November 2013: In 2013, I traveled to Mali for a week to trek through Dogon country, a remote region inhabited by a unique animistic tribe located in an arid rocky escarpment near Bandiagara, close to the Burkina Faso border. At the time, Mali was embroiled in conflict with Islamic insurgents in the north, and foreigners were prime targets for kidnapping or worse. Dogon country, situated on the border of the conflict zone, was not immune to these risks. Despite the dangerous political climate, I chose to travel solo, making my way independently into Dogon country. The experience turned out to be nothing short of incredible.
About Mali
Map of my route in Mali
Mali was once the wealthiest country on earth during the height of the Songhai Empire in the 1300s. It controlled major trade routes that passed through Sub-Saharan Africa, dealing in gold, ivory, and slaves to Europe and Arabia. Cities like Timbuktu, now synonymous with a remote or inaccessible place, were once among Africa’s richest and largest trading hubs. The empire’s influence extended throughout the Sahel region, but it eventually fell under French colonial rule in the 19th century.
In the modern era, Mali is one of the poorest countries in the world, facing challenges such as civil war, military coups, and Islamic terrorism. The northern half of the country, including areas historically significant like Timbuktu, is now considered too dangerous for foreign visitors due to ongoing conflicts, including the Tuareg rebellions and insurgencies from extremist groups.
The country’s geography is dominated by the Sahara Desert, but its lifeline is the Niger River, which flows across the country from east to west, passing through major cities such as the capital Bamako and the historical trading center of Mopti. Despite its troubled modern-day state, Mali’s rich historical legacy remains a testament to its once-thriving cultural and economic influence.
About the Dogon
The Dogon people, traditionally animistic and known for their shamanistic practices, have long lived in the remote Bandiagara Escarpment, a dramatic, rocky plateau in Mali. Around a thousand years ago, they fled to this region to escape Islamic forces intent on converting them. The escarpment’s cliffs provided strategic protection, and the Dogon built homes directly within these cliffs, enhancing their defense against invaders.
Although the Dogon have resisted full assimilation into Islam, today about half of them practice Islam or Christianity, while the other half adhere to traditional animistic beliefs. Observers often note that even Dogon Muslims frequently blend traditional animistic practices with their faith, creating a syncretic mix that echoes similar blends, like Voodoo with Catholicism.
Interestingly, when the Dogon arrived at the Bandiagara cliffs, they discovered evidence of an earlier, mysterious people. These predecessors, described by some Dogon as “short people,” had built homes even higher on the cliffs, accessible only by rope ladders. Little is known about this earlier group, as they had vanished by the time the Dogon arrived.
The Dogon are celebrated for their architecture, carved wooden doors, and vibrant masked dances, all of which reflect their cultural heritage. In the 1990s, their villages became a popular destination for trekkers, particularly from France. However, due to recent conflicts and threats of kidnapping in Mali, tourism has significantly declined, and during your week in Dogon country, it’s unsurprising that you didn’t encounter other tourists.
In Bamako, the capital situated along the Niger River, you stayed in a small French guesthouse and explored the riverbanks and markets. However, your primary goals in the city were to arrange logistics for your trek to Dogon country and address a finger infection before embarking on this memorable adventure.
Fishermen on the Niger River in Bamako
The bushmeat market in Bamako was one of the most fascinating yet unsettling places you visited. Animals like baboons, crocodiles, and hyenas were sold either for consumption or for use in traditional religious practices. Photographing here was difficult, as the vendors were wary of foreign attention, likely due to the sensitive and controversial nature of the trade. This glimpse into the market offered a raw view of the intersection between cultural traditions and wildlife exploitation.
Fishermen on the Niger River in Bamako
Fishermen on the Niger River in Bamako
Bizarre Experience Getting My Infected Finger Treated at a Medical Clinic
The French lady who ran my guesthouse, La Venise Malienne, was incredibly helpful. She assisted me with figuring out the bus schedule to Mopti and put me in touch with a local Dogon guide who would meet me there. She also helped me arrange a visit to a medical clinic to have my finger treated; I’d developed an infected hangnail in Yemen, which had left my finger painfully swollen and turning blue. I wanted it treated before the trek, so I set off to the local clinic.
When I entered, the waiting room looked like a scene from Beetlejuice—overcrowded, with at least 50 locals and crying children, and a line stretching out the door. I almost turned back, but as I was about to leave, a clinic worker spotted me and ushered me straight to the front of the line, directly to the doctor. While I felt a bit guilty about the preferential treatment, I also didn’t turn down the help.
The doctor examined my finger and said, “Your infection is bad.” When I asked about the treatment options, he responded, “How much can you pay?” I thought he might be joking and laughed, but he stayed serious, even asking if I’d trade my camera to save my finger. I smiled and replied, “Please just tell me what you can do and for what cost.” He repeated, “Your camera for your finger.” After a moment of awkward silence, he finally relented and explained that he’d need to drain the pus and stitch the wound—for a fee of about $20 USD equivalent in CFA.
I agreed, and he pulled out a large needle for the anesthetic. I looked away, but he said, “Be a man and watch as I put the needle in.” He waited until I looked, then inserted the needle, which made me a bit light-headed. Once the anesthetic kicked in, he used a scalpel to drain the pus, insisting I watch the whole time. Afterward, he bandaged my finger, and the entire procedure took about 30 minutes. He provided antibiotics, and although it was one of the strangest medical experiences I’d had, my finger was on its way to healing.
My infected finger a week after my medical procedure to drain the infected puss in Bamako
Off to Dogon Country
After leaving the clinic, I headed straight to the bus station for an overnight ride to Mopti/Sevare. Generally, I avoid traveling at night, especially in Africa, where there’s a higher risk of banditry and traffic accidents due to fatigued or intoxicated drivers. But here I was, boarding a night bus in Mali, bound for a remote area notorious for bus hold-ups by terrorists who sometimes cherry-pick passengers for kidnapping. Given my foreigner status, I knew I’d be an obvious target if anything happened.
Taking this night bus wasn’t my wisest decision, but I was running short on time and didn’t want to miss the chance to trek in Dogon country. To my surprise, I discovered two other foreigners on board—a pair of Dutch war journalists on their way to Timbuktu to cover a story. While Dogon country posed enough danger, Timbuktu was on another level; the Malian military had only recently reclaimed the area from ISIS, and the route remained treacherous. The journalists invited me to join them, and I might have considered it if time had allowed. In the meantime, it was reassuring to have their company for the ride, especially since they spoke French and could assist if any trouble arose.
After a long, exhausting journey, I finally arrived in Sevare the next afternoon and joined the Dutch journalists at a local guesthouse. My Dogon guide met me there, and we discussed the logistics for a three-day trek into Dogon country. He’d return the next morning with a car and driver to take us to the trailhead.
I was surprised to see my guide—a man in his 60s who walked with a crutch due to polio he’d contracted in childhood. Initially, I worried that he might set an unbearably slow pace, but I soon learned he was remarkably agile, moving with skill despite his condition.
Niger River Near Mopti
In the morning, my guide arrived in a vehicle that seemed to be hanging on by its last threads. Stripped of every amenity, each function had a secret trick known only to the driver—a common feature in vehicles across the developing world, one I’ve become well-acquainted with over my travels. We rumbled along a dry, bumpy road toward Bandiagara, a small village near Dogon country.
Our first stop came when I spotted a chameleon crossing the road and rushed out to rescue it, placing it safely on a nearby tree. The chameleon, however, didn’t appreciate the favor, hissing at me in irritation. Our second stop was less voluntary: the vehicle broke down in the middle of nowhere. In Africa, I’ve learned not to panic in these situations—a solution always seems to present itself. After a bit of tinkering, the driver managed to jury-rig the engine back to life, and we continued on our way.
Eventually, we reached a village at the base of Dogon country, where the road ended. From there, we began trekking into the rugged, roadless terrain, hiking along escarpments and passing through remote villages accessible only by foot.
Our vehicle broken down
Chamelion I rescued from the road
For the next few days, I trekked between Dogon villages along a cliff escarpment, visiting communities that seemed to defy gravity. Some villages clung precariously to the cliff edges, while others sat at the base or were even built directly into the cliffs. Much of Dogon country is roadless, and the only way to access these areas is on foot.
Each day, we hiked for around eight hours under the blazing sun, with temperatures reaching well over 100 degrees—even in November—and very little shade along the trails. Everywhere I went, villagers greeted me warmly. Over a decade ago, tourism brought a steady income to the area, but these days, foreigners are rare. Locals seemed genuinely thankful for my visit.
Each village I entered required a small fee for the chief, and I would purchase food and water locally—bottled water was generally available. At night, I slept on the rooftops of village houses, laying out my sleeping pad under the open sky. For a small fee, I’d pay the house owner, supporting the community as I traveled through it.
Dogon village
Dogon Village
Rocky escarpment
My guide leading the way
Village people going about their day
Wildlife-Dik-Dik-tiny antelope
A hunters house with baboon skulls on his exterior wall
Ancient Houses Carved from the Cliff Faces
The highlight of visiting the Dogon region was seeing the cliffside dwellings built directly into the cliffs. While these houses were once inhabited, they are now primarily used as granaries to store grains. These days, most Dogon people live in houses in the valley below, having moved down from the cliffs over time.
Cliffside Houses
Cliffside Houses
Cliffside Houses
Cliffside Houses
Looking out over the flat plains below the escarpments during sunset
Looking out over the flat plains below the escarpments during sunset
In each Dogon village, a spiritual and political leader called the Hogon traditionally resides. Dressed in white, the Hogon lives alone in a house on the cliffs, allowed to have wives but tended to only by a virgin. I attempted to visit a Hogon in one village, but I learned he had recently died. His house was empty, and I was told the story of what happened afterward. Following the previous Hogon’s death, a new man declared himself Hogon, but only to enjoy the role’s benefits, such as income from potential tourism. Not long after, he also passed away, which the villagers saw as punishment from the spirits. Since then, no one has wanted to take on the position.
Being a true Hogon is a challenging role, steeped in responsibility and ritual, and few are willing to accept it in today’s changing culture. The legend of the last self-declared Hogon only deepens the reluctance to carry on this ancient tradition.
Up by the Hogon House
Hogon House of the Hogon that Died
Unique Architecture of the Houses, Temples & Mosques
The architecture and carvings in Dogon villages are strikingly unique, blending layers of animistic symbolism and intricate design. Many carvings are dedicated to spiritual beliefs and used by Shamans, each with a deep, complex meaning rooted in the Dogon’s rich cultural heritage. Alongside these, there are also beautifully crafted Islamic mosques that add to the villages’ architectural diversity.
Unfortunately, I learned that many villagers have sold their older wood carvings, including intricately carved doors and windows, to foreigners over the years. This loss of cultural artifacts reflects a difficult reality, as these pieces often hold significant historical and spiritual value for the Dogon people.
Mosque
Mosque
Mosque
Shaman House
Shaman House
Wood carvings in window
Wood carvings in window
Wood carvings in window
The Faces of the Dogon People
The highlight of Dogon country for me was the people. Everyone I met was friendly and open, happily posing for my camera without ever asking for money. They were genuine and kind, and it was fascinating to witness their daily routines. Men gathered beneath simple stick huts, open on all sides, to discuss village matters. Men could be seen hauling small bundles of firewood from the surrounding bush, while women balanced jugs of water on their heads, often fetched from wells miles away. Children played creatively with whatever makeshift toys they had. Despite the lack of electricity in the villages, there was a sense of contentment and resilience, as the people made the most of what they had.
Teacher I met in her schoolhouse teaching children
At a Catholic mission school, I met a dedicated teacher who was instructing her students. We connected, and she and I became pen pals. I sent her letters and supplies from San Diego, and she responded with letters in return. Our exchange continued for six months until we eventually lost contact. One of her students, a young girl, even gifted me a drawing of a traditional Dogon mask—a small but meaningful keepsake of my time there.
Little girl who gave me her drawing of traditional Dogon mask as a gift
Man smoking a pipe
Man carrying firewood
Village Kid
Girl and her teddy bear
Girls carrying water on their heads from a well
Village girl
I finished my trek in the afternoon and was dropped off in Mopti by my guide in his rickety car. From there, I boarded the night bus alone, this time without the company of the French-speaking war journalists. The journey was long, driving along a dark, empty rural road. I arrived in Bamako early in the morning and checked into a hotel by the Niger River. I had breakfast there and spent the next few hours waiting for my midday flight to Dakar, Senegal.