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!