So its been a pretty incredible time. I loved every minute, storms in my tent on some random road in the forests of Sierra Leone. Random river crossings and eating crayfish on the beach. Dancing in arb clubs in cities you only knew by name. Driving, driving, driving, landscapes everywhere. We went in and out of the forest zone twice, saw arid savannah's, trees and birds. We fixed cars on muddy roads of Liberia, we got sick, we got better, we laughed and Don cried. We climbed trees in Nigeria to look at forest clearings. Smelly tents, smelly markets, sea, rivers, people, Colour and music everywhere. Cold beers, good food. Diesel tanks, smiles of people. Good people, new friends, West African flavour. Man….this is the life, I think I could go on forever.
And then, I was sitting on a beach, with a beer and realized that we had finished mapping. The next day was to Dakar, Dale’s house and finished. MAPA was incredible, and now its over.
we’ve spent the last few days sleeping on Dales couches, wrapping up logistics of shipping, inventorizing and laughing a lot. So, I’m done with this blog thing, although it does help me avoid writing fifty mails to update people on the trip; to be honest it’s a bit self indulgent. Not sure I’ll do it again, but thanks for reading chaps.
-Chris Out-
Friday, April 15, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
Mangroves mangroves mangroves….
So sometimes I would really like wrap around eyes. Like a fish maybe, or an antelope, either one, I’m not picky. Not to be more popular with the ladies mind you, I doubt that wrap around eyes will make you much of a hit, maybe with a weirdo, which is ok too I suppose, but that’s not the goal of wrap around eyes. The thing is you need to be able see more at times when there is so much to see. Like a fish eye lens for your eye camera, assistance for that mental photolab that allows you take images with your mind. Detachable fish eyes would be highly marketable I think. Just change the lens, get the landscape shot, then its back to bright blues. I went for a pirogue trip into the mangrove forests along the Gambia river, about 300km upstream from Banjul, and I needed fish eyes.
At one point, the Gambia river was so still that the horizon line blurred with the sky. Just a mirror of the sky, weird cloud formations in duplicate. There were hundreds of pink backed pelicans roosting in the riverbank forests; gargantuan bird flowers dressing the green. Our pirogue putt-putt putted along, across the hundreds of meters of river and straight into the green wall; it was mangroves, mangroves, mangroves. It isn’t even birding season, but there are birds everywhere, the guides voice an almost constant noise of id’s. Good guide, beautiful birds. The motor slows and you hear the high pitched whimbrelling of whimbrels, kinked beaks moving over. Fish eyes would help there, they’d let you keep up. The trees are heavy with western reef herons, dark form-white throat patch. African darters slide through the water, they dry in the trees. You see blue-bellied kingfishers, watch malachite and pied. Senegal thick knees populate the undergrowth, sandpipers dominate the shore. Purple herons, goliath herons, white backed night herons. Roseringed parakeets cross your bow, wooly necked storks on your flank. Goloneks in the savanna, royal terns on the river. A gymnogene looks for nests to raid, a cormorant dries in the sun. In the dying light, it was fields of brilliant green and contrasting red, the blinding white of a great white egret overexposing your eye camera. It can’t be captured on film. You need fish eyes.
The mangroves themselves are a sight to behold. Bigger than any mangroves I’ve seen. 12 meters high, buttress roots reaching down from five. You slice through the soup like water in the backwater calm, the rank smell of anoxic mud is just magic. A monitor lolls in a tree. Pencil roots form an organic nailboard, breathing air in the toxic ooze. There used to be dolphins and hippos here, apparently sometimes there still are. I’ve never seen a river this big, a lake really. Pirogues out fishing, terns and pelicans too… I need fish eyes.
At one point, the Gambia river was so still that the horizon line blurred with the sky. Just a mirror of the sky, weird cloud formations in duplicate. There were hundreds of pink backed pelicans roosting in the riverbank forests; gargantuan bird flowers dressing the green. Our pirogue putt-putt putted along, across the hundreds of meters of river and straight into the green wall; it was mangroves, mangroves, mangroves. It isn’t even birding season, but there are birds everywhere, the guides voice an almost constant noise of id’s. Good guide, beautiful birds. The motor slows and you hear the high pitched whimbrelling of whimbrels, kinked beaks moving over. Fish eyes would help there, they’d let you keep up. The trees are heavy with western reef herons, dark form-white throat patch. African darters slide through the water, they dry in the trees. You see blue-bellied kingfishers, watch malachite and pied. Senegal thick knees populate the undergrowth, sandpipers dominate the shore. Purple herons, goliath herons, white backed night herons. Roseringed parakeets cross your bow, wooly necked storks on your flank. Goloneks in the savanna, royal terns on the river. A gymnogene looks for nests to raid, a cormorant dries in the sun. In the dying light, it was fields of brilliant green and contrasting red, the blinding white of a great white egret overexposing your eye camera. It can’t be captured on film. You need fish eyes.
The mangroves themselves are a sight to behold. Bigger than any mangroves I’ve seen. 12 meters high, buttress roots reaching down from five. You slice through the soup like water in the backwater calm, the rank smell of anoxic mud is just magic. A monitor lolls in a tree. Pencil roots form an organic nailboard, breathing air in the toxic ooze. There used to be dolphins and hippos here, apparently sometimes there still are. I’ve never seen a river this big, a lake really. Pirogues out fishing, terns and pelicans too… I need fish eyes.
The Gambia
So we are in the Gambia with one week to go…
After a day down in the Casamance trying to find the Parc National de Bass Casamance we moved north, checking out some bird sanctuaries on the way. I'd spent some time on the phone with the Gambian consulate and through multiple iterations of the same conversation worked out that clearance equals proof of accommodation. No problem! Cbaz broke out his best German, organized us a few nights at a overlander place near Banjul and made the email document look very very official.
So we got to another road block with logs, just out of Senegal…there they were, a bunch of guys with logs..blocking the border. They weren’t very good at the road block… I did laugh though when C-baz pointed out that we are in a land cruiser and two logs aren’t going to stop us, the man immediately summoned his posse to deposit more logs in the way. So we jumped out, joined them under the tree and entered friendly discussions. We argued and played the game, eventually they confused each other.”Do you want money?”, “No , this isn’t about money” the one guy says, “Yes” says his boss”, oops.
And then we were at the Gambia and off to Banjul. Unfortunately the parks and “wild” places we have been to are little more than zoos. Places where they sell tourists peanuts to feed the monkeys. We went partying in the Senegambia, the resort section of the Gambia, just to see it…It's not my scene. Marco and Don, its exactly what you think it's like! So we left with a guy we’d met to find some Gambian people, not the package tourists and found ourselves in a local spot in the outskirts of town. ( I couldn’t get back there if I tried, dust roads and alleyways is all I remember). A really cool vibe, a rough, rough place! Not what my mum would consider a classy establishment, but we spent some hours listening to the local band, Djembe drums bashing away… a really good time. Sebaz broke out his dance moves, the local guys tore it up with theirs.
Today is cleaning day. Cleaning day is every second Saturday of the month. No cars are allowed on the roads and everyone has to clean the country. Police etc, will stop you driving and make you wait until 13h00 when cleaning day is finished. So we’re waited at our camp and will then made our way west to the national parks…I’m done with Banjul, but I’m keen to see the countryside.
After a day down in the Casamance trying to find the Parc National de Bass Casamance we moved north, checking out some bird sanctuaries on the way. I'd spent some time on the phone with the Gambian consulate and through multiple iterations of the same conversation worked out that clearance equals proof of accommodation. No problem! Cbaz broke out his best German, organized us a few nights at a overlander place near Banjul and made the email document look very very official.
So we got to another road block with logs, just out of Senegal…there they were, a bunch of guys with logs..blocking the border. They weren’t very good at the road block… I did laugh though when C-baz pointed out that we are in a land cruiser and two logs aren’t going to stop us, the man immediately summoned his posse to deposit more logs in the way. So we jumped out, joined them under the tree and entered friendly discussions. We argued and played the game, eventually they confused each other.”Do you want money?”, “No , this isn’t about money” the one guy says, “Yes” says his boss”, oops.
And then we were at the Gambia and off to Banjul. Unfortunately the parks and “wild” places we have been to are little more than zoos. Places where they sell tourists peanuts to feed the monkeys. We went partying in the Senegambia, the resort section of the Gambia, just to see it…It's not my scene. Marco and Don, its exactly what you think it's like! So we left with a guy we’d met to find some Gambian people, not the package tourists and found ourselves in a local spot in the outskirts of town. ( I couldn’t get back there if I tried, dust roads and alleyways is all I remember). A really cool vibe, a rough, rough place! Not what my mum would consider a classy establishment, but we spent some hours listening to the local band, Djembe drums bashing away… a really good time. Sebaz broke out his dance moves, the local guys tore it up with theirs.
Today is cleaning day. Cleaning day is every second Saturday of the month. No cars are allowed on the roads and everyone has to clean the country. Police etc, will stop you driving and make you wait until 13h00 when cleaning day is finished. So we’re waited at our camp and will then made our way west to the national parks…I’m done with Banjul, but I’m keen to see the countryside.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Southern Senegal
Today I saw a West African Manatee. Yes, a real live one, swimming in the Cassamance river. It is said that people explore the Cassamance and never leave. I can see why, the place has a romantic allure to it. Every day seems like a Sunday. The old French culture is still strong and bistros, restaurants and auberges are plentiful. People seem to sit and life seems to pass in permanent siesta. People have time to talk, time to relax. Beaches are beautiful and crowds are few, mangrove trees and birds are everywhere. Baracuda and Perch, crayfish and shrimp; the good life lives here, it’s easy to be seduced.
We drove along a spit of savanna in a sea of mangrove today, reaching the mudflats and sea grass beds. I had forgotten the magic of sea grasses. Vast space, mud, green and then there it was, a real life West African Manatee, breaching for air, then gone again. 400kg of underwater lawn mower moving along, doing what underwater lawnmowers do.
Now that’s not a bad sighting.
-Chris-
We drove along a spit of savanna in a sea of mangrove today, reaching the mudflats and sea grass beds. I had forgotten the magic of sea grasses. Vast space, mud, green and then there it was, a real life West African Manatee, breaching for air, then gone again. 400kg of underwater lawn mower moving along, doing what underwater lawnmowers do.
Now that’s not a bad sighting.
-Chris-
Deforestation
Beautiful forests filled my minds’ eye, carpets of green, thick, lush carpets. Green landscapes, beautiful landscapes. I’ve now seen the landscapes and the landscapes are leprous, the landscapes are gangrenous, sloughing. Once lush hills are now adolescent chins; a few sparse boughs in the ground. Everything is slashed, Mordor like, everything is burned. Too many people, too many mouths, slash burn, eat, slash, burn, burn. In ones minds’ eye we view West Africa as wild, the forests intact with a few sparse villages. We see images in the media of logging, we see images of deforestation…we mutter to our partner, “that’s terrible”. We may even think “if they don’t stop that soon there will be nothing left”, then we change channels to big brother 7 and forget. There are no more vast tracks of forest in West Africa, No more… None. I have now been there, I have now seen it. They are gone already, simply patches remain; Isolated little islands of fresh in the chaos. The reasons are many fold, no blame can be made…People need to eat, people need resources, slash burn eat, slash burn burn. The minds eye is myopic.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Cassamance
The car ready to go and we’re off on the last leg of our trip, Dakar-ward. This place is incredibly beautiful. I sat this morning, drinking coffee and looking over the mangrove lined banks of the Cassamance river that stretches for miles and miles. Birds abound and tomorrow I am going to a manatee sanctuary. Pirogues with colourfully dressed women are punted up and down; we eat barracuda and Nile perch. We have running water and are we are clean…it’s the little things. Life is good, oh so very good.
-Chris-
Plans just don’t work:
“Salaam alaikum”, the old woman said…stooped and shuffling, wrapped in blue material, she moved by me sweeping the ground. “Alaikum salaam”, I responded as is custom (and peace be with you). In the predawn cool, I looked around, making out shapes of cows, goats and sheep in the growing glow of dawn. There lay Sebaz’s tent next to the village well, our car, and of course…its tank, sitting once again detached, its bare arse facing the sky. We’d had another epic, and personally I blame it on poor diplomatic relations between Gambia and South Africa.
So we’d finished Niokolo-Koba, the major national park in Senegal. A beautiful place, it had taken us three days of solid mapping. We had a rather eccentric guide with a small bladder and flatulence, need I say more? Maybe I should make mention of the photo he made Cbaz take of him wearing just his underpants. So, our plan was to get into Gambia and see the river, the drunk Brits and the birds. Gambia is an amazing birding spot and so I was rather keen to see the huge mangrove forests and tons of migratory waders. However once out of Senegal, the Gambian authorities informed me that as a South African I need clearance. No one has any idea what this clearance may be but I can only get it in Dakar. Now Sebaz…he is fine, apparently being German means you are of less risk than a South African. I needed clearance for my mission, although C-baz is on the same mission he does not need clearance, again logic was not allowed in the room (as a side note, DRC, CAR and Somalia also need clearance, and arguments that we used to be part of the commonwealth didn’t help either, we were stuck and all due to bad diplomatic relations). So after being shouted at by Senegalese authorities in French for wasting their time we were back off to try get to Ziguinchor. The plan was simple, map the Park in the south, stick me on a boat to Dakar, Sebaz drives to Banjul, the capital of Gambia where I meet him after sorting my stuff out in Dakar and catching a bus/taxi/motorbike the few hundred km south…simple no?
No…
We missed a crucial turn off and so we got a ferry rather than a bridge, which wasn’t running as it was too late. So we were stuck on the wrong side of a river in rural Senegal. No problem, we would bush camp as there is a decided lack of hotels or pensions in rural south. This is where things went awry, being an area with travel warnings we decided to leave town a bit and settle in a quiet area near a still backwater. Beautiful! Except on route to our camp site I hit a rock with our oversized tank and popped the weld (People should no doubt remember the dubious tent peg welding incident of February 2011). So, we were once again on the road side, diesel peeing gold in the sunset as we came up with a plan.
Firstly, what we have learned in such situations is that first thing to do is have a cool refreshing drink. In this case a cold Carslberg. We find the cool blend of hops and barley helps stop any panic one may experience, more importantly the inflow of carbohydrates helps you to get ready for the manual labor ahead and the fluid hydrates you for your task. So we had out beers and started to work…taking off pipes and jacking the car up onto rocks etc. The local village chief spotted us as he drove by and lectured us on how it’s not safe there. He was insistent, so off we went, trailing a stream of diesel into his village.
We had an amused but very helpful audience as we removed a tank, filled all the buckets the village could muster with diesel and proceeded to pitch camp right next to the well. It was the Bulls on one side, us in the middle and chickens all around. My tent got a torrent of laughs as men and women alike inspected it. I don’t speak Wolof ( actually it is Diolo down here, but I don’t speak Diolo either) but I think it may have been to do with the size. But there we slept, among the array of African village life. It was pretty cool; although they have obviously imported roosters from further east because they crow about 4 hours too early.
By morning the epoxy was dry and we had a host of kids watching as we fixed the whole thing. Dr Schuhman and I are practiced at this now and so by ten in the morning we were back on the road, onto the ferry and off to Ziguinchor…problem solved. Alaikum salaam random village, thanks again for the hospitality!
But no… the problem wasn’t solved; you see the boat couldn’t take me until the fourteenth and to make matters worse the diff lock was stuck. In the dropping of the tank/ hitting of a rock process, some wires had been severed and now we were stuck in permanent diff lock on the rear axle. With no mechanics anywhere to be found on the national holiday it was back under the car for the two of us. We spent a few hours learning the ins and outs of diff locks, and the trickery of Toyota designers and their inconsistent uses of bolt sizes. In hind sight It’s actually pretty simple and we got it fixed; of course we rewarded ourselves with the ever present cool refreshing beer. This trip is too much fun, we don’t even plan anymore now.
So we’d finished Niokolo-Koba, the major national park in Senegal. A beautiful place, it had taken us three days of solid mapping. We had a rather eccentric guide with a small bladder and flatulence, need I say more? Maybe I should make mention of the photo he made Cbaz take of him wearing just his underpants. So, our plan was to get into Gambia and see the river, the drunk Brits and the birds. Gambia is an amazing birding spot and so I was rather keen to see the huge mangrove forests and tons of migratory waders. However once out of Senegal, the Gambian authorities informed me that as a South African I need clearance. No one has any idea what this clearance may be but I can only get it in Dakar. Now Sebaz…he is fine, apparently being German means you are of less risk than a South African. I needed clearance for my mission, although C-baz is on the same mission he does not need clearance, again logic was not allowed in the room (as a side note, DRC, CAR and Somalia also need clearance, and arguments that we used to be part of the commonwealth didn’t help either, we were stuck and all due to bad diplomatic relations). So after being shouted at by Senegalese authorities in French for wasting their time we were back off to try get to Ziguinchor. The plan was simple, map the Park in the south, stick me on a boat to Dakar, Sebaz drives to Banjul, the capital of Gambia where I meet him after sorting my stuff out in Dakar and catching a bus/taxi/motorbike the few hundred km south…simple no?
No…
We missed a crucial turn off and so we got a ferry rather than a bridge, which wasn’t running as it was too late. So we were stuck on the wrong side of a river in rural Senegal. No problem, we would bush camp as there is a decided lack of hotels or pensions in rural south. This is where things went awry, being an area with travel warnings we decided to leave town a bit and settle in a quiet area near a still backwater. Beautiful! Except on route to our camp site I hit a rock with our oversized tank and popped the weld (People should no doubt remember the dubious tent peg welding incident of February 2011). So, we were once again on the road side, diesel peeing gold in the sunset as we came up with a plan.
Firstly, what we have learned in such situations is that first thing to do is have a cool refreshing drink. In this case a cold Carslberg. We find the cool blend of hops and barley helps stop any panic one may experience, more importantly the inflow of carbohydrates helps you to get ready for the manual labor ahead and the fluid hydrates you for your task. So we had out beers and started to work…taking off pipes and jacking the car up onto rocks etc. The local village chief spotted us as he drove by and lectured us on how it’s not safe there. He was insistent, so off we went, trailing a stream of diesel into his village.
We had an amused but very helpful audience as we removed a tank, filled all the buckets the village could muster with diesel and proceeded to pitch camp right next to the well. It was the Bulls on one side, us in the middle and chickens all around. My tent got a torrent of laughs as men and women alike inspected it. I don’t speak Wolof ( actually it is Diolo down here, but I don’t speak Diolo either) but I think it may have been to do with the size. But there we slept, among the array of African village life. It was pretty cool; although they have obviously imported roosters from further east because they crow about 4 hours too early.
By morning the epoxy was dry and we had a host of kids watching as we fixed the whole thing. Dr Schuhman and I are practiced at this now and so by ten in the morning we were back on the road, onto the ferry and off to Ziguinchor…problem solved. Alaikum salaam random village, thanks again for the hospitality!
But no… the problem wasn’t solved; you see the boat couldn’t take me until the fourteenth and to make matters worse the diff lock was stuck. In the dropping of the tank/ hitting of a rock process, some wires had been severed and now we were stuck in permanent diff lock on the rear axle. With no mechanics anywhere to be found on the national holiday it was back under the car for the two of us. We spent a few hours learning the ins and outs of diff locks, and the trickery of Toyota designers and their inconsistent uses of bolt sizes. In hind sight It’s actually pretty simple and we got it fixed; of course we rewarded ourselves with the ever present cool refreshing beer. This trip is too much fun, we don’t even plan anymore now.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Freetown
Now Freetown is cool. We’re back in a city with a vibe. The city centre is one of the biggest and coolest markets I’ve seen. It is huge, and you can buy anything… the strawberry maidens have been replaced by these muscular guys with barrows full of coconuts. He hacks open a cold coconut brimming with milk, mothers milk. You walk around, drinking your cool refreshing coconut, checking out about an acre of shoe merchants. Sneakers, trainers, soccer shoes, glittery stripper heels, sandals, work shoes..you name the brand, the model, rip off, original..this is the place to be! Its really colourful, people all over, singing, shouting milling down the street. Cars edge along, walking pace, the speed governed by the shopping rate of local women. You can get anything there, the range is tremendous, and everyone wants to do business, we haggled over green converse shoes (didn’t have my size), we checked out the belt buckles. Electronics, clothes, food… its all there, spread on the streets, being moved for cars, making cars move for it. The call to prayer breaks the noise only momentarily, the crowd continuing to edge along the road. Freetown is cool.
They have cool bars and clubs to. We went partying with our new best friend Jo, a rather amusing Englishman we had met on Tiwai. Off we went to hit the clubs and check the local scene. Too much fun, riding around on motorbike taxis from club to club. Checking out the nightlife, music, people, dancing. Sierra Leone has its own sound I really enjoyed Freetown.
I did spend most of my time in Freetown in the police station. You see at the one beach we had a bunch of our stuff lifted from us. Being anal retentive I keep all my stuff together in a few bags, so when one of them is taken they get quite a lot. Unfortunately there was a heap of MAPA money in the bag too. So I had to spend some time at the police station, greasing palms along the way to lubricate the machine that is the Sierra Leone police. I need a statement for insurance you see, just a statement. Its pretty cool, once you have been there for 4 hours in a day you become part of the furniture, I saw the ends of a fight in the holding cell. I started running errands for the big guy, calling people for him. I pretty much met every person and went to every office. I’d sit and watch Cbaz down below as he fixed the roof-rack, contemplating how much I would not like to be incarcerated here! But it got it done and after lifting the one police lady to the other station, paying a beer drinking typist to type up a document for me and then getting the police lady to take it to the big cheese and getting all the official stamps etc, 2 days later, fourty thousand of the local currency and two days later, I had the report.
We moved on and are in the middle of Guinea somewhere.
-Chris-
Beaches
Man, does Sierra Leone have some beaches they are by far the most beautiful I've ever seen. Green forest, white, white sand and azure blue ocean. Just like the Sierra Leone flag. It is unbelievable. No people, just miles of beach. We drank cold beer, ate crayfish and barracuda kebabs. We chatted to local guys, we slept on the beach... we met a guy Jo, an English reporter at Tiwai and were giving him a lift back to Freetown. He is one hilarious chap. Really good night, drinking Pina coladas with local rum, sitting chatting to local guys about the war, it sounded horrible, the ten years since it ended, the fifty years of peace. Chatting about politics and the country, it's a spectacular place. I did get a whole lot of my stuff stolen at this beach, and Cbaz lost some shorts and Jo a pair of sandals. But stuff is stuff, the place is still beautiful, and its the first hassle we've had this trip. We're moving to Senegal now, via Freetown checking out the parks and forest reserves as we go.
Tiwai Island
So we’re in Sierra Leone, this place is super friendly and really picturesque.
There is a problem with traveling through landscapes like this, and seeing places with this kind of beauty. One runs the risk of failing to describe the beauty adequately without being guilty of gross hyperbole. Not everything can be incredible, not everything can be unbelievable, exclamations are not cumulative marks to be added as a degree of emphasis. But, Tiwai island begs special mention.
Rather than shower the concept in adjectives, using the thesaurus function of my computer to try and distinguish this place from the umpteen others we have seen; I will simply try and describe the scene.
It’s a 12km2 island in the middle of a river, home to eleven species of primates, Pygmy hippos and untold numbers of birds. But, its more than that, it’s the place that little boys imaginations conjure up, a place of dark water rivers, crocodiles and tool using chimpanzees. Its a place where in the evening you sit, in a raphia hammock watching the African wilderness around you. The river is dark from the tannins of forest decomposition. Oily almost, it oozes its way through the thick walled jungle, the raphia palms bend, overhanging, dipping, tasting. Every now and then, the treetops dance in the light. A sudden glow as red colobus dive, arms outstretched, sunlight catching the red fur, fire-balls in the sky. I took myself for a little forest walk, by myself, barefoot in the forest, just me, shorts and a vest… Magic! I saw black and white colobus, Diana monkeys and Sooty mangabeys (The original vector of SIV and subsequently HIV subtype C, according to Dr S. Barichievy who knows everything). I saw red colobus, Cusimans, a massive cobra, untold numbers of birds, untold species of butterflies, all new to me. A plethora… that’s the word, a plethora of new!
For the nerds reading, mainly Nic, Marco , Bryan, Graeme Ellis and Don…the people who care about birds… on one beach, just sitting in the water I saw among others; palmnut vultures, Egyption plovers, rock pratincoles and African skimmers. There are blue headed beaters, and numerous unidentifiable and therefore obviously very rare waders. Hordes of forest birds with their little flickers of color and haunting calls abound in the dense green. At night I sat alone, in the silence of the river noise, for hours in the moonlight, watching the river, obsidian in the night. Thinking the things that now grown little boys imaginations think of; I’m on an island in a river, the forest areas of Sierra Leone all around…man, life is good.
I do think that Tiwai island is a very beautiful place in the world, a definite place to go and see. Spend a day or two, get Lahai the body-builder look alike chef to whip you up something delicious, go for a walk with the guides who know every tree and bird. Stroll around in the green or laze in the river. There are people researching pygmy hippos and camera trap pictures reveal their presence, every now and then you see their sign in the jungle, just a munched plant here and there. It’s a special place this.
Liberia Sleeping
So, I can’t really comment much on Liberia. We were there for three days and I spent most of it asleep. I’d managed to get the old Malaria, and so was man down. Wrapping myself in a down sleeping bag in the forests of Liberia was a dead giveaway that something was wrong. So, the doctor took charge and we went to the local clinic for a test. Then, drugged-up on the best quality medicine German taxpayers money can buy, I dazed and slept and Cbaz drove, pretty much all the way to the coast in Greenville. The roads in the East are pretty incredible, just as I pictured it, one road, big potholes and just a wall of green on each side. Its spectacular. The roads take their tolls and are littered with broken down vehicles, people fixing, people waiting to be fixed. We joined them; a severed fuel line left us motionless in the heat and mud. Cbaz doctored the severed tube, while I sweated under the vehicle and got it in and out of place, half an hour no problem. I must say, we’re becoming experts on diesel fuel line systems. The rest of our time was a daze to me, but it seemed to be good. Monrovia streets at night, expensive hotel, Getting visas and then we moved on… I basically slept through Liberia.
We went through to check out SAPO, which is somewhere I definitely intent to go back to. No road access, you hike into this one. 6hr hike in from the one entrance, 45 mins from the other. You take all your own kit and food, take a guide and off you go. Now that sounds like a good time. Highest mammal diversity in the world, and they have some incredible species lists. Yellow backed Duikers, Jentiks duikers, heaps of others including Giant Pangolin (but pangolins don’t really exist so I don’t believe them) Anyone keen?
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
So that is what a day should be like….
Now that was a days of days; one of the best I can remember in a long long time. Sitting with my back in Cote de Ivoire, feet in Guinea ...gazing down a sheer rock face at the untouched forest hundreds of meters below. All you can hear is the sound of wind in the grass and the screeches of wild chimpanzees floating on the wind. A mate of mine Graeme Ellis talks about the “Cosmic Mind Fuck”, when a moment is just too much to take in…I got you Graeme, I got you!
I’ve been harping on about Mount Nimba for as long as I can remember, after reading about it in a book on mammals of Africa, and seeing it’s got a insanely high diversity, things like otter shrews and Goliath frogs. It’s the single most important thing I came on this trip to see and was worth it, many fold. It’s a cashew nut shaped range of hills that rise up out of Cote De Ivoire and border Guinea and Liberia. The landscape is beautiful…ridiculously so.
We spent the night huddled in our tents, heavens open and rain bucketing down. It turns out that being in one of the wettest areas in Africa means rain, and it doesn’t mess around. It was incredible, lighting, storm, and in the lulls between thunder the shrieks of chimps in the forest not far away… then I knew it was going to be good ( wild chimps, not sanctuary chimps, not released chimps, truly wild populations… incredible). Our day started at five, and by sunrise we were hiking up through the farmlands and banana fields with our guides, sun rising up over the hills, before we plunged headlong into the thick of it. Our guide “Dhana” expertly cut his way along a path I battled to see, weaving between trees too tall to see the top of. We were immediately immersed in Lianas, a plethora of different mushrooms and wood fungus. The call of louries, the repeating whistles of the Klaas’s Cuckoo, Robins, Flycatchers and a hundred other calls, the forests hiding their owners in a thicket of green. Tree falls fascinated me, tree bowls 6 meters in diameter, with a tree five times that height, smashed through the forest, opening up a gap and the survivors racing for the light. You can almost see the race! Massive pink moths and leaf litter crawling with goodies. You could spend your life in there, just catching, looking learning. Everywhere you turn something new, everywhere you look fascinating. Doing a biodiversity survey here must be like winning the lottery, incredible. The walk was long and hard and C-baz and I were drenched in sweat, but what a day. Breaking clear of the forest, the major climb is across a grassland blanketed by clouds that rise vertically up the face from Cote de Ivoire. You barely see the world below, then Hollywood movie like, the clouds part and stretched out before you is one of last remaining pieces of Primary Forest in Africa, man, what a sight!
At one point the ridge is only about five meter wide, almost straight down on both sides, Forest forest forest. Unfortunately the perspective gained with the altitude also shows how precarious the position is. The forest is an island in a landscape of slash and burn; encroaching people, hungry people. Looking into Liberia, the perfect smile of the mountains arc is marred by the deep V cut into it by a mine. A rotten tooth in a perfect smile, necrosis edged, the rot spreading. The thing is, this place is no longer that hard to get too, the road are good, the war is gone, the people are so very friendly. Guinea is great, inexpensive and has landscapes, wow does it have some landscapes. People need to come here, climb the mountain, see the chimps, research the trees, put the landscape on the map again. I’m not a Greenpeace activist or anything, but while the worlds not watching this place will disappear.
Off into Liberia tomorrow, to Sapo which is rumoured to have the highest mammal diversity in the world… I’ll blog sometime.
Peace
-Chris-
I’ve been harping on about Mount Nimba for as long as I can remember, after reading about it in a book on mammals of Africa, and seeing it’s got a insanely high diversity, things like otter shrews and Goliath frogs. It’s the single most important thing I came on this trip to see and was worth it, many fold. It’s a cashew nut shaped range of hills that rise up out of Cote De Ivoire and border Guinea and Liberia. The landscape is beautiful…ridiculously so.
We spent the night huddled in our tents, heavens open and rain bucketing down. It turns out that being in one of the wettest areas in Africa means rain, and it doesn’t mess around. It was incredible, lighting, storm, and in the lulls between thunder the shrieks of chimps in the forest not far away… then I knew it was going to be good ( wild chimps, not sanctuary chimps, not released chimps, truly wild populations… incredible). Our day started at five, and by sunrise we were hiking up through the farmlands and banana fields with our guides, sun rising up over the hills, before we plunged headlong into the thick of it. Our guide “Dhana” expertly cut his way along a path I battled to see, weaving between trees too tall to see the top of. We were immediately immersed in Lianas, a plethora of different mushrooms and wood fungus. The call of louries, the repeating whistles of the Klaas’s Cuckoo, Robins, Flycatchers and a hundred other calls, the forests hiding their owners in a thicket of green. Tree falls fascinated me, tree bowls 6 meters in diameter, with a tree five times that height, smashed through the forest, opening up a gap and the survivors racing for the light. You can almost see the race! Massive pink moths and leaf litter crawling with goodies. You could spend your life in there, just catching, looking learning. Everywhere you turn something new, everywhere you look fascinating. Doing a biodiversity survey here must be like winning the lottery, incredible. The walk was long and hard and C-baz and I were drenched in sweat, but what a day. Breaking clear of the forest, the major climb is across a grassland blanketed by clouds that rise vertically up the face from Cote de Ivoire. You barely see the world below, then Hollywood movie like, the clouds part and stretched out before you is one of last remaining pieces of Primary Forest in Africa, man, what a sight!
At one point the ridge is only about five meter wide, almost straight down on both sides, Forest forest forest. Unfortunately the perspective gained with the altitude also shows how precarious the position is. The forest is an island in a landscape of slash and burn; encroaching people, hungry people. Looking into Liberia, the perfect smile of the mountains arc is marred by the deep V cut into it by a mine. A rotten tooth in a perfect smile, necrosis edged, the rot spreading. The thing is, this place is no longer that hard to get too, the road are good, the war is gone, the people are so very friendly. Guinea is great, inexpensive and has landscapes, wow does it have some landscapes. People need to come here, climb the mountain, see the chimps, research the trees, put the landscape on the map again. I’m not a Greenpeace activist or anything, but while the worlds not watching this place will disappear.
Off into Liberia tomorrow, to Sapo which is rumoured to have the highest mammal diversity in the world… I’ll blog sometime.
Peace
-Chris-
Pushing our luck
On the way to Ziamma we got stopped at one of the weirder roadblocks I’ve ever been stopped at… Again a few drunken guys, all with knives and shotguns, they’d pulled trees into the road and many were in traditional dress. Mudcloth and these cool tri–point hats that we’d seen in Mali in the Dogon area. Friendly enough we were told by the one guy that he was an official, as he slurred his accusation and that we owe him a toll. So we entered into negotiations with the five guys now surrounding the car and in a mixture of French, Krio Na d English set about arguing our way through. Anyway they were a bit of a push over really, we didn’t pay him the toll and the guys laughing let us through. It’s the first time we’ve heard Krio spoken, an almost gansta slang from further in Liberia. It’s a really cool dialect…”BossMan… HowdaBodee?”, its great
Ok, so C-baz and I do get a little cocky with roadblocks sometimes. The next one we overdid a bit, but we are learning!
So we left Faranah and headed to Macenta… the place that the forest zone of Guinea officially starts. Now having read up about these places since I was a kid, I’m very excited to see the real forests of West Africa. I expect rolling hills of closed canopy forest, red river hogs and buffalo with Pygmy hippos and Colobus monkeys to be abounding. I know I’m only really going to see logging, cassava plantations, rubber plantations and goats. But every now and then I expect to see a piece of heaven, nestled in amongst the exploitation. Or at the very least I can remedy the myopia of my naïve minds eye.
So we made it to Kissidougou, the frontier town to the Forest zone. And we noticed a heap of military vehicles, men dangling off the back driving around, racing down the road we were to go. Coming back. Sometimes with guns, other times with riot gear. As we drove down the road we encountered the furious waving of military. Now negotiating with military is always tricky because they are used to chain of command, and we aren’t. So we chatted and they were pretty helpful. Eventually we got the story, there was a little unrest down the road but it was aimed at the military by the military school, a big-brother little brother scenario…ok good. So we thought we'd chance it…we aren’t military.
Maybe not the best idea we’ve ever had but, off we drove passed the waving arms of taxi drivers also blockaded in and passed the last few military guys, all saying, "return! return!" and we ambled down the road to see what the fuss was about.
So the fires burning the shops and schools had died down, but there were some blockades in the road, trees, concrete, tyres, that kind of thing…nothing hectic. And there were a few guys in the road, refusing us entry. So we stopped and had a chat. I think we were lucky that we were greeted by the sober guys, who quite politely and quickly asked us to please go back as it was not a good idea what we were trying to do…and then we saw why. It was like a scene from a Frankenstein movie. Students armed with bricks, rocks, the occasional axe type thing started appearing from everywhere, hundreds of them, the mob appearing over the hilltop. I looked for a pitch fork, but I didn’t see one. Then they were around us.
Hasty discussions turned into drunk guys with half bricks shouting, drunk-stoned shirtless guys swearing and challenging us and an uncertain look from their sober leader telling us that he can’t control them. So when we looked behind and saw the mob circling, we were all smiles and farewells and beat a hasty retreat, back up the road. Our tail between our legs, not a good idea guys…but we tried.
But the guys sorted it out that evening and the next morning we were back on the road C-baz chatted to the military guys got the full story and they explained how the big brother had made sure the little brother knew its place. Cool people and the military guys went out of their way to help us. Thanks
-Chris-
Ok, so C-baz and I do get a little cocky with roadblocks sometimes. The next one we overdid a bit, but we are learning!
So we left Faranah and headed to Macenta… the place that the forest zone of Guinea officially starts. Now having read up about these places since I was a kid, I’m very excited to see the real forests of West Africa. I expect rolling hills of closed canopy forest, red river hogs and buffalo with Pygmy hippos and Colobus monkeys to be abounding. I know I’m only really going to see logging, cassava plantations, rubber plantations and goats. But every now and then I expect to see a piece of heaven, nestled in amongst the exploitation. Or at the very least I can remedy the myopia of my naïve minds eye.
So we made it to Kissidougou, the frontier town to the Forest zone. And we noticed a heap of military vehicles, men dangling off the back driving around, racing down the road we were to go. Coming back. Sometimes with guns, other times with riot gear. As we drove down the road we encountered the furious waving of military. Now negotiating with military is always tricky because they are used to chain of command, and we aren’t. So we chatted and they were pretty helpful. Eventually we got the story, there was a little unrest down the road but it was aimed at the military by the military school, a big-brother little brother scenario…ok good. So we thought we'd chance it…we aren’t military.
Maybe not the best idea we’ve ever had but, off we drove passed the waving arms of taxi drivers also blockaded in and passed the last few military guys, all saying, "return! return!" and we ambled down the road to see what the fuss was about.
So the fires burning the shops and schools had died down, but there were some blockades in the road, trees, concrete, tyres, that kind of thing…nothing hectic. And there were a few guys in the road, refusing us entry. So we stopped and had a chat. I think we were lucky that we were greeted by the sober guys, who quite politely and quickly asked us to please go back as it was not a good idea what we were trying to do…and then we saw why. It was like a scene from a Frankenstein movie. Students armed with bricks, rocks, the occasional axe type thing started appearing from everywhere, hundreds of them, the mob appearing over the hilltop. I looked for a pitch fork, but I didn’t see one. Then they were around us.
Hasty discussions turned into drunk guys with half bricks shouting, drunk-stoned shirtless guys swearing and challenging us and an uncertain look from their sober leader telling us that he can’t control them. So when we looked behind and saw the mob circling, we were all smiles and farewells and beat a hasty retreat, back up the road. Our tail between our legs, not a good idea guys…but we tried.
But the guys sorted it out that evening and the next morning we were back on the road C-baz chatted to the military guys got the full story and they explained how the big brother had made sure the little brother knew its place. Cool people and the military guys went out of their way to help us. Thanks
-Chris-
Bamako to Guinea; the rules have changed
So we made it to Bamako, via Segou… where we didn’t find the cultural hotspot we were expecting. But the Niger river is rather spectacular there. Pirogues floating on the turquoise water, lined by green. Colourful boats in the harbour, moving stocks and fish and what-not.
Bamako itself is pretty funky, we camped atop the ablution block of a local backpackers, it's a Libyan tent vibe with no chairs. The cushions and stools are littered with an eclectic bunch, French hippies smoking pot and German motorbike overlanders selling their gear, local students using the cheap wifi, and expats looking for a party. We were there to get our Guinea visas and catch up on some reading, reading up on Ivory Coast, reading up on ways to get Visas to Liberia and Sierra Leone. Reading the news and working out what’s next. The Arab world is burning, Cote de Ivoire is in turmoil, and catch up on the world beyond the four car windows and procession of amazing landscapes that is our home. And of course, try out the local nightlife. First night in Bamako we hit a reggae club owned by a local legend, really good vibe, weird party, Canadian girls searching out the BBC. It was an open mike night, with Hip hop mixed with reggae beats and cool refreshing beer, it wasn’t too bad a warm up. The next night, Friday I think, we hit it hard.
Playing my broken French wing man position for C-baz we hit a club where I found my new favourite music. I have no idea what the genre is called. The only word to describe the heavy angry rhythm is hectic, and the dancing even more so. On the dance floor I felt well out of place as the local chaps tore it up, ladies going crazy, these people know how to kick it….hectic. We were told that these hard core primal party beats are from Cote de Ivoire, they’re intense, they’re almost angry, they’re awesome. Needless to say we have searched some out, along with a whole host of other music and there's a party in Jhb in a few months time, bring your west African rhythm.
Within a few days we had our Visas and it was time to move. C-baz had reset his clock to Cameroonian time, and so was a bit late in getting back to the hostel in the morning. But, as always, he was there, immaculately dressed, smile on his face and we made our way southward to the Guinea border. No hassles, no problems, just an incredible change in landscape as you move away from the arid and the savannahs become thicker and more wooded. Mali receded and Guinea came into view… and then the fun started.
We’ve seen our fair share of borders, borders that don’t exist, borders that are manned. Officious officials are a game now and we know all the rules, or so we thought. But not here, this one was different. This one wasn’t anything more than a police roadblock, about 100m before the border and they wanted money. We refused, we threatened, we cajoled. We strong armed, we sat and tried to wait them out. We realized when the answer to the question of “who is this for?” was “well me, who else” that the rules had changed. It’s a beautiful thing in is own right; gone are all the pretence and crap that we’ve had so far, gone are people trying to find something wrong with the car, or accusations of invalid documents. Gone are the tricks and tests, showing papers and making sure signatures are correct, of me bullshitting and C-baz out-arguing them. I have to give this guy respect, he is beautifully honest. “No pay, no go, and this money is mine”. So we entered the world where its no longer a matter of if you pay or not, now its a world of negotiating how much you pay… its great.
We got fleeced 3 times in four roadblocks all within 400m. The customs guy stamped us in , but then issued us a fee for stamping us in. Handed our documents to his friend who searched the car, all its contents and then simply said, “Pay me”. No, discussion or anything, just, “pay me or I don’t let you go”. Beautifully done sir, well played! So we negotiated and payed him a euro or two and made our way. Right to the next roadblock. Now we have passports stamped, a $130US visa, have been searched and all is fine, we’ve paid customs and some other guy. But then there is a roadblock, 10m from the customs post and they simply say “pay us”. C-baz got us through that one with references to Michael Ballack the German footballer… its all about playing the game, the beautiful game.
And then …it was done, and Guinea opened up to us. Beautiful landscapes, truly friendly people. The border has been a once off and to be honest it was pretty impressive. In our few days here we have had nothing but a great and beautiful time. We've slept in fields, we've camped in forests, we've shared in Hotels, we've had car break downs and eaten testicles and Cane rats. We've pushed out luck at road blocks and we've driven through village after village. We mapped Haute Niger and Ziama, the people in charge so happy to help they accompanied us and even sent a guy on a motorbike down the last road when our vehicle failed. Guinea is a really interesting place, its a place of contrasts, its colourful, its poor but people are proud and will give you the shirt off their back. You don't get hassled, everyone waves and is truly interested to see you. I've enjoyed my time here. Granted we've not finished the trip and are in the rural east, we'll see if my opinion changes in a few weeks when we drive the west. But at the moment, come to Guinea, its super cool.
thanks Guinea,
-Chris-
Bamako itself is pretty funky, we camped atop the ablution block of a local backpackers, it's a Libyan tent vibe with no chairs. The cushions and stools are littered with an eclectic bunch, French hippies smoking pot and German motorbike overlanders selling their gear, local students using the cheap wifi, and expats looking for a party. We were there to get our Guinea visas and catch up on some reading, reading up on Ivory Coast, reading up on ways to get Visas to Liberia and Sierra Leone. Reading the news and working out what’s next. The Arab world is burning, Cote de Ivoire is in turmoil, and catch up on the world beyond the four car windows and procession of amazing landscapes that is our home. And of course, try out the local nightlife. First night in Bamako we hit a reggae club owned by a local legend, really good vibe, weird party, Canadian girls searching out the BBC. It was an open mike night, with Hip hop mixed with reggae beats and cool refreshing beer, it wasn’t too bad a warm up. The next night, Friday I think, we hit it hard.
Playing my broken French wing man position for C-baz we hit a club where I found my new favourite music. I have no idea what the genre is called. The only word to describe the heavy angry rhythm is hectic, and the dancing even more so. On the dance floor I felt well out of place as the local chaps tore it up, ladies going crazy, these people know how to kick it….hectic. We were told that these hard core primal party beats are from Cote de Ivoire, they’re intense, they’re almost angry, they’re awesome. Needless to say we have searched some out, along with a whole host of other music and there's a party in Jhb in a few months time, bring your west African rhythm.
Within a few days we had our Visas and it was time to move. C-baz had reset his clock to Cameroonian time, and so was a bit late in getting back to the hostel in the morning. But, as always, he was there, immaculately dressed, smile on his face and we made our way southward to the Guinea border. No hassles, no problems, just an incredible change in landscape as you move away from the arid and the savannahs become thicker and more wooded. Mali receded and Guinea came into view… and then the fun started.
We’ve seen our fair share of borders, borders that don’t exist, borders that are manned. Officious officials are a game now and we know all the rules, or so we thought. But not here, this one was different. This one wasn’t anything more than a police roadblock, about 100m before the border and they wanted money. We refused, we threatened, we cajoled. We strong armed, we sat and tried to wait them out. We realized when the answer to the question of “who is this for?” was “well me, who else” that the rules had changed. It’s a beautiful thing in is own right; gone are all the pretence and crap that we’ve had so far, gone are people trying to find something wrong with the car, or accusations of invalid documents. Gone are the tricks and tests, showing papers and making sure signatures are correct, of me bullshitting and C-baz out-arguing them. I have to give this guy respect, he is beautifully honest. “No pay, no go, and this money is mine”. So we entered the world where its no longer a matter of if you pay or not, now its a world of negotiating how much you pay… its great.
We got fleeced 3 times in four roadblocks all within 400m. The customs guy stamped us in , but then issued us a fee for stamping us in. Handed our documents to his friend who searched the car, all its contents and then simply said, “Pay me”. No, discussion or anything, just, “pay me or I don’t let you go”. Beautifully done sir, well played! So we negotiated and payed him a euro or two and made our way. Right to the next roadblock. Now we have passports stamped, a $130US visa, have been searched and all is fine, we’ve paid customs and some other guy. But then there is a roadblock, 10m from the customs post and they simply say “pay us”. C-baz got us through that one with references to Michael Ballack the German footballer… its all about playing the game, the beautiful game.
And then …it was done, and Guinea opened up to us. Beautiful landscapes, truly friendly people. The border has been a once off and to be honest it was pretty impressive. In our few days here we have had nothing but a great and beautiful time. We've slept in fields, we've camped in forests, we've shared in Hotels, we've had car break downs and eaten testicles and Cane rats. We've pushed out luck at road blocks and we've driven through village after village. We mapped Haute Niger and Ziama, the people in charge so happy to help they accompanied us and even sent a guy on a motorbike down the last road when our vehicle failed. Guinea is a really interesting place, its a place of contrasts, its colourful, its poor but people are proud and will give you the shirt off their back. You don't get hassled, everyone waves and is truly interested to see you. I've enjoyed my time here. Granted we've not finished the trip and are in the rural east, we'll see if my opinion changes in a few weeks when we drive the west. But at the moment, come to Guinea, its super cool.
thanks Guinea,
-Chris-
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Djene
I was completely unprepared for the depth of culture and history that I have been exposed to in the last 24 hours. I feel ignorant of an entire section of the world. It's incredible, I’m just scooping bucketfuls of stories and tales and pouring them into my brain. I just hope that some of it survives the overload. Djene is famous for the mud mosque and its trade route to Timbuktu, the last frontier before the Sahara crossing through to Morocco and beyond. The entire town is mud, mud houses of mud bricks, mud mortar and mud plaster. Mud roads and mud tombs, mud schools teaching children the scripts of Koran on tablets coated in mud. Constantly reconstructed, you sit at night and listen to the call to prayer and prayer song, on the mud roof of the local hotel, it was a truly beautiful evening last night.
There is a market in Djene on Mondays, a market to rival any other market I have been in. This market has been happening for hundreds of years. Knee deep piles of chillies next to waist deep piles of dried fish. The entire piece of ground outside the mosque and most of the surrounding streets is just people. People selling, people buying, woman in bright yellow, green , blue. Head turbans of local Perl people, shouts and screams and noise. There are dogs, sheep, goats and donkeys. Gears for cars, stirrups for horses. Food and drinks, trinkets and cloth. Shirts with Ronaldinho print. Barrack Obama promotional memorabilia. Its complete sensory overload…its bloody fantastic. You edge your way through the higgeldy piggeldy of the wizened old woman selling bathfulls of tamarind seeds. Snacking on a few you check out the bag fulls of okra, walk past huge bags of rice and millet. Looking for stuff you want, learning about things you never even knew existed. At points in the heat of the day there are so many people you simply cannot get in and the crowd grinds to sand-in-the gearbox type pace. Boys on donkeys thread there way through, boys pulling cars and the occasional man on a motorbike, hooting constantly, Djene is a truly fantastic place!
We spent the morning with our guide who enthralled us with half-French half-English stories of the early explorers. Told us of Rene Caillier, who came here to learn Islam before reaching Timbuktu by boat, the first European to make it alive. Stories of Europeans who didn’t make it, some slaughtered by Toureg Bandits in the desert, some washed over the Nigerian Busa falls in their boats. We went to a library, where the nerd in me was astounded by 17th century scripts on Maths, astronomy, history. Passed down through the family, you can hold a book that was hand written before the printing press was made, before Van Riebeek found the cape and when the Bantu were still fighting it out for the land in South Africa. You just want to read them, but they are all in Arabic script, inaccessible to me.
This is our fist, “day off” in the 6 weeks we’ve been going. When I say “day off” we’re not traveling today so it’s a good time to do some planning, read up for the next leg and take in some sights and sounds. We’re in transit around Ivory Coast we weren’t even supposed to come here. But C-baz had read about it and so we fitted it in our way to Bamako, on route to Guinea. We’ve had 2 days in Mali, I feel like I’ve had a week of experiences already. We stumbled upon a festival and suddenly there were stilt dancers, purple-tasseled and white-masked shouting and drumming their 30 strong line through the crowd. Children screaming, people running, and then poof, they were gone… I was just looking at Indigo cloth at the time, but man it was cool.
So I've sat on a mud balcony, caught up on the blogs I lost somewhere, written my mails…I’m off to haggle for some stuff. Maybe try and find Nikki Stevens her jewelry order amidst the chaos.
Peace
-Chris-
There is a market in Djene on Mondays, a market to rival any other market I have been in. This market has been happening for hundreds of years. Knee deep piles of chillies next to waist deep piles of dried fish. The entire piece of ground outside the mosque and most of the surrounding streets is just people. People selling, people buying, woman in bright yellow, green , blue. Head turbans of local Perl people, shouts and screams and noise. There are dogs, sheep, goats and donkeys. Gears for cars, stirrups for horses. Food and drinks, trinkets and cloth. Shirts with Ronaldinho print. Barrack Obama promotional memorabilia. Its complete sensory overload…its bloody fantastic. You edge your way through the higgeldy piggeldy of the wizened old woman selling bathfulls of tamarind seeds. Snacking on a few you check out the bag fulls of okra, walk past huge bags of rice and millet. Looking for stuff you want, learning about things you never even knew existed. At points in the heat of the day there are so many people you simply cannot get in and the crowd grinds to sand-in-the gearbox type pace. Boys on donkeys thread there way through, boys pulling cars and the occasional man on a motorbike, hooting constantly, Djene is a truly fantastic place!
We spent the morning with our guide who enthralled us with half-French half-English stories of the early explorers. Told us of Rene Caillier, who came here to learn Islam before reaching Timbuktu by boat, the first European to make it alive. Stories of Europeans who didn’t make it, some slaughtered by Toureg Bandits in the desert, some washed over the Nigerian Busa falls in their boats. We went to a library, where the nerd in me was astounded by 17th century scripts on Maths, astronomy, history. Passed down through the family, you can hold a book that was hand written before the printing press was made, before Van Riebeek found the cape and when the Bantu were still fighting it out for the land in South Africa. You just want to read them, but they are all in Arabic script, inaccessible to me.
This is our fist, “day off” in the 6 weeks we’ve been going. When I say “day off” we’re not traveling today so it’s a good time to do some planning, read up for the next leg and take in some sights and sounds. We’re in transit around Ivory Coast we weren’t even supposed to come here. But C-baz had read about it and so we fitted it in our way to Bamako, on route to Guinea. We’ve had 2 days in Mali, I feel like I’ve had a week of experiences already. We stumbled upon a festival and suddenly there were stilt dancers, purple-tasseled and white-masked shouting and drumming their 30 strong line through the crowd. Children screaming, people running, and then poof, they were gone… I was just looking at Indigo cloth at the time, but man it was cool.
So I've sat on a mud balcony, caught up on the blogs I lost somewhere, written my mails…I’m off to haggle for some stuff. Maybe try and find Nikki Stevens her jewelry order amidst the chaos.
Peace
-Chris-
Monday, February 28, 2011
Farewell Nigeria…thanks for the ride
So Nigeria is at an end, 4 weeks there. It flew by and I haven’t seen a thing. It's an incredible place, not the easiest travel for tourists but incredible nonetheless. It's super diverse, it's huge and it's well worth a visit. I can’t remember it all, nor do I want to write it all down, but there are some very special places we visited. One thing I can say about Nigeria is get in and hang on, its one hell of a ride!
Our leaving was an epic affair, driving down the road, enjoying the scenery…and then the tank fell out.
Yes, the tank and car parted in a most extravagant fashion. 170L beast of a tank, lying battered and broken 50m behind the car, gushing her expensive cargo onto the dusty ground. And what ensued can only be described as hilarious, semi-organized chaos. C-baz and Don in the other car made sure they got it all on camera, reversing and doing a drive by just to make sure they got a good angle of Greg trying to stop the flow and lift the 150kg tank. We decided to ditch the petrol in our Jerry cans and save the much more expensive, harder to come by diesel and so we needed to get rid of 60-80L of essence. It was brilliant, picture the scene, shirtless white guys racing around in the roads or rural Nigeria, stopping cars...”take petrol, take petrol”, “Need diesel, come get!” , we filled bikes, we filled cars, we filled bottles…It was like being a BP sponsored father Christmas. So from our 200 odd litres of fuel we had 60L of diesel saved and the rest is now powering the locals for a while. Better than letting it soak into the ground I’d say.
C-baz towed us in, the big beast of a car chugging effortlessly along over the potholes. And the team got into fix the car mode. Greg and C-baz got the tank welded and fixed the brackets. The tank is aluminium and so by welded I actually mean, heat a tent peg up until it melts, use a screwdriver to mush the ooze into the crack, cover the whole thing with epoxy and hope it holds. But hold it does, and is still holding so well done to that welder. He was a great guy, he took me off shopping for a new inlet pipe. I think that has been the highlight of my trip so far. On the back of a motorbike, in the pitch dark, racing around in the back roads of Nigeria, eyes streaming from dust, so tired of wiping them out that you let the bugs find their own way out of your eyeballs. The bike ducks and darts between potholes on strips of tar 6 inches wide, the headlight barely illuminating the front tyre…just way too much fun. 15km or so to the next town… lets go! He cranks open the throttle and we’re off. We negotiated for pieces of U-bend and pieces of conduit. I settled on an old piece of radiator piping which, with some duct tape and silicon made a perfect fit. The tank was ready to go by late the next morning, with some ratchet straps as reinforcing and cut pieces of rubber, we had our patch job ready for the 400km trip to Ougadougou, where we could get things fixed properly. Don had the bash plate hammered straightish, and off we went, cheers Nigeria!
What a blast Nigeria was, unexpected and so enjoyable! It’s a huge huge country and my four weeks were not nearly enough to appreciate the place fully. From the loud, in-your-face south to the quieter middle regions, Yoroba and Ibo gave way to Hausa and Fulani. People changed, dress changes, interactions change. The savannahs got drier and the ambiance changed., everything changed but all was good, all was friendly and all was enjoyable. I want to come back here; I want to go to Kano, the oldest city in Africa, and see the indigo cloth dying. I want to walk in the Northern Sahel with the Fulani people, stick across my back in a slow amble that is the only way to handle the midday heat. I want to see the shrinking lake Chad before its gone and play in the edges of the Sahara. These are things we did not get to, things I am yet to see. We did see some incredible sights, we experienced some incredible things. We were there during the Harmattan, the cool dusty wind that blows in from the Sahara and so you don’t see far, but there are some extravagant landscapes. The suddenness of Zuma rock, the belt of mountains running between Goma and Abuja. Hills, flats, forests, plains. Fish and peppers, star beers. Shouting cops, humble and friendly people. Market after market, villages and towns. What a trip! When people told me of Nigeria, I was told, corruption, crime and danger…. I suppose some of it may be true, but bar one man at Yankari I had an absolute blast. The rumours are unfair, don’t stay away come and see it. It’s not easy tourist travel, it’s not for a honeymoon, but it’s not supposed to be, hell I had fun.
As one man told me, when I questioned how he does things ; “This is Nigeria”…yes it certainly is, and thanks for the ride!
-Chris-
Our leaving was an epic affair, driving down the road, enjoying the scenery…and then the tank fell out.
Yes, the tank and car parted in a most extravagant fashion. 170L beast of a tank, lying battered and broken 50m behind the car, gushing her expensive cargo onto the dusty ground. And what ensued can only be described as hilarious, semi-organized chaos. C-baz and Don in the other car made sure they got it all on camera, reversing and doing a drive by just to make sure they got a good angle of Greg trying to stop the flow and lift the 150kg tank. We decided to ditch the petrol in our Jerry cans and save the much more expensive, harder to come by diesel and so we needed to get rid of 60-80L of essence. It was brilliant, picture the scene, shirtless white guys racing around in the roads or rural Nigeria, stopping cars...”take petrol, take petrol”, “Need diesel, come get!” , we filled bikes, we filled cars, we filled bottles…It was like being a BP sponsored father Christmas. So from our 200 odd litres of fuel we had 60L of diesel saved and the rest is now powering the locals for a while. Better than letting it soak into the ground I’d say.
C-baz towed us in, the big beast of a car chugging effortlessly along over the potholes. And the team got into fix the car mode. Greg and C-baz got the tank welded and fixed the brackets. The tank is aluminium and so by welded I actually mean, heat a tent peg up until it melts, use a screwdriver to mush the ooze into the crack, cover the whole thing with epoxy and hope it holds. But hold it does, and is still holding so well done to that welder. He was a great guy, he took me off shopping for a new inlet pipe. I think that has been the highlight of my trip so far. On the back of a motorbike, in the pitch dark, racing around in the back roads of Nigeria, eyes streaming from dust, so tired of wiping them out that you let the bugs find their own way out of your eyeballs. The bike ducks and darts between potholes on strips of tar 6 inches wide, the headlight barely illuminating the front tyre…just way too much fun. 15km or so to the next town… lets go! He cranks open the throttle and we’re off. We negotiated for pieces of U-bend and pieces of conduit. I settled on an old piece of radiator piping which, with some duct tape and silicon made a perfect fit. The tank was ready to go by late the next morning, with some ratchet straps as reinforcing and cut pieces of rubber, we had our patch job ready for the 400km trip to Ougadougou, where we could get things fixed properly. Don had the bash plate hammered straightish, and off we went, cheers Nigeria!
What a blast Nigeria was, unexpected and so enjoyable! It’s a huge huge country and my four weeks were not nearly enough to appreciate the place fully. From the loud, in-your-face south to the quieter middle regions, Yoroba and Ibo gave way to Hausa and Fulani. People changed, dress changes, interactions change. The savannahs got drier and the ambiance changed., everything changed but all was good, all was friendly and all was enjoyable. I want to come back here; I want to go to Kano, the oldest city in Africa, and see the indigo cloth dying. I want to walk in the Northern Sahel with the Fulani people, stick across my back in a slow amble that is the only way to handle the midday heat. I want to see the shrinking lake Chad before its gone and play in the edges of the Sahara. These are things we did not get to, things I am yet to see. We did see some incredible sights, we experienced some incredible things. We were there during the Harmattan, the cool dusty wind that blows in from the Sahara and so you don’t see far, but there are some extravagant landscapes. The suddenness of Zuma rock, the belt of mountains running between Goma and Abuja. Hills, flats, forests, plains. Fish and peppers, star beers. Shouting cops, humble and friendly people. Market after market, villages and towns. What a trip! When people told me of Nigeria, I was told, corruption, crime and danger…. I suppose some of it may be true, but bar one man at Yankari I had an absolute blast. The rumours are unfair, don’t stay away come and see it. It’s not easy tourist travel, it’s not for a honeymoon, but it’s not supposed to be, hell I had fun.
As one man told me, when I questioned how he does things ; “This is Nigeria”…yes it certainly is, and thanks for the ride!
-Chris-
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Le Grande detour through Benin, Burkina and Mali. We part ways and Don cries
So there’s a bit of consternation happening in Côte d'Ivoire, and although that was our primary route, we have to go around. We’d have to go straight through the traditional line of skirmish and on all accounts things aren’t great there. It's not our vehicle and C-baz’s embassy advises against it. Also this gives me another excuse to say that he is being soft, and I think there’s a rule somewhere about forcing your travel companion into going into a civil war zone. Anyway, I agree with him and March on this one. So we are going via Burkina Faso and Mali on our way to Guinea. We miss Liberia too now unfortunately, but its not economically viable as there is only one park to map. I’m going back there one day though, I have to see it.
Anyway so we left Nigeria and hit Benin. Had some consternation with the border guards who wouldn’t let C-baz in. Just plain refused so there we were, no way of going back to Nigeria, no way of getting into Benin. We simply had to sit it out. I tried to explain in my broken French, C-baz explained in his shaking anger… but no, just plain no! Well, we sat, we had water, we explained to them that this is where we would have to camp and C-baz tried to leverage them with threats of calls to his embassy.
Eventually after a few hours they realized we weren’t going anywhere, so after a few phone calls we weren’t stamped in, but allowed to drive to Parakou (about half way across the country) to get officially stamped. The guy didn’t look twice, Bam, bam bam..all in, no problem. Customs wasn’t interested in the car so we all moved through the country without ever really having been there. We bush camped under a radio tower and had a great time all round, although I did manage to piss off a policeman by being too aggressive. I went straight for the dirty underpants when he asked to search the car. Shaking them out in front of him and asking if he found anything interesting (I think that’s what I asked, it was all happening in French), was not a good idea. So C-baz calmed him down, we paid our first fine, and I won’t be so cocky anymore.
In Burkina we stayed at Kampienga lake, a beautiful place which I think Don wrote about. Then he cried. He’d been making fuss about dust in his contacts, but when I saw him standing there, red eyed and whimpering I knew. He clung to me as C-baz prized him off and put him in the car, I heard him crank up Bon-Jovi’s “Bed of roses” and his hand pressed up against the window, slowly sliding down as the car faded into the distance. I think I heard the tear-broken cries of “why!”, but it may have just been the wind. Anyway, him and c-baz headed on to Ouga, limping the car home. Greg and I went to work on Arli and W national Parks. It was good to have old Dwayne along. He sang to me in the mornings and was always keen on a cool refreshing drink or to go birding. He always tried to convince the ladies of the night I was keen, and whenever I got gastro ( which was a few times so far), Don helped out. When I say helped out, I mean that when I was lying prostrate on the floor soaked with water in nothing but a pair of underpants, lying under a fan to drop my temperature in between bouts of vomiting. Don “helped” by taking photos, calling c-baz and laughing! But mother nature got him back; I can still picture him speed walking through a village in Benin, bog roll in hand to hide behind the only termite mound.
Greg left when we got to Ouga, he didn’t cry. We shook hands like men. He went, got on the plane and was brave. Now its just C-baz and I. Mali, Guinea, Sierra Leone, Guinea Bissau and Senegal to go....this is going to be good.
-Chris-
Anyway so we left Nigeria and hit Benin. Had some consternation with the border guards who wouldn’t let C-baz in. Just plain refused so there we were, no way of going back to Nigeria, no way of getting into Benin. We simply had to sit it out. I tried to explain in my broken French, C-baz explained in his shaking anger… but no, just plain no! Well, we sat, we had water, we explained to them that this is where we would have to camp and C-baz tried to leverage them with threats of calls to his embassy.
Eventually after a few hours they realized we weren’t going anywhere, so after a few phone calls we weren’t stamped in, but allowed to drive to Parakou (about half way across the country) to get officially stamped. The guy didn’t look twice, Bam, bam bam..all in, no problem. Customs wasn’t interested in the car so we all moved through the country without ever really having been there. We bush camped under a radio tower and had a great time all round, although I did manage to piss off a policeman by being too aggressive. I went straight for the dirty underpants when he asked to search the car. Shaking them out in front of him and asking if he found anything interesting (I think that’s what I asked, it was all happening in French), was not a good idea. So C-baz calmed him down, we paid our first fine, and I won’t be so cocky anymore.
In Burkina we stayed at Kampienga lake, a beautiful place which I think Don wrote about. Then he cried. He’d been making fuss about dust in his contacts, but when I saw him standing there, red eyed and whimpering I knew. He clung to me as C-baz prized him off and put him in the car, I heard him crank up Bon-Jovi’s “Bed of roses” and his hand pressed up against the window, slowly sliding down as the car faded into the distance. I think I heard the tear-broken cries of “why!”, but it may have just been the wind. Anyway, him and c-baz headed on to Ouga, limping the car home. Greg and I went to work on Arli and W national Parks. It was good to have old Dwayne along. He sang to me in the mornings and was always keen on a cool refreshing drink or to go birding. He always tried to convince the ladies of the night I was keen, and whenever I got gastro ( which was a few times so far), Don helped out. When I say helped out, I mean that when I was lying prostrate on the floor soaked with water in nothing but a pair of underpants, lying under a fan to drop my temperature in between bouts of vomiting. Don “helped” by taking photos, calling c-baz and laughing! But mother nature got him back; I can still picture him speed walking through a village in Benin, bog roll in hand to hide behind the only termite mound.
Greg left when we got to Ouga, he didn’t cry. We shook hands like men. He went, got on the plane and was brave. Now its just C-baz and I. Mali, Guinea, Sierra Leone, Guinea Bissau and Senegal to go....this is going to be good.
-Chris-
The would be thief
So we haven’t been ripped off yet, really…. And then we met Alfonzo. Lets call him Alfonzo because hell its about as real as the name he gave me. Alfie (Alfonzo for short) met me in a jazz club, he is a Burkinabe musician based in Geneva, he is promoting his music…Alfie is all sorts of things, none of them true, Alfie you see is a con artist.
I do take off my hat to old Alf, he was pretty good, he managed to swindle young Greg and I of a bit of cash using a classic technique I should have seen coming. He overheard Gregs comment of wanting to get the music that was playing, he took some of Gregs money and came back with the music. Then he needed change, we had the music so we gave him some and then…..poof, old Alf vanished into the night. In hindsight you think, “stupid stupid stupid”, but in our defence, Burkinabe people are honest and friendly and he sold himself well. So hats off to him, well don Mr Con Man, you got me.
Unfortunately Alfonzo is not too bright and underestimates how persistent I can be. Rule 1 Alfy, when stealing from people, do not pick up a Canadian woman and walk past the food stall where I happen to be getting some guineafowl. Rule 2… you need to be way more convincing of your threats of violence to shake people. I think I followed Alf for about 3 km’s and a taxi ride before he finally told me that it’s not safe to follow people like him in cities I don’t know, because “he can be bad”. Not sure what he meant by bad, because I still made him give his cell phone to the local vendor as a deposit and give me my money back. Only got half my cash back but hey, it was fun nonetheless.
I'm writing this from our campsite in a dried up waterhole in Mali, sunset was incredible, a cold beer and the beautiful warblings sounds of the call to prayer, I really do love that sound...man travelling in west Africa is too much fun.
I do take off my hat to old Alf, he was pretty good, he managed to swindle young Greg and I of a bit of cash using a classic technique I should have seen coming. He overheard Gregs comment of wanting to get the music that was playing, he took some of Gregs money and came back with the music. Then he needed change, we had the music so we gave him some and then…..poof, old Alf vanished into the night. In hindsight you think, “stupid stupid stupid”, but in our defence, Burkinabe people are honest and friendly and he sold himself well. So hats off to him, well don Mr Con Man, you got me.
Unfortunately Alfonzo is not too bright and underestimates how persistent I can be. Rule 1 Alfy, when stealing from people, do not pick up a Canadian woman and walk past the food stall where I happen to be getting some guineafowl. Rule 2… you need to be way more convincing of your threats of violence to shake people. I think I followed Alf for about 3 km’s and a taxi ride before he finally told me that it’s not safe to follow people like him in cities I don’t know, because “he can be bad”. Not sure what he meant by bad, because I still made him give his cell phone to the local vendor as a deposit and give me my money back. Only got half my cash back but hey, it was fun nonetheless.
I'm writing this from our campsite in a dried up waterhole in Mali, sunset was incredible, a cold beer and the beautiful warblings sounds of the call to prayer, I really do love that sound...man travelling in west Africa is too much fun.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Ougadougou
The music starts at 08:00 sharp and the city begins to hum. People selling, people buying, color color everywhere. Even the noise has a beat to it, motorbikes seem to harmonise as they transport brightly clad woman and children, humming along with men in suits and the drum beat of touregs passing. This place is funky, at night we sit and drink cold beers and watch live music. Local bands on a variety of strings and drums, locals, expats, dancing… people dancing.
This place just has a vibe; In the mornings I wake to the sun and make myself a cup of hot imported coffee, walk thirty metres for fresh baguette, and haggle with a local lady with a bowl of strawberries the size of a car wheel on her head. I then sit to my breakfast of fresh baguette with pate, I drink my imported coffee and gorge myself on huge ripe strawberries, dipped in sugar. I watch the local parade on the street below and think, man it’s the small things in life.
Granted the rest of our day is spent full of grease and oil as we change and repair diesel tanks, trying to negotiate the price of windscreens and finding out if anyone knows anything about power steering units. We’re in embassies getting visas and changing money with the local Syrian guy, but the joy of those strawberries, borne on the head of a local maiden is something I will cherish.
It’s a different world here, Greg and I drove in from our days of bush camping in Arli and Parc-W, we were out of money (no one exchanges dollars in Benin or at border towns), we were hungry (we’d messed up ration provisions) and we were tired from sleeping on the side of the highway. I hadn’t washed properly for about ten days, we were looking rough and our vehicle was limping with fuel flow problems. And there she was Ougadougou, capital city, arms wide open…”welcome” Ougadougou said… lets dance! And dance we did, that first night in we hit the town. Dressed in C-baz’s clothes I danced to South African Kwaito tunes in a club in the centre of Ouga, local tunes, Mali, Senegalese, Ivorian music, man what a trip. The local brewery is very generous, they give you a free headache in every beer, so the next morning after dragging myself home at who knows what time, and C-baz a few hours later, we were not enjoying lying under the car refitting the diesel tank. But the strawberries, borne upon the head of those angels pulled us through, my fingers have been permanently stained red, grease or no grease.
We’ve been working hard sorting out cars etc, dawn to dusk so to speak, but that’s not what I want to write about. I want to write about sitting in a club watching local jazz bands massage the night air with their sounds. I want to write about the Maquis dancing where hundreds of people gather, people in their twenties, people in their thirties, sixtees even. Men in collared shirts, woman in pretty dresses…everybody there for the same thing…..to dance. Local bands with men singing songs of love and his girlfriends breasts, give rise to a funky jive and a local two step type dance, everybody just dancing, just dancing. At some point people pull out a hankerchief and wave it around, I have no idea why, but its hankerchiefs out. Burkina and Ougais a place to visit, the few days flew by but I want to show people the cloth shops we haggled in, and the loudest pair of pants ever that now adorn us. I want walk my sis through the smells of roasted guineafowls and chickens on the street, flavored with a lip searing pepper, or stuffed into a baguette. Burkina is great, the people are friendly, welcome…lets dance.
We met expats, a lovely couple Bruno and Anouk who treated us to wonderful lunch at their home and some great conversation. I met taxi driver who mourned the loss of lucky Dube to me the whole drive back. I walked the streets alone at all hours of the night and day, saw markets, saw colour, saw culture. We met locals who showed us their town, people smiling, people friendly, strawberries and music everywhere… with arms wide open, “welcome” Ougadougou said...lets dance.
This place just has a vibe; In the mornings I wake to the sun and make myself a cup of hot imported coffee, walk thirty metres for fresh baguette, and haggle with a local lady with a bowl of strawberries the size of a car wheel on her head. I then sit to my breakfast of fresh baguette with pate, I drink my imported coffee and gorge myself on huge ripe strawberries, dipped in sugar. I watch the local parade on the street below and think, man it’s the small things in life.
Granted the rest of our day is spent full of grease and oil as we change and repair diesel tanks, trying to negotiate the price of windscreens and finding out if anyone knows anything about power steering units. We’re in embassies getting visas and changing money with the local Syrian guy, but the joy of those strawberries, borne on the head of a local maiden is something I will cherish.
It’s a different world here, Greg and I drove in from our days of bush camping in Arli and Parc-W, we were out of money (no one exchanges dollars in Benin or at border towns), we were hungry (we’d messed up ration provisions) and we were tired from sleeping on the side of the highway. I hadn’t washed properly for about ten days, we were looking rough and our vehicle was limping with fuel flow problems. And there she was Ougadougou, capital city, arms wide open…”welcome” Ougadougou said… lets dance! And dance we did, that first night in we hit the town. Dressed in C-baz’s clothes I danced to South African Kwaito tunes in a club in the centre of Ouga, local tunes, Mali, Senegalese, Ivorian music, man what a trip. The local brewery is very generous, they give you a free headache in every beer, so the next morning after dragging myself home at who knows what time, and C-baz a few hours later, we were not enjoying lying under the car refitting the diesel tank. But the strawberries, borne upon the head of those angels pulled us through, my fingers have been permanently stained red, grease or no grease.
We’ve been working hard sorting out cars etc, dawn to dusk so to speak, but that’s not what I want to write about. I want to write about sitting in a club watching local jazz bands massage the night air with their sounds. I want to write about the Maquis dancing where hundreds of people gather, people in their twenties, people in their thirties, sixtees even. Men in collared shirts, woman in pretty dresses…everybody there for the same thing…..to dance. Local bands with men singing songs of love and his girlfriends breasts, give rise to a funky jive and a local two step type dance, everybody just dancing, just dancing. At some point people pull out a hankerchief and wave it around, I have no idea why, but its hankerchiefs out. Burkina and Ougais a place to visit, the few days flew by but I want to show people the cloth shops we haggled in, and the loudest pair of pants ever that now adorn us. I want walk my sis through the smells of roasted guineafowls and chickens on the street, flavored with a lip searing pepper, or stuffed into a baguette. Burkina is great, the people are friendly, welcome…lets dance.
We met expats, a lovely couple Bruno and Anouk who treated us to wonderful lunch at their home and some great conversation. I met taxi driver who mourned the loss of lucky Dube to me the whole drive back. I walked the streets alone at all hours of the night and day, saw markets, saw colour, saw culture. We met locals who showed us their town, people smiling, people friendly, strawberries and music everywhere… with arms wide open, “welcome” Ougadougou said...lets dance.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
d'Arli and Parc du W
So Arli and Parc–W are two separate transfrontier parks. Arli between Burkina fasso and Benin, W between Burkina, Benin and Niger. They are incredible places to visit. We didn’t spend much time there unfortunately, but it was great to be in the bush! These are semi–arid savanna parks, something I know a bit about. From the strangeness of the forests I felt at home there, but still so much to learn. Elephants, buffalo and duiker I know, but here its Kob and Roan that abound. Herds of roan and western hartebeest run through trees that I have no idea what they are. We saw tall elephant grass all over the place, burning in the dry season. We saw abyssinian ground hornbill, four banded sandgrouse and Senegal parrots. We saw northern crowned crane and a host of other beautiful birds. We saw lion, we saw hedgehogs. At night we would hear the lions roaring and in the days we drove roads which seem to be leading to the edge of the earth, a true wilderness park in many places. It has a feel of the central Kalahari, you feel very remote. The Burkina section of Arli is small, but the Parc-W is huge, a hundred and sixty kilometers drive on the roads linking the gate in Burkina to the other border post in Benin. There are camps and waterholes, cold beers and river crossings. It’s a real place for a self sufficient enthusiast, my uncle Mike would do his nut here. You could spend weeks there, driving over a thousand km’s of road network. Some along the Niger river and its tributaries, what a place, just miles and miles of bush!
Unfortunately we had issues with petrol, exchanging dollars and food, so we had to limp home early, fuel flow problems forcing our hand after 2 days of driving. But, we got all of Arli done and all the available data on W; so we’re getting the jobs done despite the lack of days. Hoping that the coastal areas of Guinea, Sierra Leone will be a bit more fruitful for MAPA. Personally, I just want to explore each place more. So without local currency or much food, Greg and I bush camped on the way back, sleeping on the side of a road. I must say though, its special thing to wake up on my tarp as the sun comes up, cow bells starting as the villages wake up and make myself a cup of coffee. Sit and just listen to Burkina Faso wake. Good times!
-Chris-
Unfortunately we had issues with petrol, exchanging dollars and food, so we had to limp home early, fuel flow problems forcing our hand after 2 days of driving. But, we got all of Arli done and all the available data on W; so we’re getting the jobs done despite the lack of days. Hoping that the coastal areas of Guinea, Sierra Leone will be a bit more fruitful for MAPA. Personally, I just want to explore each place more. So without local currency or much food, Greg and I bush camped on the way back, sleeping on the side of a road. I must say though, its special thing to wake up on my tarp as the sun comes up, cow bells starting as the villages wake up and make myself a cup of coffee. Sit and just listen to Burkina Faso wake. Good times!
-Chris-
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Don Post 4 - Abuja to Benin Border
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| Our view of the National Mosque, Abuja |
Abuja – “the city of prostitutes”. Sure that’s a bit of an exaggeration but it does have a nice ring to it. Actually Abuja was a nice surprise considering some of the other Nigeria cities we have passed through. It does seem to be stuck in the early 80's in terms of architecture, but that’s understandable considering bands like Bon Jovi – it was a great decade. The capital of Nigeria was moved from Lagos to Abuja in 1991, and because it was a planned capital it is really easy to get around and the road network is excellent. We arrived in the city center in the late afternoon after the drive from Yankari NP, and drove straight to the Sheraton Hotel because we had heard about this free camping being offered to over-landers. We were directed to the back of the hotel where we stumbled across a mini Woodstock. All that was missing was a stage, but there was a big rubbish dump and some dog kennels so it was basically the same. We bumped into people from two commercial over-landing trucks who we had first met in Kokrobite in Ghana almost 4 weeks before. We also met some cool folk from www.tracksinafrica.com. Abuja is a big stop for overland tours in west Africa because it is where most of the embassies are so it’s a good place to organize visas. That was our “mission”, organizing Burkina Fasa visas. We spent 3 nights camping there, during which we used the time to catch up on some admin, do some shopping for the next leg, and get that $100 stamp in our passport. Every morning we were woken at about 4 AM by the call to pray from the huge national mosque just down the road. It was pretty impressive, especially at night.
So Chris has already mentioned his experience with the ladies at the Elephant Bar. It was good fun watching him squirm, the man really doesn’t know how to say ‘no’ in a way that is even remotely convincing. I’m sure Sebaz will teach him a lot though over the next 2 months, but it might be on how to say 'yes'.
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| Southern section of Kainji Lake |
After a long morning of packing up our explosion of a campsite, we headed west towards Lake Kainji National Park, our last stop in Nigeria in terms of mapping. The drive took us the whole day with badly potholed roads slowing us down. After a WARM night in the southern sector of the park, Sebaz and me headed to the northern section where we were told there would be an accessible road network. By the way did I mention that it was WARM! On our way up we passed Kainji Lake, the largest dam in Nigeria, and also the country’s primary source of electricity. We took a slight detour to check out the lake since the road we were on didn’t have any good views. No sooner had I taken a couple textbook snaps when we heard the shouting of some military dudes running towards us. Now I have to admit there is something strangely intimidating about a huge guy dressed in a vest and camo pants, holding a AK47, smoking a joint, and shouting “WHAT IS YOUR MISSION IN NIGERIA!!”. Now I can understand them being bummed that I took pictures of the dam wall considering it would be a good hit for any terrorist, but the logic all goes to shit when they insist we pay them for the snaps. Anyway we deleted the pictures of the wall and left them pretty unhappy when we drove off without giving them anything from South Africa. But our fun didn’t end there. We headed along the edge of the lake to a village with a pier where we bought some fish and Sebaz took some snaps of fishermen. The same guys obviously saw us from their post and next thing there were two armed military dudes on a motorbike down the pier demanding that Sebaz hand over the camera. Again we had to explain that we were were tourists and this is what tourists do – take pictures and wear big hats. These guys were persistent though and followed us along the pier while they lit up another joint. But typical Nigeria, by the end of our walk they were trying to organise a local fisherman to take us to the middle of the dam where we could get the best snaps! We politely declined their offers and left them unhappy once again. It’s a tricky thing dealing with a stonned man with a big gun, so I think we did alright for ourselves.
Lake Kainji NP was a sweet spot. We spent two nights there in rooms straight out of the 1970s. Chris came down with another case of turdalightus and spent the first night in drolliesdorp while we ate some fresh fish off the braai. Let me tell you about Groundnut oil - heavy stuff! The best part of Kainji NP was that we didn’t need a guide, so we had the freedom to drive when and where we wanted. This was great for mapping and we got a lot done in our time there. It’s a savanna park with some cool drives along the river and we saw a fair amount of game. We passed through the village of Wawa on our way out and had the intention of making it to the Benin border that evening, but those intentions were soon crushed. About 5km out of Wawa the 160L diesel tank of the Landcruiser 70 fell off. The brackets holding it to the car snapped at the tank was ripped out and left lying on the road. We made the call to salvage what diesel we could from the leaking tank into our jerry cans, and gave away the rest to passer bys. Within 5 minutes the road was packed with people trying to help us out and get some free petrol while they were at it. Check out the pictures – they tell the story best. With the broken tank strapped to the top of the roof rack, we towed the 70 back to Wawa, where we were lucky to find a bush mechanic with some great skills. In the end we only lost a day, and were back on the road by lunch the next day. The road to the border from Wawa is really rough, but it did take us through some of the coolest scenery in Nigeria. Didn’t make the border that day but found a great spot to bush camp and have some pina coladas. The next morning we woke up to a crowd of people watching our every move and laughing at us. It was cool though, and by noon we were stamped out of Nigeria and heading towards the Benin immigration office.
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| The scene 10 min after the diesel tank fell out outside Wawa |
Nigeria has been different from anything I have experienced before, and that’s what I liked most about it. From rainforests to roadblocks, mosques to mudhuts, it was all new to me and I feel lucky to have experience it. Would I recommend Nigeria as a travel destination – sure. Would I go back to Nigeria? No – they don’t sell chocolate milk.
Ride the big one
Don
Don
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Prostitutes ?
What’s your dick like? Is it big? Can I have a taste? Her hand then slid up my thigh, and went straight for the goods. She was gorgeous, and under most circumstances, this is the stage of a night out where it would seem to be going your way, but she was also a prostitute. I suppose she still is, it was only two days ago.
We are at the Sheraton in Abuja, there’s a camp ground where all the overland travelers congregate, swap stories and go to nearby pub for overpriced beer. That’s where we were, Don myself and C-baz, having a cold one after dinner. We’d been travelling all day and a cold Star beer has an amazingly refreshing taste…”cool refreshing drinks” we call them, and cool and refreshing they tend to be. We’d defended ourselves against the advances of a few ladies of the night in Ghana and so I thought pffft, we’re experienced worldly chaps, I can handle anything this bunch throw at me.
Um…not exactly. This girl was just way too forward, I think I may have even blushed as I politely tried to extricate myself from the wandering hands and advances as she tried to teach me how to kiss. I’m not sure what her angle was, maybe she thought that if she just kept at it I may have just given in and said “oh all right, if I must!”. Anyway I got my bum groped, my back rubbed and knees felt up , but the crotch area seemed to be a big spot of attraction.
Don egging her on by saying “When he says no, he means yes, look he’s smiling” didn’t help the situation either, but I’d have done the same. It is great for your ego though, I must say; these gorgeous woman who should really be on the pages of beauty magazines, all draped on you. They act like your babbling about travelling is interesting, they tell you how nice your eyes are, ask you if you believe in love at first sight. My personal favorite was…”You have a lot of whiskers, its nice”, thats when I knew she was lying… We haven’t shaved in 3 weeks, and the natural white-trash phenomenon that is my facial hair cannot be described as “nice” in any language. Don’s has started to get a curl which makes his face look slightly pubic in itself. But, facial nastiness aside, you come out of these places feeling like a right stud! All the ladies want you, ALL of them. Although C-baz was defending himself against the advances of a New Zealand chap who took a liking to him, so I suppose he gets an extra point.
Jokes aside, its pretty sad, they all have a cover story and its always the same. You go to the place, sit and then these beautiful ladies walk up. They’re keen to chat and tell you how they are studying or musicians. Then comes the hook, “you can have me tonight”, I have no idea how regular girls met regular guys in these situations. But I suppose we were in a place renowned for the ladies of the night (we only read that afterwards, our bad). So I am not going to wax lyrical on the state of sexuality in Nigeria, rather just notch it up to us going to the local hooker hook-up joint by accident. I did get swindled out of two 5 dollar beers though, before I even realized it, Bam, on my tab and the barman noting it down that I had agreed… well done there lady of the night, well done there. In hind sight, I really should have taken her back to the camp ground and shown her my tarp on the ground and mosquito net held in place by half bricks… just to see if she is still keen on the supposedly rich guy staying at the Sheraton.
We’ve also learned a few cultural do’s and don’ts, C-baz pulling over and asking the large group of Muslim guys where he can but beer at this hour was possibly not the right thing to do, but C-baz can charm anyone. We didn’t get beer though.
We’ve also met some cool people also travelling, funnily enough two sets of South Africans taking long trips back home down the West coast. Cool people, helpful, we ended up eating together, they gave me a French Phrase book so now I can become potent in the use of the French language. Check out their website at www.adventurepainter.com. Abuja itself is a pretty good city, good roads, traffic, building happening all over. C-baz is out partying with his German mates, I think I’ll be driving tomorrow as we’re off to the last Nigerian Park before we head back into Benin and the Burkina Faso. We’ve been playing boole and chatting around the fire we’ve made on the field. 5 of us on the soccer field behind the Sheraton, in the middle of Abuja. Pretty funny really…
Peace
Africa's Unofficial “Official” Language
It is common knowledge that Africa, being one of the most diverse continent's of the world, is home to many different cultures and ethnic groups, who each have their own language in which they communicate. Naturally one traveling to this delightful continent might be a little concerned that communication will be difficult, especially if you are a mono-linguistic South African male, who fools himself into thinking he knows more than one language due to the combined 50 Afrikaans and Zulu words he has accumulated while growing up.
However as we have traveled through the west of Africa, I have realized that one need not learn many different languages and in fact for the sole purpose of driving through Africa and more specifically West Africa, there is only one language one should hope to master. The beauty of this language is that it requires no special rolling of the tongue, pursing of the lips or any ability to string a length of clicks together in order to create an understandable sentence. However one should not be fooled and think it is easy to master this great unofficial “official” tongue of Africa. It requires much observation a little discernment before one can partake in a conversation with any sense of confidence.
By now you probably have a language in mind that you think is the unofficial “official” language of Africa, but I am almost sure your guess is wrong. This language is in fact the tongue of the automobile Hooter (or horn for non-South Africans)! More than likely you think this is a joke, but I assure you I am being serious, if one wishes to survive more than 2 weeks driving a vehicle in this continent they must become fluent in this wonderful language. As I mentioned earlier it does not require any great use of ones voice box or mouth, but that does not mean it is easy to master. The fact that two or more people can have a full on conversation, using an instrument that produces a single pitch sound is evidence enough that to become fluent in this language is no mean feat. The difficult lies in interpreting what is being conversed based on the length and frequency of sound emitted from the vehicle. Naturally when one is trying to learn a new language you would try to use body language or facial expressions as a clue to what is trying to be said, unfortunately when one wants to learn this language that will be of no help. The reason being is that there is absolutely no change is a persons facial expression or body language when they decided to converse in this language. For example, on this trip we have often found ourselves on roads wide enough for one vehicle only, so being the polite tourist that we are, we usually pull over and let the on coming traffic pass, than as they pass they lean on their hooter with absolutely no change in their facial expression, not being fluent in Horn language at this stage we naturally thought this guy was ungrateful for our deed, and in fact it he seemed quite irritated with us, however we have sense learned that this action is actually just him saying thank you.
So as you drive along you will be constantly hooted at by a number of different vehicles in a number of different ways and, if you do not have a grasp of this language you will no doubt think people are constantly frustrated with you, or you are constantly doing something wrong. But once you have mastered this beautiful tongue of Africa just a little, you will soon be able to appreciate and participate in the many different conversations taking place all around you in every, village, town and city. In fact we have even come to the conclusion that thanks to this unofficial “official” language of Africa the valuation of a vehicle has little to do with the engine size, millage or aesthetics and more to do with the quality of hooter fitted to it.
Don Blog 3. Calabar to Yankari
Calabar to Yankari
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| Saw a Gorilla gorilla gorila - no big deal. |
Its been around 2 weeks since we left the coastal town of Calabar and started heading north along the Nigeria-Cameroon border. The majority of this time we have spent in the rain forests of Cross River and Afi Mountain, but now we hit the drier north of country. The landscapes of the north remind me of South Africa, with the smaller towns, open spaces, classic animals, and sunny weather. I say sunny weather because its actually harmitan at the moment here in west Africa, which means the days are generally hazy and everything is dusty. Apparently this is because of the dust from the Sahara blowing over and clouding the skies, but I think its my sweat evaporating. The north seems to be less hazy than the south, though this doesn't really make sense to me. Maybe it was just our timing, I'm not sure.
Chris has already posted a blog or two mentioning the highlights of our times in the forests, so I will try not repeat. There are a couple extra stories worth mentioning though.
First of all I want to say more about seeing those thousands/millions of barn swallows coming in to roost on hill about an hours walk from a village near Afi. We first heard about the swallow roosting site from our guide while we were doing some mapping in the drill ranch in Afi Mountain. It sounded good so we left in the afternoon and drove for about to the other side of the Afi range to a small village where we left our cars and started the walk up. Before we were allowed to head up the mountain to the site we had go though the formalities of meeting the local chief and greeting basically everyone we walked past. I should mention at this time that my greeting smile has come on in leaps and bounds! We got the roost after an hours walk up the mountain, where we joined a BBC team who were camped there to film the birds for a forthcoming wildlife series focusing on wildlife in Africa. Apparently they plan on calling the series”Africa” - sounds hectic. Turned out the camera man was the guy who had done a lot of work on the Planet Earth series, and it was cool chatting to him about all the things he has seen. It started with just a couple birds swooping over the hill, next moment the sky was just filled with thousands of swallows flying in every direction. Then it rains birds. No pictures could do it justice, it is something you have to see for yourself. Sitting there with the BBC guys seemed strangely fitting, and all that was missing was Richard Attenborough (I can't even pretend to spell that) voice. Incredible stuff! The evening ended a bit weirdly though, with a local dude in the village telling me that he could do anything for me.... anything...(while rubbing my hand and staring at me with this weird look on his face). I pretended the other guys were calling me and got the hell out of there.
We spent three nights at Afi Mountain Drill Ranch and got friendly with an American guy named James who has been volunteering there for the last ten years. One night James told us a couple stories about the chimps they have there, most of which have been rescued from markets and hunters working Nigeria and Cameroon. He spoke about how they escape all the time by running and diving through the electric fence, using a superman style jump. Once they out, they head to the kitchen area, take a couple beers from the fridge, light up a cigarette, and this is how the keepers usually find them. We thought he was joking at first but he was dead serious, and it was clear that he really did not like them chimps. Anyway, on our last night at Afi I woke up with the sound of something big walking around outside my tent. Now I don't know if it was the malaria tablets, but shit I was convinced that an chimp that had escaped and was looking for beers, and after hearing all the stories I was not keen on confronting it. So I just lay there, thinking of what fight moved I could pull out if this chimp starts opening up my tent. The next morning I couldn't believe I was such a gaylord. Definitely not something I ever thought I would loose sleep on, but I had a good laugh at myself the next morning. Chris was so scared in the night that he started crying – true story.
After the forest of Afi and Cross River we headed north to Gashaka-Gumpti, a national park which hosts the Nigeria's tallest mountain, Chapel waddi (“mountain of death” - sweet name!). Driving north towards Gashaka-Gumpti takes you in to a completely different region. The roads are quieter, fewer road blocks, and the Muslim influence starts to become obvious. Churches are replaced by mosques, and the religious texts that line the back of almost every car and bike change from Christian messages to Muslim messages. You really feel like you are in another country, because this was not the Nigeria we can come to know.
We spend three nights in Gashaka, and although we had been told before hand by the head office that there were 'millions' of roads within the park, we drove the one and only road leading from the gate, through a village, and then ending at the Gashaka Primate Project camp. The park is really scenic, and I can imagine is must be incredible in the wet season. It's one of the more remote parts of the world, and its the region's inaccessibility that has allowed it to remain relatively untouched. We spent two nights camping along the Gashaka river at the sweetest campsite we had found so far. A sandy beech with big rocks over a clean river where you could swim and enjoy a couple cool refreshing drinks. The river had a resident croc which we caught a glimpse of, but the river still made for some good swimming. It was a campsite city in a big way! We also spend a night at the primate project, did a cool walk down to a river confluence, and saw out first colubus monkeys - good times.
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| Wikki warm springs - Yankari NP |
Next on the itinerary was Yankari Game Reserve. Nigeria's “No. 1 tourist attraction”. Clearly modeled on parks like Kruger, but completely lacking any reasonable management. Such a waste because the park itself is beautiful. Natural warm springs giving way to clear blue streams with white sands in the savanna bush - nothing like I have seen before. We floated downstream in the Wikki warm spring, checking out cool new birds, colorful fish and a couple baboons. Tropical times indeed, but Yankari was a one frustrating place. We spend three nights there but only managed to organize two short drives, both of which we had to take a guide on at a premium price. Our guide chilled in the back seat listening to music from his cell phone and occasionally singing along – he wasn't a bad signer but we still felt like we were getting ripped off. The camp manager was a real treat, but I don't feel like writing about him. After one drive we arrived back to find our campsite trashed by baboons. Now I could deal with them jumping on my tent and snapping the poles, I could even deal with them ripping open the one whole side of my tent. But what really bummed me out was that they didn't take anything, although did decide to chew on the one piece of equipment that I need to put in my mouth – the valve for my mattress. So basically they got into my tent, bit off the valve to my mattress, chewed it, then ran away laughing and high fiving each other. Thats the way I picture it anyway.
Chillin in the Sheraton Hotel now in Abuja finishing this off. So what if its in the parking lot between the dog kennels and the rubbish dump – its still the Sheraton! Overlanders camp for free basically so its a good deal. I have skipped past a lot which we have seen and done over the last 2 weeks but hopefully I will remember at a later stage.
Later daters, Don OUT!
Friday, February 11, 2011
Chris Post 7 - Yankari disappointment
Please note that the views expressed here are harsh, they in no way represent that of MAPA or its affiliates. This is my personal blog post, my personal opinion, my personal expression of what I have seen. In no way do I expect others to agree.
Our time in Yankari:
He sat, Jubba-the-hut, red eyes bleary and shifty, to and fro; to and fro. Waving away flies in a room that smells of other peoples unwashed mouths he leans back, shifting his weight uncomfortably on the small wooden chair. I look around for his princess Laya captive and realize it in Yankari herself, bonded by the stereotype that I had heard along my travels.
Yankari is a place of incredible potential, incredible beauty. Water gushes from the ground, warm water springs and warm water rivers. There are experiences to be had in Yankari, we saw confluences as the clear warmth mixes with the cool brown from outside. We saw elephant, buffalo and red pattas monkeys. Combretum trees abound and Abyssinian ground hornbill flash their blue wattled necks through the dry bush at you. Crocs slide into the streams amid egrets and lapwings. African bush wild, African bush captive.
We had made twelve hours travel to reach this place, the best park in Nigeria, the place to go. Our hopes were dashed, morale low and there he sat…Jubba the hut like, bleary eyes shifting to and fro, to and fro. Whether or not it is the general rule or just this man I do not know, I hope it is one man and not the rule. All we wanted was to see his park…. The best park in Nigeria.
We are told we need a guide, we request one…
We are told we need a guide, we ask to take a guide for the whole day......Not an option, one and a half hours maximum.
We try and pay them to let us self drive, an advertized activity...Not an option.
We try and explain that charging 24 000NgN, more expensive than Ngorongoro is ridiculous for a days drive...He answers that Yankari is the best park and that is the fee.
We ask why it is 24 times more expensive than other National Parks…he says it is a state park
We try buy him off... he is not bright enough to take the bait.
We ask for two guides seeing as there are two cars….not an option.
We ask why we can't get 2 guides because they are all sitting there doing nothing, the answer is vague
We explain that he can earn 7 times what he would normally , or he can get nothing... he opts for nothing
We manage to get a guide, who only starts at 08:00, he arrives at 11:30
We manage to get another, he is later still
There are no facilities, no bathrooms, no camping, no showers....the toilets reek of piss and shit and the floors are filthy. The shop can offer you a coke or a warm beer for 1.75$. But still there is no where to drink it. Nothing but a mosque and a church. There are beautiful new buildings, all under construction. Rather the office is run from a cockroach filled room, men sleeping on chairs, people sitting around. Alot of people just seem to sit around here.
I do not want another Kruger National Park, I do not want a Central Kalahari, I do not want another National Park…all I wanted was to see Yankari, the best park in Nigeria. This place is a joke. If a tourist ever asks me if they should come to Yankari, the answer is no.
The park is beautifull. But the park as a tourist attraction is fucked.
The only efficient system is the gate where reciepts are double checked to make sure guides don't freelance and you're back on time. 1.5 hrs in the park... pay the management. The guides make nothing off that, its a management fee. Although they cannot explain why you need a per hr management fee, or why it is so high. The guides are not guides, rather passengers who sit in your car and listen to music on their cell pones, their knowledge sparse, their facts wrong. This place is a stereotype. They have a warm spring, where employees from Bauche are bussed in, to pay another entrance fee, yet again to get to the warm stream. A short swim downstream reveals a rubbish raft, flotsam of bottles and packets left by the horde. The parking lot is rubbish tip, plastic packets, sifted through by baboons that need to be shot. People feeding them, raiding cars. The official camp site is a roundabout, we drove to a further location on an old field, it looks like it was once a campsite, taps all closed off, concrete falling apart. Rubbish, rubbish everywhere.
When we got back from our fiercely negotiated 3 hr game drive, we got accosted again by state security services, the local intelligence. C-baz dealt with them , I was too irritated with the inquisition to my motives yet again. All I want is to see Yankari…pay to see Yankari, the best park in Nigeria. Don shouted at the guy exasperated, when we tried to get the 3 hr session "Do you not want my money?", it seemed the first time he's thought that through. Even if you wanted to spend money they don't let you, no restaurant, no deck, nothing but people in your way. You fight to get a guide, they are late, they are and they are only prepared for a 1.5 hr drive in the heat of the day. I don’t want another Kruger national Park, another Central Kalahari, all I want is to see Yankari, the best park in Nigeria. We were told there were no people in the park, on the way in we saw ploughed fields, planted cassava and people hauling wood, all kilometers after we'de paid our entrace fee. Possibly the worste thing is the lethargy, no one has info, no one wants to try.... all they want is to make sure you've paid. No one moves, alot of people sitting.
Its a shame, because they have such potential. But this place is a joke.
I’ve noticed my writing has become very dramatic of late…. I’ll lighten up. Yankari was just a big let down I suppose. After all the National Parks we had been to, there everyone was so keen to have us and people were welcoming and helpful, it was just such a stark contrast to this beaurocrat at Yankari. It’s been a once off, the rest has been good times all round. I’m really enjoying Nigeria. We’re in Abuja at the moment sorting stuff out, getting Visas for Burkina Faso, inverters for the cars. Life is good, travelling is good.
Our time in Yankari:
He sat, Jubba-the-hut, red eyes bleary and shifty, to and fro; to and fro. Waving away flies in a room that smells of other peoples unwashed mouths he leans back, shifting his weight uncomfortably on the small wooden chair. I look around for his princess Laya captive and realize it in Yankari herself, bonded by the stereotype that I had heard along my travels.
Yankari is a place of incredible potential, incredible beauty. Water gushes from the ground, warm water springs and warm water rivers. There are experiences to be had in Yankari, we saw confluences as the clear warmth mixes with the cool brown from outside. We saw elephant, buffalo and red pattas monkeys. Combretum trees abound and Abyssinian ground hornbill flash their blue wattled necks through the dry bush at you. Crocs slide into the streams amid egrets and lapwings. African bush wild, African bush captive.
We had made twelve hours travel to reach this place, the best park in Nigeria, the place to go. Our hopes were dashed, morale low and there he sat…Jubba the hut like, bleary eyes shifting to and fro, to and fro. Whether or not it is the general rule or just this man I do not know, I hope it is one man and not the rule. All we wanted was to see his park…. The best park in Nigeria.
We are told we need a guide, we request one…
We are told we need a guide, we ask to take a guide for the whole day......Not an option, one and a half hours maximum.
We try and pay them to let us self drive, an advertized activity...Not an option.
We try and explain that charging 24 000NgN, more expensive than Ngorongoro is ridiculous for a days drive...He answers that Yankari is the best park and that is the fee.
We ask why it is 24 times more expensive than other National Parks…he says it is a state park
We try buy him off... he is not bright enough to take the bait.
We ask for two guides seeing as there are two cars….not an option.
We ask why we can't get 2 guides because they are all sitting there doing nothing, the answer is vague
We explain that he can earn 7 times what he would normally , or he can get nothing... he opts for nothing
We manage to get a guide, who only starts at 08:00, he arrives at 11:30
We manage to get another, he is later still
There are no facilities, no bathrooms, no camping, no showers....the toilets reek of piss and shit and the floors are filthy. The shop can offer you a coke or a warm beer for 1.75$. But still there is no where to drink it. Nothing but a mosque and a church. There are beautiful new buildings, all under construction. Rather the office is run from a cockroach filled room, men sleeping on chairs, people sitting around. Alot of people just seem to sit around here.
I do not want another Kruger National Park, I do not want a Central Kalahari, I do not want another National Park…all I wanted was to see Yankari, the best park in Nigeria. This place is a joke. If a tourist ever asks me if they should come to Yankari, the answer is no.
The park is beautifull. But the park as a tourist attraction is fucked.
The only efficient system is the gate where reciepts are double checked to make sure guides don't freelance and you're back on time. 1.5 hrs in the park... pay the management. The guides make nothing off that, its a management fee. Although they cannot explain why you need a per hr management fee, or why it is so high. The guides are not guides, rather passengers who sit in your car and listen to music on their cell pones, their knowledge sparse, their facts wrong. This place is a stereotype. They have a warm spring, where employees from Bauche are bussed in, to pay another entrance fee, yet again to get to the warm stream. A short swim downstream reveals a rubbish raft, flotsam of bottles and packets left by the horde. The parking lot is rubbish tip, plastic packets, sifted through by baboons that need to be shot. People feeding them, raiding cars. The official camp site is a roundabout, we drove to a further location on an old field, it looks like it was once a campsite, taps all closed off, concrete falling apart. Rubbish, rubbish everywhere.
When we got back from our fiercely negotiated 3 hr game drive, we got accosted again by state security services, the local intelligence. C-baz dealt with them , I was too irritated with the inquisition to my motives yet again. All I want is to see Yankari…pay to see Yankari, the best park in Nigeria. Don shouted at the guy exasperated, when we tried to get the 3 hr session "Do you not want my money?", it seemed the first time he's thought that through. Even if you wanted to spend money they don't let you, no restaurant, no deck, nothing but people in your way. You fight to get a guide, they are late, they are and they are only prepared for a 1.5 hr drive in the heat of the day. I don’t want another Kruger national Park, another Central Kalahari, all I want is to see Yankari, the best park in Nigeria. We were told there were no people in the park, on the way in we saw ploughed fields, planted cassava and people hauling wood, all kilometers after we'de paid our entrace fee. Possibly the worste thing is the lethargy, no one has info, no one wants to try.... all they want is to make sure you've paid. No one moves, alot of people sitting.
Its a shame, because they have such potential. But this place is a joke.
I’ve noticed my writing has become very dramatic of late…. I’ll lighten up. Yankari was just a big let down I suppose. After all the National Parks we had been to, there everyone was so keen to have us and people were welcoming and helpful, it was just such a stark contrast to this beaurocrat at Yankari. It’s been a once off, the rest has been good times all round. I’m really enjoying Nigeria. We’re in Abuja at the moment sorting stuff out, getting Visas for Burkina Faso, inverters for the cars. Life is good, travelling is good.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Chris Post 6: Chris and Don’s short blog session.
“Where did you dry these clothes, a rainforest?”
"Um…yes.."
Okumo national park, my first rainforest experience….and, like all first times, I didn’t exactly know what I was doing. Now I’ll boast and tell you I was incredible at being in the forest, but it’s a lie. I failed…. Don says he got it right first time…but that’s a lie too.
Let us fill you in on a few things we have learned about frequenting rainforests. Lets call it Chris and Don’s crash course in forest living.
1. Firstly, rainforests are wet….all the time. Not just sometimes, or the times between wet periods, no, they are wet all the time, especially in the mornings , right about the time, just before you get up. In fact the humidity is close to the roadblock corruption levels, 90-100percent. Now, it is also hot… so let us do some math.
Hot + Wet= humid , but it is already humid, so when we divide ones body area by the amount of sweat produced we get wet. But, we are already wet, so we end up with is 2 wets and 1 hot. The logic is infallible because we used math. So we have learned that drought is not an issue in ones tent. Drying things though, like ones body (hypothetically speaking of course) is an issue. The result is what can only be described as sour milk. The odour that percolates all of ones clothes and tent, despite numerous washings and drying sessions ( please not drying sessions, not drying itself) is something akin to that smell that emanates from that chocolate milk bottle that slipped under the car seat all those months ago. (p.s Writing 'chocolate milk' just made Don very excited, he thinks it sounds delicious right now)
2. Birds… impossible to see. They don’t exist, however many many high quality microscopic speakers do and they play bird like sounds all the time.
3. Unfortunately, not really as funny, that there isn’t much wildlife left rainforests. They’re hunted out, completely. Anything that moves is killed and eaten, snakes, pangolins, monkeys, Water chevrotain, anything. Kill it, eat it, because your children are hungry.
4. Falling leaves and birding do not mix, there are a lot of falling leaves in the dry season in a rainforest. Please note the trick word here, dry season does not mean dry, just less wet. Like Liborace vs. Ru Paul.
5. Wearing a vest in the forest seems like a good idea, it isn’t, neither are shorts….insects love the exposed skin..love it.
6. Rashes, not cool man, not cool.
The end
"Um…yes.."
Okumo national park, my first rainforest experience….and, like all first times, I didn’t exactly know what I was doing. Now I’ll boast and tell you I was incredible at being in the forest, but it’s a lie. I failed…. Don says he got it right first time…but that’s a lie too.
Let us fill you in on a few things we have learned about frequenting rainforests. Lets call it Chris and Don’s crash course in forest living.
1. Firstly, rainforests are wet….all the time. Not just sometimes, or the times between wet periods, no, they are wet all the time, especially in the mornings , right about the time, just before you get up. In fact the humidity is close to the roadblock corruption levels, 90-100percent. Now, it is also hot… so let us do some math.
Hot + Wet= humid , but it is already humid, so when we divide ones body area by the amount of sweat produced we get wet. But, we are already wet, so we end up with is 2 wets and 1 hot. The logic is infallible because we used math. So we have learned that drought is not an issue in ones tent. Drying things though, like ones body (hypothetically speaking of course) is an issue. The result is what can only be described as sour milk. The odour that percolates all of ones clothes and tent, despite numerous washings and drying sessions ( please not drying sessions, not drying itself) is something akin to that smell that emanates from that chocolate milk bottle that slipped under the car seat all those months ago. (p.s Writing 'chocolate milk' just made Don very excited, he thinks it sounds delicious right now)
2. Birds… impossible to see. They don’t exist, however many many high quality microscopic speakers do and they play bird like sounds all the time.
3. Unfortunately, not really as funny, that there isn’t much wildlife left rainforests. They’re hunted out, completely. Anything that moves is killed and eaten, snakes, pangolins, monkeys, Water chevrotain, anything. Kill it, eat it, because your children are hungry.
4. Falling leaves and birding do not mix, there are a lot of falling leaves in the dry season in a rainforest. Please note the trick word here, dry season does not mean dry, just less wet. Like Liborace vs. Ru Paul.
5. Wearing a vest in the forest seems like a good idea, it isn’t, neither are shorts….insects love the exposed skin..love it.
6. Rashes, not cool man, not cool.
The end
Monday, January 31, 2011
Chris Post 5: Dons fail
So Don has been yearning for his place in the group…. He tried his hand at money changer…he failed. Not in the changing of money, but in life decisions.
Now when we left, Nick, Dons brother and good friend of mine took me aside and told me to look after Don. He said it in his serious voice, so I know he was worried. I took this responsibility on board, I thought, I've got your back Don. Little did I know about Don's inability to make good life decisions. Example; So we’re in a small town in Cross River state and we need to change money, there is no real tourism industry so much of the money changing is done on the black market… so here’s the story, what part did Don think was a good idea? Walk up to arb guy and say…”hi I need to change money” ; said guy makes a call, makes sure you have the money with you and says, get on my motorbike in this town you don’t know, and where your friends have no idea where you are. So you get on the bike and drive off into the slum area. Guy then says, go through that shop that only stocks hair extensions and gold watches, and you do. Then through the other shop into the alley behind it, out of public sight so it can be a private exchange, where you are met by a group of men to “change money”.
I’m sorry Nick, I will watch Don more closely next time, and he’s been fired from money changing duty. In actual fact he did fine and the guys were just out to change money. He did get a cool motor bike ride though. But if something had gone wrong, how could I explain that to his parents. "Yes Mr Tye I did let Don go with a lot of money into a slum area." "Yes, he did go into the alley," "yes, by himself… No, we didn’t know where he was." "Yes he probably will fetch a high price in the sex trade."
Anyway.. good times all round, life is good, and I really just use this to tease old Don.
Peace.
Now when we left, Nick, Dons brother and good friend of mine took me aside and told me to look after Don. He said it in his serious voice, so I know he was worried. I took this responsibility on board, I thought, I've got your back Don. Little did I know about Don's inability to make good life decisions. Example; So we’re in a small town in Cross River state and we need to change money, there is no real tourism industry so much of the money changing is done on the black market… so here’s the story, what part did Don think was a good idea? Walk up to arb guy and say…”hi I need to change money” ; said guy makes a call, makes sure you have the money with you and says, get on my motorbike in this town you don’t know, and where your friends have no idea where you are. So you get on the bike and drive off into the slum area. Guy then says, go through that shop that only stocks hair extensions and gold watches, and you do. Then through the other shop into the alley behind it, out of public sight so it can be a private exchange, where you are met by a group of men to “change money”.
I’m sorry Nick, I will watch Don more closely next time, and he’s been fired from money changing duty. In actual fact he did fine and the guys were just out to change money. He did get a cool motor bike ride though. But if something had gone wrong, how could I explain that to his parents. "Yes Mr Tye I did let Don go with a lot of money into a slum area." "Yes, he did go into the alley," "yes, by himself… No, we didn’t know where he was." "Yes he probably will fetch a high price in the sex trade."
Anyway.. good times all round, life is good, and I really just use this to tease old Don.
Peace.
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