After some fifteen kilometers, the tarred road ends and a dirt road, which will continue for another 300 or so kilometers, begins. The border to Burkina Faso is very quiet. I even have to instruct the Mali official to put an exit stamp in my passport – he first thought that it wasn’t necessary. “Is this one OK?” he asks me as he fumbles through a pile of stamps; showing them for me one after the other. I choose (!) a stamp and then continue to cycle the ten kilometers of no man’s land that lies between the two border posts. In the very first town of the new land, I make my way to the police station where I get my entrance stamp. I had already obtained the visa at the Burkina Faso embassy in Bamako.
In Bomborikuy (Bombourkuy), a huge cathedral attracts my attention. I stop to chat with some locals outside, and one of them – active in the church community – invites me to stay the night at their mission. I get a private room with a shower and a sink, and a mosquito net above the bed. In the evening, a play is arranged on the steps in-front of the entrance to the cathedral. The church’s youngest members invites everyone to watch them play drums, sing and dance in the moonlight. Inside the church, the sharp, cool light from a bare strip lamp shines up the empty interior. For the occasion, they’ve carried the church benches outside and lined them up on the sandy yard in-front. There are mostly children from the village in the audience. The love, laughters and joy is just overwhelming. It fills me, too. Beautiful!
They still play when the priest and two of his colleagues from the church invites me to dinner: sweet potato chips and a salty soup of tiny fishes from a nearby river. When I finally go to sleep, I can still hear the drums over by the church. It’s beautiful beyond description. Imagine if all the children in a Swedish village would come together in the evening to dance and play drums?
The next morning, I’m invited to breakfast. I donate 2,000 CFA as a thanks for everything before I continue.