Over the past three years Liam Ó Maonlaíand his fellow musician Paddy Keenan have visited Mali, in west Africa, to make music - and a documentary - and to find inspiration. He describes some of their impressions as they travelled to Djenné, the last city before the Sahara
OUR CAR HAS stopped after three hours on the road. I step out and walk into the land. The earth is soft, and there are small dry trees as far as the eye can see. Some are black and thorny; some are bleached with orange leaves.
Looking down, I see beetle tracks and a piece of cloth. The air is dry and the sun is still hot. I feel the urge to walk into nowhere and find somewhere. It feels possible here. Even taking a pee has an elemental intensity to it. You know there is awareness here. You know everything makes a difference.
We are having tea in a hotel in the town of Djenné. We are here because, awestruck by the music, land and culture of Mali, the film-maker Dearbhla Glynn has asked my fellow musician Paddy Keenan and me to visit and to make a documentary with her.
It is festival day, and we are with Mamadou, our friend and host here in Mali. Mamadou is Fulani. Before the idea of Mali existed, there were Fulani. They are herders, and their dairy produce is their gold. They are regarded as royalty in Mali. It is fitting that our guide is Fulani. For millennia his people have known and linked with the tribes and peoples of Mali. Being a tour guide is a continuation in tradition, it seems to me.
Mamadou explains how today everyone wears new clothes. It is a festival tradition. All through the previous night we could hear a tapping, and Mamadou tells me this is a technique used to bring a shine to the cotton robes worn by the men and women here.
The clothes are amazing. The men, women and children look like royalty in their bright greens, indigos, ochres and purples. Grace is here around every corner. The ground is sandy white earth, mostly. The river is always busy.
Paddy Keenan and I take a donkey and cart out of the town to the river. I am dressed in a bright green robe, or bobo. Paddy has got himself one, too, although his colour is more subtle. We strike up a tune as we roll along.
People from the north, from the south, from the east and from the west all gather in Djenné at festival time. All the ethnic groups of Mali gather and trade with what they have. They exchange secrets and songs. Time has passed through this country differently. I feel there is a connection with the past and that, in that connection, there is no past. It is all now.
In Bamako, a city of a million people almost 400km west of Djenné, I have the pleasure of meeting Toumani Diabaté, a master kora player. He comes from 71 generations of kora players. He has a nightclub in Bamako where he and his band play whenever they are not on the road. The kora is a kind of harp, though there are certain design features in the way it is made that allow for the most wonderful and complex rhythmic interpretations. It came originally as a gift to the people from the mountains. The first kora had 22 strings. Since the first player died, there have only been 21. A place remains for the missing string.
Afel Bocoum is from Niafunké, in northern Mali. I first met Afel in Dublin. The connection between us was instant. We enter his house outside Bamako in the morning, and in minutes we are seated and enjoying the workings of a song in the Bambara language.
I am completely at home with his teaching. I have a harp with me and am doing my best to work it into the style of Afel's song. Afel is passionate about music and the ability of music to communicate important messages.
The River Niger is in need of respect. It is the lifeblood of Mali and must be protected. The desert has claimed some of the river that no longer reaches Timbuktu. The song we learn is for the river: "Plant trees to stop erosion and silting."
Paddy and I get to play flute and harp on Afel's CD Niger. We agree there is a lifetime's work to be done together.
Ancestry is important. A group of us are standing at the entrance to our hotel in Timbuktu. A man wants to sell me a Tuareg bobo. It is black, and I am tempted. Thinking of my grandfather, I close my eyes for a minute to decide. He asks what I am thinking, and I tell him. He smiles and says wholeheartedly: "It is good to think of our ancestors to help us decide."
Of the 11 ethnic groups that coexist in Mali, the Tuareg are the most associated with the desert. They are the nomadic inhabitants of the Sahara and have always been there. They still travel by caravan with camels, following the stars at night. They are gentle and friendly.
I am sitting by our fire with Bashir, who is telling me about the surrounding villages and how to get to them. His company is enlightening. He is also wearing a turquoise leather purse, which he believes I should have. I believe I should have it, too, and all is fair by the light of a desert fire.
Mamadou is making tea, Mali-style. He boils a small pot of water and adds a fistful of green or gunpowder tea. He puts the pot to brew on the fire. There are three small glasses he uses, in a process of pouring the tea into the glass, back into the pot and back again a number of times. This is strong tea.
Social life in Mali revolves around the making of this tea. On any corner or stop there is always the possibility of tea. Anyone is welcome to join. The conversation is an important part of the ritual. There are three brews to every fist, and the quality of the encounter can be measured by whether you participate in the three brews. Time and timelessness in a cup.
We are in the Sahara now, and we are camped in Tuareg tents. A couple of metres away a group of 30 women and men are gathered, dressed in dark blue. By the light of the moon they look darker than black. They sing a rhythmic, breathy beat and play a water drum with their hands. The men take turns to stand and dance. There is great style in the movement. There is also great expression and humour.
The kids are wise old entities unto themselves. They find me hilarious, as I try to pronounce the words they give me. They take me by the hand to meet elders, who have a go at giving me a few words, too. I'm excited to be here with the Sahara nomads, witnesses to great extremes in life and climate; there's a real Connemara look to some of them.
Paddy Keenan is a nomad. He is of the Travelling people of Ireland. The Travellers are witness also to the open road, to the weather and change, to music and to history, good and bad. They are keepers of some of the most vital of our traditional music. Paddy plays the uilleann pipes, and his heritage as a musician and nomad is of great significance. As we play on stage under the desert moon, this moves me. Here is a nomad from my country, a champion of his people, playing a slow air on the pipes, touching the hearts and minds of all assembled. I know there are messages in the music with particular meaning to the nomads of the Sahara. I can see it in their faces.
Dogon country is to the south and east of the Sahara, and its backbone is the Bandiagara escarpment. The Dogon people are settled farming people who live in villages built into the foot of the Bandiagara. We arrive in the evening to a village within a village. Our accommodation is made of earth. My room has a low bed and a curtain for a door.
As I unpack I play a few notes on a four-hole bamboo flute I was given earlier in the day. Jacoba, the master of the house, is instantly taken by the sound. He takes the flute and shows me how it's done. In seconds there is a boy with a drum and a girl who dances like a type of bird. It is like wildfire. People have gathered to listen or to dance.
Jacoba asks me, as we eat, if there will be more music. I'm thinking of my nice room and bed and say "tomorrow". Why, I think to myself in my room. I can hear laughter nearby and decide that there is no tomorrow, so I pick up my bodhrán, my flute and a few bits and follow the mirth. I am rewarded by a song I still sing today, and by a connection with good people, into the small hours.
Mali is full of riches. Music, dance, colour, philosophy and tradition. There is music everywhere. It is in the language and the attitude. Something in me recognises this from my own ancestry.
Recently I read a quote from Willie Clancy, the piper from Co Clare. He said that the greatest music in the Irish tradition is the language. I can see that here.
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Liam O'Maonlai and Paddy Keenan flew to Bamako, the capital of Mali, with Air France via Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport. They then drove to Djenné - the last city before the Sahara, halfway between Bamako and Timbuktu - in four-wheel-drive vehicles. They stayed in Chez Jacoba and in Chez Brahim in Dogon country.
HOW TO GET THE MOST FROM MALI
• Seek medical advice before you travel about essential vaccinations.
• For accommodation, try Hotel Tamana ( www.hoteltamana.com) in Bamako; Hotel Djenné Djenno ( www.hoteldjennedjenno.com), in Djenné; Hotel Doux Reves ( www.douxreves.com) in Mopti; Chez Brahma, Tele, Dogon country; Chez Yacouba, Ende, Dogon country; and Hotel Bouctou, in Timbuktu
• Mamadou Ba was our organiser in Mali. He could not have done a better job. metbah@yahoo.fr.
• Take Mali: The Bradt Travel Guide, £13.95 in UK.
• Bring clothes, pens, toys or other things to give to children. These are always appreciated.
• Bring a half-empty suitcase. Much of the clothing and jewellery you will find in Mali is of a super-high standard.
• Listen to In the Heart of the Moonby Ali Farka Touré and Toumani Diabaté, New Ancient Stringsby Toumani Diabaté, Niger and Alkibarby Afel Bocoum, and Aman Imanby Tinariwen.