Monday, March 4, 2013

February 17 - Sunday - Les Chutes de la Voile de la Mariee (Bridal Veil Falls) to Kambia, Sierra Leone

Photos: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10151358931776961.1073741825.562066960&type=1&l=6383df2809
On the road at 8:30 a.m. One of the first occurrences to shake out the sleep webs was a check point. The check points are manned by a collection of police, military, militia, and anti-gang groups and don't seem to serve any particular purpose. We have noticed a change in posture at these points. The uniformed guys are more agressive and threatening in body language and voice. But also, they are flummoxed. They demand the trucks travel papers, then with a pseudo intelligent attitude review them and then look over all the flags on Aminah's side, look up at all of our white faces, glance over the truck all stall tactics as they decide what they can do with us. One of their usual tricks is to try to extract money from us - despite the signs that read "Corruption hampers development". Now the barrier is a scrawny peice of rope. When they can find no reason to hold us any longer, they grudgingly let us go on our way. This belies the acivity going on between the passengers in the truck and the vendors outside who parade up and down balancing trays of tempation on their heads to entWewomen, a few words of greeting, much laughter, chatter and general merriment.
We came to Coyah which is on the road to Conakry the capital of Guinea and near the border with Sierra Leone. A chaotic town wth an active market. We can feel the "edge' in the air here; it is not as laid back as the remote forest region. In fact, walking through the back streets I came across a moto bike with a sheet of paper on the handlegars showing pictures of various military and lay people and the slogan "Martyrs of Guinea". I kept walking quickly as I didn't want to get caught up with any rebel groups. It is an uneasy peace in Guinea. The country is so poor, and there is a lot of discontent with the current government. One only hopes they sort it out peacefully.

In Coyah, I went off to look for beer for the truck with Ray and Dave. This is a Muslim town and we couldn't find any so Sally asked a random guy and he acted as our guide through the back streets. The first stop was the beer warehouse, but it was closed. So he led us back across town to a pub, and here we got a great deal on 2 cases of beer - 136,000 gf per case! On the way we came across public toilets and Sally and I took the opportunity to use them. From nowhere a girl appeared with a bucket of water and while Sally used the drop box I chatted with the woman and her 1 1/2 year old little girl.....in French. The toilets were as spotless as could be, and didn't even smell, much better than many of the toilets in Canada - especially the Tim Horton's ones.

Part of the decoration in the towns are the cars which line the streets and alleys, hoot tauntingly at you from behind when you walk through the busy streets, and invariably end up quitting and need a push to get started. You can sometimes make out the original colour of the car through the rust spots, bangs,dents, chi8ps,scratches and missing body parts All door handles are missing, the wing mirrors no longer reflect the road behind since there is no glass in them; the windscreen looks as if it has been hit by bullets. The overall effect is that they look as if they have been through a severe beating by a gang of thugs. The insides are equally dilapidated. They are full of red dust; the leather seats spew out stuffing through ripped leather or plastic;. the carpets have been tornd out so that the metal chassis peeks through the floor boards; the pedals are mere sticks; the speedometer never works.There is no preference given to the age of the car they might be new, or they might be ancient. When riding in a taxi like this you bump along with broken springs clanging, loose exhaust pipes, and a precariously low amount of gas.

I think it was when we were leaving Coyah that we came to a halt on a narrow 2 lane road jammed in with trucks, SUVs anad cars while the moto bikes crawled through the centre. A large lorry had broken down in front of us and iits driver was under the truck trying to fix it. This proivded a good opportunity to try some street food from the women vendors. We had a fried doughnut looking without the hole cake which was delicious, but very fatty Not too sweet - diets here don't contain much sugar other than appears naturally in the fruit- Also tried a banana biscuit that was a cross between dried fruit chips and peanut brittle. Again not sweet.

As we pass through the country and wave to an exchange pleasantries with the locals, I try to figure out the role we are playing as tourists. Why no matter where we go do the Africans form an audience and stand and watch us for hours, not asking for anything, only some of them verbally communicating, but always ready to give a nice smile? I think we provide variety from the mundane routine of every day life, especially in Guinea where the white man is not often see; I think we provide a topic for conversation; imagine all the school kids rushing home after their encounter with us in their school yard, and the stories they wil be able to tell their elders, and finally I think we provide a confirmation that there is another life outside that of their limited worlds and that this other life knows they exist and recognizes that existence.

Late in the day we arrived at the Guinea/Sierra Leone border. The emmigration and immigration were unpunctuated. All the officials on both sides were charming and processed our mass exodus and influx with all of the charm of the West African. While waiting for our passports to be stamped in SL a poda-poda drew in to the immigration yard that had us all in raptures as it looked as if it would topple over on the ruts and bumps. But of course, it must have travelled miles over similar ruts and bumps and made it this far safely. It was stacked one and a half times as high as as the minibus with red, green and yellow plastic garbage bins, plastic basins, toilet paper, and other household items. Ed asked if he could take a picture and the uniformed border officials said yes - so he did - which imediately caused an officious little man to come over and demand who had given him permission. Ed led him back to the uniforms, and quickly departed leaving them to sort it out. Stricly speaking you are not supposed to take pictures at the border or of police, military, govenment buildings etc. Claire told us about a drago group that spent the night in gaol because one of their group had taken a picture of the Welcomne to X sign as they entered the country.

Another night, another bush camp (quarry night) and we are one night in SL.

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