“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.
excellent
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