Heroes do exist (1)

It's a well known cliché for any Westerner: "Africa will change your life". I'm now back to Chicago, after two months traveling around Mali, Uganda and Nigeria, with a few stops in my native Spain. It's too early to determine how Africa has changed me. But, indeed, it has.

I open my suitcase and it looks like a bomb has exploded inside my room. Among the debris, and the dirty laundry, there are plenty of images of kids smiling in the dusty rubble, the smell and taste of spiced roasted lamb and sounds, many sounds: distant Muslim calls to prayers in a desert town, the music of Mali, teenagers screaming at a soccer match ... and no doubt, among all those fragments, I also brought with me some important life lessons.

This is the first, of those life lessons: "Heroes do exist"

I saw them all around me, almost everywhere I went.

There are local heroes, those who believe that change can happen within their wrecked communities and countries. And then, you find the guest stars, those who have traveled from very far away, give up time with their loved-ones and the comfort of our privileged life to do "Something". Something with capital "S". We're talking about true first responders who have gone to Africa to roll up their sleeves and stick their arms in the guts of our planet. 

At first sight, heroes may look like you and me... but if you look carefully, you will realize very soon that they actually look better. Yes, like in the movies, true heroes are better looking!! They glow!  There is something about their presence, the way they stand, sit and walk, and something also about their capacity to listen that makes heroes magnetic.

Heroes tend to be free from the thousand stupid things that irritate and ruin our spoiled day-to-day lives.

Maybe because they know about those things that truly matter, maybe because they have witnessed too much desolation not to appreciate every breath they take. Maybe because they still believe there is a world filled with real, non-virtual, human beings outside the screen of their smartphones.

The first hero, of several I want to talk about, was the chief of my expedition, and the lead character in our work in progress: Dr. Robert Murphy. Dr. Murphy is a Professor at Northwestern University and the Director of its Center for Global Health.

Dr. Murphy visiting a local HIV clinic in Bamako, Mali.

Through many years of work at Johns Hopkins Medicine, in Baltimore, I've had the unique fortune to work with some of the greatest academic doctors and scientists in the world. I can unequivocally say that I've never, ever, met a doctor quite like Dr. Murphy.

Academic physicians, from the top-tier US centers, are rock stars in the scientific world. Although their income pales in comparison to what American bankers and top businessmen make, academic doctors tend to do fairly well financially, thanks to a combination of tenured salaries and consulting gigs, at times complemented by private businesses and investments.

In any major American city, academic physicians from the top centers are also an important, and very respected component of the local high society. In America, sometimes, academic physicians are nothing short of walking gods.

Because of this social popularity and benefit, it's not difficult for an America academic physician to get lost in his or her own ego, in the politics of an institution, in the demands of fundraising at cocktail parties and/or in the glamour of the "beau monde."
 
This context is important to understand why I regard Dr. Murphy as a bona fide hero. A successful American professional, with such an illustrious and long career, could very easily enjoy a very comfortable life in Chicago, drinking martinis and smoking cigars, without the need to complicate his life any further.

And still, Dr. Murphy is one of those heroes who at one point decided to stop looking at the firemen struggling with their hoses, and chose to join in the fight against the fire. 

His commitment to global health and humanitarian causes has made Dr. Murphy put his own life at risks, many, many times. Our recent humanitarian action to reach a forgotten hospital devastated by jihadist in the remote area of Timbuktu, in Northern Mali, is just one more example of how far he is willing to go in his brave commitment to help with the fire. He got there before United Nations’ blue helmets.


In Timbuktu, assessing the damage suffered by the local hospital during the yihaddist occupation.


Beyond the danger, there also is the issue of inconvenience. Africa is, among many other things very, very inconvenient. Our humanitarian trip to Africa was no luxurious safari vacation. I've seen Dr. Murphy endure impossible travel itineraries and long flight connections, hours upon hours of driving through brutal roads, days without power and/or water, eating on the floor with his hands, when food was available... all that without ever complaining or losing a dash of his charm. One of the most striking qualities of a hero, I know now, is how effortless everything they do seems to be. 



In a "restaurant", South of the River Niger, waiting to cross to Timbuktu.

During our visit in Nigeria, it was very clear, very early, that the local health community regards him as a hero. There, he was the Country Director of Harvard’s President’s Emergency Program for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR). The country has the second largest incidence of HIV in the world. And when he got there, things were pretty hopeless. For 5 years, he brought to a new level 53 health centers in Nigeria who have treated over 150,000 HIV-infected patients and turn around the AIDS crisis from catastrophic to hopeful.

Talking to a patient in Ibadan, Nigeria.

And there is more. The story of Dr. Murphy is the history of AIDS, in itself.

Rob Murphy was a pioneer in the field of AIDS, taking care of hundreds of patients at Northwestern Memorial Hospital at the pinnacle of the devastating crisis in the late 80's and early 90's. At one point, the AIDS epidemic was so vile, that Dr. Murphy became the number one admitting physician in his hospital and, unfortunately, the number one signer of death certificates....Seeing so many young men and women died, Dr. Murphy pledged to support the science for a cure, combining his focus on patient care, with a very strong component of research.

Once things improved in the United States in the mid 90's, thanks to the wide spread use of anti-retroviral therapies, Dr. Murphy made his focus global, working literally in every continent to train medical professionals in the use of the new therapies, while supporting the creation of local infrastructures and capabilities to fight the virus.

The challenges to export life-saving treatments were many, and Dr. Murphy helped export those therapies while developing the training and research needed to adapt them to very different patients and environments.
 
It's not false modesty, heroes simply tend to be clueless about how extraordinary their actions are. Heroes tend to be so busy doing their work, that they don't have time to waste, taking pleasure in their accomplishments.

This work in progress has two major goals:

First, to contribute one more perspective to the epic tale of how my generation fought AIDS around the globe. The second, is to show Dr. Murphy himself, how extraordinary his contribution to that epic tale has been.

I hope you will join us in this ongoing journey!

Emilio Williams

Visiting a family in Mali. For more information about Dr. Murphy's work in Mali

watch this video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CBtIlkexMHU

 

With faculty members, students and administrators of Northwestern in Kampala, Uganda.

For more information about Northwestern University projects in Uganda

watch this video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRWiax6cZjQ

Dr. Murphy is helping Kireka House in Kampala, Uganda.

Watch a video of Kireka House here.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5P87nM673v0

Nutrition Crisis in Mali: Watch our new short documentary

Yesterday, UNICEF sounded the alarm on a new nutrition crisis in Northern Mali. See the media advisory here.

Today, we release our second short documentary from Africa. This new story is dedicated to the children of Mali, and the precarious situation before and during the current crisis.

Only a few days away from the elections in Mali, we want to call attention to how kids are paying the burden of the humanitarian crisis. (More than half of the population of Mali is under 25.)

Together with Dr. Robert Murphy, from Northwestern University, we visited the leading pediatricians in the country to see how the crisis has affected refugees, HIV-infected kids and the young population at-large.

Thanks for watching!

Please, share this important information with family and friends. Let's not forget Mali.

Emilio Williams

Watch this short documentary

New blog, we start in Nigeria (Reporting from Jos)

We continue our work in progress with our new blog. We're narrowing down our theme... we're looking at AIDS around the globe, in the last 20 years through the perspective our Dr. Robert Murphy, a pioneer of Global Health.

Hope you join us in this new episode of our epic journey.

http://aidsaroundtheglobe.blogspot.com/2013/06/in-jos-beautiful-landscape-of.html

Plateau State, Nigeria, on the way from Abuja to Jos. 

Crazy for soccer!

As soon as the brutal heat of the afternoon sun starts to recede, the kids of Mali take to the streets with their soccer balls and bright soccer t-shirts, and the party gets started !

What a joy to see them play, oblivious to the tragedy of their time.

Anywhere, where you can find enough space to run, you see them wearing the official t-shirts of the soccer stars from Real Madrid or  F.C. Barcelona, the two most important teams from my native Spain. One can play soccer barefoot, or train in flip flops, but the important thing is to sport Barcelona’s number 10, the t-shirt for Argentinian superstar Leo Messi.

Last year, when the jihadists took control of the north of the country, they committed a huge faux pas, when they tried to force Malians NOT to play soccer. That may have been the turning point for many people in Mali… the straw the broke the dromedary’s back. (Yes, dromedaries are here everywhere but I didn’t find one camel) Malians have a lot of patience for all kinds of takes on Islam, but a world without soccer, well… that is way too much to ask.

Mali has given to the world some great soccer, no doubt. Malian stars in the French League include Salif Keita, Jean Tigana, and Frédéric "Fredi" Kanouté, the biggest star of today, who plays for the Sevilla FC in Spain.

Important P.R. lessons for extremist fundamentalists: do not mess with people’s soccer!

Crossing paths with the displaced....

We leave Timbuktu very early in the morning. As soon as we reach the “no-bridge” to Timbuktu we are faced by the heart wrenching situation of international refugees and internally displaced people. 

Only a few trucks and families dare to come back… The crisis has forced 174,129 people to look for refuge in neighboring countries. On top of that, 300,783 people have been internally displaced, running away from the conflict, the bombs and the brutality of the jihadist.

Those numbers confirm the feeling of ghost city I felt, at times, in Timbuktu.

The humanitarian mission lead by Dr. Murphy and the International AIDS Education Project is especially concerned about the effect that the displacement has had in HIV-infected patients. Healthcare providers have now even a harder time tracking their patients and following up to make sure they’re receiving their lifesaving medications in a timely and consistent manner. 

(Before coming to Timbuktu, we visited in Bamako the refugee clinic, created to support the influx of displaced people from the North, to the South. )

Our man in Mali, Almoustapha Maiga tells us how his apartment in Bamako hosted, at one point, more than 25 family members from the north. Most refugees and displaced people are not that lucky, and they wander freely looking for refugee services and camps, and trying to gather enough mats for adults and babies to sleep overnight.

Still, the United Nations Mission to Mali will not deploy until July 1st. At that point, hopefully more people will feel safe enough to return their home. 

Now, we’re back on the road. We run into a few villages that are completely abandoned. We’re again in the no-road from Timbuktu to the South of Mali. 

There is no doubt that the disgraceful isolation of Timbuktu is going to make the long road-back-home very difficult to both to the displaced and to those humanitarian activists who will be helping rebuild the country.

I can’t help but wonder… 

If the rich countries were more intelligent about the fight against terrorism, they would start by supporting the basic infrastructure (roads, water, and power) to assure that important moderate cities like Timbuktu are not so vulnerable to the invasion of radical extremist. 

Investing on creating a real road and a real bridge to Timbuktu, should be an international priority for peace and safety. 

The town of Timbuktu doesn’t have an ambulance!

Five months after the French intervention in Mali, the town of Timbuktu doesn’t have an ambulance.

The only ambulance functioning in this town was totaled by the alliance of jihadist and other rebels who occupied the town from April of 2012 to January of 2013, time of the liberation of northern Mali by French troops.  First, they stripped it of all its life saving equipment…then they used it to transport rebels and weapons….then they crashed it.  It’s totaled, useless.  Now there is no ambulance in the largest geographic region in Mali.

This is one of the many unsettling discoveries made by Dr. Robert Murphy, Director of the Center for Global Health at Feinberg School of Medicine, Northwestern University, during his “humanitarian action” to Timbuktu.  Dr. Murphy visited Timbuktu Hospital to assess the damages inflicted during the on-going conflict to the healthcare delivery of this key town in the north of Mali.

“Timbuktu Hospital and the population of Timbuktu are in desperate need for help to match the level of hospital care to the very special, historical circumstances they’re suffering,” commented Dr. Murphy. “Many of the interventions to improve the only local hospital could be quick fixes that should have not been put on hold for these many months.” 

Having a town like Timbuktu deprived of ambulance service is especially shocking considering the vulnerable situation of civilians in the town and the potential for terrorist attacks. The United Nations is gearing up for an operation that will start July 1st.



Dr. Murphy also toured areas of the hospital where equipment had been looted by jihadist rebels. At the same time, the surviving equipment lacks the necessary supplies to be properly used. Among other areas, Dr. Murphy visited the laboratory services, a key area of the hospital where he has pledged his help and support to the local healthcare and political authorities.

One of the big challenges facing the hospital relates to the power generators, fundamental due to the devastating power shortages in the
city. (Power only runs from 7pm to midnight).

The ambulance that was taken and totaled by the rebels played a prominent part in one of the darkest moment of Timbuktu under harsh Sharia Law. According to the New York Times, the ambulance was requested from the hospital after the public hand amputation of a young man accused of stealing. You can read this disturbing account of what Timbuktu endured under Shara Law in this article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/01/world/africa/timbuktu-endured-terror-under-harsh-shariah-law.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0

If you would like to get involved, or if you know of potential donors and patrons to assist The Timbuktu Hospital, please contact me, as soon as possible at emiliow@aol.com

Thanks!!

Emilio Williams

Joy in Timbuktu

Spontaneous joy during a soccer match in Timbuktu.

A rare moment of loud happiness in a ghost city.

So much still needs to be done to break the isolation of this great, vulnerable town.

We’re in Timbuktuk

We arrive at Timbuktu. I have a great sense of gratitude for our driver, Oumar, who I honestly believe has saved our lives knowing the terrain and his car so well. I feel an immense sense of camaraderie with Dr. Murphy and Almoustapha. I have on my side two individuals that are extremely intelligent, and as anybody truly intelligent, they’re also very funny. They know the land, too. All that helps. I seem to be more concerned about danger then they are. And that helps me, too.  

 The city is almost abandoned, and reminds me of one of those ghost towns in Western movies. The security seems to me very limited, considering how vulnerable this location is. Other than a convoy from Burkina, I’m shocked not to see any major police or military force, no sight of the French troops, and very limited Malian armed forces.  And, of course, no blue helmets from the United Nations, yet. Apparently, the United Nations is once more taking its time.

Driving to the hotel I get no sense that this is a safe, protected city.

During and after the conflict many people fled their homes, and that only adds to the sense of abandonment.  It’s estimated that 175,000 Malian are now refugees in neighbouring countries and more than 300,000 are internally displaced.

Still, we do see people in the streets, they watch us pass by with big, opened eyes. There is no doubt, they have grown unaccustomed to seeing foreigners.

 Residents continue with their daily lives

The hotel has no electricity. Right now, power is only available in Timbuktu from 7pm to 12 midnight every night.  
Running water is restricted, too, and it runs at random times. They bring large buckets of water to our rooms, for washing and the toilet. 

The heat is dry, well above 40ºC or 104ºF, and relentless. We’re in the Sahara dessert. Because there is no power, there are no working refrigerators, and therefore nothing cold to drink. I order a warm beer. Africa is the great lesson on the little things we take for granted.

This time, we’re not alone in the hotel. A delegation from Bamako came by plane, sponsored by UNESCO, to do an assessment of the damage to the famous libraries of Timbuktu.

From May 2012 to January 2013, abandoned by the Malian authorities and the world community, the people of Timbuktu suffered unspeakable atrocities at the hands of fundamentalist jihadists who imposed a strict Sharia law.

Our first meeting is with Meiga, a young tour guide, who lived in Timbuktu through those dark months. Before showing us some of the sites, he tells us first-hand, in a broken but impressive English, what happened here in 2012:

 “There were many things they were doing…like terrorists were here. After four, five months, they cut the hand off a boy of 24. It was hard for us to stay here. We’re Muslim but we are tolerant. If someone steals we say, don’t do that, because maybe they had to steal to eat because they were poor. They bring the girls to market and beat them. One time, a 16 year old girl was taken by the Islamic religious police to jail…she was raped throughout the night by five jihadists. She cried all night. (…) In the morning she was released.  Her family complained to the ruling authorities but they responded only by saying that jihadists would never do such a thing.  There is no Malian security and nobody to help us. So we have to accept what they say, but we don’t want to follow them, we don’t want to be like that. I was here all the time.”



Little by little the jihadist imposed on the people a strict, fundamentalist Muslim law: women had to be covered, men could not shave. Three of the most important things in Malian culture were made unlawful: soccer, music and dancing. They destroyed the mausoleums of the venerated local saints, a sense of enormous pride and religious significance for the people of Timbuktu . Many of the manuscripts were feared to be destroyed, but apparently, the most important were smuggled out of town into safety. They destroyed monuments, and covered any depiction of human or animal faces in the traditional local murals and paintings that decorate storefronts.







 Even an AIDS prevention billboard still has the face of a human drawing and the face of a dromedary covered in brown paint. They killed all the dogs in the city, which only adds to the eerily silence of it all. 




Five times a day, the silence of this town is broken from the local mosques by the beautiful call to prayer. It is very soothing to the ears.  

We visit a few of the sites of the conflict, including a jihadist training camp bombed by the French. 






We also visit the now abandoned mansion of a local drug lord. 




The collaboration between the rebels and the narcos is frequently brought up in conversation. Many times, the descriptions of crimes committed during those dark months in 2012, point at both fundamentalism and people who seem to be old-fashion Mafioso thugs.






Escorted by members of the Committee for the Crisis, we pay visits to both the Mayor, Halle Ousmane, and the Governor, Mamadou Mangara. They all express their gratitude for Dr. Murphy’s brave visit, and pledge support during tomorrow’s mission to the local hospital. In official meetings, you can still notice the sense of confusion and uncertainty in all their faces. The Mayor scorns the insistence of calling for elections in July. “We’re not ready”. 

Both the Mayor and the Governor seem impressive and brave figures.  We’re grateful and comforted by their hospitality.

 The Mayor, Halle Ousmane

It’s time to get some rest.

The air conditioner will work tonight but only until midnight so I go to bed as soon as I can. My body is sore from the tough ride. I manage to pass out for a few hours. 

In the middle of the night an asphyxiating heat wakes me up. My mouth is dry and tastes like the sand of the dessert. It’s pitch black.

I open the French doors of the room that access a small balcony. A nice breeze comes in. Thousands of frogs croak outside my window:  it’s a loud, violent, very disturbing mating sound…  In my sleepiness I wonder if it would be dangerous to keep my balcony open for the rest of the night. 

Could somebody reach the first floor and kidnap me in the middle of the night? No doubt, by now a lot of people know we’re here, and the hotel has no guard. Is it safe for me to sleep? Or should I stay up the rest of the night?  I feel my heart racing. I catch myself falling into an anxiety attack. I force myself to stop the feeling of spiralling down. I take a deep breath. My heart slows down. 

I look out the window, and for the first time, since I came to Africa, I cry one single tear. 

I don’t cry for me. 

I cry for the amazing people of Timbuktu who, for over a year now, have lived night after night like this, not being able to sleep in peace.

(For security reasons this blog entry was not releases in real time)

The no-road to Timbuktu

We’re finally allowed to cross the internal border from Southern Mali to Northern Mali.

The crisis started in March of 2012 when a loose coalition of rebel movements threw out the official Mali State from Northern Mali. 

The alliance of groups such as al-Qa`ida in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM), Ansar Eddine, and the Movement for Unity and Jihad in West Africa (MUJAO) managed in the following months to take town after town, all the way to Konna, only 100 miles north of Mopti, the hinge that separates north and south.

This advance prompted the intervention of 4,000 strong French troops. We don’t need to follow the news or the maps to know where we are. Every few meters we find cars and trucks that apparently were bombed by the French while the jihadist were trying to retreat back north.

Oumar, our driver, shows us on the side of the road the bombed truck that the jihadist had taken from a local business to carry the bodies of death rebels. Almost as disturbing, on the side of that truck, we find a pile of bombs from the French air-strikes. 

We also see a bombed jihadist training camp.

From March 2012 to the French liberation in January of 2013, the legendary Timbuktu was victimized by these fundamentalist groups, that imposed a strict Sharia law, including killings, amputations, and other atrocities. We’re traveling by road to Timbuktu, on a humanitarian mission to establish the needs of the local hospital. Apparently, the few foreigners that have visited Timbuktu since the liberation, mainly journalists and a humanitarian first responders, have traveled by air, but the airport is now close and it’s impossible to get on the limited flights. (The multinational mission from the UN will not officially land in Timbuktu until July 1st.)

As we drive north, we’re also getting closer to the dessert. The strong, hot winds are so sandy, it looks cloudy. It’s about 107 Fahrenheit, 42 Celsius. The landscape is drier and the density of population has fallen dramatically. We finally reach Douentza, a town on the skirts of some beautiful rocky mountains. 

And here is where the most dangerous part of the ride starts. To go from Douentza to Timbuktu, we must drive 195 kms (120 miles) through something that resembles more a path than a road. 

The photos don’t do justice to how bad the path actually is, because we didn’t think it was safe to stop to take video or photos, and we couldn’t risk to waste a minute and arrive too late to Timbuktu. But most importantly, the path to Timbuktu is deserted and too wide-open, and we have been warned against bandits and the possibility of kidnappings.  Our man in Mali cautions: “No matter what happens, we can’t stop, for nothing, for nobody.”

We were warned also that the “road was not good”. I would call that the understatement of the year. Considering that for many refugees and displaced people from Timbuktu, this was the only way out, or back, makes my heart sink. 

For the first 100 kms (60 miles) we don’t see anything or anybody, other than another 4X4 from the Red Cross driven by one Malian man. No people, animals or cars. The isolation of Timbuktu becomes more and more clear.

Our 4X4 barely can make it on this road. Last night, it rained, which made the soil more dangerous and unpredictable. We have a couple of near misses. One in particular is pretty scary: we have to speed and jump over a bump that was much higher than expected on the other side. We have a dramatic landing, but we’re not hurt. We inspect the car and it seems to be OK. Needless to say, this is the last place on Earth where we need to be with a broke-down car.

Half way down the road, we encounter semi-abandoned mud villages and we see people for the first time since Douentza. The worse of the trip is yet to come in the second half. We run into several trucks and vans stranded in the muddy potholes, or with destroyed tires. The vehicles seem to be driving back displaced people. There are also some abandoned cars of people who never made it.

We finally get to the Niger River. Timbuktu is on the other side of the river. There is no bridge. “The no-road to Timbuktu” followed by “the no-bridge to Timbuktu”. 

We understand now the frustration of the people in Northern Mali, while in the South, the Capital Bamako spends millions in infrastructure projects: highways, parks, bridges… many of the towns in the North continue to be isolated, even those with the strategic, historical and potential touristic importance of Timbuktu.

We will have to wait two hours until the next ferry to cross the river. We are now at the receiving end of the famous Malian hospitality, in one of the tents, we discover something of a local restaurant, a place to eat and rest. We eat with our hands some fish and lamb innards. Those who miss the last ferry to Timbuktu can also spend the night in these tents. People are happy to see us. Maybe they think our presence is a sign that things will soon return to normal.

The owner of the tent tells us how hard is to even survive. Practically, no vehicles are coming this way anymore. In Songoy, one of the local languages, he tells us about the atrocities committed by the jihadists. I record the interview. Almoustafa will translate for me later. For now, all I need to understand doesn’t require words: the sadness in his eyes and his profound sense of desperation.

Why Timbuktu matters so much…

The sun falls, and we must stop for the night, on our way to Timbuktu. We didn’t make into Mopti but to nearby Severé, the furthest point north that the Malian government was able to control, before the French intervention.

Our first leg of the trip is now completed after an 11 hour drive in grueling, dusty, pot holed roads. It’s dark and we arrive to our hotel. It’s a very exotic establishment named Via Via. The place is eerily empty. Mali’s already precarious economy is hurting by the near total annihilation of its tourism industry.

The further we go north, the more surprised people seem to be to see white visitors. The airport in Timbuktu remains officially closed, and only receives military planes and a few flights from UN envoys. The airport first opened in 2006, as a way to overcome the historical geographical isolation of the city, but now that airport remains officially and indefinitely closed.  And Timbuktu is once more isolated from the world.

So far, we haven’t seen any French or International troops, which doesn’t make me feel particularly safe. 

My room at Via Via Hotel is called, sure enough, Timbuktu.  It has a simple bed with a mosquito net over it, one more precaution against the feared Malaria. There is running water with only one temperature, lukewarm.

And, one may wonder, why does Timbuktu matter so much?

When I was growing up, the name Timbuktu represented for me the furthest and most exotic of places.  In Spain, we call it Tombuctú. My dad tells me that growing up in Chicago, they used to say: “I’m going to kick your us from here to Tickbucktu.”

For centuries, it was a place from where white explorers didn’t return alive.  The first adventurer who reached Timbuktu and lived to tell the story was René-Auguste Caillié in 1827. He narrated his adventures in a three volume work published in 1830.

Timbuktu may be one of the most legendary cities of Africa. It historical importance is so vast that in 1988 it was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Unfortunately, in response to the recent abuses committed by jihadist, UNESCO added Timbucktu to the List of World Heritage Sites in Danger. The city is, no doubt, an invaluable inheritance from our ancestors.

In the 1300’s, Timbuktu became a flourishing center for Islamic culture. An architect from Granada, now Spain, was commissioned to design the Sankore mosque, around which the University of Sankore was built. This is one of the many historical mud buildings that still stand. 

It was a land where gold and salt were traded, but it was also a land of knowledge and universal wisdom. The manuscripts of Timbuktu are a true treasure for the human race and more so for the muslin world; a surviving proof of the powerful intellectual past of Africa.

You can see a BBC documentary about the libraries of Timbuktu here.

The history of Timbuktu is a history of invasions and attacks, alternated with long periods of abandonment and isolation. From the invasion by Morocco in 1591,  to the attacks by many of the regional ethnic groups, to the domination by France between 1893 and 1960.

That is the story of Timbuktu, a precious legacy of enlightenment and knowledge, dismantled and abandoned, time after time, century after century, to the comings and goings of invaders, mercenaries and ideologues.

But the mud buildings and libraries of this town, still speak volumes, and the people who live here are the keepers of that flame.

As I read in an African magazine: “As long as we pass our heritage, our history will never end.” 

Timbuktu is rich, in many important aspects, and it matters. Even if it doesn’t have oil. (One can’t help but wonder if the international community would have allowed this city to be tortured by fundamentalists invaders for nine long months, if it had oil.)

We wake up at Via Via and encounter a nightmare trip of security, bureaucracy and red tape. As expected, nobody wants to be responsible for our access to Northern Mali. We come and go to the internal border, three times, each time we are requested to have a different, more difficult to obtain paper, even if we have an invitation to exercise an “action humanitaire” in Timbuktu.

First, we are requested to obtain a special permit from the local police to travel into the northern territories.  Then, the Malian Army chief at the last check point doesn’t want two westerners to travel to Timbuktu without military escort.  This requires us to receive permission from the military authorities and the green light from the commanders in charge of movements within the northern territories. While not exactly easy, we gather the necessary documents and permissions.  

This takes one day.

Between our comings and goings to the border, Dr. Murphy has a chance to give medical advice to a Malian soldier suffering from back pain. Dr. Murphy gives the soldier a referral to a specialist in Mopti, the advice to drink a lot of water, as well as two pain killers, “to use only at night, at home, and when you’re not carrying a gun”.

We overcame every obstacle. But now it’s too late to leave for Timbuktu. We’re asked to wait one more night. We do. 

We check-in into another beautiful, empty hotel. There is only another group staying there. Five  American civilians driving impressive white SUV’s. They didn’t exchange a word with us. Didn’t seem to us that they were free to chit chat about why they were there. If was to shoot a film about the Iraq war, I would cast all of them as employees of Halliburton.

The hotel faces the river Niger. The sunset is beautiful. Long boats cruise the silver, glittering water. Local groups of kids swim naked, playing and screaming, while their mothers wash their cloths in the river. 

A beautiful moment of grace, before tomorrow we face the ugly gravity of war.

(For security reasons this blog entry was not releases in real time)