We left the dock in Mopti at about 10.30pm on Thursday night, and hit the hay pretty soon afterwards: who knew watching men load a ferry for three hours could be so tiring. Let me just explain a bit about the ferry. There are three main ferries that the COMANAV company have going from just outside Bamako, travelling all the way along the Niger to Gao, in far east Mali. The whole journey takes about a week, but probably more, and depends on the height of the river - during the dry season services are drastically minimised.
The cabin did not have enough space to swing a cat, but was fine for its use - sleep. There were two bunk beds and enough space to put our bags down in. That was the two main things for us: that we had somewhere to sleep in, with some degree of comfort, and also that we could lock our bags and valuables. That said, the lock did cause us a few problems - mainly Dree.
The Kankou Moussa was not as big as we'd expected, and did not have as many passengers as we'd thought. Probably only 15 or 20 tourists and about ten Malians. The dining room was in the heart of the ship on the third out of four floors (including the roof), and was where we spent quite a bit of time reading, playing cards and the inevitable dining. The meals, to put it nicely, were basic. Usually rice, although we did have spaghetti and potatoes on two occasions, with a tiny piece of meat (bony goat), they were enough to fill you up and keep you alive, but were incredibly bland and boring. I have no idea what we were expecting - haute cuisine?! Saying that, breakfast comprised of half a bit of bread and some warm milk.
The front of the ship was an interesting point, not just because of the view, but because there were twenty goats and two horses cramped in the front. They must have been in the front (bow - bit of nautical terminology coming out of the woodwork now) for quite a while, as they weren't loaded when we got on in Mopti! The roof was pretty blustery once we were out in the Niger Delta (a vast maze of narrow waterways and wide lakes that is inbetween Mopti and Timbuktu), but it was cool to sit up top in the sun, reading or watching the world go by. Very slowly.
The route through the Delta was painfully slow at times, especially when we got grounded in the shallow reeds trying to follow the river's path, but yielded amazing views. The Delta is almost completely flat, bar one or two hills in the distance, and to begin with was just green reeds and grass for as far as the eye could see. Every now and again there would be a pirogue or fishing boat pass us, but apart from that we were alone on the river; the only sound being the soft chugging of the engine. Then, as the journey progressed, we saw small villages spring up at the riverside, sometimes on sand bars, with picturesque mud huts lining the river. They were few and far between but there were always children waving and shouting faintly into the wind "Tuoab......tuoab....".
Then the next morning we woke up to see nothing but water out of our cabin. We were crossing Lac Debo, a huge expanse of the river, over 30km wide but still not very deep. You could barely see land on the horizon. There were occasional strips of reed, blowing in the strong wind, or a few birds flying past, but apart from that we were alone in the middle of nowhere. A pretty cool experience.
Most of our time was spent playing cards or reading. The latter was Homer's 'The Illiad', an epic tale about Achilles, Odysseus and co, fighting for Troy, the former involved huge games of 500 (a variation on Gin Rummy), Uno or playing Yahtzee with dice. We also tried to play Cheat, which ended in hilarity as Tilly just couldn't cheat at all, bless her! Bit of a downside to the trip now - I had the beginnings of a fever and stomach cramps for most of one day, but after a couple of Nuroflaxen I was right as rain. That stuff truly is a wonder drug - worringly, however, that we cannot get it without prescription in the UK....
There were a few stops along the way, where various stuff (for want of a better general word) was taken on or off the ferry. The first stop was near a village after Lac Debo, where villagers in pirogues came up to the boat to peddle their wares. It was pretty chaotic on the bottom floor - women shouting to other women in the boats, trading chillis, dried fish, dough balls, even chickens. The second stop was an early morning wake up call for us all:
Being awoken by the sound of crashing whilst on a boat is a little bit disconcerting, if not horrifically worrying. Clambering out of our cabin in the pre-dawn light, we came face to face with the Kankou Moussa's sister ship - the General Tamboussa - that had docked next to us. Noisily and heavily. And with a worrying fuel tank cum barge strapped to it's side! Shouts and greetings were exchanged ship-to-ship, and passengers swapped along with goats. With no real clue as to what was going on, we watched in amazement until we pushed off from the other ferry and continued on our way downriver. Somehow in all the confusion, the two horses tied in the bow had made it across to the General Tamboussa without our noticing. Magic!
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
The arrival of the Kankou Moussa
After a few days maxin' and relaxin' in the Mission (and a good dose of Nurfloxen), we were all ready for the three-day boat trip up the river Niger to Timbuktu. We arrived at 9am on Thursday to get assigned our cabin and were told that the COMANAV ferry would be a little late. After a long, long breakfast at the Bissap Cafè, where the bissap was 500 CFA and not fantastic, whereas there was a girl selling bissap in bags outside for 25 CFA and it was great, we left Barney to sleep off the tail-end of his illness in the office and went for a wander. We followed the river north and ended up going to a hotel we were planning on going to before the illness, mainly because it had a pool. After seeing said pool, and feeling a little sad, we sat down with a Pamplemousse (grapefruit drink) each and tried playing an African tribal game, solewhat like checkers. Kez thought she knew the rules from a game on her old mobile, and we kind of figured it out.
After seeing another sunset over the river, we bought toilet roll and water - expecting neither on the ferry - and headed back to the office. Barney had got chatting to a couple of other people who were awaiting the arrival of the Kankou Moussa (largest of the COMANAV ferry fleet) and our home for the next three days.
Sam was originally from St Albans and was working for 14 months in Ghana for an education programme. He had bought a motorbike and decided to dirve back through West Africa on the way home for Christmas. Mathilda (Tilly) was a Swedish, blonde 20 year old who had lived in America for a couple of years and had picked up a Southern drawl ("Y'all", "Po-lise" etc). They had met at the hotel and decided it would be cheaper to share a room (sorry, cabin) on the ferry.
On board the ferries, there are five classes - luxè, 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th. For two nights and three days' accomodation, we had chosen a four-person berth for 36000 CFA each (about £50 each). Sam and Mathilda had gone for 1st class. The cheapest alternative was 4th class, which basically meant sleeping on the bottom floor of the boat, where you had to find a space and had nowhere to keep any belongings. This is where a lot of the Malian's stayed, and there were even some women cooking there. There were some German (possibly) bird watchers who had set up camp on the roof for the same price as 4th class (5500 CFA - £8). We debated doing 4th class, but you didnt have any bed, anywhere to put anything and had no meals. A cabin it was!
The Kankou Moussa came into view about 8pm and circled round to the dock. We got on and found our cabin, before standing on the sides, watching the loading of various things from the shore - amongst them about 40 metric tonnes of cement; 800 bags at 50kg each - if the maths is wrong, blame Kez, she has done some building work don't-cha-know! Standing in the dark, watching the cement and other products getting loaded on, we met Andrè and Ruth - a couple from South Africa on a two week tour of Mali. The ferry took a few hours to load up, putting fuel in and finally loading Sam's incredibly heavby bike on board - Sam checking it had been secured properly a few times!
After seeing another sunset over the river, we bought toilet roll and water - expecting neither on the ferry - and headed back to the office. Barney had got chatting to a couple of other people who were awaiting the arrival of the Kankou Moussa (largest of the COMANAV ferry fleet) and our home for the next three days.
Sam was originally from St Albans and was working for 14 months in Ghana for an education programme. He had bought a motorbike and decided to dirve back through West Africa on the way home for Christmas. Mathilda (Tilly) was a Swedish, blonde 20 year old who had lived in America for a couple of years and had picked up a Southern drawl ("Y'all", "Po-lise" etc). They had met at the hotel and decided it would be cheaper to share a room (sorry, cabin) on the ferry.
On board the ferries, there are five classes - luxè, 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th. For two nights and three days' accomodation, we had chosen a four-person berth for 36000 CFA each (about £50 each). Sam and Mathilda had gone for 1st class. The cheapest alternative was 4th class, which basically meant sleeping on the bottom floor of the boat, where you had to find a space and had nowhere to keep any belongings. This is where a lot of the Malian's stayed, and there were even some women cooking there. There were some German (possibly) bird watchers who had set up camp on the roof for the same price as 4th class (5500 CFA - £8). We debated doing 4th class, but you didnt have any bed, anywhere to put anything and had no meals. A cabin it was!
The Kankou Moussa came into view about 8pm and circled round to the dock. We got on and found our cabin, before standing on the sides, watching the loading of various things from the shore - amongst them about 40 metric tonnes of cement; 800 bags at 50kg each - if the maths is wrong, blame Kez, she has done some building work don't-cha-know! Standing in the dark, watching the cement and other products getting loaded on, we met Andrè and Ruth - a couple from South Africa on a two week tour of Mali. The ferry took a few hours to load up, putting fuel in and finally loading Sam's incredibly heavby bike on board - Sam checking it had been secured properly a few times!
Ousmane
During one walk around Mopti, towards the mosque in the residential corner of town, me and Barney met a young guy called Ousmane. He didn't try and sell us anything and didn't offer to show us around, he just talked. After a while he did mention that he ran a children's association to try and get more young kids educated. Normally I would steer clear of things like this because they usually turn out to be scams for money. But we had a day to kill in Mopti, and Ousmane seemed different to the other touts.
We took a walk through the Komoguel district to his house (small shack with a canopy over the front) and chatted about what his association comprised of, in very good English. Ousmane apparently grew up in Morrocco, his father was a marabout (Islamic healer), but he moved to Mopti when he was 11 years old after his parents divorced. That's why he speaks good English and French. He showed us photos of his family and friends that have passed through Mopti. Ousmane has a lot of different jobs, including working in a tourist shop selling jewelry, working for this foundation (more to follow), playing the Malian drums, rapping, owning a pirogue and doing tour trips of the Niger Delta and Dogon Country. But he never asked us if we wanted to go and take a tour, or never mentioned anything more about them, apart from that was his profession in the tourist season.
The Dianfa Maye Association (roughly translating to 'No Corruption') has been going for about eight months, and was set up by Ousmane and his friends to try and promote education in the very poor residential area of Komoguel. His friends all do this aside from their other jobs. There is one other guy who is trying to help out - an American called Herbert. He is coming back to visit Ousmane in January. We were shown some official looking paperwork and stamps with the association's name all over it, and Ousmane could talk in some detail about the project.
Komoguel is a very poor district, with open sewers and families squeezing into small rooms - Ousmane shares his small courtyard with three other families for cooking and cleaning etc. The school takes place in this area, or up on the roof where there is a bit more open space. Herbert's money when he first came to Mopti paid for some building work next to Ousmane's house. This is eventually going to be turned into a school room, but when we were there, we only saw a half finished project, with a few tables and chairs and a blackboard.
The Association pays for two teachers to teach the children French and maths in two groups. Forty thousand CFA (about £40) apparently pays for two teachers to teach thirty five children on Saturday and Sunday on two weekends. This also includes food and drink for the kids. The children's families are two poor to afford schooling and this association may be the beginning of a marvelous idea to really help these kids get a foot up in life. Or it may be a long con. I am really not sure what to think. I shall try and get in touch with him to confirm the validity of the project, but these things have to start somewhere...
The following day I arranged to meet Ousmane again and we would go and meet one of the teachers. Unfortunately Barney was ill, but Kez accompanied me. We sat at Ousmane's and took a long tea (all three of the pourings...) and discussed everything, from the Mayor not helping out with the project to Ousmane's life back in Morrocco. Afterwards we took a walk around the neighbourhood and met one of the teachers, who was roused from his sick bed to meet us. I explained, in broken French, that I am in contact with an association called the Rotary Club in the UK, that may be able to help.
There is a lot more to explain, but I think I shall wait until I'm back and have checked a few more things out. I am unsure; I dont want to be taken for a ride, but this could be the beginning of something worthwhile. I talked a lot with Kez about it, but we can see the argument both ways.
Anyways, on with the blog - I'll let you know how it all goes!
We took a walk through the Komoguel district to his house (small shack with a canopy over the front) and chatted about what his association comprised of, in very good English. Ousmane apparently grew up in Morrocco, his father was a marabout (Islamic healer), but he moved to Mopti when he was 11 years old after his parents divorced. That's why he speaks good English and French. He showed us photos of his family and friends that have passed through Mopti. Ousmane has a lot of different jobs, including working in a tourist shop selling jewelry, working for this foundation (more to follow), playing the Malian drums, rapping, owning a pirogue and doing tour trips of the Niger Delta and Dogon Country. But he never asked us if we wanted to go and take a tour, or never mentioned anything more about them, apart from that was his profession in the tourist season.
The Dianfa Maye Association (roughly translating to 'No Corruption') has been going for about eight months, and was set up by Ousmane and his friends to try and promote education in the very poor residential area of Komoguel. His friends all do this aside from their other jobs. There is one other guy who is trying to help out - an American called Herbert. He is coming back to visit Ousmane in January. We were shown some official looking paperwork and stamps with the association's name all over it, and Ousmane could talk in some detail about the project.
Komoguel is a very poor district, with open sewers and families squeezing into small rooms - Ousmane shares his small courtyard with three other families for cooking and cleaning etc. The school takes place in this area, or up on the roof where there is a bit more open space. Herbert's money when he first came to Mopti paid for some building work next to Ousmane's house. This is eventually going to be turned into a school room, but when we were there, we only saw a half finished project, with a few tables and chairs and a blackboard.
The Association pays for two teachers to teach the children French and maths in two groups. Forty thousand CFA (about £40) apparently pays for two teachers to teach thirty five children on Saturday and Sunday on two weekends. This also includes food and drink for the kids. The children's families are two poor to afford schooling and this association may be the beginning of a marvelous idea to really help these kids get a foot up in life. Or it may be a long con. I am really not sure what to think. I shall try and get in touch with him to confirm the validity of the project, but these things have to start somewhere...
The following day I arranged to meet Ousmane again and we would go and meet one of the teachers. Unfortunately Barney was ill, but Kez accompanied me. We sat at Ousmane's and took a long tea (all three of the pourings...) and discussed everything, from the Mayor not helping out with the project to Ousmane's life back in Morrocco. Afterwards we took a walk around the neighbourhood and met one of the teachers, who was roused from his sick bed to meet us. I explained, in broken French, that I am in contact with an association called the Rotary Club in the UK, that may be able to help.
There is a lot more to explain, but I think I shall wait until I'm back and have checked a few more things out. I am unsure; I dont want to be taken for a ride, but this could be the beginning of something worthwhile. I talked a lot with Kez about it, but we can see the argument both ways.
Anyways, on with the blog - I'll let you know how it all goes!
Illness in Mopti
We left Djennè the next morning in a sept-place (cramped neuf-place), and arrived in Mopti a few hours later. Mopti has taken over from Djennè as the commercial capital of central Mali, probably because it is situated right on the banks of the River Bani, a few hundred metres from where it joins the River Niger north towards Timbuktu. Just down from where we stayed at the Catholic Mission (loving the nuns) there were rows of pinasses, giant wooden canoes, that were unloading salt, food, goats and all sorts of other random things onto the port. Not sure what happened to a lot of it, but hundreds of the goats got bagged up, with only their heads showing, and put onto/into coaches - in the hold and on the roof...
On another point, if we thought hassle in Djennè was bad, Mopti was far worse. Dozens of tour guides for the Dogon Country, pirogue owners who want to do a day trip for extortionate amounts, fake nomad tribesmen selling tat 'from the desert', and all the other usual gumph (gumf? not really sure on that one). Unfortunately for us we all got ill at somepoint in Mopti, but on the plus side did find a wonderdrug called Nurfloxan, or something to that effect. It is in the guide book as something to treat the renowned "traveller's diarreah", but also is amazing at combating cramps, sickness and fevers. A veritable wonder drug.
Anyway, back to the Mission. In our guidebook (Bradt's, which although do pack in a lot of information have stupid maps) the Mission was still being refurbiushed. Little did we know, but we would be the first people to stay there. When the nun showed us the (very cheap) rooms, she had to take the plastic off the bed covers! It was probably one of the nicest places we have, and will be, staying in - toilet and shower en suite, double bed, table, chair, mozzie net, fan, AIR CON! All for just 5000 CFA each (about £8), which was quite good, as we spent most of our time in Mopti in there!
Apart from a few gorgeous sunsets over the river, there's not too much more to tell about Mopti. We had to buy the ticket for the river ferry downstream the Niger to Timbuktu, but were told the next boat was on Thursday (we had arrived on Sunday). So all in all, not the worst place for to all get sick.
We did try and find a place called Ashraf Voyages (in the guide), where we could have rented bikes to go on a bit of an adventure, but neither they or anywhere else had the availability for renting. There was one strange meeting, but I think that warrants a whole blog of its own.
On another point, if we thought hassle in Djennè was bad, Mopti was far worse. Dozens of tour guides for the Dogon Country, pirogue owners who want to do a day trip for extortionate amounts, fake nomad tribesmen selling tat 'from the desert', and all the other usual gumph (gumf? not really sure on that one). Unfortunately for us we all got ill at somepoint in Mopti, but on the plus side did find a wonderdrug called Nurfloxan, or something to that effect. It is in the guide book as something to treat the renowned "traveller's diarreah", but also is amazing at combating cramps, sickness and fevers. A veritable wonder drug.
Anyway, back to the Mission. In our guidebook (Bradt's, which although do pack in a lot of information have stupid maps) the Mission was still being refurbiushed. Little did we know, but we would be the first people to stay there. When the nun showed us the (very cheap) rooms, she had to take the plastic off the bed covers! It was probably one of the nicest places we have, and will be, staying in - toilet and shower en suite, double bed, table, chair, mozzie net, fan, AIR CON! All for just 5000 CFA each (about £8), which was quite good, as we spent most of our time in Mopti in there!
Apart from a few gorgeous sunsets over the river, there's not too much more to tell about Mopti. We had to buy the ticket for the river ferry downstream the Niger to Timbuktu, but were told the next boat was on Thursday (we had arrived on Sunday). So all in all, not the worst place for to all get sick.
We did try and find a place called Ashraf Voyages (in the guide), where we could have rented bikes to go on a bit of an adventure, but neither they or anywhere else had the availability for renting. There was one strange meeting, but I think that warrants a whole blog of its own.
Senossa continued
As we got off the boat on the other side, some naked children ran up to us, some with potbellies and protruding belly buttons like hernias, and ushered us ashore. Had help from the bike-riding guy who spoke French and were taken to see the village chief to ask permission to look around. He was chilling out in the shade of quite a new building by the shore, but seemed happy to see us. He gave his permission and we thanked him profusely. Then some other man ran over to us, asking us to pay a tourist tax. After explaining that we'd already asked the chief (as well as a wink and smile from our friend from the boat), we told him we wouldn't be paying.
The man with the bike headed off, after we thanked him a lot, and we were escorted by dozens of children into the depths of the village, like the Pied Piper! The village had houses much like Djennè, with a similar mud architecture, but without any of the modern trappings. It was amazing to see this all by ourselves, without a guide, and without any put-on dances or 'traditional' events. This was just a normal day for the villagers and we saw all the usual things - women pounding millet (a cereal), washing, goats being taken to the river to drink and children running through the narrow lanes between houses.
However, these kids still shouted "Tuoab" and "Cadeau" (present) and were very annoying in the end. We walked around for about an hour in the sweltering heat, pausing for shade beside the mud walls. A few of the older children tried to be our tour guides for some money but we just wanted to wander around ourselves. There wasn't anyway this would happen, and so after seeing a couple of mud mosques, like Djennè but smaller, we played with some of the kids. Kez instigated it all (she loves the children!) and we did all the songs you do at school - Okey Cokey etc - and something called "The Penguin Dance"; ask Kez. All the kids loved it and we caused such a noise that people poked their heads over walls and around walls to see what the fuss was about.
We left the village the same way, after thanking the elders again, and headed across the 'moat' in the very low pirogue. It was better the second time around, but still quite nerve wracking! One funny moment was when we saw Barney's toilet roll floating past, after it had come loose from a side pocket. Looking around admiring the scenery, animals and plant life before saying "Oh, look at that....toilet roll...". On the other side, back on very dry land, we decided to rest under any shade we could find. The day was boiling hot, and we'd walked around over midday. We sat under a tree, played some cards and eventually had a small nap.
Got woken up by the sun, which had quickly moved over the tree, and carried on back to Djennè, breaking along the way in the same village to watch some young boys fishing. They were pretty good with only a line and some cockroaches for bait. Barney wanted to take a dip in the water, but we reminded him of bilharzia - a horrible disease caused by faeces in the water. No swimming yet!
That night we ate on the street (I had some mini fish that had been salted and fried, but we had a whole host of stall food including plantains and yam chips), and after watching a cool sunset over the rooftops of Djennè, we heard some loud music coming from the square behind the mosque. We went to check it out, thinking we could have a beer and a dance. There were about 300 people, some on chairs, some standing, in a large circle, with a hastily set up sound system - two speakers and some ancient decks. After half an hour of waiting (and me getting offered every drug going, but no beers), an M.C. called Michael Jackson introduced five dancers. Each came into the middle and did a five-second foot-jive, before the music cut out and they moved to one side. This happened for each guy, same piece of music. From what we gathered from a few English/French speakers was that this was a dance off. Awesome!
However, nothing else happened for an hour. Nothing at all. Then there was a scuffle on the other side of the circle and loads of people scattered. We heard different stories about what happened. Firstly, one guy said it was the police who had come to break up the gathering, but another guy said that the nightclub behind the square charged 1000 CFA entry that night. But the dance off was free, so all the youngsters obviously went for that. The nightclub apparently took offence at this and either sabotaged the music or started fights with the crowd/organisers.
Either way, we went to bed. Another night under the stars.
The man with the bike headed off, after we thanked him a lot, and we were escorted by dozens of children into the depths of the village, like the Pied Piper! The village had houses much like Djennè, with a similar mud architecture, but without any of the modern trappings. It was amazing to see this all by ourselves, without a guide, and without any put-on dances or 'traditional' events. This was just a normal day for the villagers and we saw all the usual things - women pounding millet (a cereal), washing, goats being taken to the river to drink and children running through the narrow lanes between houses.
However, these kids still shouted "Tuoab" and "Cadeau" (present) and were very annoying in the end. We walked around for about an hour in the sweltering heat, pausing for shade beside the mud walls. A few of the older children tried to be our tour guides for some money but we just wanted to wander around ourselves. There wasn't anyway this would happen, and so after seeing a couple of mud mosques, like Djennè but smaller, we played with some of the kids. Kez instigated it all (she loves the children!) and we did all the songs you do at school - Okey Cokey etc - and something called "The Penguin Dance"; ask Kez. All the kids loved it and we caused such a noise that people poked their heads over walls and around walls to see what the fuss was about.
We left the village the same way, after thanking the elders again, and headed across the 'moat' in the very low pirogue. It was better the second time around, but still quite nerve wracking! One funny moment was when we saw Barney's toilet roll floating past, after it had come loose from a side pocket. Looking around admiring the scenery, animals and plant life before saying "Oh, look at that....toilet roll...". On the other side, back on very dry land, we decided to rest under any shade we could find. The day was boiling hot, and we'd walked around over midday. We sat under a tree, played some cards and eventually had a small nap.
Got woken up by the sun, which had quickly moved over the tree, and carried on back to Djennè, breaking along the way in the same village to watch some young boys fishing. They were pretty good with only a line and some cockroaches for bait. Barney wanted to take a dip in the water, but we reminded him of bilharzia - a horrible disease caused by faeces in the water. No swimming yet!
That night we ate on the street (I had some mini fish that had been salted and fried, but we had a whole host of stall food including plantains and yam chips), and after watching a cool sunset over the rooftops of Djennè, we heard some loud music coming from the square behind the mosque. We went to check it out, thinking we could have a beer and a dance. There were about 300 people, some on chairs, some standing, in a large circle, with a hastily set up sound system - two speakers and some ancient decks. After half an hour of waiting (and me getting offered every drug going, but no beers), an M.C. called Michael Jackson introduced five dancers. Each came into the middle and did a five-second foot-jive, before the music cut out and they moved to one side. This happened for each guy, same piece of music. From what we gathered from a few English/French speakers was that this was a dance off. Awesome!
However, nothing else happened for an hour. Nothing at all. Then there was a scuffle on the other side of the circle and loads of people scattered. We heard different stories about what happened. Firstly, one guy said it was the police who had come to break up the gathering, but another guy said that the nightclub behind the square charged 1000 CFA entry that night. But the dance off was free, so all the youngsters obviously went for that. The nightclub apparently took offence at this and either sabotaged the music or started fights with the crowd/organisers.
Either way, we went to bed. Another night under the stars.
Senossa
After an amazing night's sleep on the roof - interrupted sporadically by deafening midnight prayers - we took the decision to walk to a nearby village and see some authentic Malian way of life; to escape the hassle in Djennè. This was also helped by the price that guides wanted for a tour of the village, almost £20 each! More than our whole budget for the day; accommodation, food, drink etc. Anyway, it would be an adventure.
In the guidebook, Senossa was described as "a village of bare-breasted women with large earrings", and we all know how much Dum and Sleazy Barney love oversized jewellery! On the way out of town, after getting a fair amount of water, we stopped by the third attraction in Djennè - The Tomb of Tampana Djenepo. This was a young virgin that was sacrificed by the town, to ward off evilo spirits, when the first foundations of Djennè kept crumbling for no reason. Needless to say, it was just a wall set in a small square with a tiny sign. But at least we didn't have to pay this time!
Past yet more cries of "Tuoab, Tuoab", we exited town on a similar heightened red-dirt road and saw some boys playing Hoop 'n' Stick. Now I've been wanting a go on this for ages; looked like a load of fun. I'm sure I don't need to explain, but it involves pushing a bike tyre along with a small stick, and trying to keep it upright. For those over fifty reading this, you may have played it yourself (cheeky grin). Well, it's a lot harder than it looks. Had a laugh giving it a go, but both me and Dree weren't brilliant. Then the young lad showed us how it was done, sprinting down the road, and then doing a 180° turn round a pothole and back, again at speed. Skills.
We continued down the road in baking heat (over 35°C) and took a well-needed break after half an hour in some shade by a small village. We watched some men fish with nets from carved wooden pirogues, and I got a few awesome 'postcard' snaps! Continuing on for another kilometre or so, we stopped and asked some passing children carrying bags of rice on their heads - Senossa was only meant to be a few km out of Djennè. The children giggled and pointed across the dusty sahel (dry, dusty scrubland), away from the road, to a small group of buildings in the far distance. So off we went.
It took around an hour to walk across the arid land, pockmarked with scrub and the occasional thirsty-looking tree, and we had to take a few breaks in the little shade we could find - it really was roasting hot! More walking across the cracked earth and we came to a swampy area between us and the village about 250m in the distance. There were a few people in a small pirogue by the water's edge, and we were able to ask one man who spoke French if we could get to the village. He said yes and into the pirogue we got.
Two young kids punted the wooden boat to deeper water and across the shallow lake. The water didn't look too inviting though, but the scenery was pretty cool - cutting through waterlillies and reeds on our way. However, the pirogue was ridiculously low in the water (eight people, a bicycle and a few bags) and everytime we pushed forward it rocked from side to side, letting a little bit of water over the edge. Me and Barney were on one small plank, Kez and Dree on another. I can only speak for myself but white knuckles and hunched shoulders barely covers it. I didn't fancy a swim!
In the guidebook, Senossa was described as "a village of bare-breasted women with large earrings", and we all know how much Dum and Sleazy Barney love oversized jewellery! On the way out of town, after getting a fair amount of water, we stopped by the third attraction in Djennè - The Tomb of Tampana Djenepo. This was a young virgin that was sacrificed by the town, to ward off evilo spirits, when the first foundations of Djennè kept crumbling for no reason. Needless to say, it was just a wall set in a small square with a tiny sign. But at least we didn't have to pay this time!
Past yet more cries of "Tuoab, Tuoab", we exited town on a similar heightened red-dirt road and saw some boys playing Hoop 'n' Stick. Now I've been wanting a go on this for ages; looked like a load of fun. I'm sure I don't need to explain, but it involves pushing a bike tyre along with a small stick, and trying to keep it upright. For those over fifty reading this, you may have played it yourself (cheeky grin). Well, it's a lot harder than it looks. Had a laugh giving it a go, but both me and Dree weren't brilliant. Then the young lad showed us how it was done, sprinting down the road, and then doing a 180° turn round a pothole and back, again at speed. Skills.
We continued down the road in baking heat (over 35°C) and took a well-needed break after half an hour in some shade by a small village. We watched some men fish with nets from carved wooden pirogues, and I got a few awesome 'postcard' snaps! Continuing on for another kilometre or so, we stopped and asked some passing children carrying bags of rice on their heads - Senossa was only meant to be a few km out of Djennè. The children giggled and pointed across the dusty sahel (dry, dusty scrubland), away from the road, to a small group of buildings in the far distance. So off we went.
It took around an hour to walk across the arid land, pockmarked with scrub and the occasional thirsty-looking tree, and we had to take a few breaks in the little shade we could find - it really was roasting hot! More walking across the cracked earth and we came to a swampy area between us and the village about 250m in the distance. There were a few people in a small pirogue by the water's edge, and we were able to ask one man who spoke French if we could get to the village. He said yes and into the pirogue we got.
Two young kids punted the wooden boat to deeper water and across the shallow lake. The water didn't look too inviting though, but the scenery was pretty cool - cutting through waterlillies and reeds on our way. However, the pirogue was ridiculously low in the water (eight people, a bicycle and a few bags) and everytime we pushed forward it rocked from side to side, letting a little bit of water over the edge. Me and Barney were on one small plank, Kez and Dree on another. I can only speak for myself but white knuckles and hunched shoulders barely covers it. I didn't fancy a swim!
Djennè town
We decided to stay on the roof at Chez Baba's because it was cheap, warm and would be cool to sleep under the stars. Luckily we were provided with a mattress and a mozzie net, and could store our bags in a locked room while we wandered around during the day. After washing the smells from the horror bus off, we headed for the mud mosque.
Djennè's mosque is made completely from mud and has distinctive wooden planks jutting out from it's towers. These are where the builders climb on and re-apply another layer of mud to the walls after each rainy season washes some of the structure away. Unfortunately, the mosque had some building work being done to it when we were there, including some repairs on a fallen tower. But you could still see how impressive the mosque was - the largest mud structure in the world.
Also unfortunate, was the fact that due to an unsavoury photoshoot with an Italian photographer and some partially naked models, no tourists are allowed inside the mosque, even though it is a fully functioning place of worship. We found this out when the calls of Islamic prayer belted out of the loudspeakers in the early hours of the morning. The market place in front of the mosque is busy on Monday, but as we walked through on Friday we did manage to see everyone come for weekly afternoon prayers.
Hassle in Djennè came thick and fast - probably more noticeable because, apart from a handful of expats in the past month, we had not seen many tourists at all. In Djennè there were tour groups and guides springing from every doorway. It took a bit of getting used to, but we just ignored all the touts and guides and did our own thing (see Senossa, next blog). Another thing was people around the mosque inviting you into their houses for a fee, so that you could get an ariel view of the mosque. Bit of a rip off, but on our second day there me and Dree took a guy up on his offer and got half a view obscured by a tree from a rooftop. On the way down, an elderly man started shouting at the guy and essentially chased him out - the cheeky bugger had just waltzed into someone else's house to make use of the roof and get a quick buck!
Aside from getting inundated with annoying guide offers, we walked around most of Djennè's small streets in peace, with only the shouts of children following us. Some took a particular interest in Kerry's hair, and took a lot of enjoyment in pulling it. One sad thing is that the kids all shout "Donne moi un cadeau/argent" (Give me a present/money), as they see tourists pass.
The streets and mud architecture of Djennè are unique , and as such have been designated a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. There are only one or two roads that have cars go down them, and as such Djennè has a special feel to it. A lot of the streets are barely wide enough for a donkey cart to pass through, and we took a few wrong turns in the labyrinth along the way. The smells are another thing though. As the town progressed and more tourists visited, along came the idea of have a sewage system. In theory this is a good idea, but the small channels that run down each street are full of waste and piles of rubbish are stacked up around the edge of the island town.
We went to see another 'highlight' in the guide book during the afternoon - the Sacred Well of Nana Wangara. Legend has it that it was a gift from a Moroccan ruler to his favourite wife, who resented the other concubines. Oh, and it can see into the future. Trying to find it was a mission, but we wished we hadn't. Taken through a few doorways into a private courtyard, where washing lines hung and cooking pots lay, we were shown a hole in the ground, and then asked to pay over a quid each for the privilege. Not really worth the effort to find it.
Sleeping on the roof made up for any disappointment though. The intense heat from the day was kept in the mud walls and roofs and the lack of lights in the town meant for a clear view of the night sky. Saying that, we were up at dawn because of the cold (as the heat from the day before vanishes during the night), and the sun rises over the mud roofs like a torch in the eyes! A great experience though.
Djennè's mosque is made completely from mud and has distinctive wooden planks jutting out from it's towers. These are where the builders climb on and re-apply another layer of mud to the walls after each rainy season washes some of the structure away. Unfortunately, the mosque had some building work being done to it when we were there, including some repairs on a fallen tower. But you could still see how impressive the mosque was - the largest mud structure in the world.
Also unfortunate, was the fact that due to an unsavoury photoshoot with an Italian photographer and some partially naked models, no tourists are allowed inside the mosque, even though it is a fully functioning place of worship. We found this out when the calls of Islamic prayer belted out of the loudspeakers in the early hours of the morning. The market place in front of the mosque is busy on Monday, but as we walked through on Friday we did manage to see everyone come for weekly afternoon prayers.
Hassle in Djennè came thick and fast - probably more noticeable because, apart from a handful of expats in the past month, we had not seen many tourists at all. In Djennè there were tour groups and guides springing from every doorway. It took a bit of getting used to, but we just ignored all the touts and guides and did our own thing (see Senossa, next blog). Another thing was people around the mosque inviting you into their houses for a fee, so that you could get an ariel view of the mosque. Bit of a rip off, but on our second day there me and Dree took a guy up on his offer and got half a view obscured by a tree from a rooftop. On the way down, an elderly man started shouting at the guy and essentially chased him out - the cheeky bugger had just waltzed into someone else's house to make use of the roof and get a quick buck!
Aside from getting inundated with annoying guide offers, we walked around most of Djennè's small streets in peace, with only the shouts of children following us. Some took a particular interest in Kerry's hair, and took a lot of enjoyment in pulling it. One sad thing is that the kids all shout "Donne moi un cadeau/argent" (Give me a present/money), as they see tourists pass.
The streets and mud architecture of Djennè are unique , and as such have been designated a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. There are only one or two roads that have cars go down them, and as such Djennè has a special feel to it. A lot of the streets are barely wide enough for a donkey cart to pass through, and we took a few wrong turns in the labyrinth along the way. The smells are another thing though. As the town progressed and more tourists visited, along came the idea of have a sewage system. In theory this is a good idea, but the small channels that run down each street are full of waste and piles of rubbish are stacked up around the edge of the island town.
We went to see another 'highlight' in the guide book during the afternoon - the Sacred Well of Nana Wangara. Legend has it that it was a gift from a Moroccan ruler to his favourite wife, who resented the other concubines. Oh, and it can see into the future. Trying to find it was a mission, but we wished we hadn't. Taken through a few doorways into a private courtyard, where washing lines hung and cooking pots lay, we were shown a hole in the ground, and then asked to pay over a quid each for the privilege. Not really worth the effort to find it.
Sleeping on the roof made up for any disappointment though. The intense heat from the day was kept in the mud walls and roofs and the lack of lights in the town meant for a clear view of the night sky. Saying that, we were up at dawn because of the cold (as the heat from the day before vanishes during the night), and the sun rises over the mud roofs like a torch in the eyes! A great experience though.
What an entrance!
After drifting off again inbetween babies crying and women vomiting, we were awoken on the bus from hell by the driver, telling us this was where we get off. Bleary-eyed we looked out of the windows into the dawn, and saw a handful of mudhuts by a crossroad. Not Djennè (pronounced Jenny). After briefly arguing with the driver, we found out that this was the Carrefour de Djennè (The Crossroad) and we'd have to find our own way the rest of the 20km to the town itself. Not what we'd been told or paid for. Brilliant.
With the help of a Ghanian man, who was also going to Djennè, we acquired the early morning services of a man, his horse and a cart. Not exactly what we'd imagined our journey to Djennè to be like, but it was pretty cool trundling along at just over walking pace, watching the world pass us by. Either side of the slightly raised dirt road was an inland delta of the Bani river, quite marshy, with early-rising villagers washing and fishing down the banks. Birds flew overhead and we waved to children as we passed by. The horse looked in pretty good condition, considering the state of some other creatures that we have seen on this trip, and his only problem was that he had a slight fear of bridges. A problem for a horse working in a place where most of the roads have to cross water.
We passed one small village, complete with mud huts in the banco architecture we'd come to recognise in the following weeks, where some children ran out and waved, shouting "Tuoab, Tuoab" - colloquial West African for tourist/white man. We continued down the dusty red road and eventually came to the banks of the Bani, where we had to wait for the ferry across. While waiting we got a taste of the tourism industry in Mali, with women hawking 'authentic' masks, bracelets and fabrics to us, before we'd even set our eyes on Djennè! A sign of things to come in the next few weeks.
After another hour a la horse 'n' cart on the other side of the river, we arrived at Djennè. Because of the positioning of Djennè in the inland delta, most of the town is encircled by water, and our entrance was made all the more regal by having to cross a small bridge (that the horse took well), where people were fishing and washing. What a sight it must've been to see us arrive!
After paying the driver for the early morning ride, we found our way through the mazy sidestreets to Chez Baba - a cheap place almost next to the main attraction in Djennè; the mud mosque.
With the help of a Ghanian man, who was also going to Djennè, we acquired the early morning services of a man, his horse and a cart. Not exactly what we'd imagined our journey to Djennè to be like, but it was pretty cool trundling along at just over walking pace, watching the world pass us by. Either side of the slightly raised dirt road was an inland delta of the Bani river, quite marshy, with early-rising villagers washing and fishing down the banks. Birds flew overhead and we waved to children as we passed by. The horse looked in pretty good condition, considering the state of some other creatures that we have seen on this trip, and his only problem was that he had a slight fear of bridges. A problem for a horse working in a place where most of the roads have to cross water.
We passed one small village, complete with mud huts in the banco architecture we'd come to recognise in the following weeks, where some children ran out and waved, shouting "Tuoab, Tuoab" - colloquial West African for tourist/white man. We continued down the dusty red road and eventually came to the banks of the Bani, where we had to wait for the ferry across. While waiting we got a taste of the tourism industry in Mali, with women hawking 'authentic' masks, bracelets and fabrics to us, before we'd even set our eyes on Djennè! A sign of things to come in the next few weeks.
After another hour a la horse 'n' cart on the other side of the river, we arrived at Djennè. Because of the positioning of Djennè in the inland delta, most of the town is encircled by water, and our entrance was made all the more regal by having to cross a small bridge (that the horse took well), where people were fishing and washing. What a sight it must've been to see us arrive!
After paying the driver for the early morning ride, we found our way through the mazy sidestreets to Chez Baba - a cheap place almost next to the main attraction in Djennè; the mud mosque.
Bamako - Djennè
I woke up with an awful cough, as the 'Black Panther' mosquito coil had been burning all night about a foot from the bed. Didn't put me in the best of moods as we prepared to wait by the roadside for a passing minibus to pick us up. But someone was smiling on us that morning, because we only waited for ten minutes before one pulled up. Dree barely had time to finish his cuppa, but the really nice stall owner put the hot tea into a plastic bag, like all the iced drinks are in. And it didn't burn through: impressive.
A short, cramped ride back to Bamako later and we got a taxi to the bigger gare routiere below the river, to try and get a Gana Transport bus to Djennè, our next stop. Unfortunately, the Gana bus had left earlier that morning, but we were shown to another bus company where we bought tickets for a departure at 6pm. Not wanting to hang around all day on a bench in a truly chaotic bus terminal, me and Kez took a walk around trying to find a restaurant or bar. Closest thing we could find was a closed restaurant across the main road, and a Vietnamese sandwich stall.
We spent the day hanging around in the shade of the restaurant, where the owners had kindly given us some chairs and a table, playing cards and generally killing time. Did have a good, cheap-as-you-like lunch though - Vietnamese sandwiches and nems (like meaty spring rolls), and a host of Malian street food to snack on. Oh, and not forgetting more than a few bags of bissap (known as djiblani in some parts of Mali).
We headed back to the transport chaos and were told to pay 1,000 CFA each for our bags. We said no way, as it was just a guy who was trying to make a bit extra, and our bags are included i the cost. After half an hour of a stalemate he relented, and grumpily took our bags to be strapped to the roof. Ah, yes, this brings me onto the bus itself. It was a clapped out old thing that had a fair few tonnes of stuff strapped to the roof - food bags, boxes, motorbikes, chairs etc. This meant that the sunroofs wouldn't open at all. Add to this that the bug-infested, falling apart chairs, DRILLED-SHUT windows and luggage stacked all down the aisles, and we were in for a pretty uncomfortable ride.
Sweating buckets, we sat in this oven for about half an hour before anything happened. That anything was a drive for about forty yards. When we got going properly, there was a small gap in a window at the front of the bus, which at least let some air in. Which was all fine, until the woman behind my and Barney's chairs started vomiting up everything she had. Eventually we were able to drift off to sleep, but were woken up by the lights coming on and the bus sliding to a halt by the roadside. A few of the guys got out, kicked a tyre, got some oil or petrol cans from the aisle and played about with the engine. Then as we drifted off again the lady behind resumed her previous actions. Not going to go on about it too much, but let's just say we will now be going with recommended bus companies for longer trips, especially overnight ones.
At least we were going to get to Djennè that morning....
A short, cramped ride back to Bamako later and we got a taxi to the bigger gare routiere below the river, to try and get a Gana Transport bus to Djennè, our next stop. Unfortunately, the Gana bus had left earlier that morning, but we were shown to another bus company where we bought tickets for a departure at 6pm. Not wanting to hang around all day on a bench in a truly chaotic bus terminal, me and Kez took a walk around trying to find a restaurant or bar. Closest thing we could find was a closed restaurant across the main road, and a Vietnamese sandwich stall.
We spent the day hanging around in the shade of the restaurant, where the owners had kindly given us some chairs and a table, playing cards and generally killing time. Did have a good, cheap-as-you-like lunch though - Vietnamese sandwiches and nems (like meaty spring rolls), and a host of Malian street food to snack on. Oh, and not forgetting more than a few bags of bissap (known as djiblani in some parts of Mali).
We headed back to the transport chaos and were told to pay 1,000 CFA each for our bags. We said no way, as it was just a guy who was trying to make a bit extra, and our bags are included i the cost. After half an hour of a stalemate he relented, and grumpily took our bags to be strapped to the roof. Ah, yes, this brings me onto the bus itself. It was a clapped out old thing that had a fair few tonnes of stuff strapped to the roof - food bags, boxes, motorbikes, chairs etc. This meant that the sunroofs wouldn't open at all. Add to this that the bug-infested, falling apart chairs, DRILLED-SHUT windows and luggage stacked all down the aisles, and we were in for a pretty uncomfortable ride.
Sweating buckets, we sat in this oven for about half an hour before anything happened. That anything was a drive for about forty yards. When we got going properly, there was a small gap in a window at the front of the bus, which at least let some air in. Which was all fine, until the woman behind my and Barney's chairs started vomiting up everything she had. Eventually we were able to drift off to sleep, but were woken up by the lights coming on and the bus sliding to a halt by the roadside. A few of the guys got out, kicked a tyre, got some oil or petrol cans from the aisle and played about with the engine. Then as we drifted off again the lady behind resumed her previous actions. Not going to go on about it too much, but let's just say we will now be going with recommended bus companies for longer trips, especially overnight ones.
At least we were going to get to Djennè that morning....
Saturday, 14 November 2009
Climbing in Siby
We got up early the next morning - "we" meaning me and Barney (comes with the territory now; Dree 'n' Kez, Dum 'n' Barney, sorry Lisa!) - to go and see a view from the top of one of the hotels down by the river. The guide book said this is the first thing that you should do in Bamako. So off we go, walking straight up to the huge doors of this Hotel D'Amitee and stride in. The place was pretty plush, and we felt thoroughly under dressed in shorts and teeshirts. Made a beeline for the lifts and made our way up to the fourteenth floor. It was a really cool view of the city sprawled out below, but a really nice maid opened one of the rooms at the back of the hotel, where it looked out onto the river Niger passing below. Well, there would've been a good view if there wasn't concrete pillars blocking the view. Got a few pics off, before the really kind maid said that the 16th floor was an even better view of the city, so up we went.
After getting back and waking up the sleeping couple, we all headed off to collect our Ghana visas (no problem whatsoever), and got a lift to a secondary gare routiere for Siby, a small village that has a recommended rock climbing school in amongst the Manding Mountains. We squashed into a minivan, only allowed to pay for three tickets and having to bribe the driver to take us all.
Wasn't too bad a journey - probably because it was very short - and we arrived about lunchtime in the amazing of the mountains. On three sides, walls of sheer red and black rock rose up for about 150 metres, surrounding Siby. We dropped all our gear in the compound, which had little white huts in a circle, and went to book climbing for the afternoon, even though it was about 45 degrees! We had to choose our own rubber-toed shoes to wear for climbing, and they only seemed to have the smallest ones in the world. We all just squeezed into them (Kerry was okay!), and were told to meet back there at 3pm.
Headed down the main (very well paved road) to some wooden huts by the side. We had liver brochettes (kebab), riz au gras (standard dry reddish rice) and tomatoes. The kebab was suspect, but was not bad by any means. Helped that I'd skipped brekkie and it was gone pretty quick! Dree had to shake the shock from his voice when the head scarfed woman said it would only be 1,000 CFA for all four of us! So, so cheap. It pays to eat Malian. On the way back I got some 'Black Panther' mosquito coils to kill off the little bastards! The huts we were given had huge gaps between the top of the internal walls and the roof, meaning that an elephant could've squeezed through, let alone a snidey little mozzie. I was determined to not get bitten, even though we did have a charming pink mozzie net for me and B...
We went to the climbing place and were pretty pleased to see the two young guides had a bag of ropes and hard hats. Had no idea what we were climbing, so kept saying we were "debutants"! After walking down the main road for twenty minutes, we cut in towards the mountain and past a village and fields of millet (for the production of millet beer - gotta try that I suppose!). Arrived at a huge cube of rock about 80ft high and 40ft wide/long. There didn't look to be an awful lot of hand holds...
One of the guys literally ran up the side of this behemoth, to clip on some caribinas (?) onto the top, so we had something to abseil back down. Turns out these two guys had been climbing for about eight years a piece, and seemed to do this "easy" rock for fun. In broken French, I understood that they regularly climb the mountains all around us! Hardcore - Nick would've loved it! Needless to say, 'Mountain-Goat' Barney raced up the first challenge, like Hunter in Gladiators, whereas I needed a leg up twice to get started! Kerry and Dree were pretty good, but the guys advised that we sit back in the harness and walk down straight-legged, with them taking our weight. They didn't seem to take the strain until you were sitting right back, so that caused some hairy moments. Didn't love the heights either, or should I say the looking-down. It was so hot we all went topless; well not Kerry!
Moving around to a harder side of the rock (not doing it enough justice, twas the size of a house!), after a few routes, we all came unstuck on a 5 1/2 level climb. Kerry did incredibly well, reaching the highest point, before swinging back and forth like a pendulum! And the guy even held her with one arm! I thought my extreme reach would work well, but my lack of upper-body strength let me down and I too swung on the rope, albeit a bit heavier than Kez!
On the way back I got a few photos of the sunset down the road, setting behind some of the mountains, and some kids ran over asking to take a photograph. I took a few and showed them. They loved it, squealing with delight, but then a teenage girl ran over and started arguing with me, demanding that I pay money. I said no, and after she got even more aggressive I deleted the photos and walked off. This is a common problem I have found - anyone that you want to take a photo of you have to pay. Unfortunately, part of the more touristic trail we are now on through Mali.
That evening I went back from the restaurant to get some cards, avoiding all the frogs that come out at night. When I got back to the table all the guys had disappeared. I thought they were playing a prank on me and just sat down. After a while they emerged from near the entrance to the compound, looking quite shaken. While I was gone, the waiters and owner of the restaurant had joined about ten other men in beating a man outside. The man had apparently stolen some money and this was the punishment. The guys ran out to see what the screaming was about, and Dree shouted at them to stop. This gave the battered and bleeding man enough time to slowly pull himself up and hobble off, but the men chased him down the road. The owner said to us afterwards, "He won't steal again." Very dark, but a snapshot of African justice: no trial, no investigation, just harsh punishment.
We also found out that we couldn't hire bikes as an expedition had hired them all, so our plan to cycle out to a waterfall for the day fell flat. We decided to head back to Bamako and try and get the night bus north to Djenne.
After getting back and waking up the sleeping couple, we all headed off to collect our Ghana visas (no problem whatsoever), and got a lift to a secondary gare routiere for Siby, a small village that has a recommended rock climbing school in amongst the Manding Mountains. We squashed into a minivan, only allowed to pay for three tickets and having to bribe the driver to take us all.
Wasn't too bad a journey - probably because it was very short - and we arrived about lunchtime in the amazing of the mountains. On three sides, walls of sheer red and black rock rose up for about 150 metres, surrounding Siby. We dropped all our gear in the compound, which had little white huts in a circle, and went to book climbing for the afternoon, even though it was about 45 degrees! We had to choose our own rubber-toed shoes to wear for climbing, and they only seemed to have the smallest ones in the world. We all just squeezed into them (Kerry was okay!), and were told to meet back there at 3pm.
Headed down the main (very well paved road) to some wooden huts by the side. We had liver brochettes (kebab), riz au gras (standard dry reddish rice) and tomatoes. The kebab was suspect, but was not bad by any means. Helped that I'd skipped brekkie and it was gone pretty quick! Dree had to shake the shock from his voice when the head scarfed woman said it would only be 1,000 CFA for all four of us! So, so cheap. It pays to eat Malian. On the way back I got some 'Black Panther' mosquito coils to kill off the little bastards! The huts we were given had huge gaps between the top of the internal walls and the roof, meaning that an elephant could've squeezed through, let alone a snidey little mozzie. I was determined to not get bitten, even though we did have a charming pink mozzie net for me and B...
We went to the climbing place and were pretty pleased to see the two young guides had a bag of ropes and hard hats. Had no idea what we were climbing, so kept saying we were "debutants"! After walking down the main road for twenty minutes, we cut in towards the mountain and past a village and fields of millet (for the production of millet beer - gotta try that I suppose!). Arrived at a huge cube of rock about 80ft high and 40ft wide/long. There didn't look to be an awful lot of hand holds...
One of the guys literally ran up the side of this behemoth, to clip on some caribinas (?) onto the top, so we had something to abseil back down. Turns out these two guys had been climbing for about eight years a piece, and seemed to do this "easy" rock for fun. In broken French, I understood that they regularly climb the mountains all around us! Hardcore - Nick would've loved it! Needless to say, 'Mountain-Goat' Barney raced up the first challenge, like Hunter in Gladiators, whereas I needed a leg up twice to get started! Kerry and Dree were pretty good, but the guys advised that we sit back in the harness and walk down straight-legged, with them taking our weight. They didn't seem to take the strain until you were sitting right back, so that caused some hairy moments. Didn't love the heights either, or should I say the looking-down. It was so hot we all went topless; well not Kerry!
Moving around to a harder side of the rock (not doing it enough justice, twas the size of a house!), after a few routes, we all came unstuck on a 5 1/2 level climb. Kerry did incredibly well, reaching the highest point, before swinging back and forth like a pendulum! And the guy even held her with one arm! I thought my extreme reach would work well, but my lack of upper-body strength let me down and I too swung on the rope, albeit a bit heavier than Kez!
On the way back I got a few photos of the sunset down the road, setting behind some of the mountains, and some kids ran over asking to take a photograph. I took a few and showed them. They loved it, squealing with delight, but then a teenage girl ran over and started arguing with me, demanding that I pay money. I said no, and after she got even more aggressive I deleted the photos and walked off. This is a common problem I have found - anyone that you want to take a photo of you have to pay. Unfortunately, part of the more touristic trail we are now on through Mali.
That evening I went back from the restaurant to get some cards, avoiding all the frogs that come out at night. When I got back to the table all the guys had disappeared. I thought they were playing a prank on me and just sat down. After a while they emerged from near the entrance to the compound, looking quite shaken. While I was gone, the waiters and owner of the restaurant had joined about ten other men in beating a man outside. The man had apparently stolen some money and this was the punishment. The guys ran out to see what the screaming was about, and Dree shouted at them to stop. This gave the battered and bleeding man enough time to slowly pull himself up and hobble off, but the men chased him down the road. The owner said to us afterwards, "He won't steal again." Very dark, but a snapshot of African justice: no trial, no investigation, just harsh punishment.
We also found out that we couldn't hire bikes as an expedition had hired them all, so our plan to cycle out to a waterfall for the day fell flat. We decided to head back to Bamako and try and get the night bus north to Djenne.
Thursday, 12 November 2009
Bamako Tourists
We had to wait until Wednesday to get the visas back from the Ghanian Embassy, so spent the whole of Tuesday doing the touristy thing around Bamako. First things first though. Whilst we were having breakfast (Vietnamese sandwich and a home-made tea with condensed milk... mmmm), some of the guys who'd checked into the dorm late the night before came out. Dressed head-to-toe in hooded gold tracksuits, some with gold side bags. We obviously asked them what they were doing and a dead ringer for Jack Black explained that they were from outer space and were going to the Dogon Country today to promote the benefits of solar energy. They put on a facade of being aliens, because the Dogon tribes had a history of alien contact embedded in their culture; the Poles had also done this in a Mexican village, who had a belief in UFOs. I'm not sure what to believe at all with this, as it could be taken as quite patronising. Very surreal.
After that we took a taxi to the Hippodrome, where we wanted (me and Barney) to ride horses for a while. There was a place in the guide book where you could pay per hour, and I was quite up for the challenge - first horse ridden ever! But the horse centre seemed to just be for ex-pat children who were already fully kitted out and in the middle of a lesson. Didn't look like you could just turn up. After a brief walk around the hippodrome - a dusty, overgrown, unused track with skinny, wild horses and goats grazing, next to a derelict "grand"stand where men just took shelter from the hot sun - we took a taxi to the museum. It was open this time!
Inside the main gates were (presumably) convicts working in bright orange jumpsuits, literally breaking rocks for the new pathway. Quite a good idea, putting criminals to work, we should adopt it in the UK! No photos were allowed in the museum, but the displays were all really good. Even though they were in French I understood a lot of it (many thanks to Dree). There was a good collection of masks and sculptures from all over the country, and a separate exhibit on the Dogon people. It was all genuinely interesting, and one of the better museums I've been to, and the air con definitely helped out!
After a bite to eat at the museum, we headed to the fetish market; and I know what you are thinking, but this market specialises in animist and strange artefacts for the more unusual religious practices. For example monkey heads, shrunken lizards, dead parrots (always green for some reason), rhino horns, thigh bones from a large animal, hides, claws and skulls: the works for any voodoo fanatics out there! The traders didn't like anyone taking photos but I got a few sneaky ones and ended up paying one guy a few hundred CFA for some close ups. Strange place. But far more interesting then the 'Grande Mosqueè'. That is not even worth writing about.
Back at the mission (aka 'Nunnery'), we bumped into the couple going overland in their 4x4 that we saw at the Senegal/Mali border. They had been planning it for about three years and had the coolest Land Rover in the world - it had a fridge, cooking area, fold-out tent on the roof, an awning, larger fuel tank, even a tap with drinking water IN the car! A truly amazing beast! Made us all jealous with their stories, and we all began to plan our overland trips that night... must get that illusive driving licence soon though! They were carrying on down to South Africa, and then returning up the east coast back to Europe. An epic trip!
Also met an English lady called Pam, who had been coming to Africa for the past ten years, mainly working on a project in NE Mali called "Village Ventures". There is a crossroads in the corner of the country, where over 130,000 people live, that is massively underfunded. Pam has been setting up, and overseeing, all sorts of projects ranging from well-building, laptops for each village, free schooling and food for orphans. Unfortunately, we didn't have enough time to go and visit the area, but I have taken her contact details and am thinking of heading back to volunteer for a few months. Even if not, it could be something that the Rotary Club could help with. Something to think about at very least.
After that we took a taxi to the Hippodrome, where we wanted (me and Barney) to ride horses for a while. There was a place in the guide book where you could pay per hour, and I was quite up for the challenge - first horse ridden ever! But the horse centre seemed to just be for ex-pat children who were already fully kitted out and in the middle of a lesson. Didn't look like you could just turn up. After a brief walk around the hippodrome - a dusty, overgrown, unused track with skinny, wild horses and goats grazing, next to a derelict "grand"stand where men just took shelter from the hot sun - we took a taxi to the museum. It was open this time!
Inside the main gates were (presumably) convicts working in bright orange jumpsuits, literally breaking rocks for the new pathway. Quite a good idea, putting criminals to work, we should adopt it in the UK! No photos were allowed in the museum, but the displays were all really good. Even though they were in French I understood a lot of it (many thanks to Dree). There was a good collection of masks and sculptures from all over the country, and a separate exhibit on the Dogon people. It was all genuinely interesting, and one of the better museums I've been to, and the air con definitely helped out!
After a bite to eat at the museum, we headed to the fetish market; and I know what you are thinking, but this market specialises in animist and strange artefacts for the more unusual religious practices. For example monkey heads, shrunken lizards, dead parrots (always green for some reason), rhino horns, thigh bones from a large animal, hides, claws and skulls: the works for any voodoo fanatics out there! The traders didn't like anyone taking photos but I got a few sneaky ones and ended up paying one guy a few hundred CFA for some close ups. Strange place. But far more interesting then the 'Grande Mosqueè'. That is not even worth writing about.
Back at the mission (aka 'Nunnery'), we bumped into the couple going overland in their 4x4 that we saw at the Senegal/Mali border. They had been planning it for about three years and had the coolest Land Rover in the world - it had a fridge, cooking area, fold-out tent on the roof, an awning, larger fuel tank, even a tap with drinking water IN the car! A truly amazing beast! Made us all jealous with their stories, and we all began to plan our overland trips that night... must get that illusive driving licence soon though! They were carrying on down to South Africa, and then returning up the east coast back to Europe. An epic trip!
Also met an English lady called Pam, who had been coming to Africa for the past ten years, mainly working on a project in NE Mali called "Village Ventures". There is a crossroads in the corner of the country, where over 130,000 people live, that is massively underfunded. Pam has been setting up, and overseeing, all sorts of projects ranging from well-building, laptops for each village, free schooling and food for orphans. Unfortunately, we didn't have enough time to go and visit the area, but I have taken her contact details and am thinking of heading back to volunteer for a few months. Even if not, it could be something that the Rotary Club could help with. Something to think about at very least.
With the Nuns in Bamako
During the coach ride there were a couple of toilet stops by the side of the road, which only seemed to last twenty seconds before the bus started to pull away! And then the bus accelerated to about 90mph and did a 'Speed' thing, overtaking huge lorries on bends etc. Pretty hairy. Made it to the Malian capital in one piece, and got taken to the Catholic Mission - Fouers des Souers (I think) - bang in the centre of Bamako.
The nuns were really nice and friendly, and we sorted out a room for us three for the Saturday, and then hopefully for us four on the Monday - after Dree had romanced Kerry in a hotel for an eve! Aw, love is alive! We had a little shower in the room (like only a curtain to shield from the beds), and could use a gas cooker and a little kitchen if we wanted to. Here began a bit of a love affair with tea and condensed milk. Oh God, Condensed Milk - deserves the capitals!
The next day Dree left early to check into his hotel and get to the airport, while me and Barney had a nice couple's day. Unfortunately everything was shut. It had rained for about ten hours by the time we got up, and after a walk around most of the district we discovered everything was closed as it was Sunday. So we played chess and a few other games that were in the Mission, as well as inventing Speed Chess - you have not time to think about the pieces, just move one straight-away. It continued to rain for about 30 hours. We couldn't even get some street food, as we had done the first night, as the rain had closed them all! A very lazy day in Bamako. I even learnt some French!
The next morning Dree and Kez arrived back at the Mission and we organised the room for us four, Kez was on the floor as she lost the game of cards - sorry old girl, rules is rules! We went and got a really good breakfast from a Vietnamese woman by the roadside - half a baguette with meat, sausage, salad, mayo, soy sauce and ketchup. Definitely one up from an omlette sandwich! Afterwards we tried to walk across town to the Ghanian embassy to get Kez and myself our visas - the boys had got theirs in London beforehand, but ours had been rejected for an unknown reason. Couldn't find it after half an hour walking around the backstreets of Bamako, and resorted to a taxi. The maps in Bradt guides seem to be out of scale and miss out roads and landmarks. Not overly impressed, although the information in them is far better than LP or Rough Guides.
After filling out the forms four times (do they not have a photocopier?!), which we ended up paying less for the visas than the boys, we hopped in a taxi to see the Museè National - apparently one of the best in West Africa. We were just hoping better than Dakar's museum that was hardly worth visiting. The taxi driver dropped us off and we then found out it is shut every Monday. What a lovely taxi drive. No problems, as we walked the hundred metres or so to the Parc Zoologique.
I always am a bit wary about zoo's in foreign countries and rarely go into them, as the conditions of the animals and cages is usually awful - Chiang Mai Zoo in north Thailand being one of the better ones. We saw quite a variety on our walk round: an apparently dead baby elephant (only sleeping), lots of monkeys and chimps (Kez spilt purple bissap down a white top in excitement!), hyenas, deer, birds and cranes, a warthog, leopards and lions. We then went into the reptile hut, which Barney was very happy about, and saw various crocs, frogs, turtles and snakes. They were actually feeding two giant African Rock Pythons as we came in, with live chickens. A bit sadistic, like that tour in the Mekong, Pete, but one of the staff held the door open so I could go in and take some close up pics without the safety of the glass. Pretty nerve-racking but you don't get that at Banham Zoo! Also saw the world's bravest frog, sitting on top of a croc's head! Just before we left there was also a sign for a manatee, but all the pools were long dried out.
We trekked back to the Mission via the downtown area and ate at a vegetarian place opposite. The chef and proprietor, Mohammed, spoke good English and he showed us some pics on his iPhone of a lovely waterfall at Talenko, just outside Bamako. We got some details and added it to our list of places to see!
The nuns were really nice and friendly, and we sorted out a room for us three for the Saturday, and then hopefully for us four on the Monday - after Dree had romanced Kerry in a hotel for an eve! Aw, love is alive! We had a little shower in the room (like only a curtain to shield from the beds), and could use a gas cooker and a little kitchen if we wanted to. Here began a bit of a love affair with tea and condensed milk. Oh God, Condensed Milk - deserves the capitals!
The next day Dree left early to check into his hotel and get to the airport, while me and Barney had a nice couple's day. Unfortunately everything was shut. It had rained for about ten hours by the time we got up, and after a walk around most of the district we discovered everything was closed as it was Sunday. So we played chess and a few other games that were in the Mission, as well as inventing Speed Chess - you have not time to think about the pieces, just move one straight-away. It continued to rain for about 30 hours. We couldn't even get some street food, as we had done the first night, as the rain had closed them all! A very lazy day in Bamako. I even learnt some French!
The next morning Dree and Kez arrived back at the Mission and we organised the room for us four, Kez was on the floor as she lost the game of cards - sorry old girl, rules is rules! We went and got a really good breakfast from a Vietnamese woman by the roadside - half a baguette with meat, sausage, salad, mayo, soy sauce and ketchup. Definitely one up from an omlette sandwich! Afterwards we tried to walk across town to the Ghanian embassy to get Kez and myself our visas - the boys had got theirs in London beforehand, but ours had been rejected for an unknown reason. Couldn't find it after half an hour walking around the backstreets of Bamako, and resorted to a taxi. The maps in Bradt guides seem to be out of scale and miss out roads and landmarks. Not overly impressed, although the information in them is far better than LP or Rough Guides.
After filling out the forms four times (do they not have a photocopier?!), which we ended up paying less for the visas than the boys, we hopped in a taxi to see the Museè National - apparently one of the best in West Africa. We were just hoping better than Dakar's museum that was hardly worth visiting. The taxi driver dropped us off and we then found out it is shut every Monday. What a lovely taxi drive. No problems, as we walked the hundred metres or so to the Parc Zoologique.
I always am a bit wary about zoo's in foreign countries and rarely go into them, as the conditions of the animals and cages is usually awful - Chiang Mai Zoo in north Thailand being one of the better ones. We saw quite a variety on our walk round: an apparently dead baby elephant (only sleeping), lots of monkeys and chimps (Kez spilt purple bissap down a white top in excitement!), hyenas, deer, birds and cranes, a warthog, leopards and lions. We then went into the reptile hut, which Barney was very happy about, and saw various crocs, frogs, turtles and snakes. They were actually feeding two giant African Rock Pythons as we came in, with live chickens. A bit sadistic, like that tour in the Mekong, Pete, but one of the staff held the door open so I could go in and take some close up pics without the safety of the glass. Pretty nerve-racking but you don't get that at Banham Zoo! Also saw the world's bravest frog, sitting on top of a croc's head! Just before we left there was also a sign for a manatee, but all the pools were long dried out.
We trekked back to the Mission via the downtown area and ate at a vegetarian place opposite. The chef and proprietor, Mohammed, spoke good English and he showed us some pics on his iPhone of a lovely waterfall at Talenko, just outside Bamako. We got some details and added it to our list of places to see!
To the hottest town in Africa
Getting to the border between Senegal and Bamako was not too much of a struggle, but we did have to taxi it to a border post, inexplicably in the centre of town, to get our exit stamps. Didn't have to wait too long, and were then taken across the bridge that acts as a material border. Another short walk from the road was the entry stamp for Mali; don't understand why they are not on the roadside! The gare routiere on the Malian side only had sept/huit/neuf places, but we had time and waited in the shade with the rest of the drivers watching football highlights.
When we left, we had the slowest driver in Western Africa, apparently unwilling to push 40mph on a straight, flat road. I was stuffed right on the edge of the back seats, once again with my arm and head through the window. Was good for the breeze, but the amount of dust in the air made it a bit annoying. Time for the Kanye shades!
We stopped a couple of times at checkpoints, where guards sat under trees and either waved us through, or called us over to check on the visas. The heat was ridiculous - must've been over 40 degrees. At one such stop we saw a Land Rover that had been adapted to do an overland drive. The English couple were heading all the way from Europe to South Africa and back! We joked about if they had any spare seats, as we got back into the squashed Renault! Further the road, there were bush fires alongside us, which at first we thought were sporadic and started by the dryness and heat. However, thinking about it they may have been deliberately started to avoid a huge bush fire later in the dry season.
We got dropped at a small area a few kilometres from Kayes itself, and a group of taxi drivers crowded round trying to overcharge us for the short trip in. After getting in, and equally quickly out, of a couple of taxis, we started to walk it in when one of the drivers broke from the cartel and offered a cheaper price. Don't think he made too many friends that day...
Our chosen place to stay was a Catholic conference centre - not a fully fledged Mission - that had hospital style accommodation: cheap dorm beds and mattresses in a long building with toilets and showers at the far end. Again, not the worst place in the world, and all that we required. The only problem was that it was a long twenty minute walk into the centre of Kayes, in dry heat. Far less humid than the other countries, but it was still very hot. Oh and we had some rats that shared the building with us!
We had a few days to kill before meeting Kerry in Bamako, capital of Mali, and trying to sort out Ghana visas for me and her. So we spent a few days wandering about the town, through the markets and relaxing in the quietness of the Mission. On our way into the town, we passed an abattoir, that seemed to start work during the night - herds of goats and random bulls were being led along the road as we walked in for supper. Did remind me of the "Butcher of Kayes" - a ridiculously over-theatrical piece in the Bradt guide about a man on a bike cycling through the night to provide all of Kayes with meat. It was more like ten or so guys working together and listening to music. Not as dramatic.
The rest of Kayes was quite industrial, lots of big trucks passing by, and there was also a prison and a football pitch along the way. The prison had wrapped baskets of food outside the main gate, all with name tags on (supposedly for prisoners), and the football pitch erupted into activity just before dusk - a huge crowd gathered for a match equivalent to the Priors versus the Queen's Head, but there were flares going off on the sidelines! One afternoon on the way back to the Mission, the harmattan (huge wind from the Sahara in the north) descended and the town was covered in dust - it was quite hard to see more than ten or so metres. It gave us a first taster of the sahel (semi-arid savannah) conditions to come as we moved upriver in Mali.
One afternoon, on our way across the river to book tickets for a night bus to Bamako, we were shouted at to get out of the way by a couple of men. They ordered us to jump into the road, over some railings, for no apparent reason. We got into the road - not too busy, thankfully- just before a huge, angry bull charged past, banging into the metalwork of the bridge with menacing horns. An old man who was behind us, now on the road, hit it on the head with his stick! Close shave, but was a bit too quick for me to get my camera out.
After getting our ticket (3am start...) we stood by the riverside, watching women washing clothes and men fishing along the weir far below. Children were sliding down the banks of the bridge, before it crosses the actual river, in sewerage ducts, kind of like a helter skelter. I would've given it a go but I thought I'd get stuck... and dirty.
An early morning start once again, and we walked past the abattoir in full flow, cuts of goat hung up on hooks, and just avoided getting attacked by a couple of dogs not used to seeing three bleary-eyed backpackers in the middle of the night. After the half hour trek (nothing to us after Varela haha), we had a bite to eat at an omlette and tea stand, although we did have to wake the guy up! All our bags were put in the coach, not on the roof, we got receipts AND had free water and a few pastries each for brekkie. We were really impressed with Gana Transport - a proper coach!
When we left, we had the slowest driver in Western Africa, apparently unwilling to push 40mph on a straight, flat road. I was stuffed right on the edge of the back seats, once again with my arm and head through the window. Was good for the breeze, but the amount of dust in the air made it a bit annoying. Time for the Kanye shades!
We stopped a couple of times at checkpoints, where guards sat under trees and either waved us through, or called us over to check on the visas. The heat was ridiculous - must've been over 40 degrees. At one such stop we saw a Land Rover that had been adapted to do an overland drive. The English couple were heading all the way from Europe to South Africa and back! We joked about if they had any spare seats, as we got back into the squashed Renault! Further the road, there were bush fires alongside us, which at first we thought were sporadic and started by the dryness and heat. However, thinking about it they may have been deliberately started to avoid a huge bush fire later in the dry season.
We got dropped at a small area a few kilometres from Kayes itself, and a group of taxi drivers crowded round trying to overcharge us for the short trip in. After getting in, and equally quickly out, of a couple of taxis, we started to walk it in when one of the drivers broke from the cartel and offered a cheaper price. Don't think he made too many friends that day...
Our chosen place to stay was a Catholic conference centre - not a fully fledged Mission - that had hospital style accommodation: cheap dorm beds and mattresses in a long building with toilets and showers at the far end. Again, not the worst place in the world, and all that we required. The only problem was that it was a long twenty minute walk into the centre of Kayes, in dry heat. Far less humid than the other countries, but it was still very hot. Oh and we had some rats that shared the building with us!
We had a few days to kill before meeting Kerry in Bamako, capital of Mali, and trying to sort out Ghana visas for me and her. So we spent a few days wandering about the town, through the markets and relaxing in the quietness of the Mission. On our way into the town, we passed an abattoir, that seemed to start work during the night - herds of goats and random bulls were being led along the road as we walked in for supper. Did remind me of the "Butcher of Kayes" - a ridiculously over-theatrical piece in the Bradt guide about a man on a bike cycling through the night to provide all of Kayes with meat. It was more like ten or so guys working together and listening to music. Not as dramatic.
The rest of Kayes was quite industrial, lots of big trucks passing by, and there was also a prison and a football pitch along the way. The prison had wrapped baskets of food outside the main gate, all with name tags on (supposedly for prisoners), and the football pitch erupted into activity just before dusk - a huge crowd gathered for a match equivalent to the Priors versus the Queen's Head, but there were flares going off on the sidelines! One afternoon on the way back to the Mission, the harmattan (huge wind from the Sahara in the north) descended and the town was covered in dust - it was quite hard to see more than ten or so metres. It gave us a first taster of the sahel (semi-arid savannah) conditions to come as we moved upriver in Mali.
One afternoon, on our way across the river to book tickets for a night bus to Bamako, we were shouted at to get out of the way by a couple of men. They ordered us to jump into the road, over some railings, for no apparent reason. We got into the road - not too busy, thankfully- just before a huge, angry bull charged past, banging into the metalwork of the bridge with menacing horns. An old man who was behind us, now on the road, hit it on the head with his stick! Close shave, but was a bit too quick for me to get my camera out.
After getting our ticket (3am start...) we stood by the riverside, watching women washing clothes and men fishing along the weir far below. Children were sliding down the banks of the bridge, before it crosses the actual river, in sewerage ducts, kind of like a helter skelter. I would've given it a go but I thought I'd get stuck... and dirty.
An early morning start once again, and we walked past the abattoir in full flow, cuts of goat hung up on hooks, and just avoided getting attacked by a couple of dogs not used to seeing three bleary-eyed backpackers in the middle of the night. After the half hour trek (nothing to us after Varela haha), we had a bite to eat at an omlette and tea stand, although we did have to wake the guy up! All our bags were put in the coach, not on the roof, we got receipts AND had free water and a few pastries each for brekkie. We were really impressed with Gana Transport - a proper coach!
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Dree and Donkey Carts
Just a quick one here. I wasn't going to put this in, as it happened a while ago and I forgot about it, but after discussions I have been asked to include it.
When we were in Ziguinchor (back in the Cassamance region, Southern Senegal), we were all walking along the main road towards town when a donkey cart passed to our right. Obviously, the donkey is ahead of a two-wheeled wooden cart, where the driver sits. The donkey passed Dree's eyeline and somehow Dree got his ankle ran over!
Me and Barney stifled laughs as Dree (not hurt too badly) leapt back to his feet cursing the cart's driver and donkey. He'd somehow got his OTHER foot run over - the foot furthest from the cart.
Now nearly a month on Dree still claims that the cart "cut him up" and he was walking correctly. This doesn't really explain how the OTHER ankle got ran over, and how he seemed to miss Eyore passing him by at just over walking pace.
Anyway, this has been the subject of a lot of jokes while we've been here; warning Dree of donkeys in the distance, walking (like a gentleman) on the roadside of the path and so on. Needless to say, he wasn't hurt much by the cart - only pride!
When we were in Ziguinchor (back in the Cassamance region, Southern Senegal), we were all walking along the main road towards town when a donkey cart passed to our right. Obviously, the donkey is ahead of a two-wheeled wooden cart, where the driver sits. The donkey passed Dree's eyeline and somehow Dree got his ankle ran over!
Me and Barney stifled laughs as Dree (not hurt too badly) leapt back to his feet cursing the cart's driver and donkey. He'd somehow got his OTHER foot run over - the foot furthest from the cart.
Now nearly a month on Dree still claims that the cart "cut him up" and he was walking correctly. This doesn't really explain how the OTHER ankle got ran over, and how he seemed to miss Eyore passing him by at just over walking pace.
Anyway, this has been the subject of a lot of jokes while we've been here; warning Dree of donkeys in the distance, walking (like a gentleman) on the roadside of the path and so on. Needless to say, he wasn't hurt much by the cart - only pride!
A Short on Tamba
Not much to really tell about Tambacounda (Tamba to it's residents). We arrived late and ate a good meal of steak and chips after such a terribly long journey. All we needed to do here was sort out money - for some reason I had not been able to take any cash from any accounts in Guinea-Bissau, not even from credit cards - and roughly plan the next few weeks, doing a bit of research.
Tamba is yet another busy, and dusty, crossroads town; the main stop off between Senegal, Guinea-Bissau, Guinea and Mali.
The residential area is spread about between two huge arterial roads that intersect the town. We had the chance to stay on the roof here (it's certainly hot enough) but we could have a room for only 500 CFA more. The room had a fan. It was a quick decision. On a side note we probably had the best shower so far on the trip, just down the corridor (sometimes by candlelight - don't ask, it worked!), which made Mr Webb an extremely happy man - he showers more than any other human being I know of.
Lots of donkey carts everywhere in Tamba, which reminds me of a quick add-on for the next blog, and literally every shop was an ad-hoc mechanics, with men bashing metal outside, or hairdressers. Which I do not understand, as all the men at least have shaved heads. Tried a few places for food - one had a red light on in the evening, but served a good piece of fish and rice (that always comes with a set of vegetables: a bitter slice of some kind of pumpkin, aubergine, a root like a potato and a small but potent chilli). Then that evening tried "Best Burger" - where we pigged out on huge homemade beasts.
There is a train line that passes on its way from Dakar to Bamako (capital of Mali), but we didn't want to spend a whole 3/4 days on a train. Overland is far more exciting anyway. Would like to get a train somewhere on this trip, there's possibly one down the side of Benin. During the afternoon we were heading for a wander when some kids challenged us to a table football match. Dree and Barney played but the kids had obviously had more practice than them - maybe you could've whipped them Dad!
Not much more to tell. Sat on the roof to boost the old tan, bumped into a goat that was tied up there (quite cruel with no shade), which then literally bumped into us as it got loose and careered around the roof! I tried to be manly and catch him, but he just butted me out of the way!
That night there was a bit of a power cut so was a rather sweaty night in the room. Headed to the gare routiere for the border with Mali, but ended up going to the wrong one. After another taxi we got a neuf-place (clapped out old Renault estate) and headed off. I was out of the window most of the way, getting a lovely tan on one side!
Next blog: Mali!
Tamba is yet another busy, and dusty, crossroads town; the main stop off between Senegal, Guinea-Bissau, Guinea and Mali.
The residential area is spread about between two huge arterial roads that intersect the town. We had the chance to stay on the roof here (it's certainly hot enough) but we could have a room for only 500 CFA more. The room had a fan. It was a quick decision. On a side note we probably had the best shower so far on the trip, just down the corridor (sometimes by candlelight - don't ask, it worked!), which made Mr Webb an extremely happy man - he showers more than any other human being I know of.
Lots of donkey carts everywhere in Tamba, which reminds me of a quick add-on for the next blog, and literally every shop was an ad-hoc mechanics, with men bashing metal outside, or hairdressers. Which I do not understand, as all the men at least have shaved heads. Tried a few places for food - one had a red light on in the evening, but served a good piece of fish and rice (that always comes with a set of vegetables: a bitter slice of some kind of pumpkin, aubergine, a root like a potato and a small but potent chilli). Then that evening tried "Best Burger" - where we pigged out on huge homemade beasts.
There is a train line that passes on its way from Dakar to Bamako (capital of Mali), but we didn't want to spend a whole 3/4 days on a train. Overland is far more exciting anyway. Would like to get a train somewhere on this trip, there's possibly one down the side of Benin. During the afternoon we were heading for a wander when some kids challenged us to a table football match. Dree and Barney played but the kids had obviously had more practice than them - maybe you could've whipped them Dad!
Not much more to tell. Sat on the roof to boost the old tan, bumped into a goat that was tied up there (quite cruel with no shade), which then literally bumped into us as it got loose and careered around the roof! I tried to be manly and catch him, but he just butted me out of the way!
That night there was a bit of a power cut so was a rather sweaty night in the room. Headed to the gare routiere for the border with Mali, but ended up going to the wrong one. After another taxi we got a neuf-place (clapped out old Renault estate) and headed off. I was out of the window most of the way, getting a lovely tan on one side!
Next blog: Mali!
Tuesday, 10 November 2009
We Hit A Cow! (and other stories)
After a standard cramped 'neuf-place' to the border we were made to get all of our bags off the roof and unpack them for two lazy border guards trying to make a quick buck. But we had a lot of time and refused to pay a bribe (even when heavily suggested by the driver of the minibus). Dree started to unpack his worn underwear, and when the guards saw that we WERE going to unpack everything they soon gave up and waved us on. The bus got even more cramped as the driver allowed eight kids on board who were walking down the track, most on the roof but somehow four crammed in the van or hung on the outside. Damn greedy drivers!
Then we got off at the border town and were warned by the sept-place cartel to not take a minibus as it pulled up because it would not make it to Tambacounda- our crossroad destination in the centre of Senegal. The minibus was cheaper and leaving now, so we left along with it! On the way Dree was asleep in the front seat next to Barney. Me and B watched in amazement as a cow slowly wandered out into the road, and the driver didn't slow at all. The cow was struck about 50 mph on the hip and did a 'Bambi-on-ice' skid along the other side of the road into the ditch. It jumped up, pretty shocked and wandered off. Dree was less than impressed that he was woken up - he'd preferred to have been woken just before rather than after the incident!
Changing minibuses in a small town (never a good sign), we made sure our tickets were valid and that this new minibus would take us all the way to Tamba. Also had the nicest bissap in a bag (sweet purple juice from flowers of the hibiscus plant) during our hour wait - even though we were told the bus would be "leaving now". Pretty standard travel issue.
Half an hour out of the town we obviously broke down. The rear right tyre was flat - essentially blown out with a rip on the inner side - so they spent half an hour trying to change the tyre. Once the new one was put on we gave the van a push start (they rarely have started motors) and watched as the spare tyre deflated. The driver tried to get us all on regardless but we pointed out that the tyre was no good. So they started to change them BACK to the originally faulty tyre. Meanwhile we got comfortable by the side of the road to wait for a passing van or sept place to Tamba, which was over 100 km away. Not walkable, even for us!
Eventually a sept place pulled up and we bartered for a fare. Dree took the reigns in French, although I can feel myself understanding more and being able to speak much better each day I'm in a Francophone country. The long and short of it was that the b*****d in our broken van wouldn't give us a full refund. There were two parts to the ticket in the previous town, one of which he collected. Now he was saying that we only get back half of the fare! Quite a bit of arguing later (we just wanted him to show us the other ticket!), and a fight broke out between this cheeky so-and-so and a man from our proposed sept-place. We quickly decided it wasn't worth the hassle and high-tailed it back to the sept-place. Where we got overcharged by 1,000 CFA. Superb.
What a bloody long day: five or so different vehicles and some very tired travellers. Well, at least we were on our way to Tamba as dusk fell, even though our new driver resembled Uncle Phil from 'The Fresh Prince' and seemed to shout ALL THE TIME to his passengers (just in conversation). Think I went a bit deaf in my right ear. Onto Tamba - our last stop in Senegal before leaving for Mali; country number four.
Then we got off at the border town and were warned by the sept-place cartel to not take a minibus as it pulled up because it would not make it to Tambacounda- our crossroad destination in the centre of Senegal. The minibus was cheaper and leaving now, so we left along with it! On the way Dree was asleep in the front seat next to Barney. Me and B watched in amazement as a cow slowly wandered out into the road, and the driver didn't slow at all. The cow was struck about 50 mph on the hip and did a 'Bambi-on-ice' skid along the other side of the road into the ditch. It jumped up, pretty shocked and wandered off. Dree was less than impressed that he was woken up - he'd preferred to have been woken just before rather than after the incident!
Changing minibuses in a small town (never a good sign), we made sure our tickets were valid and that this new minibus would take us all the way to Tamba. Also had the nicest bissap in a bag (sweet purple juice from flowers of the hibiscus plant) during our hour wait - even though we were told the bus would be "leaving now". Pretty standard travel issue.
Half an hour out of the town we obviously broke down. The rear right tyre was flat - essentially blown out with a rip on the inner side - so they spent half an hour trying to change the tyre. Once the new one was put on we gave the van a push start (they rarely have started motors) and watched as the spare tyre deflated. The driver tried to get us all on regardless but we pointed out that the tyre was no good. So they started to change them BACK to the originally faulty tyre. Meanwhile we got comfortable by the side of the road to wait for a passing van or sept place to Tamba, which was over 100 km away. Not walkable, even for us!
Eventually a sept place pulled up and we bartered for a fare. Dree took the reigns in French, although I can feel myself understanding more and being able to speak much better each day I'm in a Francophone country. The long and short of it was that the b*****d in our broken van wouldn't give us a full refund. There were two parts to the ticket in the previous town, one of which he collected. Now he was saying that we only get back half of the fare! Quite a bit of arguing later (we just wanted him to show us the other ticket!), and a fight broke out between this cheeky so-and-so and a man from our proposed sept-place. We quickly decided it wasn't worth the hassle and high-tailed it back to the sept-place. Where we got overcharged by 1,000 CFA. Superb.
What a bloody long day: five or so different vehicles and some very tired travellers. Well, at least we were on our way to Tamba as dusk fell, even though our new driver resembled Uncle Phil from 'The Fresh Prince' and seemed to shout ALL THE TIME to his passengers (just in conversation). Think I went a bit deaf in my right ear. Onto Tamba - our last stop in Senegal before leaving for Mali; country number four.
A few days in Gabu
On the minibus to Gabu we got chatting to a few Sierra Leonians, who said that it was fine to visit Sierra via Guinea, even though there were recent riots and military over-reactions, and the visa was going to cost £80 (£20 on the border apparently). Shame, but we had to meet Kerry and had a whole other trip planned. Next time.
First place we went to for accommodation was (again) reccommended in the guide book - "good rooms", "located in gardens" with a "discotheque and video lounge". It turned out to be a few hot tin shacks in a dusty driveway, a few dying trees about. About turned and walked back to the main road. Kids running past shouted "blanco, blanco", which was wierdly funny. Got a couple of rooms with fans, showers and double beds in Hotel Vision on the other side of town. I somehow ended up with a room to myself and we went for a wander.
Gabu was very similar to Bafata - long market road (much more variety in Gabu), every other shop being a Morrocan/Lebanese-run corner shop, or a hands-on mechanics, fixing generators or mopeds with hammers and a successful trial-and-error method by the roadside. We ate next to one of these mechanics every day - a small shack serving omlette and onion with mayo in a half-baguette, and a cup of Dilmah tea (quite expensive in the UK). All for about 30p. Bargain.
We had nothing to do here and thought we'd have a couple of dirt-cheap days to account for the more expensive parts of the trip still to come - trekking in the Dogon Country, Mali, and staying in Ghana's Mole (Mol-ay) National Park. Again eating a lot of meals by torchlight, a trying experience when you have bones from fish or chicken to contend with, and also had one memorable meal from a butchers by the roadside. In small packets made of concrete bags was some roasted generic meat (goat perhaps), with mayo, crumbled stock cube and onion. We got a bag each and ate back at the hotel. Barnes and Dree attacked it and really enjoyed it, but there was too much knuckle and not enough meat for my liking. I'll stick to my hard boiled eggs and chilli powder thanks.
The next day was Saturday and there was a night club in Gabu - Jomav - which apparently had the loudest sound system in Guinea-Bissau! Thought we'd check that out! Firstly we went to get hair cuts from the campest man I have met in a long while. He was wearing a long yellow moo-moo and was warbling to Celine Dion as he "cut" our hair. I say "cut" because his generator was down so he resorted to shaving all out heads with a razor blade and comb (that ol' chestnut)! Quite strange experience, but needed the barnet cut as it was reaching 40 plus each day.
Then tried to buy some booze, but found none. A lot of the countries we are visiting are mainly Muslim, and so we had to head to the club dry. Went back tot he rooms and played some cards till we'd hit the dance floor about midnight. But Mother Nature obviously didn't like the Kanye West/ 50 Cent/West African rap that was going to be played. Another night of heavy downpour during the "dry season". It flooded most of the compound, and there was no way we could've navigated the already potholed roads with all the rain as well. Clubbing on hold.
The next day we were lucky enough to catch some football in a warehouse further down the main road. Four TV's were set up on various stands - an oil drum, some boxes etc - and showed games from all the major leagues in the world. During lunch we paid the 150 francs (CFA), about 20 pence, and watched Liverpool stuff Man Utd, sans Gerrard. Not happy. Later we headed back and saw Barcelona demolish Zaragoza (including a tired-looking Jermaine Pennant) 6-1 in Spain. The atmosphere was great - this was where all the men came to watch the matches and there was about 200 guys on benches facing the screens, wearing all sorts of football shirts, staring earnestly ahead, as well as the few bats circling overhead. I did think a man was about to get lynched when he tried to change the channel, but he sensibly heeded the not-so-polite calls of his peers!
So with our fancy new haircuts - Dree having a small wave-fringe, looking like Kryton from Red Dwarf, and me and Barney rocking the skinhead look - we were ready for our return to Senegal, hopefully getting an entry stamp this time, and to Tambacounda.
First place we went to for accommodation was (again) reccommended in the guide book - "good rooms", "located in gardens" with a "discotheque and video lounge". It turned out to be a few hot tin shacks in a dusty driveway, a few dying trees about. About turned and walked back to the main road. Kids running past shouted "blanco, blanco", which was wierdly funny. Got a couple of rooms with fans, showers and double beds in Hotel Vision on the other side of town. I somehow ended up with a room to myself and we went for a wander.
Gabu was very similar to Bafata - long market road (much more variety in Gabu), every other shop being a Morrocan/Lebanese-run corner shop, or a hands-on mechanics, fixing generators or mopeds with hammers and a successful trial-and-error method by the roadside. We ate next to one of these mechanics every day - a small shack serving omlette and onion with mayo in a half-baguette, and a cup of Dilmah tea (quite expensive in the UK). All for about 30p. Bargain.
We had nothing to do here and thought we'd have a couple of dirt-cheap days to account for the more expensive parts of the trip still to come - trekking in the Dogon Country, Mali, and staying in Ghana's Mole (Mol-ay) National Park. Again eating a lot of meals by torchlight, a trying experience when you have bones from fish or chicken to contend with, and also had one memorable meal from a butchers by the roadside. In small packets made of concrete bags was some roasted generic meat (goat perhaps), with mayo, crumbled stock cube and onion. We got a bag each and ate back at the hotel. Barnes and Dree attacked it and really enjoyed it, but there was too much knuckle and not enough meat for my liking. I'll stick to my hard boiled eggs and chilli powder thanks.
The next day was Saturday and there was a night club in Gabu - Jomav - which apparently had the loudest sound system in Guinea-Bissau! Thought we'd check that out! Firstly we went to get hair cuts from the campest man I have met in a long while. He was wearing a long yellow moo-moo and was warbling to Celine Dion as he "cut" our hair. I say "cut" because his generator was down so he resorted to shaving all out heads with a razor blade and comb (that ol' chestnut)! Quite strange experience, but needed the barnet cut as it was reaching 40 plus each day.
Then tried to buy some booze, but found none. A lot of the countries we are visiting are mainly Muslim, and so we had to head to the club dry. Went back tot he rooms and played some cards till we'd hit the dance floor about midnight. But Mother Nature obviously didn't like the Kanye West/ 50 Cent/West African rap that was going to be played. Another night of heavy downpour during the "dry season". It flooded most of the compound, and there was no way we could've navigated the already potholed roads with all the rain as well. Clubbing on hold.
The next day we were lucky enough to catch some football in a warehouse further down the main road. Four TV's were set up on various stands - an oil drum, some boxes etc - and showed games from all the major leagues in the world. During lunch we paid the 150 francs (CFA), about 20 pence, and watched Liverpool stuff Man Utd, sans Gerrard. Not happy. Later we headed back and saw Barcelona demolish Zaragoza (including a tired-looking Jermaine Pennant) 6-1 in Spain. The atmosphere was great - this was where all the men came to watch the matches and there was about 200 guys on benches facing the screens, wearing all sorts of football shirts, staring earnestly ahead, as well as the few bats circling overhead. I did think a man was about to get lynched when he tried to change the channel, but he sensibly heeded the not-so-polite calls of his peers!
So with our fancy new haircuts - Dree having a small wave-fringe, looking like Kryton from Red Dwarf, and me and Barney rocking the skinhead look - we were ready for our return to Senegal, hopefully getting an entry stamp this time, and to Tambacounda.
Monday, 9 November 2009
Afrika Bafata (and how to take African tea)
We left the brothel very early the next morning and got to the bus station (paradgem in Portuguese). Had missed breakfast because we wanted to get moving as early as possible. Mainly because of the heat, but also wanted to find a place to stay before the day got too late. Saw a woman carrying a basket on her head, shouting "chocolate". Paid the equivalent of 20p and unwrapped a silver foil rectangle. It turned out to be some well nice Starbucks chocolate, with the logo on and everything! Must've literally fallen off the back of a lorry! Tried to find the woman for more but she'd vanished. Bad times.
The sept-place soon turned out to be a neuf-place (nine people, ten including the driver), with two on the passenger seat, four in the middle seats and three in the rear: small boot. Guess who got the lucky back seats... There was no head room, so was bent double for the two hour drive. Pretty damn uncomfortable, but I'm learning to take myself to a better place. That or I can now sleep anywhere! Didn't help with me trying to read a book in the back that had loose pages, as the windows were all wide open - it was like the finalè from The Crystal Maze!
Arrived in Bafata just before lunch, just as the temperature was pushing 40 degrees. Trapsed across town and got a room at the recommended place in town. Would not have liked to see the other options, as we had no running water, bucket showers, not the cleanest rooms, but did have a double bed (possibly with added bugs). Stayed in worse, but not what we were hoping for.
Took a wander around Bafata. It seems to have been quite a hub for commerce when the Portuguese were here, but after they left a lot of the town seems to have been left to crumble. There was an old hotel that housed a few hundred people that has trees growing through it, and a lot of the buildings by the river are abandoned. There was also an abandoned swimming pool by the riverside, which was pretty good for some eerie dusk photos.
During the evening we walked to the main road to the sound of the generators (as in most of Guinea-Bissau there is little electricity after dusk), but the town seemed to come alive here! Candles lit the road and, again with nearly all the places in Africa we have been to, the chairs come to the roadside for social time. The kids play in the street, food stalls spring up, with women making omlettes and sandwiches by torchlight, and the men take tea and chat.
African tea is very interesting - there is a very small tea pot, heated on charcoal burner, which is fanned for quite a while till the tea boils. It is then poured from a height into tiny shot-glass-like cups. After adding (a lot) of sugar, the process of pouring is repeated from increasing heights until the sugar is mixed in and there is a head in the glass. The tea should then be slurped and returned to the pourer. Two further rounds of pouring are then taken, with the third supposed to be the best pour. It is an honour to be given any offer of tea, especially the third pouring! The tea itself is a very sweet green tea, that usually has bits of the leaves left in the bottom of the glass. I believe it is an Arabic tradition, hailing from the Islamic desert tribes.
Further down we found a row of TVs - all stuck on the loudest volume setting (thought of Pete's old TV in 111) - where the local boys play Pro Evo on a Playstation. Obviously I couldnt't turn down Dree's challenge and the game commenced. Now I did loose, and I hold my hands up to this, but the analogue stick was stuck downwards and all my players just ran towards the touchline. In the past anyway. Wait till my Xbox and Fifa 2010!
Got back to the rooms with some street food, and decided to leave for Gabu (further inland) for the weekend.
The sept-place soon turned out to be a neuf-place (nine people, ten including the driver), with two on the passenger seat, four in the middle seats and three in the rear: small boot. Guess who got the lucky back seats... There was no head room, so was bent double for the two hour drive. Pretty damn uncomfortable, but I'm learning to take myself to a better place. That or I can now sleep anywhere! Didn't help with me trying to read a book in the back that had loose pages, as the windows were all wide open - it was like the finalè from The Crystal Maze!
Arrived in Bafata just before lunch, just as the temperature was pushing 40 degrees. Trapsed across town and got a room at the recommended place in town. Would not have liked to see the other options, as we had no running water, bucket showers, not the cleanest rooms, but did have a double bed (possibly with added bugs). Stayed in worse, but not what we were hoping for.
Took a wander around Bafata. It seems to have been quite a hub for commerce when the Portuguese were here, but after they left a lot of the town seems to have been left to crumble. There was an old hotel that housed a few hundred people that has trees growing through it, and a lot of the buildings by the river are abandoned. There was also an abandoned swimming pool by the riverside, which was pretty good for some eerie dusk photos.
During the evening we walked to the main road to the sound of the generators (as in most of Guinea-Bissau there is little electricity after dusk), but the town seemed to come alive here! Candles lit the road and, again with nearly all the places in Africa we have been to, the chairs come to the roadside for social time. The kids play in the street, food stalls spring up, with women making omlettes and sandwiches by torchlight, and the men take tea and chat.
African tea is very interesting - there is a very small tea pot, heated on charcoal burner, which is fanned for quite a while till the tea boils. It is then poured from a height into tiny shot-glass-like cups. After adding (a lot) of sugar, the process of pouring is repeated from increasing heights until the sugar is mixed in and there is a head in the glass. The tea should then be slurped and returned to the pourer. Two further rounds of pouring are then taken, with the third supposed to be the best pour. It is an honour to be given any offer of tea, especially the third pouring! The tea itself is a very sweet green tea, that usually has bits of the leaves left in the bottom of the glass. I believe it is an Arabic tradition, hailing from the Islamic desert tribes.
Further down we found a row of TVs - all stuck on the loudest volume setting (thought of Pete's old TV in 111) - where the local boys play Pro Evo on a Playstation. Obviously I couldnt't turn down Dree's challenge and the game commenced. Now I did loose, and I hold my hands up to this, but the analogue stick was stuck downwards and all my players just ran towards the touchline. In the past anyway. Wait till my Xbox and Fifa 2010!
Got back to the rooms with some street food, and decided to leave for Gabu (further inland) for the weekend.
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Change of plan in Bissau
Early the next morning in Bissau we headed to the port, a bustling frantic place, which also seems to double as the fresh fish market, and was chaotic to get through. We waited for the office to open, as they had said a boat for Bolama (closest island in the Bijagos archipelago) departs this morning. As we waited a lot of people came up and explained that there was no boat till Friday - three days away...
This was confirmed by the office staff, and so we needed to re-evaluate our whole Bissau plan. Originally, we had wanted to spend a week or so island hopping and relaxing on some beaches, before heading overland to Mali to meet up with Dree's girlfriend, Kerry. Now we had about ten days to kill in Guinea-Bissau, with no idea of what we could do! We pondered at the port for a while, drinking bags of bissap (cooled hibiscus tea, bright purple and addictively refreshing) before relocating to a restaurant for the ultimate in concentration narcotics - tea.
Sorting out where we were going to go was the easy part; now we had nowhere to stay because last night's accommodation was fully booked. We eventually found somewhere, but us three had to cram into a double bed, in a small room which had no fan, a shower and toilet, but no running water. Oh and blackouts. Ah living on a budget! Call it an 'experience'.
Bissau itself is a lovely African capital, worlds away from Dakar. There is one main road down to the port, and a really relaxed atmosphere, possibly due to the Portuguese influence. There is hardly any hassle from people wanting to sell things, bar the occasional mobile top-up lads that seem to be present all over West Africa. No whistles, no followers, no shouting - you are left to wander around in peace (almost).
We saw the old palace that was bombed during the civil war (still in that condition), the Old Town, that reminded me of St Louis in Senegal, and the impressive fort overlooking the port, that is now a military base. The industrial side of the port reminded me a lot of Felixstowe - huge containers lifting crates onto huge lorries. But there was a lot of poverty down there. Homeless people, beggars, children sleeping in the shade under parked lorries. Maybe not so much like Felixstowe. Another difference is the vultures that circle above, literally everywhere in Guinea- Bissau. Quite unnerving seeing them up there.
We were a bit annoyed at not being able to make the Bijagos, but these things happen when you're travelling, and you have to be free enough to adapt and change plans. In our case we couldn't afford to spend another few days in Bissau, and so chose to divert our route back overland, stopping off in Bafata, Gabu and Tambacounda (Senegal) before going into Mali - country number four.
On a final stinging note, the owner of the place we were staying said that we had to pay 25,000 CFA for the room - not the 12,000 or so we were told. The room was a real dive; dirty, small, hot. We argued for a while but in the end had to pay about 17,000 because it was late and we had tried all other places that we could stay in. Only for one night, but that's what happens when you book into a brothel!!!
This was confirmed by the office staff, and so we needed to re-evaluate our whole Bissau plan. Originally, we had wanted to spend a week or so island hopping and relaxing on some beaches, before heading overland to Mali to meet up with Dree's girlfriend, Kerry. Now we had about ten days to kill in Guinea-Bissau, with no idea of what we could do! We pondered at the port for a while, drinking bags of bissap (cooled hibiscus tea, bright purple and addictively refreshing) before relocating to a restaurant for the ultimate in concentration narcotics - tea.
Sorting out where we were going to go was the easy part; now we had nowhere to stay because last night's accommodation was fully booked. We eventually found somewhere, but us three had to cram into a double bed, in a small room which had no fan, a shower and toilet, but no running water. Oh and blackouts. Ah living on a budget! Call it an 'experience'.
Bissau itself is a lovely African capital, worlds away from Dakar. There is one main road down to the port, and a really relaxed atmosphere, possibly due to the Portuguese influence. There is hardly any hassle from people wanting to sell things, bar the occasional mobile top-up lads that seem to be present all over West Africa. No whistles, no followers, no shouting - you are left to wander around in peace (almost).
We saw the old palace that was bombed during the civil war (still in that condition), the Old Town, that reminded me of St Louis in Senegal, and the impressive fort overlooking the port, that is now a military base. The industrial side of the port reminded me a lot of Felixstowe - huge containers lifting crates onto huge lorries. But there was a lot of poverty down there. Homeless people, beggars, children sleeping in the shade under parked lorries. Maybe not so much like Felixstowe. Another difference is the vultures that circle above, literally everywhere in Guinea- Bissau. Quite unnerving seeing them up there.
We were a bit annoyed at not being able to make the Bijagos, but these things happen when you're travelling, and you have to be free enough to adapt and change plans. In our case we couldn't afford to spend another few days in Bissau, and so chose to divert our route back overland, stopping off in Bafata, Gabu and Tambacounda (Senegal) before going into Mali - country number four.
On a final stinging note, the owner of the place we were staying said that we had to pay 25,000 CFA for the room - not the 12,000 or so we were told. The room was a real dive; dirty, small, hot. We argued for a while but in the end had to pay about 17,000 because it was late and we had tried all other places that we could stay in. Only for one night, but that's what happens when you book into a brothel!!!
Midnight Stroll
We woke up on our third day in Varela, hoping for some good news about the road. In the current situation (the huge lorries and 4x4's carrying the soldiers had further destroyed the poor road), we were waiting on a truck going back to Sao Domingo, or even halfway to Susannah. Franco said that he had asked, but there was no one going today. There was a Red Cross jeep, but they were staying put for another few days and we had to get a shake on to continue our journey to the Bijagos.
Franco suggested we waited till the afternoon, and if there were still no trucks we would have to hike the 18km BACK to Susannah in the early morning. No more news, so we spent the day on our little deserted beach again - soldiers were still rather off-putting. We had a few beach mates this time though: Kaka, Franco's dog, and a little boy from the village both followed us over the rocks. We eventually convinced the boy to go back home (Dree supervising), but we couldn't get rid of Kaka. He was going mental on the beach - was like a whole new world for him - but we kept him watered and in any shade we could find.
We prepped everything the night before and tried to get some kip in before our ridiculous moonlight stroll. Got up at 2am. That should suffice to let you know how we were all feeling! It was pitch black anywhere outside our little compound, but Franco did leave some bread, jam, tea and coffee out to give us some energy. Full of black coffee we set off with all our gear into the night. The path to the main road was not too bad - our torches gave us enough light to avoid potholes and mud. Well not all the torches... my wind-up head torch was pathetic. It was really pitch black once we got into the countryside. No lights visible. Clear stars and a very clear milky way.
We walked for about two hours before we came to the broken bridge at 5:30am. The sun was just rising so we took a rest. Twelve kilometres in a couple of hours; middle of the night on a horrendous road. Not bad. Carried on as the sun rose, and made Susannah out 7am. There were soldiers all along the roadside into the village, carrying old machine guns and RPGs. Most seemed to be coming out of villager's huts carrying mattresses. Still, was pretty uncomfortable to be waiting for the minibus to leave.
The journey in the bus was worse than the walk itself - there were live chickens on the floor, six to a four person bench, the road seemed worse as the driver took everything at speed and the poor girl next to me was violently carsick the whole way. All in all a fantastic ten hours by the time we arrived back in Sao Domingo.
Jumped straight into a people carrier for the next leg to Bissau (capital of Guinea-Bissau), as we just couldn't hack yet another minibus. Had a smooth road, quick driver and the only slightly annoying thing were the checkpoints around Bissau. We were told to get out, show passports and visas (fair enough), but then had to walk 100m in the heat to where the van had moved to. For no apparent reason, than to just annoy us! I suppose it's just because we'd had such a long day already that we were quite highly strung. We made it into Bissau regardless and found a nice place to stay near the port, ready for the boat to the Bijagos Islands the following morning
Franco suggested we waited till the afternoon, and if there were still no trucks we would have to hike the 18km BACK to Susannah in the early morning. No more news, so we spent the day on our little deserted beach again - soldiers were still rather off-putting. We had a few beach mates this time though: Kaka, Franco's dog, and a little boy from the village both followed us over the rocks. We eventually convinced the boy to go back home (Dree supervising), but we couldn't get rid of Kaka. He was going mental on the beach - was like a whole new world for him - but we kept him watered and in any shade we could find.
We prepped everything the night before and tried to get some kip in before our ridiculous moonlight stroll. Got up at 2am. That should suffice to let you know how we were all feeling! It was pitch black anywhere outside our little compound, but Franco did leave some bread, jam, tea and coffee out to give us some energy. Full of black coffee we set off with all our gear into the night. The path to the main road was not too bad - our torches gave us enough light to avoid potholes and mud. Well not all the torches... my wind-up head torch was pathetic. It was really pitch black once we got into the countryside. No lights visible. Clear stars and a very clear milky way.
We walked for about two hours before we came to the broken bridge at 5:30am. The sun was just rising so we took a rest. Twelve kilometres in a couple of hours; middle of the night on a horrendous road. Not bad. Carried on as the sun rose, and made Susannah out 7am. There were soldiers all along the roadside into the village, carrying old machine guns and RPGs. Most seemed to be coming out of villager's huts carrying mattresses. Still, was pretty uncomfortable to be waiting for the minibus to leave.
The journey in the bus was worse than the walk itself - there were live chickens on the floor, six to a four person bench, the road seemed worse as the driver took everything at speed and the poor girl next to me was violently carsick the whole way. All in all a fantastic ten hours by the time we arrived back in Sao Domingo.
Jumped straight into a people carrier for the next leg to Bissau (capital of Guinea-Bissau), as we just couldn't hack yet another minibus. Had a smooth road, quick driver and the only slightly annoying thing were the checkpoints around Bissau. We were told to get out, show passports and visas (fair enough), but then had to walk 100m in the heat to where the van had moved to. For no apparent reason, than to just annoy us! I suppose it's just because we'd had such a long day already that we were quite highly strung. We made it into Bissau regardless and found a nice place to stay near the port, ready for the boat to the Bijagos Islands the following morning
Stranger happenings in Varela
The next day turned out better and we headed for the beach, even though it wasn't exactly what we expected. Further along the shore, the debris cleared and we ended up being the only ones on the beach the whole day, bar one or two fishermen passing with machetes.
Went for an eventful swim in the ocean. It's the Atlantic, but wasn't too bad at all. Played about with a ball we'd bought until me and Dree both stepped on some kind of urchin that left spikes in our feet. Really painful and they're still wedged in there now - two weeks on! Made it an unsuccessful hat trick by Barney losing his sunglasses as well. No way to find them; the water was just too murky to see. Sunbathed for a bit and discovered I had a very fetching "wife beater" tan from wearing my vest for a few days. The clouds started to cover over in the afternoon and we headed back. To add the proverbial insult to more injuries I cut my foot on a rusty bit of wire on the way back. Joy!
The rave reviews that we'd read about on the net were turning over in our mind - was this the place they were talking about? It was nice, but not as good as we were expecting. Also we were wondering how we would ever get back to Sao Domingo to continue our journey as we hadn't seen ANY other cars heading back down the awful road.
The next morning it was raining and to make things even more worrying Barney had seen a couple of truck loads of soldiers pull up out of his window. The rain cleared and we headed down to the beach again. The armed soldiers had driven down to the abandoned houses on the beach and were hanging about, setting up camps and unpacking equipment. We took a quick rain check on the same beach - no idea who they were at this point! We clambered over the iron ore and rocks, eventually ending up at a really nice little cove where there was literally no one else. A deserted beach TICK!
Spent the afternoon in the sun, getting ridiculously burnt (unparalleled heat) before returning to the other beach, which gave the soldiers a bit of a surprise to see us three clambering towards them. There were a few awkward 'Bonjour' and 'ça va's' as we passed by (thankfully) without incident. Back at Chez Helene we asked Franco about all the soldiers. There had apparently been some trouble in the Cassamance region that we had just come from, and so the soldiers had been deployed all along the border to look out for any rebels fleeing Senegal. All rather exciting!
The soldiers were part-time and Franco believed that they get paid for being called up, so the Government makes a bit of a fuss over nothing, calling on reservists. The troops are okay in small groups, but after a few beers they can get raucous. They turn up with no food, water, bedding or accommodation, demanding things from the locals (who are quite poor themselves and have to share their homes and food with the soldiers)
Two years ago the troops blocked the so-called 'road' from Varela back inland due to more Cassamance violence. Franco was not even allowed to go to Sao Domingo to get food and water, turned away at the end of Varela by armed troops. Franco's wife seems to have a rebellious streak of her own, as she called q contact at the UN to try and pull some strings. The food was able to reach some way along the road, but had to travel the rest by canoe, and arrived at the beaches where it had to be carried the kilometre inland!
The soldiers this time were using an old hotel that is right on the coastline to stay in - a resort that was abandoned in 1993, which were the abandoned, overgrown buildings we saw. It was apparently a very nice place; 160 rooms, seafront views etc. But then the civil war started in the nineties and it was just abandoned.
"Terrible shame," said Franco, "It was a really nice place - politics!" Sounds like Varela could have equalled Cap Skiring in Senegal and brought in a lot of tourism...
STRANGE times in Varela.
Went for an eventful swim in the ocean. It's the Atlantic, but wasn't too bad at all. Played about with a ball we'd bought until me and Dree both stepped on some kind of urchin that left spikes in our feet. Really painful and they're still wedged in there now - two weeks on! Made it an unsuccessful hat trick by Barney losing his sunglasses as well. No way to find them; the water was just too murky to see. Sunbathed for a bit and discovered I had a very fetching "wife beater" tan from wearing my vest for a few days. The clouds started to cover over in the afternoon and we headed back. To add the proverbial insult to more injuries I cut my foot on a rusty bit of wire on the way back. Joy!
The rave reviews that we'd read about on the net were turning over in our mind - was this the place they were talking about? It was nice, but not as good as we were expecting. Also we were wondering how we would ever get back to Sao Domingo to continue our journey as we hadn't seen ANY other cars heading back down the awful road.
The next morning it was raining and to make things even more worrying Barney had seen a couple of truck loads of soldiers pull up out of his window. The rain cleared and we headed down to the beach again. The armed soldiers had driven down to the abandoned houses on the beach and were hanging about, setting up camps and unpacking equipment. We took a quick rain check on the same beach - no idea who they were at this point! We clambered over the iron ore and rocks, eventually ending up at a really nice little cove where there was literally no one else. A deserted beach TICK!
Spent the afternoon in the sun, getting ridiculously burnt (unparalleled heat) before returning to the other beach, which gave the soldiers a bit of a surprise to see us three clambering towards them. There were a few awkward 'Bonjour' and 'ça va's' as we passed by (thankfully) without incident. Back at Chez Helene we asked Franco about all the soldiers. There had apparently been some trouble in the Cassamance region that we had just come from, and so the soldiers had been deployed all along the border to look out for any rebels fleeing Senegal. All rather exciting!
The soldiers were part-time and Franco believed that they get paid for being called up, so the Government makes a bit of a fuss over nothing, calling on reservists. The troops are okay in small groups, but after a few beers they can get raucous. They turn up with no food, water, bedding or accommodation, demanding things from the locals (who are quite poor themselves and have to share their homes and food with the soldiers)
Two years ago the troops blocked the so-called 'road' from Varela back inland due to more Cassamance violence. Franco was not even allowed to go to Sao Domingo to get food and water, turned away at the end of Varela by armed troops. Franco's wife seems to have a rebellious streak of her own, as she called q contact at the UN to try and pull some strings. The food was able to reach some way along the road, but had to travel the rest by canoe, and arrived at the beaches where it had to be carried the kilometre inland!
The soldiers this time were using an old hotel that is right on the coastline to stay in - a resort that was abandoned in 1993, which were the abandoned, overgrown buildings we saw. It was apparently a very nice place; 160 rooms, seafront views etc. But then the civil war started in the nineties and it was just abandoned.
"Terrible shame," said Franco, "It was a really nice place - politics!" Sounds like Varela could have equalled Cap Skiring in Senegal and brought in a lot of tourism...
STRANGE times in Varela.
Sunday, 1 November 2009
Strange happenings in Varela
Well after that epic walk in we slept like logs. It was the beginning of the tourist season (coinciding with the end of the rainy season) and so Franco had made up two rooms for us. We weren't too bothered - it wasn't that expensive and we had breakfast included. The previous night we had met Franco, a seventy-odd Italian ex-Navy officer. He spoke Italian, French, English and Portuguese and lived with his two daughters in the compound at Chez Helene. His wife was in Italy (for how long we did not ask). He was a pretty good chef as well and cooked us a great meal every night we stayed. The breakfast was just tea, coffee and some bread with homemade jams, but it was just nice to have a breakfast for the first time in a while. Oh and they had a dog called Kaka.
The first day was pretty overcast, but we walked to the beach regardless. There were two beaches we could go to - a fisherman's working beach and the quieter, (according to Franco) nicer beach slightly further around the coast. We headed for the nicer one and were pretty weirded out by what we found. After going through a small forest unlike Thetford, we ended up on the shore where erosion had eaten away at the shoreline, dragging derelict houses and trees onto the beach. It was like something from Lost ("The Others") or Half Life! Dozens of empty buildings, overgrown with plants and some marked with graffiti. A rusted water tank had also fallen onto the sand and a digger was covered in vines slightly further inland. So strange - another thing you won't believe until I get some pics up.
Further around the shoreline was pretty inaccessible, due to the lack of sand and tonnes of iron ore. We took a trek over it (in flip flops mind) under the careful supervision of Surefoot Like-a-mountain-goat Webb, who took everything at speed! Did go quite a way around the coast, but were worried that the tide would cut us off. In Guinea Bissau the tide is four times the world average and comes in pretty quick. Headed back to Chez Helena where Barney discovered that he'd dropped his key somewhere along the coast... New lock time.
The first day was pretty overcast, but we walked to the beach regardless. There were two beaches we could go to - a fisherman's working beach and the quieter, (according to Franco) nicer beach slightly further around the coast. We headed for the nicer one and were pretty weirded out by what we found. After going through a small forest unlike Thetford, we ended up on the shore where erosion had eaten away at the shoreline, dragging derelict houses and trees onto the beach. It was like something from Lost ("The Others") or Half Life! Dozens of empty buildings, overgrown with plants and some marked with graffiti. A rusted water tank had also fallen onto the sand and a digger was covered in vines slightly further inland. So strange - another thing you won't believe until I get some pics up.
Further around the shoreline was pretty inaccessible, due to the lack of sand and tonnes of iron ore. We took a trek over it (in flip flops mind) under the careful supervision of Surefoot Like-a-mountain-goat Webb, who took everything at speed! Did go quite a way around the coast, but were worried that the tide would cut us off. In Guinea Bissau the tide is four times the world average and comes in pretty quick. Headed back to Chez Helena where Barney discovered that he'd dropped his key somewhere along the coast... New lock time.
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