Molè (Mole-ay) National Park is in the top right corner of Ghana, and is the largest National Park in Ghana. It covers 4840km² and we decided to go mainly in the hope of seeing an elephant in the wild. Bit different for Kez, as she'd spent the last month volunteering in Malawi on an elephant project, but we were all happy to see whatever we could. Molè Motel was where we stayed, a few kilometres into the park, high on a ridge overlooking two watering holes. There are viewing platforms to watch the animals from a distance, but we'd heard that the best thing to do was go on an early morning walking safari, where we'd have the best chance of seeing wildlife up close.
Our guide was called James Labere, and had been a guide at Molè for 27 years. We were only allowed down onto the plains below (around the watering holes and into the forests) with an official guide who carried a gun just in case. Saying that, there was a crazy Japanese guy, who looked like he'd been roughing it round the world for a few years, that was just wandering around one afternoon by himself! Labere (guide) gave a group of about ten of us a small prep talk about taking water and not leaving rubbish, before we set off at about 6am.
The walk started with the descent to the National Park, down the steep ridge, and into the bush (no laughing boys). Labere was a really good guide, stopping and explaining things along the way, but had a habit of saying "Yes" in a kind of hum after everything he said. Like Yoda. Very funny. The first animal we clapped eyes on was a warthog that was burrowing in the ground, using its' tusks to dig. We stood and watched it for about 10 minutes, and at some points it looked straight at us, trying to figure us all out. Labere explained that they can be very dangerous, especially when they are close to their young.
We saw tonnes more animals, including kob and bush buck (from the antelope family), green monkeys, crocs in shallow lakes, eagles, vultures and elephant.... footprints and dung. Still no sign of the elusive giants. One of the bush bucks appeared out of nowhere right in front of us, where else, in a bush. We were only about a few metres away and stood there for a while, as he nonchalantly looked us over before sauntering off! Incredible! The walk was only about 9 cedis (four pounds - no pound sign on this keyboard), and took us about three hours over streams, through forests, across salt flats that were dried up lakes, and a couple of huge watering holes. We were shattered by the time we got back up to the ridge, and the sun was beginning to burn.
After a breakfast, which eventually all came, bar the beans, we saw a few buses of people arrive. It turns out that a huge group of Jehovah's Witnesses had booked the whole motel for that night for some kind of conference or something. We therefore organised an overnight hike with the rangers to a tree hide overlooking a watering hole. After a swift dip in the pool overlooking the watering holes, and getting some jollof rice [spicy] and beef we were all set. We even saw our first glimpse of an elephant from one of the viewing platforms - moving across a gap in the trees before having a swim in a watering holes. I couldn't spot him at first, thought he was a tree! Eye test needed.
Labere took us on the trip back out that afternoon and joining us were Olly and Maric, surfing brothers from down under. They'd been doing a trip along the Ghanaian coast before coming up to Molè. Bit awkward as I thought Maric was South African as I shook his hand and almost asked about being World Cup hosts! Strong handshake too, must improve on mine! We walked the 9km to Brugbani camp, which was pretty uneventful as we stuck to the dirt road the whole time. Saw plenty of signs of buffalo, elephants and hyenas - plenty of footprints and disturbed long grass - but it wasn't that interesting. The Tetse flies were incredibly annoying. Years ago they had spread the notorious sleeping sickness that had stopped explorers venturing down too far south in Africa. There is no cure for the virus, but luckily the ones in the park did not carry it. They just bit every bit of skin that was showing, quite painfully as well! Barney and Dree solved the problem by ripping a piece of grass up and using it as a swat.
Arriving at our hut just after dusk, and another GORGEOUS African sunset, we were disappointed to not find a tree hut, but a few concrete barrack-like buildings by the side of the road. Turns out that there'd been a mix up between some of the rangers and they thought we wanted to stay in the barracks. Labere was very apologetic, but nothing could be done about it now. He started a fire and we ate our rice while he regaled us with stories of other people he had taken to the camp we were at. One woman had been pestering him to take her on a midnight walk, against rules because of the nocturnal dangerous animals, but he relented and she screamed and turned back after a minute, after hearing a roar close by. Another story was about a fight between a warthog and a goat. Very funny way of telling stories. "Hmmm".
After a little while we headed for bed, as the ten km walk as well as the early start had really taken it out of us! Our 'bed' was a space on the concrete floor of one of the buildings. Hanging from the ceiling were dozens of bats (Labere called them vampire bats, but I think he was pulling our leg), and in the corners hid spiders and other creepies. Trying to put up a mozzie net was really difficult as there was nothing to tuck it into - i.e. a mattress - and so we had to use rocks from outside to hold it down. Was pretty ineffective as things wandered over me all night, and the whole night's sleep was a bit of a pain, literally, with the concrete giving no respite to our tired backs or hips! All part of the adventure though folks!
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
Journey to Molè NP
The next morning we left early to sort out finances (we weren't able to change travellers cheques as only Barclays (a joy to see them in Ghana), so B took some money out on his card). The changeover from CFA was quite strange, especially as 10,000 old Cedis - the currency everyone still quotes prices in - is now only 1 new Cedi. Hmmmmmm.
We got to the bus station, this involves a paragraph to itself. The place was pretty tiny, and over half the people inside were touts or hawkers. This caused enough chaos, but was made worse by the amount of buses and taxis trying to manoeuvre around the waiting stands. Horns beeping, people shouting, no room to move about at all. Disorganisation is an understatement. Do you also remember the toilets from the other day? These were equal with those. I don't want to write anything descriptive but I'll just say the smell was a sharp ammonia. Stung the nostrils. Only able to go for a quick number one. Urgh.
The service from the staff at Metro Mass (big bus company, orange buses) was also awful. "There is your ticket, are you going to take it?!" We asked what time the bus will come - "When it comes" was the response. This was a bit of an introduction to Ghanaian service as well. Few more fan milks and general street food were consumed as we waited for the bus in any space we could find. The bus eventually arrived and people started to get up to put baggage in the hold. In Ghana you have to pay extra for bags that aren't inside the coach, and this led to pushing, arguing and a whole lot of people bringing a ridiculous amount of luggage inside the coach - underneath seats and blocking aisles. Outside the bus wasn't much better, as we battled for space between two coaches, being pushed about by other passengers and street sellers.
After we made it on board in the early afternoon, and readjusted to the oven inside, the bus flew down the asphaslt road before turning off towards Molè National Park down an uneven, potholed dirt track. Retaining the same speed as before, there were moments when we were airbourne out of our seats! Must've been doing over 50 mph. Scary stuff. Luckily, after dusk fell (an absolutely gorgeous African sunset, that I just couldn't get on camera as we were still flying)
the coach slowed down and passed through a few small villages on the outskirts of the park, before arriving about 7.30pm.
There was only the dorm left, as all the rooms had been booked already, and more bad news as we learnt that all the rooms, including the dorm, were booked the following night because of a Jehovahs Witness convention. Yes, you read that right.... Ate a meal of fried chicken and chips, as it was the only thing left and sat down to watch the Man Utd vs Wolfsburg game. Owen got a hat-trick; must be on for a 2010 call up. Hit the hay after that, as had organised to go for a walking safari early the next morning - a good time to see wildlife in the park.
We got to the bus station, this involves a paragraph to itself. The place was pretty tiny, and over half the people inside were touts or hawkers. This caused enough chaos, but was made worse by the amount of buses and taxis trying to manoeuvre around the waiting stands. Horns beeping, people shouting, no room to move about at all. Disorganisation is an understatement. Do you also remember the toilets from the other day? These were equal with those. I don't want to write anything descriptive but I'll just say the smell was a sharp ammonia. Stung the nostrils. Only able to go for a quick number one. Urgh.
The service from the staff at Metro Mass (big bus company, orange buses) was also awful. "There is your ticket, are you going to take it?!" We asked what time the bus will come - "When it comes" was the response. This was a bit of an introduction to Ghanaian service as well. Few more fan milks and general street food were consumed as we waited for the bus in any space we could find. The bus eventually arrived and people started to get up to put baggage in the hold. In Ghana you have to pay extra for bags that aren't inside the coach, and this led to pushing, arguing and a whole lot of people bringing a ridiculous amount of luggage inside the coach - underneath seats and blocking aisles. Outside the bus wasn't much better, as we battled for space between two coaches, being pushed about by other passengers and street sellers.
After we made it on board in the early afternoon, and readjusted to the oven inside, the bus flew down the asphaslt road before turning off towards Molè National Park down an uneven, potholed dirt track. Retaining the same speed as before, there were moments when we were airbourne out of our seats! Must've been doing over 50 mph. Scary stuff. Luckily, after dusk fell (an absolutely gorgeous African sunset, that I just couldn't get on camera as we were still flying)
the coach slowed down and passed through a few small villages on the outskirts of the park, before arriving about 7.30pm.
There was only the dorm left, as all the rooms had been booked already, and more bad news as we learnt that all the rooms, including the dorm, were booked the following night because of a Jehovahs Witness convention. Yes, you read that right.... Ate a meal of fried chicken and chips, as it was the only thing left and sat down to watch the Man Utd vs Wolfsburg game. Owen got a hat-trick; must be on for a 2010 call up. Hit the hay after that, as had organised to go for a walking safari early the next morning - a good time to see wildlife in the park.
First thoughts of Ghana
Getting back from Teibelè to Po so that we could cross the border was always going to be a hassle, especially as when we got to the crossroads at the village there were no cars or vans to be seen. After a wait of a few hours (punctuated by breakfast, our inability to order two more teas and a few games of cards) we got picked up by a minivan returning to Po. It FLEW along the road back; all we could see was a cloud of red in our wake. We were particularly worried as our bags were just thrown into the roof rack. Luckily we arrived in one piece with all our luggage, and headed for the various bus companies to check availability on any of the big buses. Unfortunately none of them ran today and so we had to organise a private taxi to the border, rather than a big bus all the way to Tamale (closest town in Ghana).
We bumped into our old 'friend' who dropped us off the day before, but we sent him on his way. Lost out on our business for being a numpty before. Got into a taxi for 5000 CFA together and the driver said he would be going to Paga, a small village 2km over the border in Ghana. But, as suspected, he dropped us off at the border and said that it was Paga - ironically standing underneath a huge sign saying "Paga - 1.5km". We paid him less than we'd agreed and headed to get our Ghanaian visas stamped.
This was slightly more complicated than it should have been - every one of the border guards in the office wanted to put their hands on our passports, and we were passed pillar to post for about 20 minutes. Eventually got through and were asked for our yellow fever certificate; strange as this was the first country on our whole trip that had asked for it! There were no taxis on the other side of the border and so we had to walk (uphill) to Paga. We were pretty shattered, as the heat must've close to 40°C, and got a taxi to the next town along, where we'd have to get another taxi to the NEXT town where we could apparently get a bus. Easy. Before we left Barney changed up some of our money from CFA to Ghanaian Cedis. Changing currency is always a bit of a pain, but even more so as Ghana had devalued their cedis a few years before and now there were confusions between 'old' and 'new' cedis.
After a couple of taxi journeys, and a break inbetween to sample Fan Milks for the first time (bags of frozen chocolate or vanilla ice cream/strawberry yoghurt), we arrived in Bolgatanga to catch a bus. We bought more Fan Milks (soooooooo good - beginnings of an addiction), went to the worst toilet in the world (I won't describe it, but it was worse than that one in 'Trainspotting') and got on a very cramped bus after being overcharged baggage by an aggressive bus conductor. The whole bus seemed against the guy as we got on - leaning out of the windows and shouting at him, so that made us feel better. Eventually got moving and had to get a woman sitting next to me to help us buy 'PUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHH WWWWAAATTTTTAAAA' ('pure water' - sachets of chlorinated, freezing cold water for about 2.5 English pennies, which are sold everywhere, usually on the heads of small girls by the side of the road).
The journey was boiling in the bus, and spent most of it looking out of the window, or falling asleep/passing out on the poor guy's shoulder next to me! Out of the window, as we got closer to Tamale, we saw lots of advertising for mobile networks including buildings painted in bright Vodaphone red, MTN yellow or Tigo blue. Shockingly we saw some round mud huts painted in these vile colours. What is the world coming to?! But Tamale was worse - banners, flyers, posters, cars, buildings, walls, buses, everything was sponsored by some phone company. This carried on throughout Ghana, and I think we got used to it.
Chose Central Guesthouse, because we only wanted a day's stopover before catching the bus to Molè National Park. Unfortunately, it was a bit of a hole. Firstly, the guys rudely demanded all the money up front and so we had to go and change our travellers cheques into Cedis that afternoon. Secondly, there were massive cockroaches. Thirdly, it was a brothel. There were clients and workers around all night, and mood lighting in the rooms (a special light switch hung down by the head of the bed, so that the red (obviously) light could be turned off whenever they wanted). Great.
We had a good meal overlooking the main street in Tamale, and passing more prostitutes on our way back in, locked the door and played cards. Dree lost and had to eat a piece of revolting 'soap' cake that Barney had bought the day before! We left early the next morning, after Barney had dodged the cockroaches that night, and witnessed a prostitute relieve herself in the alley outside our room. Nice place.
We bumped into our old 'friend' who dropped us off the day before, but we sent him on his way. Lost out on our business for being a numpty before. Got into a taxi for 5000 CFA together and the driver said he would be going to Paga, a small village 2km over the border in Ghana. But, as suspected, he dropped us off at the border and said that it was Paga - ironically standing underneath a huge sign saying "Paga - 1.5km". We paid him less than we'd agreed and headed to get our Ghanaian visas stamped.
This was slightly more complicated than it should have been - every one of the border guards in the office wanted to put their hands on our passports, and we were passed pillar to post for about 20 minutes. Eventually got through and were asked for our yellow fever certificate; strange as this was the first country on our whole trip that had asked for it! There were no taxis on the other side of the border and so we had to walk (uphill) to Paga. We were pretty shattered, as the heat must've close to 40°C, and got a taxi to the next town along, where we'd have to get another taxi to the NEXT town where we could apparently get a bus. Easy. Before we left Barney changed up some of our money from CFA to Ghanaian Cedis. Changing currency is always a bit of a pain, but even more so as Ghana had devalued their cedis a few years before and now there were confusions between 'old' and 'new' cedis.
After a couple of taxi journeys, and a break inbetween to sample Fan Milks for the first time (bags of frozen chocolate or vanilla ice cream/strawberry yoghurt), we arrived in Bolgatanga to catch a bus. We bought more Fan Milks (soooooooo good - beginnings of an addiction), went to the worst toilet in the world (I won't describe it, but it was worse than that one in 'Trainspotting') and got on a very cramped bus after being overcharged baggage by an aggressive bus conductor. The whole bus seemed against the guy as we got on - leaning out of the windows and shouting at him, so that made us feel better. Eventually got moving and had to get a woman sitting next to me to help us buy 'PUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHH WWWWAAATTTTTAAAA' ('pure water' - sachets of chlorinated, freezing cold water for about 2.5 English pennies, which are sold everywhere, usually on the heads of small girls by the side of the road).
The journey was boiling in the bus, and spent most of it looking out of the window, or falling asleep/passing out on the poor guy's shoulder next to me! Out of the window, as we got closer to Tamale, we saw lots of advertising for mobile networks including buildings painted in bright Vodaphone red, MTN yellow or Tigo blue. Shockingly we saw some round mud huts painted in these vile colours. What is the world coming to?! But Tamale was worse - banners, flyers, posters, cars, buildings, walls, buses, everything was sponsored by some phone company. This carried on throughout Ghana, and I think we got used to it.
Chose Central Guesthouse, because we only wanted a day's stopover before catching the bus to Molè National Park. Unfortunately, it was a bit of a hole. Firstly, the guys rudely demanded all the money up front and so we had to go and change our travellers cheques into Cedis that afternoon. Secondly, there were massive cockroaches. Thirdly, it was a brothel. There were clients and workers around all night, and mood lighting in the rooms (a special light switch hung down by the head of the bed, so that the red (obviously) light could be turned off whenever they wanted). Great.
We had a good meal overlooking the main street in Tamale, and passing more prostitutes on our way back in, locked the door and played cards. Dree lost and had to eat a piece of revolting 'soap' cake that Barney had bought the day before! We left early the next morning, after Barney had dodged the cockroaches that night, and witnessed a prostitute relieve herself in the alley outside our room. Nice place.
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Tiebelè (for Dree!)
After a smooth few bus changes (I do miss TCV) we made it back to Ouaga, the capital, in one day and decided to take our time and relax that evening before heading down south to a cool village that Dree had spoken about near Po on the Ghana border. There is an on-running joke with us that Dree loves visiting villages. Not particularly sure where it came from, but it's stuck - "village friend". The break in Ouaga also meant that we could stop off at the Supermarket for supplies (nice toilet roll priority number one, hahaha) and have another great meal on the streets. Really did love those brochette stands.
The next morning we set off on a STMB bus (imagine what a coach looks like after 20 years in service) for Po. We had a bad feeling about Po as soon as we got off the bus - hassle from people wanting to change money or get us taxi's here, there and everywhere. The market wasn't on in either Po or Tiebelè which made travel a bit of a pain.
We got some more bandages etc for Dree's ankle - an infected blister had now spread to a mozzie bite; nice - and haggled with a driver to get to Tiebelè. Apparently the road was awful and he needed 10 litres of fuel to get there. Turns out the road wasn't that bad (he flew along it) and he only bought 6 litres. Sign of things to come, because when we arrived at the main crossroads for the village he refused to take us to a guesthouse because he said he didn't know where it was. But everyone did, it had been there for years. Shame we had to part with 8,000 CFA to get us there, but the markets fell on the wrong days for local buses.
After a very sweaty 15 minute hike avec luggage, we turned up at the campement. The only guy there was a very high Rasta man who found us a couple of little huts, and we then spoke with one of the many guides inhabiting Tiebelè. In the guide book it says that there is an association of 8 guides who split all the money between them. We had encountered at least twenty on our walk, including a 13 year-old kid on a bike, who had a home-made guide badge. Cute, but still annoying. We organised a meeting to be shown around the Royal Court in the village - where we needed a guide - but had heard good things.
The whole reason for coming to Tiebelè was to see the 'geometrically painted houses'; ancient mud huts that are still being kept in the traditional way, decorated in red, white and black patterns. We thought that there would eb plenty of these cool huts around, but only saw one wall which looked like it had zig-zag lines drawn on in permanent marker! Quite disappointing really. Took a walk around the village after some riz gras but couldn't find anything else. It was just like dozens of normal villages we had seen across Africa.
At three o'clock we met our guide and were shown the Royal Court of Tiebelè, which turned out to be a good tour with a really good guide. He spoke broken English, but tried really hard and got us to ask lots of questions. The Royal Court was a separate entity to the rest of the village; although some families still lived there. The mud huts were impressively decorated and were pretty detailed. The guide explained all the patterns including the broken pottery shards from calabashes to signify the spirit of women, the different lines and curves for fish, grain and other foods, and also the drawings of bats. The bats were apparently well revered in the village culture as they not only kept mosquitoes at bay in the huts, they also were held as good luck symbols. Maybe as they killed all the mozzies! The traditions are being kept up (obviously only in the Royal Court) and every three years the mud walls are repacked and repainted.
We were able to go into a house, horribly named in the guide as a 'living museum', but had a wee bit of difficulty getting in! The huts had very low entrances to protect themselves from wild animals and also from invaders. As the attacker bows to enter the house, the person in side has the advantage and can just behead them! Also there was an internal wall, higher than the door frame, so that arrows could not be fired through. Quite ingenious really but was a bit of a pain trying to get in - cannot have looked stylish.
Inside the hut, which was pretty dark, we saw how the Kassena people in the area lived. There were different rooms for cooking and two sleeping rooms. The grandmother of the women would sleep in the entrance to the second sleeping room, so that no girls could sneak out or boys could sneak in! Pretty smart these Kassena! Had a bit of a fright in the pitch black kitchen when a bat flew around for a minute. Think I may have let out a high-pitched scream! After we left the hut, we were taken to the usual tat stalls, where villagers sold pipes, t shirts, caps, bracelets etc. Bit of a shame. Over the border to Ghana tomorrow! Country number six!
The next morning we set off on a STMB bus (imagine what a coach looks like after 20 years in service) for Po. We had a bad feeling about Po as soon as we got off the bus - hassle from people wanting to change money or get us taxi's here, there and everywhere. The market wasn't on in either Po or Tiebelè which made travel a bit of a pain.
We got some more bandages etc for Dree's ankle - an infected blister had now spread to a mozzie bite; nice - and haggled with a driver to get to Tiebelè. Apparently the road was awful and he needed 10 litres of fuel to get there. Turns out the road wasn't that bad (he flew along it) and he only bought 6 litres. Sign of things to come, because when we arrived at the main crossroads for the village he refused to take us to a guesthouse because he said he didn't know where it was. But everyone did, it had been there for years. Shame we had to part with 8,000 CFA to get us there, but the markets fell on the wrong days for local buses.
After a very sweaty 15 minute hike avec luggage, we turned up at the campement. The only guy there was a very high Rasta man who found us a couple of little huts, and we then spoke with one of the many guides inhabiting Tiebelè. In the guide book it says that there is an association of 8 guides who split all the money between them. We had encountered at least twenty on our walk, including a 13 year-old kid on a bike, who had a home-made guide badge. Cute, but still annoying. We organised a meeting to be shown around the Royal Court in the village - where we needed a guide - but had heard good things.
The whole reason for coming to Tiebelè was to see the 'geometrically painted houses'; ancient mud huts that are still being kept in the traditional way, decorated in red, white and black patterns. We thought that there would eb plenty of these cool huts around, but only saw one wall which looked like it had zig-zag lines drawn on in permanent marker! Quite disappointing really. Took a walk around the village after some riz gras but couldn't find anything else. It was just like dozens of normal villages we had seen across Africa.
At three o'clock we met our guide and were shown the Royal Court of Tiebelè, which turned out to be a good tour with a really good guide. He spoke broken English, but tried really hard and got us to ask lots of questions. The Royal Court was a separate entity to the rest of the village; although some families still lived there. The mud huts were impressively decorated and were pretty detailed. The guide explained all the patterns including the broken pottery shards from calabashes to signify the spirit of women, the different lines and curves for fish, grain and other foods, and also the drawings of bats. The bats were apparently well revered in the village culture as they not only kept mosquitoes at bay in the huts, they also were held as good luck symbols. Maybe as they killed all the mozzies! The traditions are being kept up (obviously only in the Royal Court) and every three years the mud walls are repacked and repainted.
We were able to go into a house, horribly named in the guide as a 'living museum', but had a wee bit of difficulty getting in! The huts had very low entrances to protect themselves from wild animals and also from invaders. As the attacker bows to enter the house, the person in side has the advantage and can just behead them! Also there was an internal wall, higher than the door frame, so that arrows could not be fired through. Quite ingenious really but was a bit of a pain trying to get in - cannot have looked stylish.
Inside the hut, which was pretty dark, we saw how the Kassena people in the area lived. There were different rooms for cooking and two sleeping rooms. The grandmother of the women would sleep in the entrance to the second sleeping room, so that no girls could sneak out or boys could sneak in! Pretty smart these Kassena! Had a bit of a fright in the pitch black kitchen when a bat flew around for a minute. Think I may have let out a high-pitched scream! After we left the hut, we were taken to the usual tat stalls, where villagers sold pipes, t shirts, caps, bracelets etc. Bit of a shame. Over the border to Ghana tomorrow! Country number six!
Sindou Peaks and the dreaded return journey
After a good nights rest (being on the back of a moto for 50 or so kilometres does that to one's body) we got ready to head back along the same road after a morning visit to the Sindou Peaks. Bit of a funny one here: Kez waved to me in the very open toilet block, about 20 yards from the huts that were similar to ours back in Banfora. The toilet was built so that your head pops out over the top if you are standing. The thing is, I was still fast asleep in bed, and when the guy came out of the toilet it turned out he was a black man who worked at the camp. Maybe its not just Dree and Barney in need of contact lenses eh Kez?!
We left the camp and filled up the bikes by the side of the road with the unspecified red liquid. Hey, it did the trick so who are we to ask what it is! Heading back out of town, we parked up the bikes at the 'tourist office' for the Sindou Peaks - a shack - and were surprised to pay over the top for a 45 minute visit. The prices for a camera were also extortionate, so I just took about 200 pictures during the tour. Still don't understand why its limited to 45 minutes but at least we didn't have to pay more for the guide.
The Sindou Peaks were pretty cool; huge spires and columns of rock rising up like fingers on a hand. There was a bit of a walk up some natural steps and we were shown a quick view of Sindou as we were up on a plateau. We could even see to Mali, even though it just looked like more trees and plains to me! The guide explained everything pretty well, apart from being on a time limit, and we continued through the plateau, covered in hip-high long grass, across to the other side for a view across south west Burkina.
On the way we saw a poison-arrow tree (looked pretty deadly) and some really wierdly-shaped fingers of rock, created in a similar fashion to the Domes a few days earlier - used to be a huge ocean thousands of years ago, probably millions, and the erosion caused the unusual shapes. We also saw tonnes of eagles and vultures circling above, and a dubious "old bowl" from a tribe thousands of years ago. Looked in pretty good shape so didn't believe that one! The view was pretty awesome from the other side, and well worth the light climb - made difficult in sweaty flip flops eh Dree. The area seemed to hold historical significance for the local tribes around, and would be where I'd set up camp if I was worried about invaders.
After our brief sojourn, we started on the journey back. In terms of breakdowns there were no problems at all. A different story when it came to near misses and crashes! Firstly as we drove out of the township Kez went to overtake a bicycle. I am taking no sides (NO SIDES) but Kez blames Dree for not warning her about the moto coming up quickly from behind. The bike swerved, Kez swerved and the poor bloke on the moto took a very bumpy few seconds down in the leaf-covered ditch at the side of the road. Close one!
Back on our bike Barney hit a ginormous pothole that sent me up in the air for a few seconds. If I hadn't have just grabbed onto anything I could get a grip on (Barney) I would have been off. Nearly the end of me, but I was just left nursing a sore bottom! We also took a detour through some really deep sand, and started to skid around a bit. But, as I said, no actual crashes! All in all, a good return journey.
We got back to the campement in one piece (coxix not included) and had a relaxed evening doing some washing and getting the red dust out of our clothes and hair as best we could. Honestly, it gets EVERYWHERE! We organised a taxi to get us to the TCV bus journey after buying tickets on the way back home. It would be yet another early start, but we're pretty used to them now. And the added incentive of a TCV bus - a real coach(drooooool) - as opposed to a packed minivan. Ah the pleasure in having your own seat and a few inches of leg-room!
We left the camp and filled up the bikes by the side of the road with the unspecified red liquid. Hey, it did the trick so who are we to ask what it is! Heading back out of town, we parked up the bikes at the 'tourist office' for the Sindou Peaks - a shack - and were surprised to pay over the top for a 45 minute visit. The prices for a camera were also extortionate, so I just took about 200 pictures during the tour. Still don't understand why its limited to 45 minutes but at least we didn't have to pay more for the guide.
The Sindou Peaks were pretty cool; huge spires and columns of rock rising up like fingers on a hand. There was a bit of a walk up some natural steps and we were shown a quick view of Sindou as we were up on a plateau. We could even see to Mali, even though it just looked like more trees and plains to me! The guide explained everything pretty well, apart from being on a time limit, and we continued through the plateau, covered in hip-high long grass, across to the other side for a view across south west Burkina.
On the way we saw a poison-arrow tree (looked pretty deadly) and some really wierdly-shaped fingers of rock, created in a similar fashion to the Domes a few days earlier - used to be a huge ocean thousands of years ago, probably millions, and the erosion caused the unusual shapes. We also saw tonnes of eagles and vultures circling above, and a dubious "old bowl" from a tribe thousands of years ago. Looked in pretty good shape so didn't believe that one! The view was pretty awesome from the other side, and well worth the light climb - made difficult in sweaty flip flops eh Dree. The area seemed to hold historical significance for the local tribes around, and would be where I'd set up camp if I was worried about invaders.
After our brief sojourn, we started on the journey back. In terms of breakdowns there were no problems at all. A different story when it came to near misses and crashes! Firstly as we drove out of the township Kez went to overtake a bicycle. I am taking no sides (NO SIDES) but Kez blames Dree for not warning her about the moto coming up quickly from behind. The bike swerved, Kez swerved and the poor bloke on the moto took a very bumpy few seconds down in the leaf-covered ditch at the side of the road. Close one!
Back on our bike Barney hit a ginormous pothole that sent me up in the air for a few seconds. If I hadn't have just grabbed onto anything I could get a grip on (Barney) I would have been off. Nearly the end of me, but I was just left nursing a sore bottom! We also took a detour through some really deep sand, and started to skid around a bit. But, as I said, no actual crashes! All in all, a good return journey.
We got back to the campement in one piece (coxix not included) and had a relaxed evening doing some washing and getting the red dust out of our clothes and hair as best we could. Honestly, it gets EVERYWHERE! We organised a taxi to get us to the TCV bus journey after buying tickets on the way back home. It would be yet another early start, but we're pretty used to them now. And the added incentive of a TCV bus - a real coach(drooooool) - as opposed to a packed minivan. Ah the pleasure in having your own seat and a few inches of leg-room!
To Sindou!
A few kilometres after the lake a man on a motorbike flagged me and Barney down. We stopped and he turned around to shout so,ething at us. I was driving and instantly thought we'd accidentally cut him up, but it turned out he saw the breadsticks poking out of Barney's bag and told us to wrap them up because they would go stale. Being blokes we thanked him, and made a small effort to cover the sticks up. In hindsight, we should have covered them in a plastic bag.
The 51km road wasn't the worst to drive on - the odd cavernous pothole here and there, random moguls in the middle of the road and a few close shaves in the sand at the side of the road - but the worst thing was the dust. It covered absolutely everything and we looked red at the end of the day! Those driving resorted to wearing sunglasses, which helped a bit, especially Dree in his fetching Terminator shades.
We stopped for lunch and found that half the French sticks were hard as rock (the half that was sticking out of Barney's bag!). Nevertheless, had another nice veggie sarnie in the shade at the side of the road. Caused a bit of a stir in fact, as locals passing by stopped and stared with bags of grain and huge dishes of yams on their heads.
Carrying on for another few kilometres we had a big problem - the front tyre on my and Barney's bike was flat as a you'd like. There was no way we could continue, because the wheel kept slipping in the soft sand. Completely un-rideable, me and Barney started pushing (damn heavy beasts, especially over sand) whilst Kez and Dree carried on to find a mechanic. Luckily it was late afternoon and there was quite a lot of shade along the road, but it was still ridiculously hard work. We took it in turns and pushed it for about 5km (YES, FIVE KM) in total before we saw a familiar green moto coming towards us.
Dree had found a mechanic after a few failed attempts at hamlets where no one spoke French! The guy was so chirpy and set right out at fixing the tyre. We decided to just pay for a whole inner tube as the other one was ruined - two punctures, one a massive tear. It was a bit of a pain, as they weren't our bikes, and we had to shell out about a fiver to get the new tube. But we were more than half the 51km to Sindou and had no choice.
We eventually got to Sindou and were greeted by the main attraction - the Sindou Peaks, a group of mountains that shot up straight from the ground and had great views across the valley. Pulling into another campement just on the outskirts of town (recommended by the guys at Boabab) we had a well deserved few bags of cold water before 'Papa', the owner, explained that there was a festival going on that evening with a mask dance. We'd heard of these 'Dances of the Masques' all across West Africa, especially Mali, but had not yet seen one. We didn't want to go to one set up purely for tourists. We wanted the real thing. And that's exactly what we got!
Papa led us out of the campement (telling us not to take any photos of the dance) and through a maze of mud huts. We heard some drumming and saw a crowd with their backs to us. Papa was really kind and took us around the circle of people that had gathered in an opening between some huts. The whole village (300 people) were all staring inwards at a slowly moving row of young men and women, led by some guys playing djembe drums and some orthodox metal bars making a clanging sound. But that wasn't the best bit.
Further into the circle were three people dressed in full costumes - all were completely covered with beige cotton overalls and then had sewn masks and long "hair" in either red or purple. They were pretty weird, and looked like a scarier version of the bad guy in Batman Begins. There was also another guy who was running around the edge of the dancers in a circle who was whipping the legs of anyone who tried to jump into the group. He was running around like a mad man, whipping with a long branch, before squatting by the side of the crowd for a few seconds. They must've been so hot in all that gear - it was easily a 30°C day. The children in the crowd screamed and ran away as all the characters took it in turns to jump into them and blow whistles they had under their masks.
Kez was invited to have a dance with some of the women in the inner circle (men and women were separate), and was taught how to do the strange "shuffle, kick the ground, and shuffle again" dance. She joined in for about five minutes, and not long after she left the three dressed up characters moved to a mound behind one of the houses. The music and crowd followed along, whooping and dancing away. It was pretty incredible to see this dance that nearly no one else gets to see. And even better as it wasn't for us tourist's benefit! Definitely going up there with seeing the wrestling competition two months ago in Senegal.
As the dance died down we snuck away and later learnt from Papa what the dance was about; although he seemed to be confused with our French (easy enough) and we got two stories. Firstly we learnt that the burial mound was for a chief of the village who died at the old age of 78 last month. The dance was therefore part of the remembrance for him, and at the end of the few weeks of mourning a new chief would be chosen.
However, Papa then explained that the dance occurred every few years, and all the youths in the village who were between the ages of 18 and 21 took part in a kind of 'coming-of-age' ceremony. That's why the children were swatted away by the masked man with a stick, and also the reason that the men and women had to dance separately. After the ceremony they could then mix with the opposite sex - not before! He also mentioned an annual dance for the harvest, and said that the two colours meant something in an ancient animist tradition.
Whatever the reason behind the dance, it was incredible to see, and will be a memory for me for a long time to come. We sat around the table at dinner that night reminiscing about what we'd seen, agreeing the whole trip to Africa is worth it for experiences like that.
The 51km road wasn't the worst to drive on - the odd cavernous pothole here and there, random moguls in the middle of the road and a few close shaves in the sand at the side of the road - but the worst thing was the dust. It covered absolutely everything and we looked red at the end of the day! Those driving resorted to wearing sunglasses, which helped a bit, especially Dree in his fetching Terminator shades.
We stopped for lunch and found that half the French sticks were hard as rock (the half that was sticking out of Barney's bag!). Nevertheless, had another nice veggie sarnie in the shade at the side of the road. Caused a bit of a stir in fact, as locals passing by stopped and stared with bags of grain and huge dishes of yams on their heads.
Carrying on for another few kilometres we had a big problem - the front tyre on my and Barney's bike was flat as a you'd like. There was no way we could continue, because the wheel kept slipping in the soft sand. Completely un-rideable, me and Barney started pushing (damn heavy beasts, especially over sand) whilst Kez and Dree carried on to find a mechanic. Luckily it was late afternoon and there was quite a lot of shade along the road, but it was still ridiculously hard work. We took it in turns and pushed it for about 5km (YES, FIVE KM) in total before we saw a familiar green moto coming towards us.
Dree had found a mechanic after a few failed attempts at hamlets where no one spoke French! The guy was so chirpy and set right out at fixing the tyre. We decided to just pay for a whole inner tube as the other one was ruined - two punctures, one a massive tear. It was a bit of a pain, as they weren't our bikes, and we had to shell out about a fiver to get the new tube. But we were more than half the 51km to Sindou and had no choice.
We eventually got to Sindou and were greeted by the main attraction - the Sindou Peaks, a group of mountains that shot up straight from the ground and had great views across the valley. Pulling into another campement just on the outskirts of town (recommended by the guys at Boabab) we had a well deserved few bags of cold water before 'Papa', the owner, explained that there was a festival going on that evening with a mask dance. We'd heard of these 'Dances of the Masques' all across West Africa, especially Mali, but had not yet seen one. We didn't want to go to one set up purely for tourists. We wanted the real thing. And that's exactly what we got!
Papa led us out of the campement (telling us not to take any photos of the dance) and through a maze of mud huts. We heard some drumming and saw a crowd with their backs to us. Papa was really kind and took us around the circle of people that had gathered in an opening between some huts. The whole village (300 people) were all staring inwards at a slowly moving row of young men and women, led by some guys playing djembe drums and some orthodox metal bars making a clanging sound. But that wasn't the best bit.
Further into the circle were three people dressed in full costumes - all were completely covered with beige cotton overalls and then had sewn masks and long "hair" in either red or purple. They were pretty weird, and looked like a scarier version of the bad guy in Batman Begins. There was also another guy who was running around the edge of the dancers in a circle who was whipping the legs of anyone who tried to jump into the group. He was running around like a mad man, whipping with a long branch, before squatting by the side of the crowd for a few seconds. They must've been so hot in all that gear - it was easily a 30°C day. The children in the crowd screamed and ran away as all the characters took it in turns to jump into them and blow whistles they had under their masks.
Kez was invited to have a dance with some of the women in the inner circle (men and women were separate), and was taught how to do the strange "shuffle, kick the ground, and shuffle again" dance. She joined in for about five minutes, and not long after she left the three dressed up characters moved to a mound behind one of the houses. The music and crowd followed along, whooping and dancing away. It was pretty incredible to see this dance that nearly no one else gets to see. And even better as it wasn't for us tourist's benefit! Definitely going up there with seeing the wrestling competition two months ago in Senegal.
As the dance died down we snuck away and later learnt from Papa what the dance was about; although he seemed to be confused with our French (easy enough) and we got two stories. Firstly we learnt that the burial mound was for a chief of the village who died at the old age of 78 last month. The dance was therefore part of the remembrance for him, and at the end of the few weeks of mourning a new chief would be chosen.
However, Papa then explained that the dance occurred every few years, and all the youths in the village who were between the ages of 18 and 21 took part in a kind of 'coming-of-age' ceremony. That's why the children were swatted away by the masked man with a stick, and also the reason that the men and women had to dance separately. After the ceremony they could then mix with the opposite sex - not before! He also mentioned an annual dance for the harvest, and said that the two colours meant something in an ancient animist tradition.
Whatever the reason behind the dance, it was incredible to see, and will be a memory for me for a long time to come. We sat around the table at dinner that night reminiscing about what we'd seen, agreeing the whole trip to Africa is worth it for experiences like that.
Monday, 28 December 2009
Hippos at Lac Tengrela
That morning we were told that one of the bikes had a puncture from the previous day's journey. The guys at the campement were very kind to take the bike into the town (before 7am when we were told about it) but then asked us for the ignition key. In a daze in the early morning we refused at first - believing that the bikes had been stolen!Everything was fine, and the bike was returned after an hour, so we could continue on our way. I am still confused as how they got the bike INTO Banfora, a long walk of 4km, very early in the morning...
Puncture fixed, we drove into town to fill the bikes up again. We were sure we didn't use all the fuel, but it cost pennies and was better to have more fuel in the middle of nowhere than less. We got a basic lunch of bread, tomatos, onions and cucumber, and headed to get a quick breakfast at an omlette stand. I drove the short distance from the garage, but when I parked up and tried to get it back into neutral gear, the flimsy gearshift snapped off. Excellent.
I pushed the bike down the road to one of the many mechanics and explained what had happened in broken French, using a lot of sign language. At first they thought we wanted a whole new gear shift, but we said we only wanted it welded together so that it would actually be possible to change gear. After a short wait it came back in one piece, and once fitted, it turned out that it changed gear even better than before! We'd actually improved the bike! We headed back for that elusive breakfast after paying 450 CFA (about 60 pence) to the mechanics, and then hit the road - we had a lot to cover in one day!
Leaving town (chaotic in itself) we drove 5km out on the Sindou road and turned off to the hippo lake at Lac Tengrela. Us boys had seen a handful of hippos at distance in The Gambia, but had heard that this was a really good spot to see them close (an English guy at our campement actually showed us an awesome picture of some fighting in the water - major camera lens envy though!).
We got into a pirogue at the lake (quite unstable, but still better than the one across the moat in Senossa!) and set out for the opposite side to the village. The water was really clear and the lake itself didn't look that deep, as we could see plants that were living at the bottom. That was good to see because the boat seemed pretty unstable, and if we fell in we could probably stand up, but on the other (more serious) hand, the hippos could equally get a good run at us! The sun was very strong over the lake as Dree spotted the first hippo. As Kez has said, we were hoping the guy paddling the flimsy boat would see them first!
There was a huge group of hippos about 100m away from us, but all you could see were a few pairs of eyes just above the water. Then a few more appeared. Unfortunately they split into two groups about 20m apart, and every time one came up for air in a spray of water, or two began a fight with huge jaws open, I seemed to be looking the other way! Think I got a few good pictures, but I needed that zoom lens desperately!
Amazing sights though; it was pretty awesome to be so close to these massive creatures. Our guide kept paddling even closer and, at times, was banging the oar on the bottom of the boat; this made most of them come to the surface, but by this time we were only about 50m away! Possibly close enough for an attack - hippos are notoriously dangerous animals, and Africa's biggest killer! We turned back, had a drink at the lakeside, watched a kid terrorise a small kitten and a monkey run itself ragged round a tree, before getting back on the bikes and starting the rest of the journey to Sindou.
There was a huge group of hippos about 100m away from us, but all you could see were a few pairs of eyes just above the water. Then a few more appeared. Unfortunately they split into two groups about 20m apart, and every time one came up for air in a spray of water, or two began a fight with huge jaws open, I seemed to be looking the other way! Think I got a few good pictures, but I needed that zoom lens desperately!
Amazing sights though; it was pretty awesome to be so close to these massive creatures. Our guide kept paddling even closer and, at times, was banging the oar on the bottom of the boat; this made most of them come to the surface, but by this time we were only about 50m away! Possibly close enough for an attack - hippos are notoriously dangerous animals, and Africa's biggest killer! We turned back, had a drink at the lakeside, watched a kid terrorise a small kitten and a monkey run itself ragged round a tree, before getting back on the bikes and starting the rest of the journey to Sindou.
Waterfall and the Domes
We awoke, albeit after a cold night's sleep, with the intention of a full day of biking around south west Burkina, but firstly had to tackle the motos. They (how can I put this kindly) weren't the newest motos and nothing compared to the new Kaizer's we had in Bobo. They had been round the block a few hundred times and weren't much to look at. However, first thoughts put aside, Dree and Barney jumped aboard to give them a test drive down the track. THIS was easier said than done, but after a close shave from both of the lads (Barney underestimating the acceleration and barely stopping in front of a wall; Dree driving into a kerb where the two guys from the camp were standing) the test run was completed.
Dree and Barney lost at a game of cards the night before and so went into town to get some petrol and lunch for a picnic by the waterfall. About one and a half hours later they returned after running out of petrol a few times, thankfully in the town centre, and having to fill up the tanks using a red liquid from wine bottles by the side of the road. Safe!
I hadn't ridden for a while, and this wasn't helped by me driving down the track, thankfully round the corner, and spectacularly dropping the moto on a turn, spilling petrol. Everything seemed fine, and Barney drove our orange beast "Colin" (I thought it best) and Dree in charge on the green we headed out for the waterfall at Karfiguela. The track was quite sandy in places, making the moto difficult to control, but luckily we just had to stay on the same track all the way, and there was no traffic.
At a toll booth by the side of the track, almost in a field, two guys lifted the barrier blocking the track and tried to get us to pay for a guide. We said no, but ended up getting lost and going too far in between the sugar cane fields, getting soaked by the automatic watering machines along the way. We turned back and got to the waterfall entrance after some directions - no sign or anything for the turning - and parked the motos (easier said than done!)
We climbed, steeply, up to the top of the waterfall and were rewarded with an amazing view of the river and plain below. We could see for miles. After an explore and the obligatory photos, we went for a dip in the naturally formed pools at the top. Don't worry, the water was clear and safe to swim in as it was moving too fast to have bilharzia or anything like that. But it was only ten feet from a very steep drop over the edge. Sorry Mum! But I am obviously writing this now so survived!
The water was freezing cold, and a bit of a shock to the system, but was amazingly clear and deep. There was one little pool that had formed over goodness-knows-how-long that was about five and a half foot deep but only a foot wide. Barney set up his camera, perilously close to the edge and we did some timed photographs, that involved B running along the algae rocks and jumping into the pool a few times. Great photos though. We had a veggie lunch at a shaded little pool before going for an explore further upriver. The cascades went on for hundreds of metres, and were of various heights and speeds. Returning to the bottom we had a look at the main cascade - impressive - and decided to not go for a swim - scummy.
I drove for the next journey, which was to the Domes of Fabedougou. I do love the Burkina way of naming towns, all ending in "dougou". The drive was okay - few hairy moments with water and loose stones, but made it in one piece. Bless Kez though; while driving she took a shortcut through some of the sugar cane field. No injuries though - just a thoroughly embarrassed Kez with a few scratches!
The Domes are a group of rock formations that are about 1.8 billion years old. The best way I can describe them is that they look like giant cow pats - big piles of smooth black rocks that used to be at the bottom of an ancient ocean, and have been worn down over millions of years. They are mostly easy to climb up, as the sedimentary rock forms natural steps, but Barney chose one of the first, highest and most difficult to climb pillars and bounded up it. He is truly a mountain goat at heart. But on the way down his cheap sunglasses gave way and a lens bounced down the side of the rock!
We did another group of timed photos with the sun creating silhouettes of us all at the top of one dome. Barney set the photos up again and had to run up the rock face to get in position before the timer ran out. Great fun to watch, but he must have been knackered! Got some more great photos of us all trying to jump at the right time, and the obvious YMCA pose! The views from the top of the domes stretched for miles and we could see the massive fields of government-produced sugar cane in their entirety.
After an hour or so climbing about the domes we headed down and back onto the motos - Kez managing to stay on the track this time! We organised taking the bikes overnight for an epic 50km ride to Sindou, where we wanted to see the Sindou Peaks. Would the bikes hold up that's the question...
Dree and Barney lost at a game of cards the night before and so went into town to get some petrol and lunch for a picnic by the waterfall. About one and a half hours later they returned after running out of petrol a few times, thankfully in the town centre, and having to fill up the tanks using a red liquid from wine bottles by the side of the road. Safe!
I hadn't ridden for a while, and this wasn't helped by me driving down the track, thankfully round the corner, and spectacularly dropping the moto on a turn, spilling petrol. Everything seemed fine, and Barney drove our orange beast "Colin" (I thought it best) and Dree in charge on the green we headed out for the waterfall at Karfiguela. The track was quite sandy in places, making the moto difficult to control, but luckily we just had to stay on the same track all the way, and there was no traffic.
At a toll booth by the side of the track, almost in a field, two guys lifted the barrier blocking the track and tried to get us to pay for a guide. We said no, but ended up getting lost and going too far in between the sugar cane fields, getting soaked by the automatic watering machines along the way. We turned back and got to the waterfall entrance after some directions - no sign or anything for the turning - and parked the motos (easier said than done!)
We climbed, steeply, up to the top of the waterfall and were rewarded with an amazing view of the river and plain below. We could see for miles. After an explore and the obligatory photos, we went for a dip in the naturally formed pools at the top. Don't worry, the water was clear and safe to swim in as it was moving too fast to have bilharzia or anything like that. But it was only ten feet from a very steep drop over the edge. Sorry Mum! But I am obviously writing this now so survived!
The water was freezing cold, and a bit of a shock to the system, but was amazingly clear and deep. There was one little pool that had formed over goodness-knows-how-long that was about five and a half foot deep but only a foot wide. Barney set up his camera, perilously close to the edge and we did some timed photographs, that involved B running along the algae rocks and jumping into the pool a few times. Great photos though. We had a veggie lunch at a shaded little pool before going for an explore further upriver. The cascades went on for hundreds of metres, and were of various heights and speeds. Returning to the bottom we had a look at the main cascade - impressive - and decided to not go for a swim - scummy.
I drove for the next journey, which was to the Domes of Fabedougou. I do love the Burkina way of naming towns, all ending in "dougou". The drive was okay - few hairy moments with water and loose stones, but made it in one piece. Bless Kez though; while driving she took a shortcut through some of the sugar cane field. No injuries though - just a thoroughly embarrassed Kez with a few scratches!
The Domes are a group of rock formations that are about 1.8 billion years old. The best way I can describe them is that they look like giant cow pats - big piles of smooth black rocks that used to be at the bottom of an ancient ocean, and have been worn down over millions of years. They are mostly easy to climb up, as the sedimentary rock forms natural steps, but Barney chose one of the first, highest and most difficult to climb pillars and bounded up it. He is truly a mountain goat at heart. But on the way down his cheap sunglasses gave way and a lens bounced down the side of the rock!
We did another group of timed photos with the sun creating silhouettes of us all at the top of one dome. Barney set the photos up again and had to run up the rock face to get in position before the timer ran out. Great fun to watch, but he must have been knackered! Got some more great photos of us all trying to jump at the right time, and the obvious YMCA pose! The views from the top of the domes stretched for miles and we could see the massive fields of government-produced sugar cane in their entirety.
After an hour or so climbing about the domes we headed down and back onto the motos - Kez managing to stay on the track this time! We organised taking the bikes overnight for an epic 50km ride to Sindou, where we wanted to see the Sindou Peaks. Would the bikes hold up that's the question...
Saturday, 26 December 2009
Twenty Four in Burkina
After 2 months without any serious sessions, a night of light drinking gave a bit of a hangover, accentuated by the humidity and heat in Burkina's second city. Climbing out of the mozzie net, the guys had made me a card and gave me a birthday balloon - anything more I'd have to cart around for the next month and a half! This was followed by a compulsory lay in till half ten (ah student days), when we checked out of the hotel and marched to the bus stations. In Bobo, as in most of Burkina, there isn't one set bus station for a destination, there are different companies to try - all with various states of cleanliness, friendliness and reliability.
We eventually chose 'Sogabef' to take us to Banfora, a smaller town in an area where there sounds tonnes to do, and where we can hone our moto-riding skills! We had a bit of a wait, as per usual, but we passed the time with cards, and Dree bought a new bag, as his old one broke as we arrived. As we were all sat on the back row, waiting for the bus to start, Dree suddenly shouted "I've got to get off!". We assumed the worst and thought that he was having a sudden attack of travellers diarreah, but we watched as he fished out his old bag from the bin, and retrieved his phone AND wallet! You just can't take him anywhere!
After a close shave, a multi-manned push start, and lots of bags blocking up the back exit, we got on the road. The drive wasn't too bad at all, passing huge Government-backed fields of sugar cane along the way, most with machinery that wouldn't be out of place in Suffolk for watering the hundreds of acres. Getting off was another matter, with most passengers determined to get out quickly - over the boxes in the aisles and pushing in front of others. Madness - JUST WAIT!
As soon as we got off in the Sogabef bus terminal, we were spoken to by a number of guides and people renting mopeds. We headed off to eat, but were hounded by the same three guys, before, during and after! We had heard about a place called Campement Baobab, which got rave reviews as a hassle-free and relaxed base to spend a few days exploring the region. The guides said that it didn't exist anymore, and tried to get us to go to other places. We then told them to leave us alone, and tried getting a taxi from the centre of town. The guides hounded us yet again, and even told the taxi drivers to charge us 10,000 CFA (a ridiculous amount - fourteen pounds). We fobbed them all off and got into a taxi that was only 3,000 CFA.
The driver, called Gille, drove us to Campement Baobab (which 'shock, horror' did still exist), about four kilometres down a bumpy dirt track. The set up was exactly what we were after - six small huts, a courtyard with a kitchen and a separate 'bathroom' area - no running water and no electricity. But we didn't really need either of those. Bucket showers, a long drop and gas lanterns for a few days and nights was a nice change. Not for too long though!
We organised renting some motos for the next morning as Banfora was a good base for day trips out in the wilderness. The people at the campement were really nice and friendly, which was polarised by the arrival of one of the annoying guides from earlier in the day as we ate tea. He was saying something about all the moto's being his, but he wanted us to pay more than we'd agreed. He was sent on his way. The menu for a place that was in the middle of nowhere was pretty good, and good value. We had fresh baked pizzas one night, and really good Burkina dishes too. The only problem was that it got FREEEEEZING cold during the night, leading me to sleep in my clothes and sleeping bag liner one evening. Not used to the cold conditions (probably snowing in the UK now as you read this!).
We eventually chose 'Sogabef' to take us to Banfora, a smaller town in an area where there sounds tonnes to do, and where we can hone our moto-riding skills! We had a bit of a wait, as per usual, but we passed the time with cards, and Dree bought a new bag, as his old one broke as we arrived. As we were all sat on the back row, waiting for the bus to start, Dree suddenly shouted "I've got to get off!". We assumed the worst and thought that he was having a sudden attack of travellers diarreah, but we watched as he fished out his old bag from the bin, and retrieved his phone AND wallet! You just can't take him anywhere!
After a close shave, a multi-manned push start, and lots of bags blocking up the back exit, we got on the road. The drive wasn't too bad at all, passing huge Government-backed fields of sugar cane along the way, most with machinery that wouldn't be out of place in Suffolk for watering the hundreds of acres. Getting off was another matter, with most passengers determined to get out quickly - over the boxes in the aisles and pushing in front of others. Madness - JUST WAIT!
As soon as we got off in the Sogabef bus terminal, we were spoken to by a number of guides and people renting mopeds. We headed off to eat, but were hounded by the same three guys, before, during and after! We had heard about a place called Campement Baobab, which got rave reviews as a hassle-free and relaxed base to spend a few days exploring the region. The guides said that it didn't exist anymore, and tried to get us to go to other places. We then told them to leave us alone, and tried getting a taxi from the centre of town. The guides hounded us yet again, and even told the taxi drivers to charge us 10,000 CFA (a ridiculous amount - fourteen pounds). We fobbed them all off and got into a taxi that was only 3,000 CFA.
The driver, called Gille, drove us to Campement Baobab (which 'shock, horror' did still exist), about four kilometres down a bumpy dirt track. The set up was exactly what we were after - six small huts, a courtyard with a kitchen and a separate 'bathroom' area - no running water and no electricity. But we didn't really need either of those. Bucket showers, a long drop and gas lanterns for a few days and nights was a nice change. Not for too long though!
We organised renting some motos for the next morning as Banfora was a good base for day trips out in the wilderness. The people at the campement were really nice and friendly, which was polarised by the arrival of one of the annoying guides from earlier in the day as we ate tea. He was saying something about all the moto's being his, but he wanted us to pay more than we'd agreed. He was sent on his way. The menu for a place that was in the middle of nowhere was pretty good, and good value. We had fresh baked pizzas one night, and really good Burkina dishes too. The only problem was that it got FREEEEEZING cold during the night, leading me to sleep in my clothes and sleeping bag liner one evening. Not used to the cold conditions (probably snowing in the UK now as you read this!).
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
Motos and birthday drinks
After a quick breakfast at the really friendly omlette guy, we crossed the road to the musician's association to pick up our motos for the day. The guy was not yet ready and so we sat down on the benches outside to wait. The tiny shop had music pouring out of it, with three Burkinabes banging the hell out of some balafons (Burkinan xylophones) for about half an hour. Then we had some drums added to the mix too. They were really getting into it at 9am, with a small crowd of children bouncing along.
Next door to the music was a small shop where a white man was carving some kind of metal. After speaking to the man for a while (Pierre), we discovered that it was a joint effort with some local men who were also interested in brass sculpting. He even explained that he had been to Saffron Walden a few times to look at the glass-blowing there! Cliched, I know, but what a small world!
We were in for a shock, when the bikes eventually turned up, as they were ancient P50's - the slowest and most uncomfortable bike we could have imagined. They looked like anorexic motos, with room only for a two-horsepower engine, and to make matters worse they didn't have a second seat behind the driver, only a metal luggage rack. We thought about trying them, but the pain would've been excruciating over 18km! We apologised and asked them to get the more expensive bikes out that we'd decided against.
Another half hour wait, and a number of phone calls, and we were on the road with two pretty new motos, made by the national firm Kaizer. It was pretty hectic in the city, as we drove back to the hotel, but made it in one piece. Well, we nearly didn't as Dree (first time on a moto) took Kez on a lovely ride through a busy junction and up in between the oncoming traffic. Me and Barnes looked on in horror, but miraculously they emerged unscathed. Apart from some racing hearts.
The ride to the outskirts of town was equally scary, with huge lorries looming over us, and the style of driving reminiscent of Vietnam - chaotic ("You weren't there man!"). We were pleased with the mopeds, pretty comfy and drove well, and headed out of town looking for a natural swimming hole called La Guingetta. Undoubtedly, we got lost and had to ask a few people. With correct directions we headed out of the city past the new stadium (yay), down a sandy track (not good for the bike; drifting) and onto the main highway. Barney was expertly in control of the moto along the highway, and the only problem that happened was that we missed the turning for the swimming hole. Arriving there, we parked up next to the maquis that was by the side of the road, about 50m from the river, and took a break under the trees, reminiscing about near death!
The swimming hole itself was more of a slow-flowing river, quite deep in the middle, with soft sand underfoot. The water was so clear that we had no problems swimming in it - well less swimming, more laying under the shallow surface and occasionally letting yourself get carried downstream a little nway. It was a cool little spot and we ate some lunch there on the river bank.
As we prepared to leave, we noticed that the front tyre on Dree and Kez's bike was flat. We were kinda in the middle of nowhere, but the waiter from the maquis went with Dree to fetch a mechanic. The guy arrived by pushbike with a tiny bag of materials. He knelt down and found two punctures (one which needed sewing up with elasticated string), both of which he shaved down with a file, cut a small patch from a leftover inner tube, and sticking them on with a tiny bottle of glue that had a rag for a lid. Then he pumped up the whole thing with a handpump, a cloth to secure it, and also a tiny stone from the floor to open up the valve. Major man points! Reminded me of how Pop used to fix all sort of things. And to top it all off he charged us about 400 CFA - about 50p!
Back on the road, I drove the return leg, after a few falters whilst I got used to the moto. Felt great to open her up down the highway. But then went about 5mph through the city, as we went a different route back to the hotel. This took us in close contact with a number of lorries, and even more worryingly, roundabouts - which have definitely not caught on in Africa. People drive on them and stop while driving round, or just go at random times and in random directions. Getting back we noticed that the front tyre on OUR bike was flat. Luckily we made it to the hotel, where we pushed it round the corner to a mechanics - there are dozens of mechanics down every road, each one fixing broken motos. Me and Dree chose to just get the tyre pumped up after being glued, rather than pay 3000 CFA for a whole new inner tube; not our bikes!
Patched up, we dropped the bikes off at the association, before changing at the hotel for my birthday meal - 24 tomorrow! The four of us put on our Sunday best, or as good as we could manage, and went for a meal at a recommended restaurant. I cannot remember exactly what we ate, but it was a bit of a splash out for a special occasion, so me and Barney shared a bottle of red. We must spend some time apart after we get back...
All full up we went for a few drinks in the area that has been nicknamed "Little Brixton" after it's happening namesake in London. It wasn't too happening, but we tried a number of different beers (Barney had already had a Guinness Export at 7.5% that tasted thick as treacle), including Brakina, Flag and Beaufort, and sat on the street, where tables and chairs were laid out. We hadn't realised that we were sitting next to the entrance to a brothel. Lots of friendly ladies kept coming out, and older men going in. After a while it clicked and we headed into the bar next door, where there were old arcade games and pinball machines. Pretty cool having a beer and playing Tekken Tag, although I was awful, and some of the friendly ladies, who looked high as kites, were smartly waved off by my more sober friends. We did try and find some live music (the guys from the Association were playing apparently), but the whole place was in darkness.
The swimming hole itself was more of a slow-flowing river, quite deep in the middle, with soft sand underfoot. The water was so clear that we had no problems swimming in it - well less swimming, more laying under the shallow surface and occasionally letting yourself get carried downstream a little nway. It was a cool little spot and we ate some lunch there on the river bank.
As we prepared to leave, we noticed that the front tyre on Dree and Kez's bike was flat. We were kinda in the middle of nowhere, but the waiter from the maquis went with Dree to fetch a mechanic. The guy arrived by pushbike with a tiny bag of materials. He knelt down and found two punctures (one which needed sewing up with elasticated string), both of which he shaved down with a file, cut a small patch from a leftover inner tube, and sticking them on with a tiny bottle of glue that had a rag for a lid. Then he pumped up the whole thing with a handpump, a cloth to secure it, and also a tiny stone from the floor to open up the valve. Major man points! Reminded me of how Pop used to fix all sort of things. And to top it all off he charged us about 400 CFA - about 50p!
Back on the road, I drove the return leg, after a few falters whilst I got used to the moto. Felt great to open her up down the highway. But then went about 5mph through the city, as we went a different route back to the hotel. This took us in close contact with a number of lorries, and even more worryingly, roundabouts - which have definitely not caught on in Africa. People drive on them and stop while driving round, or just go at random times and in random directions. Getting back we noticed that the front tyre on OUR bike was flat. Luckily we made it to the hotel, where we pushed it round the corner to a mechanics - there are dozens of mechanics down every road, each one fixing broken motos. Me and Dree chose to just get the tyre pumped up after being glued, rather than pay 3000 CFA for a whole new inner tube; not our bikes!
Patched up, we dropped the bikes off at the association, before changing at the hotel for my birthday meal - 24 tomorrow! The four of us put on our Sunday best, or as good as we could manage, and went for a meal at a recommended restaurant. I cannot remember exactly what we ate, but it was a bit of a splash out for a special occasion, so me and Barney shared a bottle of red. We must spend some time apart after we get back...
All full up we went for a few drinks in the area that has been nicknamed "Little Brixton" after it's happening namesake in London. It wasn't too happening, but we tried a number of different beers (Barney had already had a Guinness Export at 7.5% that tasted thick as treacle), including Brakina, Flag and Beaufort, and sat on the street, where tables and chairs were laid out. We hadn't realised that we were sitting next to the entrance to a brothel. Lots of friendly ladies kept coming out, and older men going in. After a while it clicked and we headed into the bar next door, where there were old arcade games and pinball machines. Pretty cool having a beer and playing Tekken Tag, although I was awful, and some of the friendly ladies, who looked high as kites, were smartly waved off by my more sober friends. We did try and find some live music (the guys from the Association were playing apparently), but the whole place was in darkness.
Saturday, 12 December 2009
Bobo's Old Town
After a bite to eat at a very friendly omlette stand (loving the lemon tea), we hired some motos, aka mopeds, from an association across the road. The association seemed to be focused on the musical side of life, with bands playing and people dancing every time we went in. We carried on for a little way down the road and saw a sign saying that the Barcelona vs Real Madrid match was being shown in a shack at 6pm - tonight's plan's sorted. We headed further and went past the bustling fruit and veg market before visiting the stadium - a pet peeve of mine, to see as many shabby stadiums as I can. If it's on the map, I'm there!
On the way, me and Dree stopped to get our hair cut at a place called Young American's Haircut. We should have known. Asking for him to shave my head, I ended up with a number one, and Dree, who asked for about a "four", watched nervously as more and more hair came off. He came out looking like Barry Chuckle -a nickname, we are all trying to make stick. Help needed from home please! Thankfully, I've had a shaved head before, so the damage didn't seem too bad.
Turning back on ourselves we went to the Old Town area. The old mosque was in a similar Sudanese style to others we had seen across Mali, notably Djenne, but was white washed. It wasn't as grand as those in Mali and was surrounded by quite a few touts who were trying to get us to accept tours. We carried on into the Old Town, which was lauded as a highlight in the Bradt guidebook. We shook off some annoying guides, who tried to tell us that we needed a guide, otherwise we'd get lost! Had to pay 1,000 CFA, again said no thanks to a group of guides, who followed us for a few minutes regardless, and went into the old town - the humble beginnings of Bobo, before it expanded.
There was a maze of tiny streets, with raw sewage flowing down the middle of them and crumbling mud buildings either side. We continued to the river that flowed through the middle, expecting a cute, picturesque little scene as laid out in the guide. But what we actually got was a canal route, a thin black stream of sewage and waste running along the bottom, and banks of rubbish piled up on both sides to the top of the walkway. It was pretty disgusting, but was cool to see the catfish (symbols of Bobo) swimming about in the filth - they can apparently survive on very little at all! That's lucky then.
Pigs roamed in the rubbish, young girls washed clothes in the river water (not too sure how that works!) as we walked across the river on a makeshift crossing. The main river could be a very nice sight, if people took care of where they lived; the setting was nice, with the river passing through the tightly packed houses. After more guide problems we exited the old town on the opposite side of the river and took a few final photos.
There was one highlight for Barney; an old woman was washing clothes topless. Barney is still owed a village of bare-breasted women from Dree after being promised them in Senossa, Mali, where there weren't any! So a couple more to add to the tally! A woman on a pushbike came up and told me to stop taking photos, and then said I had to pay. I explained I had not taken photos of anyone in particular and showed her the pictures of the surroundings. The town had a very hostile feel to it and we left to more catcalls from guides. Glad that we'd seen it for ourselves, but I wouldn't recommend it to anyone at all!
We headed to the train station, where we checked the times for trains to Banfora, a town in the middle of the south west corner of Burkina, where we had a lot of adventures planned! The train was more of a cargo one, and the times were very vague. We decided to not take the train this time, but all agreed to get a train in Ghana or Togo if we could.
We changed back at the room and went to watch the football in the shack near the mosque. It was similar to our Guinea-Bissau experience, in a hot sweaty shack crammed full of African footy fanatics. Poor Kez must've loved it! To make matters worse the power cut out after 30 minutes and so we headed into town to find a maquis for tea. We didn't have much luck there either - Foyer Onatel probably was the worst service I've ever had, we had difficulty ordering four cokes - and afterwards eventually got some guinea-fowl and chips. Not a particularly successful day, but motos tomorrow!
On the way, me and Dree stopped to get our hair cut at a place called Young American's Haircut. We should have known. Asking for him to shave my head, I ended up with a number one, and Dree, who asked for about a "four", watched nervously as more and more hair came off. He came out looking like Barry Chuckle -a nickname, we are all trying to make stick. Help needed from home please! Thankfully, I've had a shaved head before, so the damage didn't seem too bad.
Turning back on ourselves we went to the Old Town area. The old mosque was in a similar Sudanese style to others we had seen across Mali, notably Djenne, but was white washed. It wasn't as grand as those in Mali and was surrounded by quite a few touts who were trying to get us to accept tours. We carried on into the Old Town, which was lauded as a highlight in the Bradt guidebook. We shook off some annoying guides, who tried to tell us that we needed a guide, otherwise we'd get lost! Had to pay 1,000 CFA, again said no thanks to a group of guides, who followed us for a few minutes regardless, and went into the old town - the humble beginnings of Bobo, before it expanded.
There was a maze of tiny streets, with raw sewage flowing down the middle of them and crumbling mud buildings either side. We continued to the river that flowed through the middle, expecting a cute, picturesque little scene as laid out in the guide. But what we actually got was a canal route, a thin black stream of sewage and waste running along the bottom, and banks of rubbish piled up on both sides to the top of the walkway. It was pretty disgusting, but was cool to see the catfish (symbols of Bobo) swimming about in the filth - they can apparently survive on very little at all! That's lucky then.
Pigs roamed in the rubbish, young girls washed clothes in the river water (not too sure how that works!) as we walked across the river on a makeshift crossing. The main river could be a very nice sight, if people took care of where they lived; the setting was nice, with the river passing through the tightly packed houses. After more guide problems we exited the old town on the opposite side of the river and took a few final photos.
There was one highlight for Barney; an old woman was washing clothes topless. Barney is still owed a village of bare-breasted women from Dree after being promised them in Senossa, Mali, where there weren't any! So a couple more to add to the tally! A woman on a pushbike came up and told me to stop taking photos, and then said I had to pay. I explained I had not taken photos of anyone in particular and showed her the pictures of the surroundings. The town had a very hostile feel to it and we left to more catcalls from guides. Glad that we'd seen it for ourselves, but I wouldn't recommend it to anyone at all!
We headed to the train station, where we checked the times for trains to Banfora, a town in the middle of the south west corner of Burkina, where we had a lot of adventures planned! The train was more of a cargo one, and the times were very vague. We decided to not take the train this time, but all agreed to get a train in Ghana or Togo if we could.
We changed back at the room and went to watch the football in the shack near the mosque. It was similar to our Guinea-Bissau experience, in a hot sweaty shack crammed full of African footy fanatics. Poor Kez must've loved it! To make matters worse the power cut out after 30 minutes and so we headed into town to find a maquis for tea. We didn't have much luck there either - Foyer Onatel probably was the worst service I've ever had, we had difficulty ordering four cokes - and afterwards eventually got some guinea-fowl and chips. Not a particularly successful day, but motos tomorrow!
Bobo-Dioulasso in a day - 'should be easy'
Sorry guys, another tale of how we had trouble making it a very short distance in the space of daylight. But it wasn't all bad! Hold tight, I'll be quick.
We got up and hiked from the volunteer house to the bus station for 7am, eager to catch a minibus or taxi back to Sabou, on the main highway of the city and then onwards to Bobo-Dioulasso, the second city of Burkina. Needless to say, we had to wait for four hours before the mini bus 'filled up' (read that that's when the driver could be arsed to move, as there was only five of us in the minibus). We were drifting in and out of sleep as the miles rolled by and only noticed that he had driven through Sabou and out the other side without stopping. We shouted and the guy said he heard us talking about Bobo and was just going to take us all the way for a set price. But the whole reason for us to go to Sabou was to get a good big bus to Bobo. He dropped us off and got quite annoyed. But we were more annoyed as we were now a few kilometres away from where the big buses stopped.
Some nice young lads who were sat down at the roadside playing checkers (different, better version than the English one) helped us out and tried to flag down buses. The only one that stopped was a large minibus that was going to Bobo. By this time it was late afternoon and we'd only travelled about 30km. We were glad to be moving again.
We all fell asleep on the bus again, and were woken up as we pulled into a busy bus park, not Bobo, and told we were changing buses. Our bags got carried away to the main road and we stayed with them. A guy at the station had been given some money by the driver, and we assumed (wrongly) that we would be put onto a connecting bus straightaway. We sat by the roadside as dusk fell, and at last a big bus stopped. The conductor wanted us to pay 2000 CFA each on top of the money given from the other minibus. We said no, because we'd already paid to get to Bobo once that day! After another hour a minibus pulled up and we jumped on. The guy who was 'helping us out' - holding the money and failing to get us a connecting bus - gave us his mobile number. Yes, we would be calling him for help...
We pulled into the bustle of Bobo quite late and a silver lining to the story was that the driver and conductor of this minibus drove around the city on a wild goose chase trying to find a hotel that no longer existed, because of our out of date guide! Eventually we got them to drop us off in the backpacker area and we tipped them for their trouble. See the drivers aren't all bad! We checked into Hotel Teriana 2, which looked quite posh by our standards, and stumbled across a terribly posh place to eat - choosing a three course set menu and eating every scrap. It was expensive, but within our budget as we had missed breakfast and lunch!
We got up and hiked from the volunteer house to the bus station for 7am, eager to catch a minibus or taxi back to Sabou, on the main highway of the city and then onwards to Bobo-Dioulasso, the second city of Burkina. Needless to say, we had to wait for four hours before the mini bus 'filled up' (read that that's when the driver could be arsed to move, as there was only five of us in the minibus). We were drifting in and out of sleep as the miles rolled by and only noticed that he had driven through Sabou and out the other side without stopping. We shouted and the guy said he heard us talking about Bobo and was just going to take us all the way for a set price. But the whole reason for us to go to Sabou was to get a good big bus to Bobo. He dropped us off and got quite annoyed. But we were more annoyed as we were now a few kilometres away from where the big buses stopped.
Some nice young lads who were sat down at the roadside playing checkers (different, better version than the English one) helped us out and tried to flag down buses. The only one that stopped was a large minibus that was going to Bobo. By this time it was late afternoon and we'd only travelled about 30km. We were glad to be moving again.
We all fell asleep on the bus again, and were woken up as we pulled into a busy bus park, not Bobo, and told we were changing buses. Our bags got carried away to the main road and we stayed with them. A guy at the station had been given some money by the driver, and we assumed (wrongly) that we would be put onto a connecting bus straightaway. We sat by the roadside as dusk fell, and at last a big bus stopped. The conductor wanted us to pay 2000 CFA each on top of the money given from the other minibus. We said no, because we'd already paid to get to Bobo once that day! After another hour a minibus pulled up and we jumped on. The guy who was 'helping us out' - holding the money and failing to get us a connecting bus - gave us his mobile number. Yes, we would be calling him for help...
We pulled into the bustle of Bobo quite late and a silver lining to the story was that the driver and conductor of this minibus drove around the city on a wild goose chase trying to find a hotel that no longer existed, because of our out of date guide! Eventually we got them to drop us off in the backpacker area and we tipped them for their trouble. See the drivers aren't all bad! We checked into Hotel Teriana 2, which looked quite posh by our standards, and stumbled across a terribly posh place to eat - choosing a three course set menu and eating every scrap. It was expensive, but within our budget as we had missed breakfast and lunch!
Salif Keita
We got up and walked into town to get the bikes we had organised the day before. Our plan was initially to cycle the dirt road back towards Sabou, where there are sacred crocodile lagoons. We started off in good faith and took a short water break under some trees - it was roasting hot. Spotting a hill about half a kilometre away, and not having any set agenda, we cycled down a dirt track determined to climb it! Leaving our bikes in the remains of a millet field (with added rubbish and broken glass), so that they were in clear sight, we climbed the rocky outcrop and were able to see a good view of the whole surrounding area - we were at the highest point for a few miles around.
The rocks at the top of the hill were all a shade of dark blue, possibly some kind of metal such as cobalt, and created a rocky outcrop at the top of the hill. We continued climbing and Barney entertained us all by climbing in and out of the rocks, chasing some cool black geckos and eventually finding a snakeskin. I had trouble staying upright because my stupid flip flops were on the verge of breaking, and just as we were about to leave the inevitable happened. Climbing down the rocks barefoot was only part of the problem, as I then had to navigate the field/rubbish tip without shoes.
However, when we got back on the bikes it was quite liberating to cycle barefoot - I felt like a carefree Victorian child, probably as dirty, and most probably on the same bike as one as well. We careered through the dirt tracks, racing and trying to knock each other off (23-year-olds tut-tut) before arriving back on the main road. We carried on for about a kilometre, but eventually decided that the road was too long. It was about 40 degrees and every time any vehicle passed we got showered in red dust and had to stop because the clouds impeded our vision.
We headed back for Kou, where I went on an urgent scout for some new flip flops - eventually choosing a pair that looked like Randy "Macho Man" Savage's - and also bought a Burkina Faso footy shirt. Number 18. Charles Kabore. Left winger, plays for Marseilles. In case you were wondering. There was no food stalls about, and we thought this was probably because of a Muslim festival called Tabaski that started that day. Also known as the Fete du Mouton, this festival was to commemorate the test of faith shown by Abraham, who was willing to sacrifice his son Issac to God, and at the last minute God swapped his son for a goat. Gotta love those Old Testament stories! Anyhow, this meant there was not much open as most Muslims had gone home to eat some mutton. We settled for the not-so-great Bache Bleu, as it was roasting hot, and hunger pangs set in. As expected, there was pretty tough meat, but a big bottle of Brakina helped me there.
In the late afternoon we headed past the stadium out of Kou, and circled back along the river into town. Dree and Kerry took their bikes back, but me and Barney took a ride because we wanted to see the stadium; well more me. Needless to say it was pretty poor, but some guys shouted at us taking photos. We were expecting hassle, but they were chilling out, having a late lunch outside. We got chatting to them, and took some pictures with them - me of course sporting my Burkina shirt!
Racing Barney a different route back through town, I stopped to do some touristy photos, while Barney had a very close run in with a naked man [On the way to the festival we bumped back into the same guy standing in the road at the busiest junction in town, traffic passing either side. A bit of a shock seeing him there, but also quite sad to think he is mentally ill and there is no support for him...]. That evening we had more beer and brochettes before wandering to the stadium for our last night at NAK. We'd got friendly with a couple of stalls and again had our regular stew sarnies. Great tucker.
The headlining act was Salif Keita, and we were pretty excited to see him, as we thought that he was playing on Sunday night, and we HAD to get on the road by Sunday morning. The first two acts were Rose Bationo and Toussy, again okay African sounds but not too memorable. Then on came Salif's backing band. There were calabashes, koras, and lots of drums including the distinctive djembe. They played for a little while before Salif came on stage.
Salif Keita is probably Africa's best known musician. Born in Mali in 1949, Keita broke the mould, not only because he was an albino, but also because he was born into a social class thought to be too good for performing. He made a name for himself fronting a couple of big West African bands before setting out as an artist in his own right. A Grammy Award nominee, and internationally acknowledged as one of the best African musicians, Keita is now on the books at Universal Records. I hadn't heard of his music before I came to Africa, but with this kind of background we were all excited to see him. He came on and started with some slower, traditional songs (Keita and a kora player - half kalabash, half sitar) before the rest of the band all joined in and everyone went wild. He is certainly well known and respected in Kou - everyone was up in the aisles. Even Keita started dancing at points, to whoops and cheers from the audience.
I was really glad to see him and thought he put on a really good performance, and obviously anyone who has been recommended by Mr Coxhead is worth a see. However, Barney describing him as a Malian Tom Jones to his dad isn't wholly accurate! A great performance and a great end to the NAK Festival for us.
The rocks at the top of the hill were all a shade of dark blue, possibly some kind of metal such as cobalt, and created a rocky outcrop at the top of the hill. We continued climbing and Barney entertained us all by climbing in and out of the rocks, chasing some cool black geckos and eventually finding a snakeskin. I had trouble staying upright because my stupid flip flops were on the verge of breaking, and just as we were about to leave the inevitable happened. Climbing down the rocks barefoot was only part of the problem, as I then had to navigate the field/rubbish tip without shoes.
However, when we got back on the bikes it was quite liberating to cycle barefoot - I felt like a carefree Victorian child, probably as dirty, and most probably on the same bike as one as well. We careered through the dirt tracks, racing and trying to knock each other off (23-year-olds tut-tut) before arriving back on the main road. We carried on for about a kilometre, but eventually decided that the road was too long. It was about 40 degrees and every time any vehicle passed we got showered in red dust and had to stop because the clouds impeded our vision.
We headed back for Kou, where I went on an urgent scout for some new flip flops - eventually choosing a pair that looked like Randy "Macho Man" Savage's - and also bought a Burkina Faso footy shirt. Number 18. Charles Kabore. Left winger, plays for Marseilles. In case you were wondering. There was no food stalls about, and we thought this was probably because of a Muslim festival called Tabaski that started that day. Also known as the Fete du Mouton, this festival was to commemorate the test of faith shown by Abraham, who was willing to sacrifice his son Issac to God, and at the last minute God swapped his son for a goat. Gotta love those Old Testament stories! Anyhow, this meant there was not much open as most Muslims had gone home to eat some mutton. We settled for the not-so-great Bache Bleu, as it was roasting hot, and hunger pangs set in. As expected, there was pretty tough meat, but a big bottle of Brakina helped me there.
In the late afternoon we headed past the stadium out of Kou, and circled back along the river into town. Dree and Kerry took their bikes back, but me and Barney took a ride because we wanted to see the stadium; well more me. Needless to say it was pretty poor, but some guys shouted at us taking photos. We were expecting hassle, but they were chilling out, having a late lunch outside. We got chatting to them, and took some pictures with them - me of course sporting my Burkina shirt!
Racing Barney a different route back through town, I stopped to do some touristy photos, while Barney had a very close run in with a naked man [On the way to the festival we bumped back into the same guy standing in the road at the busiest junction in town, traffic passing either side. A bit of a shock seeing him there, but also quite sad to think he is mentally ill and there is no support for him...]. That evening we had more beer and brochettes before wandering to the stadium for our last night at NAK. We'd got friendly with a couple of stalls and again had our regular stew sarnies. Great tucker.
The headlining act was Salif Keita, and we were pretty excited to see him, as we thought that he was playing on Sunday night, and we HAD to get on the road by Sunday morning. The first two acts were Rose Bationo and Toussy, again okay African sounds but not too memorable. Then on came Salif's backing band. There were calabashes, koras, and lots of drums including the distinctive djembe. They played for a little while before Salif came on stage.
Salif Keita is probably Africa's best known musician. Born in Mali in 1949, Keita broke the mould, not only because he was an albino, but also because he was born into a social class thought to be too good for performing. He made a name for himself fronting a couple of big West African bands before setting out as an artist in his own right. A Grammy Award nominee, and internationally acknowledged as one of the best African musicians, Keita is now on the books at Universal Records. I hadn't heard of his music before I came to Africa, but with this kind of background we were all excited to see him. He came on and started with some slower, traditional songs (Keita and a kora player - half kalabash, half sitar) before the rest of the band all joined in and everyone went wild. He is certainly well known and respected in Kou - everyone was up in the aisles. Even Keita started dancing at points, to whoops and cheers from the audience.
I was really glad to see him and thought he put on a really good performance, and obviously anyone who has been recommended by Mr Coxhead is worth a see. However, Barney describing him as a Malian Tom Jones to his dad isn't wholly accurate! A great performance and a great end to the NAK Festival for us.
More NAK - Raaaaasssstttaaaaaa
The next day after a mini lay-in (well, not 5am), we had a breakfast at the volunteer house, which in the light of day was where the single mum, who looked like Beverley Knight, lived with her kids and let people stay who were trying to learn but couldn't afford school fees or passing through on volunteer projects. The nurses were all sitting around in various states of illness and blaming it on the brochettes, which we'd all eaten anyway, hundreds of them in fact. They looked horrified as we said we were going for more brochettes that lunchtime.
We walked into town with no real plans, as our reason for coming to Kou was really only for the NAK. I looked around for some more flip-flops as mine were close to death, and we took a wander about the market, which was a huge red bricked maze, but was all professional with separate areas for food or clothes. We also found a shop where we could rent some pushbikes, and organised that for the next day. For lunch we did go and get some more brochettes from a stall outside a bar (shock, horror) but they were fantastic - some generic meat falling off the stick, along with onion, African cucumber and spices. Mouth-wateringly good.
After a nice little three-course meal at the house, we walked to NAK, but stopped for a few Brakina's, the favoured local brew, along the way. Again we quickly paid and got into the stadium, just to get away from all the pickpockets more than anything else. A short while later we all needed the toilet (curse those beers!) and so asked the security guard at the bottom of the concrete steps. He just pointed to a small space underneath the stadium, where a few others were just urinating up the side of the wall. A bit unorthodox, but when in Africa!
The first band was just finishing as we all settled, and the second one that came on were some Taiwanese drummers. They took a little while to get set up, the crowd in a hushed silence staring at the silhouettes on stage, before the lights flared up to reveal seven people in a bowling formation, each in front of huge drum. They were pretty awesome, banging hard on the drums not unlike the Olympic opening ceremony. The sheer speed and way that they kept in time with each other was incredible. During a break, whilst the drummers changed into dancing gear for Act II, the artistic director came out and via a translator explained each segment. Some of the people in the crowd laughed at his Asian accent, which surprised me a bit.
After a dance with swords, they changed back to drummers and the huge man at the front (must've been nearly seven feet tall, with the build of Jaws from Bond movies) took the lead. Then he got on a microphone and got the crowd on their feet and clapping along. The only thing was this massive giant of a man had the voice of a little girl! Not what we expected but it was a really good show that they put on.
After the Tawainese was a Togolese singer called Kossi Ape'son, who didn't get the crowd too excited by making us all stand up for the Togolese national anthem. He was pretty forgettable afterwards, but did get into the music a bit more and danced along the stage for a while. After a short break, the main act for the night came on - Jah Verity. This was obviously a huge reggae star in Burkina, as all the crowd got to their feet and sang along with all the rasta tunes. Jah himself came out after a big build up in a long camouflage trench coat and big army boots. He rattled out a few tunes before firing the crowd up, and actually got told off for running through the stadium when he wasn't supposed to! We were all dragged up by the local lads and danced along, pulling out some old skool skanking moves. It was really good, but I think if we were high or drunk like the rest of the crowd it would've helped - we didn't know any of the songs!
During the walk back there was a really annoying guy who followed us. He started to try and talk to us, in French, but we didn't understand him. After a kilometre of him being more than a little annoying we all turned and shouted at him to get on his bike. He got the hint.
We walked into town with no real plans, as our reason for coming to Kou was really only for the NAK. I looked around for some more flip-flops as mine were close to death, and we took a wander about the market, which was a huge red bricked maze, but was all professional with separate areas for food or clothes. We also found a shop where we could rent some pushbikes, and organised that for the next day. For lunch we did go and get some more brochettes from a stall outside a bar (shock, horror) but they were fantastic - some generic meat falling off the stick, along with onion, African cucumber and spices. Mouth-wateringly good.
After a nice little three-course meal at the house, we walked to NAK, but stopped for a few Brakina's, the favoured local brew, along the way. Again we quickly paid and got into the stadium, just to get away from all the pickpockets more than anything else. A short while later we all needed the toilet (curse those beers!) and so asked the security guard at the bottom of the concrete steps. He just pointed to a small space underneath the stadium, where a few others were just urinating up the side of the wall. A bit unorthodox, but when in Africa!
The first band was just finishing as we all settled, and the second one that came on were some Taiwanese drummers. They took a little while to get set up, the crowd in a hushed silence staring at the silhouettes on stage, before the lights flared up to reveal seven people in a bowling formation, each in front of huge drum. They were pretty awesome, banging hard on the drums not unlike the Olympic opening ceremony. The sheer speed and way that they kept in time with each other was incredible. During a break, whilst the drummers changed into dancing gear for Act II, the artistic director came out and via a translator explained each segment. Some of the people in the crowd laughed at his Asian accent, which surprised me a bit.
After a dance with swords, they changed back to drummers and the huge man at the front (must've been nearly seven feet tall, with the build of Jaws from Bond movies) took the lead. Then he got on a microphone and got the crowd on their feet and clapping along. The only thing was this massive giant of a man had the voice of a little girl! Not what we expected but it was a really good show that they put on.
After the Tawainese was a Togolese singer called Kossi Ape'son, who didn't get the crowd too excited by making us all stand up for the Togolese national anthem. He was pretty forgettable afterwards, but did get into the music a bit more and danced along the stage for a while. After a short break, the main act for the night came on - Jah Verity. This was obviously a huge reggae star in Burkina, as all the crowd got to their feet and sang along with all the rasta tunes. Jah himself came out after a big build up in a long camouflage trench coat and big army boots. He rattled out a few tunes before firing the crowd up, and actually got told off for running through the stadium when he wasn't supposed to! We were all dragged up by the local lads and danced along, pulling out some old skool skanking moves. It was really good, but I think if we were high or drunk like the rest of the crowd it would've helped - we didn't know any of the songs!
During the walk back there was a really annoying guy who followed us. He started to try and talk to us, in French, but we didn't understand him. After a kilometre of him being more than a little annoying we all turned and shouted at him to get on his bike. He got the hint.
Nuits Atypique a Koudougou (NAK)
Back in the pick-up with Tongay, Natasha and their friend Roman, we got dropped in town for a few drinks and something to eat before going to the festival. The title of the festival (Nuits Atypique a Koudougou) translates a bit funnily, but means 'Unusual nights in Koudougou'. We sat down outside Bache Bleu, ironically, as it seemed a dodgy place before we got picked up to go to the volunteer house, and had a few drinks and brochettes with the guys and a group of French nurses. It was really strange being in such a big group of white people after seeing hardly any in the past few months.
Tongay had been working in Kou for about 11 months in the past four years, for a pharmacy firm, and so knew the place well, and a lot of contacts - this was how we came to have the pick up transport for that night. Natasha was Canadian, but had been living in France for a year or so, and met up with Tongay and Roman to do a trip across Ghana and Burkina. They were all so nice to let us into the group, bought us a round of brochettes and wouldn't accept any drinks as thanks for finding us accommodation. Such nice guys.
The group of nurses were all in Kou, waiting for Govt approval to work in a village a few kilometres out, and also found the volunteer house via Tongay et al. They were all 21 and seemed like it was the first time they had been to a place like Africa before - they were all very cautious about the water and food, and most of them were ill for the duration that we stayed there. Poor guys, but they did have the biggest bag of drugs I have ever seen a backpacked with. Everything under the sun!
We got a lift to the stadium in the truck and walked the last 200m, through a bustling crowd and past loads of food stalls. We only stood still for a few minutes, but we all had crowds of youngsters and children around us. Naughty hands reached into our pockets and Barney stopped some kid trying to get into Kerry's bag. We quickly moved into the stadium, which was half an amphitheatre, open to the night sky, with huge concrete slabs for steps, and chairs, so not particularly comfortable! It was only about half full for the whole time that the festival was on, with 250 people max inside. Bit of a shame as there was about that again in Burkinabes outside asking to have tickets bought for them.
As we arrived inside the amphitheatre, a local band were playing called Zougna Zogamda, and had a lot of people on stage playing a variety of African instruments, including two midgets who were just 'playing' the maracas in a kind of Bez/Happy Mondays set up. The next act was from India, called Kalakar Trust. They opened with a weird dance between a man with a giant puppet's head and some men on stilts. They then changed, and began playing some traditional music with a woman dancing on stage in front of them carrying a few pots on her head. As the songs changed, she had more than ten on her head, before standing on some glasses. All very nice and all, but we have seen far more impressive from African ladies at the side of the road, running to keep up with moving buses, and carrying far more.
The final two acts were Burkinabe (from Burkina) - Wendy, a plump singer, and Flobby, a band that seemed to get everyone onto their feet. To be honest, it wasn't that memorable. A drunk Imbrahim drove us back to the volunteer house in the early hours, and we hit the hay after another long, but good, day.
Tongay had been working in Kou for about 11 months in the past four years, for a pharmacy firm, and so knew the place well, and a lot of contacts - this was how we came to have the pick up transport for that night. Natasha was Canadian, but had been living in France for a year or so, and met up with Tongay and Roman to do a trip across Ghana and Burkina. They were all so nice to let us into the group, bought us a round of brochettes and wouldn't accept any drinks as thanks for finding us accommodation. Such nice guys.
The group of nurses were all in Kou, waiting for Govt approval to work in a village a few kilometres out, and also found the volunteer house via Tongay et al. They were all 21 and seemed like it was the first time they had been to a place like Africa before - they were all very cautious about the water and food, and most of them were ill for the duration that we stayed there. Poor guys, but they did have the biggest bag of drugs I have ever seen a backpacked with. Everything under the sun!
We got a lift to the stadium in the truck and walked the last 200m, through a bustling crowd and past loads of food stalls. We only stood still for a few minutes, but we all had crowds of youngsters and children around us. Naughty hands reached into our pockets and Barney stopped some kid trying to get into Kerry's bag. We quickly moved into the stadium, which was half an amphitheatre, open to the night sky, with huge concrete slabs for steps, and chairs, so not particularly comfortable! It was only about half full for the whole time that the festival was on, with 250 people max inside. Bit of a shame as there was about that again in Burkinabes outside asking to have tickets bought for them.
As we arrived inside the amphitheatre, a local band were playing called Zougna Zogamda, and had a lot of people on stage playing a variety of African instruments, including two midgets who were just 'playing' the maracas in a kind of Bez/Happy Mondays set up. The next act was from India, called Kalakar Trust. They opened with a weird dance between a man with a giant puppet's head and some men on stilts. They then changed, and began playing some traditional music with a woman dancing on stage in front of them carrying a few pots on her head. As the songs changed, she had more than ten on her head, before standing on some glasses. All very nice and all, but we have seen far more impressive from African ladies at the side of the road, running to keep up with moving buses, and carrying far more.
The final two acts were Burkinabe (from Burkina) - Wendy, a plump singer, and Flobby, a band that seemed to get everyone onto their feet. To be honest, it wasn't that memorable. A drunk Imbrahim drove us back to the volunteer house in the early hours, and we hit the hay after another long, but good, day.
The Problems with having an out of date Guidebook
After stocking up on everything in Ouaga, we left early on the morning of the 25th November, after the best omlette breakfast yet (makes such a difference to have some tomato and onion with it, and I've also become accustomed to black tea with lemon). Bought a few postcards and small souvenirs from a Women's Association, better to buy from them than the guys selling stuff from a box at the side of the road - really random things like torches, netting, sunglasses, watches, postcards, soap, miscellaneous, unmarked pills, batteries, toy guns, EVERYTHING!
From the various bus companies in Burkina, we picked out Sogabef as a good company, and got a ticket to Boromo, where we would be spending the night by a watering hole in Deux Bale National Park, hoping to catch some elephants. We had spent a couple of days trying phone numbers and emails for the place where we hoped to stay, but nothing seemed to work. Arriving in Boromo a few hours later, which has a pretty cool bus station, more like a market-cum-bus station, and snacked on the best stew sandwich yet - probably goat, but so tasty and full of chillis! Dree fell down the steps of the bus, which at least shut up the hawkers and "Tuobab" criers as we disembarked.
Me and Barnes took a walk down the road to the turn off for our hotel - 9km away - but were told that the elephants had migrated away, but were given a new number to call, as it has changed hands, ; Maurice. We gave Maurice a call and were told that he is the owner, but the site is being given a makeover, and there is nowhere to stay. So, changing plans, we hopped onto a passing bus for Sabou and decided to head straight for Koudougou, to catch a music festival, a few days early.
We got off in Sabou, and waited there for a connecting minibus to fill up to get to Koudougou. Kez gave a little baby a balloon, who loved it until it burst in front of her. Don't think she was having a good day, as she scared herself by grabbing a sleeping chicken as well! On the other hand, Yahtzee caused a stir with some of the locals who were trying to fix a car (possibly ours).
We got on a minibus, after a push start, and saw yet another great sunset (sunrise-down) along the way; just a shame we didn't stop so we could get some pictures. The border guard at the entrance to Koudougou (Kou from here on in) was very friendly for a bloke holding a gun and wearing a bullet-proof vest, welcoming us to the town and the festival. We pushed the van to get it started again, difficult in sweaty flip flops but good fun, and arrived in the centre of Kou after night had fallen, about 7pm. The poor lady sitting in front of us, with live chicken, also had a tub of arichnade sauce that had fallen over on the bumpy road into town. As we got off we realised, by smell at first, that it had spilt all over her bag and the floor. Poor woman had lost it all, but was still terribly chirpy!
As our guidebook is from 2006 (the latest version, as so few people visit Burkina), a lot of the hostels we had chosen as places to stay had shut down, or in one case, had upped the prices dramatically. As me and Barney checked out another place that was probably now a brothel, a French guy called Tongay spoke to Dree and Kerry as they waited at a bar for "the man" to turn up about renting a place in a bar called Bache Bleu. Tongay, and his Canadian girlfriend Natasha, were staying at a volunteer house on the outskirts of town, and offered us a lift in their pick-up. What a stroke of luck! We were about to cut our losses and have to stay in the expensive hotel!
We got the pick-up back to the house, where the really nice lady, a single mum, made up a bed on the roof and said there was room in the dormitory, a small building separate from the house. We dumped our stuff and took Tongay and Natasha up on the offer of a lift to the festival that night. We were all shattered, but thought it would be cool to catch as much of the festival as possible....
From the various bus companies in Burkina, we picked out Sogabef as a good company, and got a ticket to Boromo, where we would be spending the night by a watering hole in Deux Bale National Park, hoping to catch some elephants. We had spent a couple of days trying phone numbers and emails for the place where we hoped to stay, but nothing seemed to work. Arriving in Boromo a few hours later, which has a pretty cool bus station, more like a market-cum-bus station, and snacked on the best stew sandwich yet - probably goat, but so tasty and full of chillis! Dree fell down the steps of the bus, which at least shut up the hawkers and "Tuobab" criers as we disembarked.
Me and Barnes took a walk down the road to the turn off for our hotel - 9km away - but were told that the elephants had migrated away, but were given a new number to call, as it has changed hands, ; Maurice. We gave Maurice a call and were told that he is the owner, but the site is being given a makeover, and there is nowhere to stay. So, changing plans, we hopped onto a passing bus for Sabou and decided to head straight for Koudougou, to catch a music festival, a few days early.
We got off in Sabou, and waited there for a connecting minibus to fill up to get to Koudougou. Kez gave a little baby a balloon, who loved it until it burst in front of her. Don't think she was having a good day, as she scared herself by grabbing a sleeping chicken as well! On the other hand, Yahtzee caused a stir with some of the locals who were trying to fix a car (possibly ours).
We got on a minibus, after a push start, and saw yet another great sunset (sunrise-down) along the way; just a shame we didn't stop so we could get some pictures. The border guard at the entrance to Koudougou (Kou from here on in) was very friendly for a bloke holding a gun and wearing a bullet-proof vest, welcoming us to the town and the festival. We pushed the van to get it started again, difficult in sweaty flip flops but good fun, and arrived in the centre of Kou after night had fallen, about 7pm. The poor lady sitting in front of us, with live chicken, also had a tub of arichnade sauce that had fallen over on the bumpy road into town. As we got off we realised, by smell at first, that it had spilt all over her bag and the floor. Poor woman had lost it all, but was still terribly chirpy!
As our guidebook is from 2006 (the latest version, as so few people visit Burkina), a lot of the hostels we had chosen as places to stay had shut down, or in one case, had upped the prices dramatically. As me and Barney checked out another place that was probably now a brothel, a French guy called Tongay spoke to Dree and Kerry as they waited at a bar for "the man" to turn up about renting a place in a bar called Bache Bleu. Tongay, and his Canadian girlfriend Natasha, were staying at a volunteer house on the outskirts of town, and offered us a lift in their pick-up. What a stroke of luck! We were about to cut our losses and have to stay in the expensive hotel!
We got the pick-up back to the house, where the really nice lady, a single mum, made up a bed on the roof and said there was room in the dormitory, a small building separate from the house. We dumped our stuff and took Tongay and Natasha up on the offer of a lift to the festival that night. We were all shattered, but thought it would be cool to catch as much of the festival as possible....
Ouagadou-dou-dou
Checked out of the hotel as early as we could and got to the main road, where we threw our stuff on the bus that was "leaving at 8am". We went and got some breakfast from an omlette stand (we do need our tea in the morning, us English!), and got back on the bus in plenty of time. Much to our surprise the bus did leave just after 8am - unlike every other form of transport we've got in Africa - "leaving now brother", "ten minutes" and so on.
Chickens galore got loaded on the roof, and inside the bus, and we pulled into Ouaga a few hours later. We got a taxi to a Catholic Mission, within the grounds of the cathedral, but they were full - possibly because of a massive convention. We walked a few blocks across to Hotel Yennenga, next to the old mosque, getting hassled along the way by more hawkers who wanted to show us their shop. Booked for three days (8400 CFA) as we had to get our Benin visa here in advance. After a hard couple of days travel, we pigged out a bit for lunch and had a burger and chips, but it wasn't too expensive. Also got some money out, before hailing a taxi to take us to the Benin embassy.
After a drive around the area, and our nice taxi driver going above-and-beyond, and going into the French embassy to ask on our behalf, we discovered that there was not a Benin embassy in Ouaga. Could cause a bit of a problem, trying to get the visa on the border, but we couldn't get it anywhere else. We tipped the taxi driver and got taken back to the hotel. On the way we passed a supermarket (first one we've seen since the UK!) and so headed in to splash out on some luxuries. I got a cold, cold Heineken and a bar of cooking chocolate - so goooooood - and everyone else also got a few items. That night we also went to a Chinese restaurant, which was okay, but far better was the street food in later nights. But it was nice to have a break from chicken and chips, spaghetti or riz gras.
The next day I spent a lot of the day on the Internet, catching up on a backlog of the blog, while the other guys went around Ouaga, saw a few museums, and checked out some shops to get some souvenirs. Bit of a shame we couldn't buy things there, but we still had 8 weeks left to carry anything unless we sent it home. On a side note, Dree somehow locked himself in the toilet and had to climb out.
One of the best things about Ouaga was the street food - stews, brochettes/kebabs, sandwiches, soups, rice, veg and sauce - all really good food for almost nothing; about 10p a brochette, or one pound for a good-sized sandwich. We ate from these stalls most nights, to keep costs down to begin with, but after the first time because it was really tasty! Looking forward to more good food in Burkina.
Chickens galore got loaded on the roof, and inside the bus, and we pulled into Ouaga a few hours later. We got a taxi to a Catholic Mission, within the grounds of the cathedral, but they were full - possibly because of a massive convention. We walked a few blocks across to Hotel Yennenga, next to the old mosque, getting hassled along the way by more hawkers who wanted to show us their shop. Booked for three days (8400 CFA) as we had to get our Benin visa here in advance. After a hard couple of days travel, we pigged out a bit for lunch and had a burger and chips, but it wasn't too expensive. Also got some money out, before hailing a taxi to take us to the Benin embassy.
After a drive around the area, and our nice taxi driver going above-and-beyond, and going into the French embassy to ask on our behalf, we discovered that there was not a Benin embassy in Ouaga. Could cause a bit of a problem, trying to get the visa on the border, but we couldn't get it anywhere else. We tipped the taxi driver and got taken back to the hotel. On the way we passed a supermarket (first one we've seen since the UK!) and so headed in to splash out on some luxuries. I got a cold, cold Heineken and a bar of cooking chocolate - so goooooood - and everyone else also got a few items. That night we also went to a Chinese restaurant, which was okay, but far better was the street food in later nights. But it was nice to have a break from chicken and chips, spaghetti or riz gras.
The next day I spent a lot of the day on the Internet, catching up on a backlog of the blog, while the other guys went around Ouaga, saw a few museums, and checked out some shops to get some souvenirs. Bit of a shame we couldn't buy things there, but we still had 8 weeks left to carry anything unless we sent it home. On a side note, Dree somehow locked himself in the toilet and had to climb out.
One of the best things about Ouaga was the street food - stews, brochettes/kebabs, sandwiches, soups, rice, veg and sauce - all really good food for almost nothing; about 10p a brochette, or one pound for a good-sized sandwich. We ate from these stalls most nights, to keep costs down to begin with, but after the first time because it was really tasty! Looking forward to more good food in Burkina.
Tuesday, 8 December 2009
To Burkina!
We got up early (surprise, surprise) to make the earliest bus possible across the border to Burkina Faso - our fifth country, well six if you count France! We walked the few kilometers to the gare routiere as the sun rose, and got there to discover that there was no big coach across the border to Ouagadougou (pronounced Waga-doo-goo, like the song!), capital of Burkina. So we had to sit and wait for a minibus to fill up. We'd done this a lot of times and realised it can take a while, so we dumped our bags, got breakfast and started playing cards for a few hours.
After a wait we jumped on the bus, and took pretty much the same route as at the beginning of the Dogon trek, winding roads through the plateau at the top of the escarpment - beautiful scenery, especially the view across the plain below. We stopped off in Koro, closest town to the Burkina border and had to swap to another minibus that was going to Ouigah, another small city where we could then get another minibus to the capital. We ate at a street stall in Koro, and had arichnade sauce over rice (peanutty, and very bland, but good travel fodder), and also got ripped off for the drinks. They overcharged us, considering they had just gone next door to the shop! Dree tried to throw the money on the table in anger, but it fell on the floor, which caused a bit of an argument.
Back on the next bus, we weren't too sure if this bus would make it - there were no window panes apart from the front, so dust poured through the vehicle, and the side door (next to me) was tied on with rope! We felt quite glad when we did get going, that the driver kept to a slow pace. Literally caked with the red dust though - the colour of Africa! Also in front of us was a man who was the spitting image of John Bowles (Si and Jay's dad).
We eventually got stamped out of the country and into no-man's land (where they pronounced all our names correctly, even Barney's, which usually comes out as Paul, Tony, Barry etc), before a very long drive to be stamped into Burkina. We had no problem at all, thanks to our visa from Colin in Tunny Wells (see previous blog in Sept), but three Arabian guys had some bureaucratic difficulties from the unhappy border guard. We got chatting to some passing kids walking their camels - as you do. We stroked them quickly, before they began spitting, and Barney even got on the back of one!
Back on the road, all legally into the country (unlike Senegal!!!), we got layered up again with some red dust, hair clothes, bags; all the same colour. We got stopped a couple of times to check our papers on the road, and once to unload all the bags piled on top of the bus for Customs. As with all these stops in Africa, you have to get out of the car, and after showing papers you have to walk about 20 metres and get back in. Pointless.
By this point dusk had fallen, accompanied by another fantastic African sunset - the Harmattan winds from the desert turn the whole sky red. We arrived into Ouigah about 9pm and were shown to a close guesthouse. All we wanted to do was dump our bags, eat, shower, sleep and then get the first bus the next morning. Unfortunately, it was too late to try and drive all the way to Ouagadougou. The guy tried to get us to tip him, although he said he worked for the hotel, but actually did not.
Our first bit of food in Burkina was an experience. We ate at a roadside 'maquis', where they serve barbecued food for eating there or takeaways. Sitting on small benches, drinking 500ml Fantas (a treat as they cost the same as smaller ones; small things eh?), we tucked into our food by torchlight. We had onion, tomato, chilli paste, bread and some random tough meat. We couldn't really work out what it was, and after asking the chef after, we discovered it was the stomach of a cow. Really strange texture, but we wolfed it down after an exhausting day.
Ouaga tomorrow?
After a wait we jumped on the bus, and took pretty much the same route as at the beginning of the Dogon trek, winding roads through the plateau at the top of the escarpment - beautiful scenery, especially the view across the plain below. We stopped off in Koro, closest town to the Burkina border and had to swap to another minibus that was going to Ouigah, another small city where we could then get another minibus to the capital. We ate at a street stall in Koro, and had arichnade sauce over rice (peanutty, and very bland, but good travel fodder), and also got ripped off for the drinks. They overcharged us, considering they had just gone next door to the shop! Dree tried to throw the money on the table in anger, but it fell on the floor, which caused a bit of an argument.
Back on the next bus, we weren't too sure if this bus would make it - there were no window panes apart from the front, so dust poured through the vehicle, and the side door (next to me) was tied on with rope! We felt quite glad when we did get going, that the driver kept to a slow pace. Literally caked with the red dust though - the colour of Africa! Also in front of us was a man who was the spitting image of John Bowles (Si and Jay's dad).
We eventually got stamped out of the country and into no-man's land (where they pronounced all our names correctly, even Barney's, which usually comes out as Paul, Tony, Barry etc), before a very long drive to be stamped into Burkina. We had no problem at all, thanks to our visa from Colin in Tunny Wells (see previous blog in Sept), but three Arabian guys had some bureaucratic difficulties from the unhappy border guard. We got chatting to some passing kids walking their camels - as you do. We stroked them quickly, before they began spitting, and Barney even got on the back of one!
Back on the road, all legally into the country (unlike Senegal!!!), we got layered up again with some red dust, hair clothes, bags; all the same colour. We got stopped a couple of times to check our papers on the road, and once to unload all the bags piled on top of the bus for Customs. As with all these stops in Africa, you have to get out of the car, and after showing papers you have to walk about 20 metres and get back in. Pointless.
By this point dusk had fallen, accompanied by another fantastic African sunset - the Harmattan winds from the desert turn the whole sky red. We arrived into Ouigah about 9pm and were shown to a close guesthouse. All we wanted to do was dump our bags, eat, shower, sleep and then get the first bus the next morning. Unfortunately, it was too late to try and drive all the way to Ouagadougou. The guy tried to get us to tip him, although he said he worked for the hotel, but actually did not.
Our first bit of food in Burkina was an experience. We ate at a roadside 'maquis', where they serve barbecued food for eating there or takeaways. Sitting on small benches, drinking 500ml Fantas (a treat as they cost the same as smaller ones; small things eh?), we tucked into our food by torchlight. We had onion, tomato, chilli paste, bread and some random tough meat. We couldn't really work out what it was, and after asking the chef after, we discovered it was the stomach of a cow. Really strange texture, but we wolfed it down after an exhausting day.
Ouaga tomorrow?
End of the Trek
After an absolutely freezing night on a rooftop (it's an amazing difference between the midday temperature and the savage drop to midnight, although it's probably just a warm night in the UK!), we awoke to the same amazing scenery from the previous day; phenomenal views across the plain and towering red fingers of rock reaching for the sun.
Then we were brought down to earth, only a little, by seeing what the middle-aged, package tourists got for breakfast - jam, orange juice, Nutella, Nesquik, whereas we only had Jolly Sun and some bread. No worries at all, we are used to eating on the cheap, but it kind of accentuated the difference between us, with Baba as a makeshift guide, and the all-in-khaki tourists! Seriously, some of the groups had matching safari gear...
The walk round the village in the morning was a little bit strange; we were introduced to a couple of 'hunters' that seemed to have been made up for show, and also there was a tied up monkey next to one of the huts. It was still cool to see the village going through the morning rituals, such as pounding millet, but I think that the village used to be more authentic before more and more tourists came along.
We took a long walk that morning along the plateau at the top of the falaise, and it was very different to the walks in previous day. There was a breeze, which definitely helped, as we walked across vast pieces of rock and over deep fissures, right at the edge of the falaise, with more of that fantastic view. We passed a couple of small rivers, and also past a couple of onion fields - one of the main exports of the region, but only grown on the coolness of the plateau.
We set off at the same time as a young group of Americans, but their guide seemed a lot better and explained things as they passed, let them stop for photos and general breaks from walking. Baba, on the other hand, seemed to want to finish the trek and headed off into the distance. We decided the view was too good to miss and so took a few breaks, guide or no guide!
We got to the final village, where the sept-place was waiting for us to go back to Bandigara. After a meal of rice and arichade sauce (peanuts), we were shown round - walked through - the busy market before being taken back to Sevare, and the Catholic Mission for a well deserved shower!
Then we were brought down to earth, only a little, by seeing what the middle-aged, package tourists got for breakfast - jam, orange juice, Nutella, Nesquik, whereas we only had Jolly Sun and some bread. No worries at all, we are used to eating on the cheap, but it kind of accentuated the difference between us, with Baba as a makeshift guide, and the all-in-khaki tourists! Seriously, some of the groups had matching safari gear...
The walk round the village in the morning was a little bit strange; we were introduced to a couple of 'hunters' that seemed to have been made up for show, and also there was a tied up monkey next to one of the huts. It was still cool to see the village going through the morning rituals, such as pounding millet, but I think that the village used to be more authentic before more and more tourists came along.
We took a long walk that morning along the plateau at the top of the falaise, and it was very different to the walks in previous day. There was a breeze, which definitely helped, as we walked across vast pieces of rock and over deep fissures, right at the edge of the falaise, with more of that fantastic view. We passed a couple of small rivers, and also past a couple of onion fields - one of the main exports of the region, but only grown on the coolness of the plateau.
We set off at the same time as a young group of Americans, but their guide seemed a lot better and explained things as they passed, let them stop for photos and general breaks from walking. Baba, on the other hand, seemed to want to finish the trek and headed off into the distance. We decided the view was too good to miss and so took a few breaks, guide or no guide!
We got to the final village, where the sept-place was waiting for us to go back to Bandigara. After a meal of rice and arichade sauce (peanuts), we were shown round - walked through - the busy market before being taken back to Sevare, and the Catholic Mission for a well deserved shower!
Saturday, 5 December 2009
Up the falaise
After lunch (and politely declining to buy any of the mass produced stuff that was on show in the villages) we picked up the pace and found Baba suddenly turning left into the cliff side. Looking up we joked about climbing up to the top, through a gap between two giant pieces of rock - the size of six-storey buildings. And that's where we ended up.
Passing through an abandoned, overgrown village just off the plain floor, we cut up steep rocks and had a bit of a tough climb (compared to the walking we were used to!) to get up higher. The further we went the better the views got, until after some hands-and-feet climbing action we made it to the crest of the falaise. It was literally am-az-ing. Best view I have ever seen in my life. With the plain spread out beneath us, we had a clear sight miles away towards the Burkina border. Villages seemed microscopic and the vastness of the view from hundreds of feet up truly took my breath away. A definite highlight so far.
But that's not to say Baba was eager to take it in. I don't know if he'd just seen it so often before, or wanted to get to the next village for another joint, but he was off, barely giving us five minutes respite from the walk, let alone any time to appreciate the stunning view. Tilly wasn't too happy either. She didn't seem to be enjoying the trek as much as us, and at one point said she was "bored". Each to their own I guess. We loved it!
The breeze at the top made a noticeable difference as we walked along through a gap in between the two rocks. The drop down was pretty scary, and we had some skulls pointed out to us high on the rock face; a sacred Dogon place, so no pictures! Carrying on along the plateau at the top of the falaise, the enormity of the view didn't dwindle. We walked right by the top of the cliff for about another few kilometres before cutting into the plateau. After a bit more trekking we appeared at the top of a ridge, where the view seemed like a small part of the Grand Canyon - smaller, obviously, but with giant orange 'fingers' of rock, pointing straight up. Pretty damn impressive.
Across the small valley was a village tucked into the mountain side. Baba shouted across to ask if they had room for us to stay. Nice to know how organised he was! The village was called Begnimato, and was pretty touristy. It seemed that anyone who was doing any kind of trek in the Dogon Country (walking, by car or even a day trip) had stopped for the night here. For a village with a population of around 400 people, they seemed to have an awful lot of tourists staying the night (60+). It seemed quite sad that this beautiful setting had rooms for people to stay in, a separate shower and toilet block, and set tables and chairs for dinner...
We seemed to arrive pretty late in the day, but decided to go for it and sleep under the stars. After a great meal of pork and rice, for which Baba had to steal a table, a lantern and chairs from other groups (!) we sat with some millet beer and chatted with our infamous guide. Well, he was sat still for a little while, so it seemed rude not to! Millet beer has a strange taste, not very alcoholic, but its like a weak, cloudy ale that tastes of fermenting. Better than palm wine by a long way though. We were all pretty shattered and so headed to sleep on the roof - with stolen mozzie nets and mattresses (probably!).
Passing through an abandoned, overgrown village just off the plain floor, we cut up steep rocks and had a bit of a tough climb (compared to the walking we were used to!) to get up higher. The further we went the better the views got, until after some hands-and-feet climbing action we made it to the crest of the falaise. It was literally am-az-ing. Best view I have ever seen in my life. With the plain spread out beneath us, we had a clear sight miles away towards the Burkina border. Villages seemed microscopic and the vastness of the view from hundreds of feet up truly took my breath away. A definite highlight so far.
But that's not to say Baba was eager to take it in. I don't know if he'd just seen it so often before, or wanted to get to the next village for another joint, but he was off, barely giving us five minutes respite from the walk, let alone any time to appreciate the stunning view. Tilly wasn't too happy either. She didn't seem to be enjoying the trek as much as us, and at one point said she was "bored". Each to their own I guess. We loved it!
The breeze at the top made a noticeable difference as we walked along through a gap in between the two rocks. The drop down was pretty scary, and we had some skulls pointed out to us high on the rock face; a sacred Dogon place, so no pictures! Carrying on along the plateau at the top of the falaise, the enormity of the view didn't dwindle. We walked right by the top of the cliff for about another few kilometres before cutting into the plateau. After a bit more trekking we appeared at the top of a ridge, where the view seemed like a small part of the Grand Canyon - smaller, obviously, but with giant orange 'fingers' of rock, pointing straight up. Pretty damn impressive.
Across the small valley was a village tucked into the mountain side. Baba shouted across to ask if they had room for us to stay. Nice to know how organised he was! The village was called Begnimato, and was pretty touristy. It seemed that anyone who was doing any kind of trek in the Dogon Country (walking, by car or even a day trip) had stopped for the night here. For a village with a population of around 400 people, they seemed to have an awful lot of tourists staying the night (60+). It seemed quite sad that this beautiful setting had rooms for people to stay in, a separate shower and toilet block, and set tables and chairs for dinner...
We seemed to arrive pretty late in the day, but decided to go for it and sleep under the stars. After a great meal of pork and rice, for which Baba had to steal a table, a lantern and chairs from other groups (!) we sat with some millet beer and chatted with our infamous guide. Well, he was sat still for a little while, so it seemed rude not to! Millet beer has a strange taste, not very alcoholic, but its like a weak, cloudy ale that tastes of fermenting. Better than palm wine by a long way though. We were all pretty shattered and so headed to sleep on the roof - with stolen mozzie nets and mattresses (probably!).
The Dogon Trek continues
After a breakfast of doughnuts and sugar, and some awful 'Jolly Sun' tea (just add sugar hahaha), Baba took us through the village up to the huts in the cliff, where the village used to be before the families moved down to the plain so they could farm easier. The climb was steep in places, but the wait for the dust to clear was well worth it - the view was great, of the whole plain spread out beneath us. Little did we know it was going to get a LOT better.
The mud huts and granaries are all built into the side of the cliff on natural rock ledges, but it is still incredible to think of the villagers carting up mud handful by handful in the baking heat. Baba took us through the old village, while smoking his morning joint (comforting), and showed us some painting on the sides of one of the huts. The black, red and white paintings were part of the Sigi - a traditional Dogon festival held every 60 years (next one due in 2027). It is a complicated initiation ceremony, involving a Great Mask, 10m high, to be carved out of a tree. Baba thought that with the increasing number of Dogon young moving to the towns and cities, that the next Sigi will probably be the last, and that the true Dogon culture will slowly become consigned to the history books. Bit sad really. Fascinating culture.
Then he showed us the circumcision stone, where the clitoris or foreskin is removed. This used to be done by the blacksmith! The basic reason is that in the Dogon universe everything has two parts; a male and a female. For a youngster to grow into an adult, one part must be removed otherwise they become confused.
After a truly fascinating morning, it was back to trying to keep up with Baba Schumacher in front, as we wandered along the plain in the shadow of the falaise. We walked past a natural lake, created in a kind of swamp area, tall trees that had the bark stripped off them from the ground to 2m up to make rope and some amazing views of the cliffs towering above; huge rock formations, boulders obviously fallen hundreds of years ago and all the way along huts hundreds of feet above the ground.
One rock was resting on its smallest point, like an upside down triangle, and Baba said it had been there as long as he could remember it. The Dogon story goes a young girl went to cut down a tree, became tired and took a nap in the shade of the tree, but when she awoke it had turned into rock. The girl was so disturbed that she remained mute for the rest of here days.
We stopped quite early for lunch in Endè (Baba's apparent home village), and we would have preferred to have kept on walking. We ended up sitting around for about three hours, playing cards and me and Tilly swapping accents - she speaking like Mary Poppins, "all proper-like" and me adopting a South Carolina twang - "Y'all", "Po-lise". Very funny. We reckon Baba spent lunchtime smoking a bit more as he came back pretty chilled out.
The mud huts and granaries are all built into the side of the cliff on natural rock ledges, but it is still incredible to think of the villagers carting up mud handful by handful in the baking heat. Baba took us through the old village, while smoking his morning joint (comforting), and showed us some painting on the sides of one of the huts. The black, red and white paintings were part of the Sigi - a traditional Dogon festival held every 60 years (next one due in 2027). It is a complicated initiation ceremony, involving a Great Mask, 10m high, to be carved out of a tree. Baba thought that with the increasing number of Dogon young moving to the towns and cities, that the next Sigi will probably be the last, and that the true Dogon culture will slowly become consigned to the history books. Bit sad really. Fascinating culture.
Then he showed us the circumcision stone, where the clitoris or foreskin is removed. This used to be done by the blacksmith! The basic reason is that in the Dogon universe everything has two parts; a male and a female. For a youngster to grow into an adult, one part must be removed otherwise they become confused.
After a truly fascinating morning, it was back to trying to keep up with Baba Schumacher in front, as we wandered along the plain in the shadow of the falaise. We walked past a natural lake, created in a kind of swamp area, tall trees that had the bark stripped off them from the ground to 2m up to make rope and some amazing views of the cliffs towering above; huge rock formations, boulders obviously fallen hundreds of years ago and all the way along huts hundreds of feet above the ground.
One rock was resting on its smallest point, like an upside down triangle, and Baba said it had been there as long as he could remember it. The Dogon story goes a young girl went to cut down a tree, became tired and took a nap in the shade of the tree, but when she awoke it had turned into rock. The girl was so disturbed that she remained mute for the rest of here days.
We stopped quite early for lunch in Endè (Baba's apparent home village), and we would have preferred to have kept on walking. We ended up sitting around for about three hours, playing cards and me and Tilly swapping accents - she speaking like Mary Poppins, "all proper-like" and me adopting a South Carolina twang - "Y'all", "Po-lise". Very funny. We reckon Baba spent lunchtime smoking a bit more as he came back pretty chilled out.
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