Picture: from Southern Burkina Faso.
So I've had to do this entry differently than I wanted to due to a conspiracy between God and computers to make this an endlessly frustrating project. I've managed to now fool them I hope by just leaving the pictures first and putting explainations and the story after. This blog entry was sabbotaged by electric blackouts, connection failures, refusals by computers to move pictures, refusals to allow me to sign in, and more. But my personal favorite was when I had it done perfectly in Guinea Bissau , the pictures exactly where I wanted them, ..and the computer refused to allow me to save it. In Portuguese. I got the techie who worked there to help and he was stumped. He got his techie friend. He was stumped. They changed it into English for me and it said what I thought. "The required field must not be left blank." ...Of course there was no required field. This is again just one of those instances I try to explain to my computer savvy friends when I say computers don't work for me. This is why I hate computers, and why I believe in God. God and computers must have a pact...
Picture: Woman in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. I want to do a watercolor painting of part of this picture. Sorry Radek but yup, you're getting cut out of the painting. :)
Picture: Radek, me, Evalina and Michael at the Domes de Fabedougou in Burkina Faso.
Picture: squinting in the sun and trying not to fall off the rock..
Picture: Covered with red dust on dirt roads in Burkina Faso. Radek napping in photo.
Picture: Valid mode of transport in Mali and perhaps better than the bus system. Really I'm not kidding, read the text for more info...
Picture: Kids selling water at roadside in Mali when the bus stops. They scamper up when they see the buses coming.
Picture: Hellish bus ride through Mali. See broken bus in the background?? And some of my Nigerian allies with me in the foreground. We really should have taken the donkey cart..
Pictures: I finally made it to the coast. And didn't step on either of these..
Picture of Cows... Now this here was meant to be at the bottom close the the bit about the "Land of Lots of Milk but the computer just will not have it.. So you'll have to go find that bit for an explaination. It's near the bottom so don't worry you don't have to read the whole thing if you're just curious about this.
Picture: Dr. Fatmatah, .. on the beach.. And again this would work better if I could have formatted it the way I wanted. Explanation is near the bottom tho so all is not lost for those just looking at pics..
xxo. And now my little story for the month of March...
Crossing West Africa.
On March 5th I arrived in Ouagadougou, capital of Burkina Faso. -A busy little place where trucks, taxis and bicycles compete. It's hot, dusty and kind of lacking in tourist attractions. I stayed in a dormitory here. Promised myself after the first night with a group of French hippie posers and later birds clattering around on the roof all night, that I'd leave the next day. But the next day the French group left and a procession of better people, (French and Not French), came to stay over the time I was there. I ended up staying longer than I'd planned by far for this and from this made some friends out of the local people and travelers passing thru. But the first night was not fun. The maps in the Lonely Planet in these parts are wrong, sometimes dreadfully and I got lost on my first evening. Darkness approaching and I'm trying to ask people where the cemetary is... because it's a landmark for me. But people aren't understanding my pronunciation and they don't know the hotel, so I'm trying to ask for 'The big place with dead people'.. in French and of course everyone is thinking they must not be understanding me because why would you want to go to see dead people??
Eventually I found my way home, but not before dark and I'd heard lots of scary things about Ouagadougou at night.. But again, I never saw it. Just heard about it. In Dublin,.. you can see reasons to be scared at night. They're in your face. Same with cities I've lived in in the US. Now maybe I'm just not seeing it, but I honestly haven't seen all the scary people I was warned I would see in West Africa. I've seen them at home so I know what to look for...
I found the right people to bother for all kinds of things here without even trying. A Burkinabe by the name of Julius Caesar (not the dead one) treated me to breakfast when he saw me in a cafe, A Lebanese guy who owned a techie shop copied my photos onto a CD for me for free, Radek from Poland helped me put pictures on my Ghana blog, and another Burkinabe lent us time for free on his personal computer in the back of his dad's internet shop. And Adama, who worked at the hostel, was help with buses and took us to a drumming performance. Local people here were really friendly and generous.
Radek, Evalina and Michael are 3 Polish travelers who were mad enough to go through Guinea at this time, a time of strikes which saw them walking for 4 days because there was no transport, sleeping outside since hotels and shops were closed, and listening to gunfire for background music. This didn't stop them, but when they reached Ouagadougou they all had malaria and that stopped them for a few days. In that time we became friends and I joined their travels for a spell. After so much time with The Malaria Party at the hostel, it was sad to leave all our new friends behind. ..
Crossing West Africa.
On March 5th I arrived in Ouagadougou, capital of Burkina Faso. -A busy little place where trucks, taxis and bicycles compete. It's hot, dusty and kind of lacking in tourist attractions. I stayed in a dormitory here. Promised myself after the first night with a group of French hippie posers and later birds clattering around on the roof all night, that I'd leave the next day. But the next day the French group left and a procession of better people, (French and Not French), came to stay over the time I was there. I ended up staying longer than I'd planned by far for this and from this made some friends out of the local people and travelers passing thru. But the first night was not fun. The maps in the Lonely Planet in these parts are wrong, sometimes dreadfully and I got lost on my first evening. Darkness approaching and I'm trying to ask people where the cemetary is... because it's a landmark for me. But people aren't understanding my pronunciation and they don't know the hotel, so I'm trying to ask for 'The big place with dead people'.. in French and of course everyone is thinking they must not be understanding me because why would you want to go to see dead people??
Eventually I found my way home, but not before dark and I'd heard lots of scary things about Ouagadougou at night.. But again, I never saw it. Just heard about it. In Dublin,.. you can see reasons to be scared at night. They're in your face. Same with cities I've lived in in the US. Now maybe I'm just not seeing it, but I honestly haven't seen all the scary people I was warned I would see in West Africa. I've seen them at home so I know what to look for...
I found the right people to bother for all kinds of things here without even trying. A Burkinabe by the name of Julius Caesar (not the dead one) treated me to breakfast when he saw me in a cafe, A Lebanese guy who owned a techie shop copied my photos onto a CD for me for free, Radek from Poland helped me put pictures on my Ghana blog, and another Burkinabe lent us time for free on his personal computer in the back of his dad's internet shop. And Adama, who worked at the hostel, was help with buses and took us to a drumming performance. Local people here were really friendly and generous.
Radek, Evalina and Michael are 3 Polish travelers who were mad enough to go through Guinea at this time, a time of strikes which saw them walking for 4 days because there was no transport, sleeping outside since hotels and shops were closed, and listening to gunfire for background music. This didn't stop them, but when they reached Ouagadougou they all had malaria and that stopped them for a few days. In that time we became friends and I joined their travels for a spell. After so much time with The Malaria Party at the hostel, it was sad to leave all our new friends behind. ..
The 4 of us went to Bobo Dioulasso first. There, we took at taxi to see 'sacred fish'... huge catfish tended to by a strange rasta who lives amongst a zillion chicken feathers floating around in the woods above the stream. He cooks chicken for the fish who are not so picky and were just as happy with my not so special or sacred crackers.. While there I managed to slip and fall with both feet into the one and only pool of stagnant manky water for miles I'm sure. -which is just great. So if I get bilharzia will they at least be sacred bilharzia???
We went to Banfora after Bobo and took a half day charter taxi to several sites. -Tengrela Lake where we took a boat about 10 meters into the lake since the group of hippos we'd come to see were right there before us complete with a bouncy playful baby play-fighting with it's mom. -Then to beautiful rock formations we could climb and it was actually windy and cool at the top!! -And then to Karfiguele Waterfalls which were beautiful and formed pools we could swim in, but for some reason I have no pictures from here! boo.
Went onward (these lot travel faster than me).. to a couple places in the Southwest of Burkina Faso, Loropeni and Gaoua. This to experience some smaller villages, bounce down dirt roads getting covered with red dust, break down in the vehicle we were in, and for the Poles to have yet another visit to the hospital... In Africa's hot climate small infectioins can run rampant quickly and Michael (for the second time that week) had one. He survives and they are all off to Cote d'Ivoire on schedule as I turn back west. Somehow I've been lucky medically speaking and you never know I could survive this trip unscathed. We shall see..
One bad thing about Gaoua was the Seedy cat who attached himself to us. And his rasta friend. I think he followed us from the bus station to the hospital. I thought he'd come there with Evalina and Michael. They thought he was part of the hospital. I felt like he was dodgy from the get go. It turns out so did they. (The rasta friend is just a follower.) Seedy proceeds to have a perfect place for us to stay he says, a doctor who has the meds Michael needs he says, and a better restaurant than the one we want to go to which he says is actually the one he's shown us, -they've just changed their name. Uh huh. yeah. He proceeds to try to charge five times the price for medicine and not provide what he said he would for the 'place to stay' when evening comes. You meet these types sometimes.... Had we been softer targets I'm sure it would have gotten worse, but we're having none of it as it is and eventually we get what we'd originally agreed upon. My favorite part was where he's telling the boys that "women from Europe are like this, African women are no like this," after Evalina and I threw the final strop and insisted on getting what we'd agreed to pay for or we'd leave. This comment of his did not make me behave any more like a 'good African woman' as anyone who knows me would know. I'd decided what I thought of this leech long before this little showdown.
Sadly, I said goodbye to my little family and headed West from Gaoua as they headed South. It's too hot for me in these parts and I'm in a rush to get to the coast now. So, bus back to Bobo Dioulasso... and then a day off to explore the market and chill out. Tons of people want me to stop and talk. 'Guides' want to take me places. One keeps following me and trying to get me to go to his shop so I make a game of dodging him as this market conveniently has catty corner rows. I can slip into one and he loses me for a bit. Of course he can find me, (Where is the white lady?? Gee I don't know...), but eventually he tires of this and, muttering, goes stomping past the last time he finds me and leaves for good. ha ha.
And bus to Segou, Mali. I didn't notice nearly as many people trying to sell me things or charge me extortionate prices or demanding cadeaus as I did other places in Mali... Because of less tourists? less package tourists? less French tourists?? I don't know. But it's a pleasant surprise. I did notice a bird trapped in a second story room behind a window. I learned the word for 'window' -finette, and for trapped, which I can spell in Korean better than in French so we'll skip it. Went to the guys in the shops downstairs from the bird and appealed for the bird. They of course thought this was hilarious, but promised they'd get the guardian to let it out when he returned at 6pm. I hope so. It's hot. It's even hot for birds.
And bus to Bamako, Mali's capital. March 22nd and I'm still finding sand from the Sahara in my backpack from January.. In Bamako, a Malian guy named Omar attaches himself to me and I never did work out what he was really after. Is he trying to rob me? fall in love with me? help his friends out by bringing them my business? (he knew the guys at the bus company for my journey the next day) show me off? -donno... He shows me a shop his 'friend' owns where there is a music CD I would buy, but not for the first price they say. It's extortionate. I'm back in the Mali I'm familiar with... I leave. Four of them follow me and the price changes back and forth down the road. Nope. I insist on the price I first said. They eventually agree and then tell me they don't have change. I take my bill back and say no deal if no change. So we go to find change, me hanging onto the bill. Omar cracking up in the background saying, 'this woman, ha ha! she is real Africa woman' and takes to calling me Fatmatah. He tells me this is good, comes from the desert, but I am not buying it. I find out in Gambia that this name is given to women and it's the name of Mohammed's son. It means strength sort of. So now I'm confused. Are African women supposed to be strong? or to back down as Seedy said?? Which is it.
And next on a bus to Kayes, Mali near the Senegalese border.. but not... as this goes from being a one day to a THREE day misadventure which saw everyone at their worst as can be expected. It started out nice enough. Omar turns up in the morning to see me off (tell me he loves me, give me a bead and a kola nut, ask me for a souvenir.. -I don't understand!!..) and introduce me to another friend, Alison, who is Burkinabe, a drummer, on the bus with me, and only speaks French. I also meet a group of men who's English is excellent and we have a little chat. Where are you from? Nigeria. Oh dear.. Turns out I'm on a bus with about 8 Nigerian men. And astonishingly they turn out to be my best allies and I theirs. Just goes to show you.
The bus which is meant to leave at 9 sharp (and we've been instructed to turn up at 8 for this), does not leave til 10:05 sharp. That's not so bad, but then we get gas.. and we change a tire.. and then we park 5 kilometers later at the edge of town in a large area of trucks, buses, fumes, people selling things, and other general chaos. At about 11:00 people on the bus start to complain and call, "hey chauffeur!" Seven of the Nigerians are sitting around and next to me and we start to get antsy. The driver and conductor are merely being greedy now and filling stools and jerry cans into the center aisle for extra people to sit on. They're piling more goods onto a groaning roof and we've had enough.. It's freakin hot on this bus. The only windows that open are small ventilation windows at the top, together with the door and the emergency exit windows. I'm sitting at an emergency exit by chance. And at 12pm, I open it. (Everyone please put on "I predict a riot! I predict a riot!" by the Kaiser Chiefs now and we can have a sountrack.)
I'm holding this window open and Nigeria is shouting over and under it for the driver to GET IN. NOW. Now. I'm shouting in English and French. Nigeria is shouting in English and Yoruba. Other people on the bus are shouting in Bambara and French. The conductor rudely tells people to sit down... And Nigeria goes mental... A couple of them get off and are shouting in the driver and conductor's faces saying 'No you sit down! Now! Get in and drive. Now!' The sellers have stopped to stare and snicker. The Entire Bus mutinied. And won. Literally everybody was furious. Under a hail of abuse the driver gets in and we get going. Who knows how long we would have sat there had we not revolted.
Six of the Nigerians have been traveling together for a while and they are funny. Noisy, but funny and picking on one and then the next of each other. All is jovial until a terrible event. This wretched driver, who we don't like already, who has stopped for countless stupid reasons for himself, could not be bothered to stop when a large herd of sheep were crossing the road. I couldn't believe it. We could see them from ages away. We saw the herder try to turn them out of the bus's path. The driver slowed but did not stop, driving straight into the panicked herd and killing at least one of them from the thump heard and the roll felt. He had absolutely no reason to do this. He is just a prick. The Bus.. screams and starts shouting. Obviously the herder would be angry aside from the fact that this is just senseless cruelty. The Nigerians are shouting that some of these people have guns and could come after us on motos. Everyone is insulting the driver. People, myself included, are cursing this driver in about 4 languages. But he doesn't care.
The conductor has dropped off after overselling the bus, but there are 2 mechanics with the driver. I talk to one of them at the next stop and he agrees it was not good, very not good. He's actually quite nice. This mechanic starts to come to me when he wants the Nigerians to know something such as the bus is stopping for lunch, etc. -Is how I wind up translating (at shops as well) for about 8 Nigerians who don't speak French..
At 3:30 am we arrive in Kayes, not at 4pm the previous day as was told. The bus and most of the people are actually continuing on to Dakar, Senegal. The mechanic comes to me at Kayes and says the driver is tired and must sleep a bit. I tell Nigeria and they are not happy, but better to not get into an accident they decide. My things buried on the roof and no place to go at 3:30 am in a dusty town anyway, I find a grain sack and sleep with my head on my precious posessions near Little Nigeria. I figure I will continue on to Kaolack as my intention for stopping in Kayes had simply been to break up the journey.
At 6:30 people are up and at 7 the mechanics are taking the bags off the roof for those who are actually staying here. So obviously for me to get my bag at 3:30 would have been an argument anyway. I tell the mechanic to leave my bag up there, I want to continue on to Kaolack and he agrees. I tell the driver as well, but remember we don't like each other.. He says nothing. I find out at about 8am that there's a ticket booth on the other side of buses. I couldn't see this and no one told me that I should have gone to change my ticket already. Now there are a bunch of people who've bought tickets waiting to load themselves and even more goods onto the roof of the bus...
Nicholas, the Nigerian who's been sitting next to me and myself are explaining what happened to the new conductor. He is telling me I should have bought a new ticket. He's telling me I must wait now. Nicholas is arguing my bag is already buried on the bus. The other Nigerians are arguing with the bus driver. It becomes apparent that the driver is trying to fill the bus and leave me behind. The seats, stools and jerry cans are filling slowly. The roof is being piled higher and higher. People are pushing to get on. Sellers are waving sunglasses and watches in my face. The conductor keeps yelling at Nicholas and I that we should have changed the tickets. Nicholas keeps having to explain he has a ticket. More things on top of the bus. It's hot again now. People are yelling because the bus is late leaving again. Babies cry.
We went to Banfora after Bobo and took a half day charter taxi to several sites. -Tengrela Lake where we took a boat about 10 meters into the lake since the group of hippos we'd come to see were right there before us complete with a bouncy playful baby play-fighting with it's mom. -Then to beautiful rock formations we could climb and it was actually windy and cool at the top!! -And then to Karfiguele Waterfalls which were beautiful and formed pools we could swim in, but for some reason I have no pictures from here! boo.
Went onward (these lot travel faster than me).. to a couple places in the Southwest of Burkina Faso, Loropeni and Gaoua. This to experience some smaller villages, bounce down dirt roads getting covered with red dust, break down in the vehicle we were in, and for the Poles to have yet another visit to the hospital... In Africa's hot climate small infectioins can run rampant quickly and Michael (for the second time that week) had one. He survives and they are all off to Cote d'Ivoire on schedule as I turn back west. Somehow I've been lucky medically speaking and you never know I could survive this trip unscathed. We shall see..
One bad thing about Gaoua was the Seedy cat who attached himself to us. And his rasta friend. I think he followed us from the bus station to the hospital. I thought he'd come there with Evalina and Michael. They thought he was part of the hospital. I felt like he was dodgy from the get go. It turns out so did they. (The rasta friend is just a follower.) Seedy proceeds to have a perfect place for us to stay he says, a doctor who has the meds Michael needs he says, and a better restaurant than the one we want to go to which he says is actually the one he's shown us, -they've just changed their name. Uh huh. yeah. He proceeds to try to charge five times the price for medicine and not provide what he said he would for the 'place to stay' when evening comes. You meet these types sometimes.... Had we been softer targets I'm sure it would have gotten worse, but we're having none of it as it is and eventually we get what we'd originally agreed upon. My favorite part was where he's telling the boys that "women from Europe are like this, African women are no like this," after Evalina and I threw the final strop and insisted on getting what we'd agreed to pay for or we'd leave. This comment of his did not make me behave any more like a 'good African woman' as anyone who knows me would know. I'd decided what I thought of this leech long before this little showdown.
Sadly, I said goodbye to my little family and headed West from Gaoua as they headed South. It's too hot for me in these parts and I'm in a rush to get to the coast now. So, bus back to Bobo Dioulasso... and then a day off to explore the market and chill out. Tons of people want me to stop and talk. 'Guides' want to take me places. One keeps following me and trying to get me to go to his shop so I make a game of dodging him as this market conveniently has catty corner rows. I can slip into one and he loses me for a bit. Of course he can find me, (Where is the white lady?? Gee I don't know...), but eventually he tires of this and, muttering, goes stomping past the last time he finds me and leaves for good. ha ha.
And bus to Segou, Mali. I didn't notice nearly as many people trying to sell me things or charge me extortionate prices or demanding cadeaus as I did other places in Mali... Because of less tourists? less package tourists? less French tourists?? I don't know. But it's a pleasant surprise. I did notice a bird trapped in a second story room behind a window. I learned the word for 'window' -finette, and for trapped, which I can spell in Korean better than in French so we'll skip it. Went to the guys in the shops downstairs from the bird and appealed for the bird. They of course thought this was hilarious, but promised they'd get the guardian to let it out when he returned at 6pm. I hope so. It's hot. It's even hot for birds.
And bus to Bamako, Mali's capital. March 22nd and I'm still finding sand from the Sahara in my backpack from January.. In Bamako, a Malian guy named Omar attaches himself to me and I never did work out what he was really after. Is he trying to rob me? fall in love with me? help his friends out by bringing them my business? (he knew the guys at the bus company for my journey the next day) show me off? -donno... He shows me a shop his 'friend' owns where there is a music CD I would buy, but not for the first price they say. It's extortionate. I'm back in the Mali I'm familiar with... I leave. Four of them follow me and the price changes back and forth down the road. Nope. I insist on the price I first said. They eventually agree and then tell me they don't have change. I take my bill back and say no deal if no change. So we go to find change, me hanging onto the bill. Omar cracking up in the background saying, 'this woman, ha ha! she is real Africa woman' and takes to calling me Fatmatah. He tells me this is good, comes from the desert, but I am not buying it. I find out in Gambia that this name is given to women and it's the name of Mohammed's son. It means strength sort of. So now I'm confused. Are African women supposed to be strong? or to back down as Seedy said?? Which is it.
And next on a bus to Kayes, Mali near the Senegalese border.. but not... as this goes from being a one day to a THREE day misadventure which saw everyone at their worst as can be expected. It started out nice enough. Omar turns up in the morning to see me off (tell me he loves me, give me a bead and a kola nut, ask me for a souvenir.. -I don't understand!!..) and introduce me to another friend, Alison, who is Burkinabe, a drummer, on the bus with me, and only speaks French. I also meet a group of men who's English is excellent and we have a little chat. Where are you from? Nigeria. Oh dear.. Turns out I'm on a bus with about 8 Nigerian men. And astonishingly they turn out to be my best allies and I theirs. Just goes to show you.
The bus which is meant to leave at 9 sharp (and we've been instructed to turn up at 8 for this), does not leave til 10:05 sharp. That's not so bad, but then we get gas.. and we change a tire.. and then we park 5 kilometers later at the edge of town in a large area of trucks, buses, fumes, people selling things, and other general chaos. At about 11:00 people on the bus start to complain and call, "hey chauffeur!" Seven of the Nigerians are sitting around and next to me and we start to get antsy. The driver and conductor are merely being greedy now and filling stools and jerry cans into the center aisle for extra people to sit on. They're piling more goods onto a groaning roof and we've had enough.. It's freakin hot on this bus. The only windows that open are small ventilation windows at the top, together with the door and the emergency exit windows. I'm sitting at an emergency exit by chance. And at 12pm, I open it. (Everyone please put on "I predict a riot! I predict a riot!" by the Kaiser Chiefs now and we can have a sountrack.)
I'm holding this window open and Nigeria is shouting over and under it for the driver to GET IN. NOW. Now. I'm shouting in English and French. Nigeria is shouting in English and Yoruba. Other people on the bus are shouting in Bambara and French. The conductor rudely tells people to sit down... And Nigeria goes mental... A couple of them get off and are shouting in the driver and conductor's faces saying 'No you sit down! Now! Get in and drive. Now!' The sellers have stopped to stare and snicker. The Entire Bus mutinied. And won. Literally everybody was furious. Under a hail of abuse the driver gets in and we get going. Who knows how long we would have sat there had we not revolted.
Six of the Nigerians have been traveling together for a while and they are funny. Noisy, but funny and picking on one and then the next of each other. All is jovial until a terrible event. This wretched driver, who we don't like already, who has stopped for countless stupid reasons for himself, could not be bothered to stop when a large herd of sheep were crossing the road. I couldn't believe it. We could see them from ages away. We saw the herder try to turn them out of the bus's path. The driver slowed but did not stop, driving straight into the panicked herd and killing at least one of them from the thump heard and the roll felt. He had absolutely no reason to do this. He is just a prick. The Bus.. screams and starts shouting. Obviously the herder would be angry aside from the fact that this is just senseless cruelty. The Nigerians are shouting that some of these people have guns and could come after us on motos. Everyone is insulting the driver. People, myself included, are cursing this driver in about 4 languages. But he doesn't care.
The conductor has dropped off after overselling the bus, but there are 2 mechanics with the driver. I talk to one of them at the next stop and he agrees it was not good, very not good. He's actually quite nice. This mechanic starts to come to me when he wants the Nigerians to know something such as the bus is stopping for lunch, etc. -Is how I wind up translating (at shops as well) for about 8 Nigerians who don't speak French..
At 3:30 am we arrive in Kayes, not at 4pm the previous day as was told. The bus and most of the people are actually continuing on to Dakar, Senegal. The mechanic comes to me at Kayes and says the driver is tired and must sleep a bit. I tell Nigeria and they are not happy, but better to not get into an accident they decide. My things buried on the roof and no place to go at 3:30 am in a dusty town anyway, I find a grain sack and sleep with my head on my precious posessions near Little Nigeria. I figure I will continue on to Kaolack as my intention for stopping in Kayes had simply been to break up the journey.
At 6:30 people are up and at 7 the mechanics are taking the bags off the roof for those who are actually staying here. So obviously for me to get my bag at 3:30 would have been an argument anyway. I tell the mechanic to leave my bag up there, I want to continue on to Kaolack and he agrees. I tell the driver as well, but remember we don't like each other.. He says nothing. I find out at about 8am that there's a ticket booth on the other side of buses. I couldn't see this and no one told me that I should have gone to change my ticket already. Now there are a bunch of people who've bought tickets waiting to load themselves and even more goods onto the roof of the bus...
Nicholas, the Nigerian who's been sitting next to me and myself are explaining what happened to the new conductor. He is telling me I should have bought a new ticket. He's telling me I must wait now. Nicholas is arguing my bag is already buried on the bus. The other Nigerians are arguing with the bus driver. It becomes apparent that the driver is trying to fill the bus and leave me behind. The seats, stools and jerry cans are filling slowly. The roof is being piled higher and higher. People are pushing to get on. Sellers are waving sunglasses and watches in my face. The conductor keeps yelling at Nicholas and I that we should have changed the tickets. Nicholas keeps having to explain he has a ticket. More things on top of the bus. It's hot again now. People are yelling because the bus is late leaving again. Babies cry.
I can't describe the chaos of these bus stations. Goats chew on plastic bags in the background. Women in bright colors shout at children. People are going past with buckets of fruit on their heads. Men go past shouting because they're carrying large sacks of coal on their heads. Two women drag a large ram along, one by the rope and horns and one by the tail. He's dropping to his knees in protest. Someone is buying a towel out the window of the bus. People are waving a stand of hair products in my face. Begging children irritate me with, 'tubab, tubab, cadeau' as I wither in the sun. Someone waves sunglasses in my face. It's a trial to remain polite.
In the end it's Nigeria to the rescue. I'm last to be let on the bus, grudgingly. Nicholas and I have to climb on arm rests over people in aisles who are bickering amongst each other as the bus is even more crowded than yesterday. But within this writhing mass of humanity are two glisteningly empty seats.. the ones Nicholas and I sat in yesterday.. because no matter how many times the driver tried to fill them on us, NOBODY was willing to challenge the 6 huge Nigerian guys sat round them saying they were taken. They give a cheer when they see me get on the bus and bust up laughing. They've obviously enjoyed all this confrontation they've been having inside the bus. Hilarious...
The irony. Here I am being helped to escape the Dreadful Transportation Muppets of Mali by Nigerian men. This when I've had to take such drastic measures in the past to escape Nigerian men (the women being not a problem, but the men...) in Seoul. You just can't EVER get out that paintbrush and paint a people one color.
We drive all day. It's incredibly hot. I open the Emergency Exit at every stop and hang myself out of it for some air. I have no hassle with border crossings, constant police checks and bag searches. Not so for the Nigerians. At each police checkpoint they are made to hand over 1000 CFA. (about 1.50 euro). And at the border leaving Mali the guards know it's Saturday and so there's no one to call for help so they try to have them up for 10,000 CFA each (15 euro!) -steep for me! Nigeria throws a fit. They're arguing that they are an ECOWAS nation and should pass for free. They're right of course, but this is corruption Africa style.
An hour goes by. It's getting on 2pm and the bus driver gets antsy. He goes to move forward. The Nigerians see the bus moving from the office and freak out. They're demanding money back if the driver leaves. It's a big scene. The mechanic and Alison come to get me. (We're all outside the bus.) They tell me the driver wants to just move up across the line, he's not leaving. Please tell Nigeria. The Nigerians are coming to me, Chris please tell the driver not to leave, please, we're trying to get them to lower the price. ok ok. I'm back and forth between the driver and the border guards, telling the guards that these guys are nice and have helped me on the bus, please lower the price. They get the price down to 5000 each. Still spendy. And going directly into a pocket.
The road gets worse. More potholes and we go slower. Less air through the bus. It's unbearably hot even when the sun goes away for the day. I'm delirious and Nicholas keeps falling asleep onto my shoulder. This I cannot stand and am violently shrugging him off which sends him flying the other direction. He apologizes, but my patience is gone, worn through yesterday.
Then in the middle of the night, in the middle of the deserted road, the bus pulls over and stops. The mechanic comes to the window to tell me the driver must sleep again. It's 2 or 3 am. Mats come out and I try to sleep on an edge of one but there is a baby crying the whole time. Even it's mother seems to detest it the way she throws it about. I hear it even with earplugs. It doesn't stop it's noise until the bus starts moving the next day. (Then it goes peacefully to sleep and it's all I can do to keep from shaking it awake!)
I worked out it was time to get up just before dawn when the mat I was on was yanked out from under me. Apparently it doubles as a prayer mat...
Day 3 on the bus... The road is awful. The bus and vehicles coming toward it slowly weave a path between potholes using the whole of the road until the last moment when they move to the correct side to pass. At about 10am the shock that was going, goes. The mechanic comes to my window to say they'll try to repair it here. (nowhere). This soon becomes 'we drive to the next town.' We go at a snail's pace with the crippled bus. It's even hotter. I've noticed my shoe feels funny today and looking down find that my left foot and ankle are horribly swollen and my right foot shows signs of following suit. I've seen this on other people, but never on me. I don't like it. We get to a town at about noon.
And wait..
The mechanic says it will take about 30 minutes to weld once they have the tire off when we ask if we should hail other transport. Nicholas used to be a mechanic and he is saying no way a little spot welding will hold the weight of this vehicle and it's overloaded load. He's probably right, but we wait. Kaolack, where I will get off and where Nicholas will change vehicles for Gambia, is only 110 kilometers away. We ask for our bags. They say to wait. We wait more. At 90 minutes Nicholas freaks out and climbs onto the roof to get the bags. The bus is on a jack. The driver and welder are shouting at him. He's shouting back. The other Nigerians are shouting for him to get down and alternately shouting at the driver. Women are shouting to stop bothering with the bags and fix the bus. About 30 people are in the road shouting. Traffic is having to stop. Nicholas has stopped a share van and this vehicle is waiting now.
Me? I'm being good. I want to be on whatever goes first and I'll sit this argument out. I'm staying on the sidelines. Behaving myself. Everyone please note, on March 25, 2007, Chris was good. Occasionally this happens. See?? Thanks.
The mechanic climbs up on the bus. He's shouting at Nicholas to get down. I'm translating to Nicholas that he says he'll get the bags. Nicholas leaves and the mechanic is complaining to me about 'why can't he wait, the bus is almost fixed'. I explain he has to catch the last ferry to Banjul or he'll miss work in the morning. Ok, so he calms down. We get the bags. I'm getting in the taxi van to go with my 'whatever leaves first theory'. The rest of Nigeria gets their bags and then argues about the price with the taxi van. That driver had had enough and leaves them there. Nicholas and I have no idea how the rest of their story unfolded.
The local taxi van stopped constantly to pick up and drop off people eventually arriving in Kaolack at 6:30pm. ...about 58 hours on the bus en tout... I could not wait to get to a hotel room for a shower, some sleep and blessed solitude.
In Kaolack I'm treated to Senegalese hospitality when for some reason I'd been a bit worried about Senegal. I'm invited to people's houses for dinner and tea. I'm given free Fanta, cookies, and breakfast at the local shop. (I gave money for breakfast anyway.) My internet time is discounted. I'm shown things, directed to places, invited to tea in the afternoon with the hotel guards and stopped in the street by 3 teenage girls who just want to tell me they think I'm pretty. People here very sweet, but it's too hot.. I learn later that while I'm in these towns (Kaolack and later Foundiougne) the temperature reaches 41 and 44 degrees celcius. That's 105 and 112 for farenheit ppl out there. I've met my match. I cannot handle extreme heat.
Mohammed, from the Restaurant of Free Breakfasts and Fantas, sent me with a friend of his, also Mohammed to stay a couple days in Foundiougne, where they have a house. They say I can stay for free and just pay a little for food. I can't help being a little wary, but it turned out to be perfectly fine and just what they said. Fresh fish was grilled for me and water was brought in by moto. I took a boat ride through the mangrove swamps, but there were not enough birds this time of year to justify the cost. (Even the birds have left it's so hot??)
I think the combination of extreme heat and The Bus Experience weakened me and I caught a cold. What a miserable experience that was. Headache, sinus pain, sneezing constantly and still the heat. Can't sleep in the afternoon for flies landing on my face. This was not fun. It was a good place I was happy to leave for sheer discomfort. Thankfully it was cool at night.
Getting to Banjul, Gambia proves a hassle. There's a festival this weekend so everyone is leaving for the cities. No transport is left and tons of people wait for some to come back. Mohammed, a friend of his, and myself start walking. Eventually another friend (popular guy this Mohammed) comes by with a car. He and the 4 people within are headed to the border. So I'm in as number 5. They then stop at each village to visit friends. Everyone wants to talk to me, give me palm wine and tea. And it's nice, but it stretches my journey and I have this pesky cold... And it's still hot.. Eventually they got me to the border, carried my bag, helped me through immigration, defended me from the crazy street person who kept trying to touch me, and arranged a rather spendy ride to the ferry -all this whether I wanted it or not.
I raced to the ferry and then in Banjul, it's also a holiday. Half day of work, everything is shut. Streets are blocked with people praying. Hotels are spread out and expensive and taxis want too much to be bopping between them. (Covered with dust and walking down the main tourist strip here -yup there actually IS one as this is a package tourist haven-all the fluffy tourists are sneaking stares at me and my backpacks. I can see them thinking, 'what's this just dragged itself in from the bush?'). Which is funny, but I'm not having fun today...
I meet a guy named Ana and he directs me to a van, then tells me to wait -he has a friend with a room. We sit down for him to call the friend and a guy on my left says 'wait I have a friend with a room.' Both of them on the phone and I say, 'wait I have a friend..' and call Nicholas. I'd intended to stay in a hotel and see Nicholas for drinks even though he'd invited me to stay at his when I got to Banjul. Now here I am and I've had enough for the day what with feeling rough.
Nicholas came to fetch me and he and his fiance Sarian from Sierra Leone proceeded to have me in their house (couchsurfing sans couchsurfers) for a few days and treated me like royalty. Free internet, coca cola for breakfast (my fav in hot climates..), home cooked meals. They were very good to me even with my dirty, vile cold. But also there was all the Shakira, Whitney Houston, spam and my personal favorite -Phil Collins...
In the end it's Nigeria to the rescue. I'm last to be let on the bus, grudgingly. Nicholas and I have to climb on arm rests over people in aisles who are bickering amongst each other as the bus is even more crowded than yesterday. But within this writhing mass of humanity are two glisteningly empty seats.. the ones Nicholas and I sat in yesterday.. because no matter how many times the driver tried to fill them on us, NOBODY was willing to challenge the 6 huge Nigerian guys sat round them saying they were taken. They give a cheer when they see me get on the bus and bust up laughing. They've obviously enjoyed all this confrontation they've been having inside the bus. Hilarious...
The irony. Here I am being helped to escape the Dreadful Transportation Muppets of Mali by Nigerian men. This when I've had to take such drastic measures in the past to escape Nigerian men (the women being not a problem, but the men...) in Seoul. You just can't EVER get out that paintbrush and paint a people one color.
We drive all day. It's incredibly hot. I open the Emergency Exit at every stop and hang myself out of it for some air. I have no hassle with border crossings, constant police checks and bag searches. Not so for the Nigerians. At each police checkpoint they are made to hand over 1000 CFA. (about 1.50 euro). And at the border leaving Mali the guards know it's Saturday and so there's no one to call for help so they try to have them up for 10,000 CFA each (15 euro!) -steep for me! Nigeria throws a fit. They're arguing that they are an ECOWAS nation and should pass for free. They're right of course, but this is corruption Africa style.
An hour goes by. It's getting on 2pm and the bus driver gets antsy. He goes to move forward. The Nigerians see the bus moving from the office and freak out. They're demanding money back if the driver leaves. It's a big scene. The mechanic and Alison come to get me. (We're all outside the bus.) They tell me the driver wants to just move up across the line, he's not leaving. Please tell Nigeria. The Nigerians are coming to me, Chris please tell the driver not to leave, please, we're trying to get them to lower the price. ok ok. I'm back and forth between the driver and the border guards, telling the guards that these guys are nice and have helped me on the bus, please lower the price. They get the price down to 5000 each. Still spendy. And going directly into a pocket.
The road gets worse. More potholes and we go slower. Less air through the bus. It's unbearably hot even when the sun goes away for the day. I'm delirious and Nicholas keeps falling asleep onto my shoulder. This I cannot stand and am violently shrugging him off which sends him flying the other direction. He apologizes, but my patience is gone, worn through yesterday.
Then in the middle of the night, in the middle of the deserted road, the bus pulls over and stops. The mechanic comes to the window to tell me the driver must sleep again. It's 2 or 3 am. Mats come out and I try to sleep on an edge of one but there is a baby crying the whole time. Even it's mother seems to detest it the way she throws it about. I hear it even with earplugs. It doesn't stop it's noise until the bus starts moving the next day. (Then it goes peacefully to sleep and it's all I can do to keep from shaking it awake!)
I worked out it was time to get up just before dawn when the mat I was on was yanked out from under me. Apparently it doubles as a prayer mat...
Day 3 on the bus... The road is awful. The bus and vehicles coming toward it slowly weave a path between potholes using the whole of the road until the last moment when they move to the correct side to pass. At about 10am the shock that was going, goes. The mechanic comes to my window to say they'll try to repair it here. (nowhere). This soon becomes 'we drive to the next town.' We go at a snail's pace with the crippled bus. It's even hotter. I've noticed my shoe feels funny today and looking down find that my left foot and ankle are horribly swollen and my right foot shows signs of following suit. I've seen this on other people, but never on me. I don't like it. We get to a town at about noon.
And wait..
The mechanic says it will take about 30 minutes to weld once they have the tire off when we ask if we should hail other transport. Nicholas used to be a mechanic and he is saying no way a little spot welding will hold the weight of this vehicle and it's overloaded load. He's probably right, but we wait. Kaolack, where I will get off and where Nicholas will change vehicles for Gambia, is only 110 kilometers away. We ask for our bags. They say to wait. We wait more. At 90 minutes Nicholas freaks out and climbs onto the roof to get the bags. The bus is on a jack. The driver and welder are shouting at him. He's shouting back. The other Nigerians are shouting for him to get down and alternately shouting at the driver. Women are shouting to stop bothering with the bags and fix the bus. About 30 people are in the road shouting. Traffic is having to stop. Nicholas has stopped a share van and this vehicle is waiting now.
Me? I'm being good. I want to be on whatever goes first and I'll sit this argument out. I'm staying on the sidelines. Behaving myself. Everyone please note, on March 25, 2007, Chris was good. Occasionally this happens. See?? Thanks.
The mechanic climbs up on the bus. He's shouting at Nicholas to get down. I'm translating to Nicholas that he says he'll get the bags. Nicholas leaves and the mechanic is complaining to me about 'why can't he wait, the bus is almost fixed'. I explain he has to catch the last ferry to Banjul or he'll miss work in the morning. Ok, so he calms down. We get the bags. I'm getting in the taxi van to go with my 'whatever leaves first theory'. The rest of Nigeria gets their bags and then argues about the price with the taxi van. That driver had had enough and leaves them there. Nicholas and I have no idea how the rest of their story unfolded.
The local taxi van stopped constantly to pick up and drop off people eventually arriving in Kaolack at 6:30pm. ...about 58 hours on the bus en tout... I could not wait to get to a hotel room for a shower, some sleep and blessed solitude.
In Kaolack I'm treated to Senegalese hospitality when for some reason I'd been a bit worried about Senegal. I'm invited to people's houses for dinner and tea. I'm given free Fanta, cookies, and breakfast at the local shop. (I gave money for breakfast anyway.) My internet time is discounted. I'm shown things, directed to places, invited to tea in the afternoon with the hotel guards and stopped in the street by 3 teenage girls who just want to tell me they think I'm pretty. People here very sweet, but it's too hot.. I learn later that while I'm in these towns (Kaolack and later Foundiougne) the temperature reaches 41 and 44 degrees celcius. That's 105 and 112 for farenheit ppl out there. I've met my match. I cannot handle extreme heat.
Mohammed, from the Restaurant of Free Breakfasts and Fantas, sent me with a friend of his, also Mohammed to stay a couple days in Foundiougne, where they have a house. They say I can stay for free and just pay a little for food. I can't help being a little wary, but it turned out to be perfectly fine and just what they said. Fresh fish was grilled for me and water was brought in by moto. I took a boat ride through the mangrove swamps, but there were not enough birds this time of year to justify the cost. (Even the birds have left it's so hot??)
I think the combination of extreme heat and The Bus Experience weakened me and I caught a cold. What a miserable experience that was. Headache, sinus pain, sneezing constantly and still the heat. Can't sleep in the afternoon for flies landing on my face. This was not fun. It was a good place I was happy to leave for sheer discomfort. Thankfully it was cool at night.
Getting to Banjul, Gambia proves a hassle. There's a festival this weekend so everyone is leaving for the cities. No transport is left and tons of people wait for some to come back. Mohammed, a friend of his, and myself start walking. Eventually another friend (popular guy this Mohammed) comes by with a car. He and the 4 people within are headed to the border. So I'm in as number 5. They then stop at each village to visit friends. Everyone wants to talk to me, give me palm wine and tea. And it's nice, but it stretches my journey and I have this pesky cold... And it's still hot.. Eventually they got me to the border, carried my bag, helped me through immigration, defended me from the crazy street person who kept trying to touch me, and arranged a rather spendy ride to the ferry -all this whether I wanted it or not.
I raced to the ferry and then in Banjul, it's also a holiday. Half day of work, everything is shut. Streets are blocked with people praying. Hotels are spread out and expensive and taxis want too much to be bopping between them. (Covered with dust and walking down the main tourist strip here -yup there actually IS one as this is a package tourist haven-all the fluffy tourists are sneaking stares at me and my backpacks. I can see them thinking, 'what's this just dragged itself in from the bush?'). Which is funny, but I'm not having fun today...
I meet a guy named Ana and he directs me to a van, then tells me to wait -he has a friend with a room. We sit down for him to call the friend and a guy on my left says 'wait I have a friend with a room.' Both of them on the phone and I say, 'wait I have a friend..' and call Nicholas. I'd intended to stay in a hotel and see Nicholas for drinks even though he'd invited me to stay at his when I got to Banjul. Now here I am and I've had enough for the day what with feeling rough.
Nicholas came to fetch me and he and his fiance Sarian from Sierra Leone proceeded to have me in their house (couchsurfing sans couchsurfers) for a few days and treated me like royalty. Free internet, coca cola for breakfast (my fav in hot climates..), home cooked meals. They were very good to me even with my dirty, vile cold. But also there was all the Shakira, Whitney Houston, spam and my personal favorite -Phil Collins...
Different strokes...
My original plan (well once I made one) was to go North through Mauritania and Western Sahara, to Morocco and from there fly to London, then Dublin. But Eastern Senegal taught me that 50 degree plus heat, as it would be this time of year.. is not for me. I've learned to be pragmatic v/s dogmatic in traveling. I'll cross that desert another time. Too much heat is simply not any fun... So I came here to Banjul and luckily found, -a cheap flight from Dakar to London. And because I've changed plans I can now go south to Guinea Bissau before I head north to fly back to Europe.
It's cool at night in Banjul and Serekunda, the satellite city Nicholas lives in, and this is what saves me. I was almost ready to throw in the towel somewhere in this last couple of weeks. People here are incredible as well. I can't go anywhere without being invited for a chat or a tea. This is an English speaking country so it's easier to talk to people as well. At one point I've sat down with 5 men for a street side tea and a woman of about 45 marches up to me. She shakes my hand, introduces herself, asks my name, country, why I'm here. And then asks, "So where is your husband? Which man is your husband?" "Me. Me! ME! me. Me!" chirp all 5 men. She laughs, welcomes me to her country and strolls off. The men tell me she's a little bit crazy when she leaves, but I don't think so. I saw strength, intelligence and independence in her. I'd liked her immediately. Perhaps she just doesn't take any crap from anyone and this scares them. At another place where I've been invited to sit for a chat with 2 men and a baby, one of them says, "hmm. Ireland. Lots of milk." (Absolutely fantastic! Must tell the Irish tourist board!) I desperately try not to laugh as I say, "Ahm, yes. There are lots of cows."
At the start of April I'm off to Kafountine in the Casamance, (Southern), region of Senegal. Gambian border police stamp me out, but the Senegalese never stamp me in... because the driver took back roads after the first border post to avoid pesky police check points. So I arrive illegally in the evening. I took a big well needed 4 day break from Africa whilst here,- illegally. I stayed at a somewhat posh hotel and enjoyed solitude, beach, birdwatching, reading, ..recovering. And it was gloriously NOT HOT. The staff were great and treated me to a coctail of hibiscus flowers and fruit from the Baobab tree. Even in the sun it was possible to go on a walk with a retired Dutch couple I met. There was a comfy hammock to read in and a perfect beach to start running again on. I immensely enjoyed my vacation amidst my vacation here. It was actually COLD at night. I loved it. (I did have to share my bungalow with a spider who was pet sized though. I thought I would take him out in a glass, but he was too big. I would have chopped his legs off at the knee. Pet sized I say. Gah!)
Back to Africa... sort of.. I got a ride to the village with the Dutch couple in their spaceship, -a Mercedes Junimoch (The vehicle everyone at the hotel was talking about..) I expected a long day of transferring from one vehicle to the next, waiting and battling with border guards for a stamp I should have gotten 4 days prior. I'm illegal here. And so.. I arrive at the first bus station and I'm rushed into a car. Ok. Off we go. At the next bus station I have just gone to the restroom and return to find people looking for me and hurry hurry, I'm rushed into a waiting van. Ok. Off we go.
I get to the border and walk to the window with a big fat smile... and explain my problem. I still don't know if the guy is going to ask for a bribe (fine) or not while he is writing my name in his book. He asks my profession. I say 'hotel manager'. He hesitates. I say, 'hotel..' and he cuts me off, "oh!" and writes 'Doctor'. Well... I see no reason to correct him because he's probably less likely to ask for a bribe from a doctor because there's no telling how I'm connected if I'm a doctor now is there.. Sure enough I'm sent off with "Ok madame. The problem is finished! No problem. Thank you!" and big smiles... Ok. I smile back. Cheers mate, Thanks heaps.. :)
I'm rushed back onto the van and sent scurrying into another van headed back South again, but which will continue to Ziguinchor, my next destination. Hurry hurry! Get in! I'm last in a crowded bus that 8 guys are waiting to push start. I'm arguing about the price and they are arguing back and laughing saying it is already discounted!! I don't know because I haven't had time to look up the price, I just figure they're charging extra as usual. It seems cheap, but I've had no time, it's been hurry hurry rush rush all day. Slow down People! It's Africa for cryin' out loud!!
And then it's Back To Africa for real -complete with a push start. The bus stops and starts to pick up and drop off and deal with police checks and bag searches and here we go again. But I feel refreshed after my stay at Kafountine!
My original plan (well once I made one) was to go North through Mauritania and Western Sahara, to Morocco and from there fly to London, then Dublin. But Eastern Senegal taught me that 50 degree plus heat, as it would be this time of year.. is not for me. I've learned to be pragmatic v/s dogmatic in traveling. I'll cross that desert another time. Too much heat is simply not any fun... So I came here to Banjul and luckily found, -a cheap flight from Dakar to London. And because I've changed plans I can now go south to Guinea Bissau before I head north to fly back to Europe.
It's cool at night in Banjul and Serekunda, the satellite city Nicholas lives in, and this is what saves me. I was almost ready to throw in the towel somewhere in this last couple of weeks. People here are incredible as well. I can't go anywhere without being invited for a chat or a tea. This is an English speaking country so it's easier to talk to people as well. At one point I've sat down with 5 men for a street side tea and a woman of about 45 marches up to me. She shakes my hand, introduces herself, asks my name, country, why I'm here. And then asks, "So where is your husband? Which man is your husband?" "Me. Me! ME! me. Me!" chirp all 5 men. She laughs, welcomes me to her country and strolls off. The men tell me she's a little bit crazy when she leaves, but I don't think so. I saw strength, intelligence and independence in her. I'd liked her immediately. Perhaps she just doesn't take any crap from anyone and this scares them. At another place where I've been invited to sit for a chat with 2 men and a baby, one of them says, "hmm. Ireland. Lots of milk." (Absolutely fantastic! Must tell the Irish tourist board!) I desperately try not to laugh as I say, "Ahm, yes. There are lots of cows."
At the start of April I'm off to Kafountine in the Casamance, (Southern), region of Senegal. Gambian border police stamp me out, but the Senegalese never stamp me in... because the driver took back roads after the first border post to avoid pesky police check points. So I arrive illegally in the evening. I took a big well needed 4 day break from Africa whilst here,- illegally. I stayed at a somewhat posh hotel and enjoyed solitude, beach, birdwatching, reading, ..recovering. And it was gloriously NOT HOT. The staff were great and treated me to a coctail of hibiscus flowers and fruit from the Baobab tree. Even in the sun it was possible to go on a walk with a retired Dutch couple I met. There was a comfy hammock to read in and a perfect beach to start running again on. I immensely enjoyed my vacation amidst my vacation here. It was actually COLD at night. I loved it. (I did have to share my bungalow with a spider who was pet sized though. I thought I would take him out in a glass, but he was too big. I would have chopped his legs off at the knee. Pet sized I say. Gah!)
Back to Africa... sort of.. I got a ride to the village with the Dutch couple in their spaceship, -a Mercedes Junimoch (The vehicle everyone at the hotel was talking about..) I expected a long day of transferring from one vehicle to the next, waiting and battling with border guards for a stamp I should have gotten 4 days prior. I'm illegal here. And so.. I arrive at the first bus station and I'm rushed into a car. Ok. Off we go. At the next bus station I have just gone to the restroom and return to find people looking for me and hurry hurry, I'm rushed into a waiting van. Ok. Off we go.
I get to the border and walk to the window with a big fat smile... and explain my problem. I still don't know if the guy is going to ask for a bribe (fine) or not while he is writing my name in his book. He asks my profession. I say 'hotel manager'. He hesitates. I say, 'hotel..' and he cuts me off, "oh!" and writes 'Doctor'. Well... I see no reason to correct him because he's probably less likely to ask for a bribe from a doctor because there's no telling how I'm connected if I'm a doctor now is there.. Sure enough I'm sent off with "Ok madame. The problem is finished! No problem. Thank you!" and big smiles... Ok. I smile back. Cheers mate, Thanks heaps.. :)
I'm rushed back onto the van and sent scurrying into another van headed back South again, but which will continue to Ziguinchor, my next destination. Hurry hurry! Get in! I'm last in a crowded bus that 8 guys are waiting to push start. I'm arguing about the price and they are arguing back and laughing saying it is already discounted!! I don't know because I haven't had time to look up the price, I just figure they're charging extra as usual. It seems cheap, but I've had no time, it's been hurry hurry rush rush all day. Slow down People! It's Africa for cryin' out loud!!
And then it's Back To Africa for real -complete with a push start. The bus stops and starts to pick up and drop off and deal with police checks and bag searches and here we go again. But I feel refreshed after my stay at Kafountine!
Signing off,
Dr. Fatmatah.. from Ireland -Land of Lots of Milk.
Dr. Fatmatah.. from Ireland -Land of Lots of Milk.
ps. this was where the last two photos were supposed to be..
