In Praise Of Mud

The head of the local chapter of the Society of Architectural Historians knows that I used to live in a mud house. 

So, I have been asked to give a lecture about mud architecture in West Africa.  In my lecture I will be praising mud.  I will start off with a picture of the grandest mud building in Africa: the Friday Mosque in Djenne, Mali (see photo above). 

The mud house I lived in was not grand.  It was one-story and small, but I was fond of it.

Mud is an excellent building material for the tropics.  It is readily available and inexpensive.  Thick mud walls absorb heat during the tropical day, keeping you cool.  At night, they give off the heat they have trapped, keeping you warm ---- warmth is important for the aged and the infirm.

Ceilings were made by laying straw mats across white palm timbers (the only wood that African termites do not eat).  Then a layer of mud is laid on top of the mats to make a roof.

The enemy of a mud house is rain.  In the tropics, the rainy season only lasts about two months; it may rain every day, but it only rains for a couple of hours.

My roof was protected by metal spouts that stuck out over the courtyard, directing rain water away from the roof and keeping rain water from running down the walls.  For extra security, I had all the exterior walls covered in a semi-waterproof plaster made from crushed locust beans.  It was a lovely shade of dark brown. The plaster was applied with sweeping hand motions, which gave the walls an interesting visual rhythm.

An American house is surrounded by a yard.  My African house was the opposite; it was a courtyard surrounded by a house.  The courtyard had flowers and trees and was pleasant.

A 9-foot-high wall went all around the lot, and each room of the house was placed up against the outside wall.  The rooms had only one door, which opened into the courtyard.  So, if you wanted to go from the living room to the dining room, you had to walk through the courtyard to get to the dining room.  Likewise, to get from the dining room to the bedroom, you could only get there by walking through the courtyard.

Some rooms had windows, which all faced the courtyard

There was one entrance room, the only room with two doors: a door to the street and a door into the courtyard.  There was no doorbell or door knocker.  When someone came to visit me, they would stand at the front door and shout a blessing: “Peace be upon you.”

Then I would welcome them with a blessing in response: “And upon you, peace.”

The visitor would go through the entrance room, and then bend over to go through the door into the courtyard.  This second door was purposely built low, so that the visitor must bow to enter the house.

In the courtyard, the visitor would find peace.  The tall surrounding walls kept the noise and bustle of the outside world at bay; the flowers and trees gave off serenity, the dark hand-plaster lent an air of dignity.  

Yes, it was like finding peace.

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YouTube video of me describing how I came to live in a mud house in West Africa (11 minutes):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jw16p1HQnc8

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com