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Wednesday morning and there is a feeling amongst the 6 of us who are leaving in Freetown that our trip is almost over. We were up and packed up camp and had eaten breakfast before the kids hit school.So, not too big an audience. First part of the journey was OK. Then we turned off on a one lane, dirt, laterite road and we were back on a wild roller coaster ride that jerkepad our bodies left and right while grinding our buttocks into the seat to prevent human projectiles from taking out the other passengers. I think there are seat belts. There are definitely signs saying "buckle up".
Aminah, our truck, was having problems. They started yesterday and the crew tried to sort them overnight, shortly out of Bo, they started again. However, Dave and Jimmy are extremely competent and a process of elimination. We stopped once to do a fix, then half way down the dirt road, Aminah ground to a halt just at the edge of a little village called Masa.
I used this opportunity to chat with two young men. I'd guess their ages around 17 and 25, but I may be wrong. They both lived in Freetown and were visiting home for 3 weeks. They both said they were students but were unable to find work. They both spoke English very well and were intelligent. They were both very disillusioned about the situation in their country. The older one was the younger one's uncle. They talked about the huge level of corruption by the country's leaders. They hope the new leader, who was elected at the end of last year will be different. They have a system to punish corruption but those who administer it are more corrupt than those who are being charged with corruption. Then there is tribal favouritism between the Mende and the Timnes. A Timne for example, will always give a job to another Timne and a Mende to Mende, so if you are not in the ruling tribe it is hard to find work. Couple that with the fact that on an individual level there is no support. It is everyone for themelves. They seemed to respect the West because of our systems. They have no suggestions as to what to do to progress. Meeting and chatting with these two young chaps brought home to me the dedsperation many of the youth in SL feel. It stirred my nurturing buds to do something to help. But what can you do? I think so much work is needed by the people in the country, not by outsiders; not by NGOs and aid except emergency aid. The most the west can do is to form an international pact to control all the multinational corps that drain the country of its resources and give little back into sustainable development and progress.
The crew has determined we got a bad load of diesel at the last stop. They have now bypassed the gas tank and are taking the fuel from a gerry can. Dave is sitting in the truck holding the gerry can close to the diesel tank and monitoring the situation.
Once the problem and a fix was found, we were soon on our way again and arrived in Kambana where we ate lunch before loading up the dingy with gerry cans of water, cooking utensils, cook stove, propane, pots and pans, dishes, and food for 17 for 3 days. Alexis and I were first to make the 10 minute journey, complete with half of the supplies, and we feared that we would end up in the river Moa with the crocodiles.
The camp at Tiwai was actually quite like camping in parts of Canada, where you set your tent up in open air platforms with metal roof and there is an open air lounging area with a thatched roof - they had provided the tents and matresses so we only had to take our sleeping bags, swim wear, change of clothes, and toilet gear. Our group was on for dinner which we cooked in their kitchen. All the food was lying out and the chap in charge soon took it away and locked it up in a room I might add with a gap between the ceiling and the top of the walls, to protect it from the poisonous rats. Guess rats can't climb??
After dinner and clean up we played a round of trivial pursuit, met the Spanish and Czech guests there, and went to bed.
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In the morning a number of people from the mine came to introduce themselves, including a white South African. He told us the story. The yard was owned by African Minerals who were managing the mine for the Chinese. They mined iron ore. The mine had only been open a year and the containers for shipping were picked up full and delivered back empty to the yard we were staying in. The raw ore is shipped from Conakry to India where it is refined, then the finished ore product is shipping to China. The mine was about 30 minutes away. The Chinese had bought 7 mines from the SL government - 100 per cent Chinese owned. They were working on the outside of the first one and it would last about 70 to 90 years before they would have to dig into the mountain and down. Do the math - that is huge - 630 years of mining secured at today's price. The Chinese government gave the SL government a couple of billion for infrastructure and most of it has gone in the politicians pockets. The mine empoys about 4000 people. After hearingthis story,the episode with the Chief starts to make sense. The Chinewse have bought him out to keep the destruction they are causing to the country quiet. Thus no one allowed in the area. Money drives everything here and it was strange that the chief wouldn't agree to us staying when he was offered money on a per capital basis. But if he is being paid by someone else, then of course it makes sense. Anyway, I am not sure if that is the story or not, but it was a strange experience to have in a land that doesn't otherwise restrict tourism and in fact is trying hard to promote it.
The sad thing is there are signs everywhere about the pit falls of corruption, but it is clearly alive and very well. How do you stop it? What things can a country do to stop the elitism at the top levels and the severe poverty at the lower levels. Amolng many others, this is clearly one of Africa's big problems, and development by the Chinese is unlikely to stop this.
Once back on the main road we left the mountains of the Bumbuna area behind and most of today was spent on bad roads and finally good roads passing through fairly mundane countryside. A few on the truck have mentioned the amount of driving we have done this past week, and we are not getting "value" for our money. However, that is Africa. There really is not much else. It is a study in another way of life.
We pulled into Bo after lunch. Bo, used to be a railway town and my Dad would travel by train up to Bo in the 40s then continue the rest of his journey by car to the Yengema mine. Bo wasw chaotic. The buildings were unique with their old colonial architecture. Many ruins, many new buildings half finished and going nowhere, and complete chaos in the market. We were shopping for food group and the market was easily the narrowest isles, the most chaotic layout, the most chaotic people, and fun. You were literally pressed together with other black women most of the time. One of them told Annie to be careful of the money in her pocket. Most of the vendors spoke English so navigation is easy, but it is quite an experience. Produce was hard too and we had just about given up when once really nice woman sent her young daughter off with us to show us where we could buy tomatoes, potatoes, lettus, cucumbers, bread and eggs - all outside the market on the street!!
To night we are camped in a school yard just outside Bo. The moon has grown to about half, Ray is on cook group, and we have a ton of people around us,watching, staring. Are they learning our movements, are they wondering who we are and where we have come from, are they thinking at all???
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An extra half hour and once again we were off on our journey leaving the camp site around 9:30. Stopped for diesel and the difference in the boutique at the gas station had us all oohing and aaahing over the cleanliness and the amount of and ordered display of all the goods. Furthermore, there was a proper toilet wth running water, soap and toilet paper. We overlanders are easily satisfied.
Within half an hour we were in Makeni. The architecture is what I would now describe as typical British Colonial: metal roofs, square columns, and laticed railings on the front verandahs the whole being cement block covered with cement of yello, white, aquamarine and others.
The road started out well and we had a nice lunch in a casheww grove. Then we turned off the main highway to Bumbuna. The laterite road was the worst yet with its pot holes, ruts, and ridges. It took us about 2 1/2 hours to do 15 cm. Along the way an anomaly appeared on the horizon. As it drew closer we saw it was a train which snaked its way across the country side dragging behind it what seemed like over a hundred containers, possibly for some mined ore. And then finally after numerous small villages, lots of double hand waves and thumbs up signs, and a played out body after all the jerking in the truck, we arrived in Bumbuna. We searched around for the falls and the dam and the over zealous locals cheered and waved and shouted at us. It was an overwhelming experience. We came to a river and our crew asked if it was safe to ford and follow the tiny trail to the waterfalls. It was.......well......to someone. The truck came to a halt after about 200 yards into it and we all got out and it reversed back. We also picked up a guy who said he would take us to the chief to see if we could camp in the village. We went back through town and stopped in front of the largest most modern home in town. The chief. He was quite annoyed we had driven through town without his permission. Also told us we couldn't go to the dam without a permit from the Ministry of Tourism. Wouldn't agree to us staying in town. So with a bit of a bad feeling we left. It was curious though. The people were so friendly and welcoming. Now you do have to remember that this was in a war torn part of Sierra Leone and the war has only been over for 10 years. Not sure if that played into the situation or not. We headed back out of town till we were almost at the railway and stopped at a container yard that we had passed previously. They agreed to let us park there among the few containers in the enormous yard. We had five security guards in beautiful black pants tucked into their boots and black jacets with "security guard" written all over them. They came around and took our names, and showed us where we could park and camp. It was a good, safe, night!!
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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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It was about 18C this morning and it felt really cool, fleece and hoodie weather! The days have been hot - 38-42C so the chill of the evenings and early mornings sends shivers over your skin.
Today was a long drive winding along a road from Hell to a waterfall just north of Kindia through the S bends of the mountaineous forest region Fouta DJalon. It is fairly remote here, the tourism of 20 years ago lost. Villages are simple and we are once again seeing the mushroom shaped mud huts with thatched rooves. Cattle, goats, and chickens roam freely through the villages and on the roads. Other villages with concrete houses and shops that are separated from the edge of the road by 2 feet gutters have a pair of vultures sitting on the metal rooves, hovering in the hopes of a tasty morsel. Motor cycle repair shops abound as do plastic bottles of gasoline for sale.
The drive took us through the Fouta Djalon highlands, a sandstone massif which is one of the major attractions here. Pretty purple flowers on skinny branches peeped through the trees. The area is rich in rivers and we crossed numerous narrow bridges over drying-up rivers with banks of effervescent green trees and bushes. Unabashed ebony black kids bathing naked scrubbed their skin in the rivers till it shone like the diamonds in the ground that could make Guinea rich but don't. We drove through wide grassy valleys with red dirt trails meandering over the steep sun baked valley walls. We passed through jungle with its tall trees and short trees with leaves tiny and big, long and narrow or fat and wide, some sparse, some with solid growth, some had crinkled edges, some smooth; all were adorned with vines and lianas and ferns growing abundantly at their feet, wrapping around their trunks, and others providing a swing for lazy insects.
We picked our left-right route through the pot holes and over the ruts and bumps moving at the pace of a tortoise and in complete opposition to the racing driver trip we did in Ghana. In some parts, the roads are sliced out of the forest so that the roots of the trees are bared in the red mud rock that rises steeply from the semi tarmacked surface. We came around a corner and a bunch of kids were filling in the potholes and begging for money from the passing motorists, so I guess my start up business suggestion of yesterday is already in full swing! Cars, motor cycles, SUVs and lorries navigated the same route. The roof loads on the cars and SUVs were at least as high as the vehicle itself and spilling over with sacks of grain, bikes, large plastic holdalls of goods, petrol cans, chickens. Horns were blown to indicate "I'm here", "I'm going to pass", "I hear you", "Go ahead", "You idot" and various expletives we can't explain. The people hung out of the truck cabs and shouted their welcomes punctuated by fullsome waves. Large lorries about 20/30 meters long sneek their way around the corners weighed down low over their chassis with oversized burdens protected with tarpaulins. We saw several turned over on their rooves or sides lying down the steep sides of the road no doubt toppling over as they take a corner too fast, lose breaking power on downhill S bends, or just lose control on the over crenellated roads. We saw several SUVs, cars and trucks broken down with dexterous drivers head stuck in the engine trying to sort out the problem.
We passed through Mamou with its Soviet style tenements in disrepair and fading signs for all the aid projects that have been conducted in the town. Here Jamie was entrapped by the littlest of women, dressed from head to foot in a colourful cloth of yellow, green,white, and blue, and then an extra white cloth covering her head. Her wiszened face beamed out from underneath the head ware showing two teeth separated by a black gap. She grabbed his arm and couldn't keep her hands off him as she tried to reach up to stroke his arms. He took her picture and she giggled and chuckled at the image she saw. This was the highlight of her day.
We had a fleeting view of a German cyclist fixing something on his bike. Linsan appeared to be the most Moslem town we have passed and we felt there were not as many waves, but more finger pointing, whatever that meant. In Tamisso or Sougueta we filled up the water tanks from the tired tap that streamed the water from the village well.
Our camp site for the night was at the beautiful Chutes de la Voile de la Mariee, a drop of 60 m, 13 km from Kindia. The Santa River tumbles over the cliff at two speeds; one giving a refreshing shower, and the other giving the skin a brisk massage. The base of the Falls was like a Roman Amphitheatre and rumour has it that there used to be concerts around the Falls. Rumour also has it that the rondavells at the base of the Falls were built by a former President, Sekou Toure for his weekly visits. Lonely Planet says you can rent the huts, and even eat there, but it all looked pretty deserted and deteriorated to us. A beautiful spot nestled in the tall broad leafed trees and a wonderful opportunity to clean up under the Falls.
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We were up and on our way around 8:30 a.m. trying to capture as much of the morning coolness as we could before heading into the heat of the day. This was a "long drive" day. We set off just before 8:30 and drove for an hour or so until we got to Faranah where, being on cook duty again our trio set off to do the shopping. Lean pickings. It is hard to find variety and our diet does not contain the Canada Food Guide nutrients. The first thing we came to was a stall with live chickens. Not sure I would have been the "leader" on this but we selected two brown hens and arranged to pick them up ready to cook when we finished our shopping. We walked all around the market, only medium insanity this time and we found the women very delightful. We had decided to do a stir fry with noodles, if we could find noodles as opoosed to rice or pasta. In luck we found packets of tiny noodles which required about 3 mins of cooking and bought 4. Next came the veggies. We discovered some very fresh lettuce and got that for lunch. The hunt was on for tomatoes and shortly we discovered a stall with a limited number of eatable condition tomatoes. Where once all this stuff was plentiful, now it is in low supply and buying food for 17 often means we take everything the vendor has for sale. Trying to find suitable veg for the stir fry was hard and we ended up with a butternut squash which was bright orange inside and red and green egg plant. onions, and garlic. Not bad. When we cooked it we added some peanut butter and it turned out to be quite a delicious meal. We finished off our shopping with fresh eggs, and fruit for breakfast - pineapple, oranges, bananas, and some avocados for lunch. We had two interesting exchanges in the market. We wanted to get some ginger for the stir fry and noticed some for sale lying on a mat on the ground as we scouted a little market side street. Annie asked how much and after receiving a reply that sounded way too much, we discovered the lady was "giving" them to us. Just another act of African kindness. So first Annie gave her a big hug, then I gave her a big hug, and then Dave gave her a big hug all to the delight of the sellers around who were by this stage laughing and chattering and creating quite a commotion. Then there were the chickens. Our big mistake was not to have left one of our group to "supervise". Time means different things in different cultures. Time controls the white man, he is bound by dates, deadlines, and accomplishments all controlled by time. To the African, time is manipulated by man and is purely dependent on man, so hence when we got back the chickens although decapitated and haning to bleed, were otherwise unready. So, I sat down and waited while they boiled the water to de-feather them. The woman disappeared across the road and arrived back with a small charcoal grate with alive coals on which to boil the water. We waited for the water to bubble. Then one of the guys took over the de-feathering. When the water was hot enough, the chickens were dunked in it and most of the feathers came off while the remainng ones were plucked off by hand. They would have cooked them for us ....if we had had time..... so, we headed back to the truck with whole chickens minus only feathers. At night we boiled the chckens and courageous Dave cut off of the head, feet, and cleaned out the insides. tI am grateful to the little brown hens who spent the last moments of their lives traumatised while waiting their death in a hen net on the main street of Faranah. They provided some much needed protein of the highest quality.
On the way out of town we saw the airport built by a former President for a Concord to land on. He was in the habit of renting a Concorde and wanted to be able to land it in his home town. The egos of some of the African dictators/leaders often burdens their countries with useless debt.
There were no other significant events in the day. We travelled the worst roads on earth through beautiful but remote parts of southern Guinea. At one point we came across some little boys filling in the pot holes on the road. Dave stopped to dash them. This could be a new business. Get the kids to fill in the holes in the road and charge the truckers a small fee as they go by. This would give the kids a few dollars, save the truckers loads of money, and probably improve the economy in the country!! Did I tell you the leader of the military was killed in a plane crash in which the Presidente was suspected of playing a part? This resuilted in the flags flying at half mast and a little concern for unrest in the country, but so far all is well.
We found another neat little campsite just off the road in the evening (the Honey Bee stop-) , where we once again put on a show for the locals. They are fascinated with us. They clearly don't see many white people and those they do see are probably business people involved in aid projects in the country, mining, or infrastructure construction. The area we chose seemed to be part of the honey production process. Hanging in the trees were cylindrical baskets - full of bees! Poor Dave got stung under his shirt while sitting around the camp fire at night. You might be confused, Dave the Hatter and Jimmy are our crew. Any other names mentioned are fellow travellers.
One of the hazards of camnping is the "lost tent syndrome". I experienced this the other night when I ended up searching in the dark for my tent. Fortunately, I came across some of the girls going to bed who directed me in the right direction. Last night Ray got up in the night only to find Dave wandering around discombobulated in search of his tent.
One of the hazards of travelling in malaria infested countries is taking the preventative drug larium. Although quite effective, it is renowned for causing nightmares. Takers tolerate it at different levels, but I gather from some of the stories at breakfast that it is somewhat akin to taking halucinatory drugs. I think the closest I got was taking demoral to cure stomach pain after an early morning house call from my doctor - about 30 years!!
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The day started out peacefully with breakfast and a chance to watch the sunrise, then we were off on our way once again through the forested area of Guinea.The drive through this mountainous area was outstanding with beautiful vistas of pine trees and my favourite upside down tree which I don't know the name of, forest with its frenzy of trees, vines, and liana, and small villages with hordes of people yelling "Bon voyage", "bon arrivee|", "hello", "bonjour" "ca va", at us. Sadly, some patches of mainly kids were also yelling "donnez moi un cadeau". i guess they have learned that from someone. I have never waved so much in my life. The children scream with delight, the women shout out a welcome to you, and the men wave, smile and hurl instructions at you, most of which are lost in the villagers babble. The road on this journey started out very well. Paved, white lines, guard rails, and netting to protect the road from falling stones. Then, there was a heavy braking, a thud, and we were on the worst road imaginable. Dirt, pot holes, breaks, gullies. We wonder how commerce can survive here as a lot of the vehicles on the road are big heavy trucks. There are no railways. This continued for most of the day. The only thing worse would have been doing it in the rainy season!
As evening drew near our crew were looking for a place to camp. It is difficult here because of the bush. Eventually, as a last resort, it was 6:30 and about 10 minutes away from dark, we found a logging road just before Madina and just after Kissiedougou (don't you love some of the names - so and so appropriate for Valentine's Day), and after moving some hewn timber we were able to set up the tents, cook dinner, and camp for the night. Around 5 this morning I woke up with something hitting my tent and the sound of crackling in the bush around us. Not sure what it was, but definitely some little critter. I don't think it was interested in the tent but had just come across it in its travels. Could have been a chicken, a goat, or some unknown forest creature, a snake maybe....not sure! But once again we made it safely through the night.
