys in long white shirts hover over their wooden boards that they fill with arabic writing. Here they learn the Koran by heart. Not only that - reading and writing are taught, geography and mathematics. "But first", the marabout says. "They must learn to read in Arabic." A laborious task, since the students of the Madrassas have to be able to recite the Koranic verses without understanding a word. That is the ultimate purism. "Because the Koran has magic powers that go beyond the meaning of words."
It is Friday afternoon, the holy day of the week. The whole town seems to amass in the mosque. The men in the main room, the women separated in the courtyard behind it. The voice of the Muhezzin sounds friendly and calm, not harsh, like in the mosques of the Middle East, not eager and demanding, like in the diaspora. The Imam, wearing a long festive robe and the headgear of a sheikh, gives the sermon. A spiritual speech, talking about the power of words, of the need to follow the Shariah, the holy law, even if it is not implemented by a government.
Omar comes out of the mosque. He smiles and points behind him. The Imam walks across the square, a mass of people behind him. "You see the man behind the Imam?", he asks. There is an elderly fellow, wearing a robe and thick glasses. "That is his slave." Hard to believe, but remnants of a not too far past. "Here Islam and African traditions come together", explains Omar. "Even though all citizens of Mali have been free since 1960, some slaves are still the posession of their masters." The Chef du Village has one too. Inheritances of their fathers. Now the slaves are more members of the families, having wifes of their own. Still, their master has to provide for them.
Back at the Chef's residence, only the elders convene. They lunch on rice, vegetables and lamb. They discuss politics. There is news from Bamako, that all villages and towns will have to be incorporated into the new communal system. The Gendarmerie is supposed to be replaced with a city hall and a real local government. The Chef du Village shakes his head. Here in Djenné their traditions have survived colonial forces, communist and authoritarian regimes. Democracy will be no threat to the old ways. "They can elect who they want." The Chef du Village smiles in stubborn defiance. "The people in power are the Imam and me. Nobody will change that."
When you turn off the overland route from Mali's capital Bamako to Timbuktu, the grand mosque of Djenné will appear on the horizon long before you get to this holy city in the middle of the Sahel desert. It is an almost surreal sight. A building with walls made of mud, with cone shaped towers, wooden beams sticking out of the structure, giving it a futuristic appearance.
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"Dispatches from the Combat Zone",
the new book by Andrian Kreye
available at amazon.de.