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-

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-

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.

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.

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-

Don Post 4 - Abuja to Benin Border

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'.

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.

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

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



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.





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!

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.

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