Markus James is a recording artist and a longtime contributor to Afropop Worldwide. He has done original research, field recording and co-production for several Afropop Worldwide programs, notably "Ali Farka Toure: Live From Niafunke." Markus records for San Francisco-based Firenze Records. His album "where you wanna be" - original, blues/roots-based songs featuring Mali's Solo Sidibe on kamele n'goni- has recently been getting airplay on numerous public, college, and AAA radio stations around the country, and, he is pleased to hear that his songs are being played on "Cheine Deux", one of Mali's major radio stations. Markus' second Mali-based album, "nightbird", which features Hamma Sankare (calabash player, longtime member of Ali Farka Toure's band), Hassi Sare (njarka violin player with Afel Bocoum's group), Solo Sidibe (kamele n'goni player for wassoulou star Ramata Diakite), and Massamba Diop (tama talking drum virtuoso who has played with Senegalese star Baaba Maal for over 20 years), is due out in February 2002. He was recently in Timbuktu, shooting video footage for several of the songs on "nightbird", and recording tracks for a third album, with Hamma, Hassi, and Solo. A "toubab"--white person--adventuring in Mali, Markus shares his story, photographs, and music with Afropop Worldwide. More info: www.markusjames.afropopshop.org

Note to viewers:
the graphic images in this feature are "animated gifs", which will download several images into each window and then cycle through them like slide shows. For the music links, Markus has included downloads of his most recent recordings from Timbuktu; and the complete version of "child, see the rider", from his forthcoming album "nightbird".

"Sable pur"…."chin-chin" ….the cream-colored sand is smooth, like silk….perfect for drawing the story….

Click here to hear Markus James' "Child, See The Rider"

….In a remote village, in the sand at the edge of the Sahara, a child is pulling water up from a well as an old man, her grandfather, looks on. The grandfather points into the distance and he and the young girl see coming towards them: a rider on a black horse, flying over the dunes, his blue robes and turban flowing behind him….farther away, there is a dust cloud following…..

I'll draw it in the sand….

here is the well…here is the girl, here is the old man…here are the musicians, observing…and from over….here….comes the rider….back over here are his pursuers….four of them, riding hard and gaining on him….

The rider comes galloping up to the well and sand flies as his horse's hooves slide to an abrupt halt with his head pulled back, eyes rolling, saliva dripping from his mouth….the rider's blue turban is drawn across his face, like a mask, and we see only his eyes….he asks the child for water, and she dips a gourd into the bucket she has just filled from the well….the rider looks over his shoulder in the direction of the dustcloud, turns back to the girl and the old man; and as he pulls the turban away from his face to drink from the gourd, we see that he is young…..after drinking and exchanging a few words with the girl and the old man, his horse rears up on his hind legs and they fly away, kicking up the loose sand behind them…..they ride off in….this direction….soon after this, the posse comes riding furiously into the village, past the well, and away on the trail of the rider…..

I watch as Hamma's eyes grow wide; he tells me this is almost exactly a traditional story from this region. His hands trace the lines in the sand: here, the rider goes up and over one, two, three dunes; and here….he touches the marks in the sand that represent the action around the well: the rider drinks once, twice, three times….Hassi, always the quiet one, meets my amazed eyes and nods…When we recover from the realization of the similarity between this song and the Sonrai story, we agree that the crux of it, in both versions, is that it's never clear if the rider has stolen the horse…..

Click to hear excerpts of Markus James' most recent recordings from Timbuktu

I'm in Timbuktu, Mali, drawing this sequence and explaining the scenario to Hamma Sankare and Hassi Sare, two great Sonrai musicians. Hamma virtually defines the calabash, having played with Ali Farka Toure for over a decade, and recorded with other greats from Afel Bocoum and Boubacar Traore to Oumou Sangare. Hassi is a master of the njarka, which, with its reed-like sounds produced by a string made of wound horse hair, is one of the more haunting musical voices on the planet. I recorded an album last summer (2000) in Bamako, Mali with them and with Solo Sidibe, the young Wassoulou kamele n'goni player with whom I had recorded a previous album, "where you wanna be".

Now, a year later, we have come up here to Timbuktu, to record again, and to shoot video footage for some of the songs from last summer. I have managed to fit a studio into my carry-on, and we are living together in a "concession" - a compound at the edge of Timbuktu- on a street of sand, where ancient mud-brick walls surround some compounds, and other dwellings are the temporary, dome-shaped mat tents of the Tomatchek, whose goats and sheep live in their midst during the night, and are herded out to the "brosse," the desert scrub, to graze during the day. The relentless, sauna-like heat, which reaches 45 degrees celcius (over 110 F.), takes some time to adjust to, to become "habitue." At night everyone sleeps outside, on the sand; some nights the earth seems to cool somewhat, others offer no relief, and even the animals complain, with goats vocalizing in what sound eerily like human tones. People here are waiting for "le fraisseur," the change of air when winds from the south will bring some rain.

I have set up "studio du sable" in a nearby compound, in a room with walls three feet thick, one window, and a floor of pure sand, which we've covered with mats. We would be in Danga, Hassi's village 40 km up the river Niger, but in this region, there is electricity only in Timbuktu, and only in some buildings, at that…. Solo is from the South, Hamma is from this region, but Niafunke is some distance from here, so it is Hassi who is our "chef"- chief - here. We all defer to his judgements as we make daily logistical decisions about everything from whether to invest in a fifty pound sack of rice, how we'll find someone to drive us out to a village, when we'll stop recording so he and Hamma can entertain some old friends chez nous. Hassi has led us to Haira Arby, the local chanteuse, who he sometimes records with (here it seems that literally every other song one hears on the radio has Hamma, Hassi, and/or Haira playing on it); and Haira has introduced me to Sayah, the cameraman of Timbuktu, who besides working for Malian television (ORTM), is a great supporter of musicians in the area. Sayah and I have become fast friends, and he's become very enthusiastic about this whole thing: the "toubab" - white man- who has come here from so far away, to record with these great Malian musicians, and who wants to make short films to go with some of the songs he recorded with them last year.

"wanda sobu"
"n'da lafiyah"
we're in Sonrai territory now…..

Thirty km from Timbuktu, nestled between rippled sand dunes on one side and the river Niger on the other, is the village of Toya. We're here looking for horses, riders, and a location with a well, to shoot footage for "child, see the rider," a song I started with Hassi and Solo last summer, and added Massamba Diop's frenetic tama (talking drum) playing to later.

From the moment we pull in to the village, and I see the young Sonrai girls, with their stiff braids pointing in all directions, laughing as they raise water from the well, I feel that this is the place.

We're all here, even Hamma, who doesn't play on the song; and as he is a Sonrai elder, and one of the most entertaining people I've ever been around, he's a welcome and very active participant in the proceedings. Hamma is helping Sayah to tell the story of the song to the "chef du village"- the village chief- a tall, austere man who is still assimilating our arrival out of the blue, and our request to shoot a music video here. As this village has neither electricity, satellite receiver, or television, it takes some explaining; and this is being done admirably, as Hamma draws in the sand, acts out the parts, and Sayah phrases everything in his ultra-formal Sonrai. Hassi, who knows this chief, looks on as we settle onto brightly patterned mats which are produced for us to sit on. The chief, joined now by five elders of the village, along with Hassi, Solo and myself are sitting between two adobe brick-walled buildings in what is left of the morning "bin," a very important Sonrai word meaning shade. Kosso, our young helper, and son of Haira, is masterfully pouring heavily-sugared tea into small, shot-sized glasses, making a one-inch head of foam, to be inhaled by those assembled, starting with the eldest.

Suddenly a man arrives on a black horse, an ancestor of those horses of the Songhai* Empire of the 15th century who, with their human counterparts, ruled a vast area said to extend north as far as to the Mediterranean. He is wearing a brilliant cloak of brightly colored squares, his head and face wrapped in a white turban...his horse rears up high, lurches forward and wheels around; he dismounts and joins us. He is introduced as "Tonton" ("uncle") and Hamma and Hassi will later refer to him as a "true lion of the desert." When he removes the turban from his face, his rough features reveal that he is an elder also. He will be our "chef des chevaux." His horse "Taillor" will be our star, and Tonton, upon hearing the proposal, says that it will take him some time, but he will gather up the other horses and riders that we need. This is no small matter around here: horses are an extravagance, and very rare. The "sorgo" that they eat is expensive, and they are kept out of love for their beauty and symbolism, used for prestige in feasts, and considered friends of the family who owns them. This is the only village in the area that anyone knows of as having horses, and at that, some of them are "en brosse" and it will take a day to get them here to the village.

Now it is time for the chief to speak, and there is a long silence….he speaks slowly, and carefully, allowing Sayah to translate into French ….he says that in their culture, they treat a stranger like a king….whatever he wants, they will try to provide for him….…he understands what we are trying to do and thinks it is good that I have carried this vision here to Toya. They will be happy to help, to let us work in the village, to bring people from the surrounding area with their horses, to let us photograph the village and some of its people for our "histoire." But, since this means that people will not work for that day, in the rice fields, with the animals, fishing in the river, etc., there must be some kind of a price… silence ….When he names his number, I ask Sayah to draw it in the sand….so everyone sees it…so I'm sure I know what he's talking about…. All eyes on me….. I speak a few words at a time, and pause while Sayah translates…..we get a rhythm going….I say that I am very grateful for their generous hospitality, that I have lived with this vision of the rider in blue since I wrote the song, although I never knew if it would come to be; that I love it here; that I can see that Tonton is a real horseman …..I say that I can pay what he asks, plus half that much again….….more silence….my eyes meet Hassi's and he's smiling now, and they all start to applaud. It's rare in this bargaining-based culture to have the chance to actually offer more than what is asked. To seal the deal, I give Taillor some of our sugar, and everyone is "content."

"Action!"

On the day we arrive for the shoot, there are 100 people gathered around, to see what this Toubab and his musician friends are going to do. Tonton, and Taillor, along with four other horses and horsemen, including the young man who will portray the main character who we now refer to as "le voleur" (the thief), are ready: the horses pawing the ground, the riders obviously pleased to be able to show their skills. This is like some kind of fantastic holiday for the village…after a few small adjustments to what the riders are wearing, and getting permission from the mothers of 2 young girls to work the well, we begin shooting, in the sequence that the verses of the song occur…..it's the only way I can think of to proceed, and as we go along, I see that the people are getting into it….the scenes of the horses are fantastic; much better than I could have hoped for, especially given my spur-of-the moment, micro-budget, one-camera approach….Sayah is the master of ceremonies, technician, and artist: shooting from on top of the "quatre-quatre" (four-wheel-drive), down on the sand, hand-held shots, tripod….Kosso following him with an umbrella, to try to keep the camera out of the direct sunlight…. the chief and Hamma keep the swelling number of onlookers out of the frame as the riders streak by…..Hamma is designated as the one to yell "action!" when each take will begin….the whole village erupts into high-pitched whooping sounds as the horses and riders climb the dunes, race through narrow adobe-walled corridors in the village, charge past the well…… Sayah and the chief discuss moving the camera, crowd control, sending someone to run and tell the riders to come back for another take, someone to bring a cloth to put over the young girls after so much sun…..

when we move to the well scenes, the lines between reality and drama blur….Hamma, who is now an official actor portraying the grandfather, starts having actual conversations with the rider and the girl pulling up the water as we do several takes of the rider coming to the well and talking while he drinks…..what started out as pantomime becomes dialog, and the dialog grows with each take, to include greetings and gestures. The story is alive.

We're melting in the sun, at least I am….the leather band inside my hat actually disintegrates in sweat. Between takes we towel off and drink water….the young girls are amused by all this and keep pulling up the water, responding to Hamma's directions, dipping the gourd, offering a handful of water to Taillor….Sayah keeps shooting, the chief posts several young men to keep our corridors clear of passersby, and when we finish the last scenes by the well, when Tonton and his men race past , the whole audience floods into the "set," and starts dancing in a circle around the well, with Hamma in the lead….the boom-box that we've been using to sync to provides the soundtrack and suddenly everyone is here, horses, kids, old folks, dancing to this afro-hoedown sound…..I can't believe it… I keep asking Sayah "are you getting anything?"…..he keeps saying things like "c'est formidable"…..

"who was that masked man?"

2 days later Tonton comes to Timbuktu to visit, and he tells us that everyone is still talking about all this, and that the whole village is very happy, ….
I tel him that when I can make the video from what we shot, I'll try to figure out a way for him to be able to see it…..we go to the market and buy Taillor a special bag of grain….he asks us to take some pictures of him and me together, and of course, covers his face with his turban.

--Markus James

*(Note: Songhai is the historical and offical name; here in Northern Mali, they call themselves either "Sonrai" or "Songhoi," depending on exactly where in the region they are located.)

Author's note: my friends, Sayah, Hamma, Hassi, and Solo were recently reunited at a big musical event in Bamako, and together sent me an email, which condemned the terrorist acts of Sept. 11, and expressed their wishes for peace in the world.

For more info and soundclips, go to: www.markusjames.afropopshop.org

All songs copyright 2001 Livnat/ASCAP