The Gambia - Unnamed Peak

30 May: Our first taxi got us to Temba, then another followed to Velingore where Alan (bless his soul!), refused to pay the asked price for our luggage. Once in Velingore, we were asked an exorbitant price to charter a taxi to Basse - a mere 20 km away.  It was Sunday afternoon and only 3 other lonely taxis were waiting but no other passengers in sight.  I had PMS and some horrible flashbacks of waiting for hours for a taxi to be fill up.  Sitting in the middle of nowhere with no toilet or water in sight, was not meant for me today. Alan finally got the price reduced to a third and 20 minutes later we were in The Gambia. Our first guest house was being renovated and we were instructed to go to the Department of Education. The first thing I noticed were the birds, secondly the fan that didn't work,  and lastly - but properly the most important - the cockroaches in the dirty toilet!  But it was cheap and it was getting late - on the upside though - there was some running water at least.

31 May:  We got a minibus to Fetote and upon arrival we tackled the first hill we could see, since our fellow passenger told us that was the highest hill.  According to my GPS, it was 44m!  Heading South, following Chris's coordinates, we passed a village where we filled up our water containers.  A spot next to the road measured 54m. Following the coordinates, we arrived at the spot 90 minutes later. There was no sign of any hill or any sand dump, as described in a previous report. The only bumps were made by termites. I felt a bit disappointed, but time was an issue and we raced back, hoping to catch a ride back. 

Apparently, we had just missed the last taxi going back. We had 3 options. Spend the evening under the tree, walk the 45km or charter a private vehicle. Alan felt sorry for me and we paid the R300 to the very kind gentleman, who played some lovely music all the way back. Arriving in Basse an hour later, I realized I wouldn't have made the 45km hike.

Searching for the highest peak - this was as high as it got

The Gambia is very flat.
1 June: We got a 7 seater Peugeot and the worst seat in the back with another Mr. Codliver. 15 Police checks, 260km, 2 ferry crossings and 9 hours later  we stepped off the ferry in Banjul, having gotten rid of Mr. Codliver. The first hotel we tried turned out to be a brothel but we managed to get a discount at the Apollo hotel.

2 June: After receiving our Guinea Bissau visa, I spent a considerable time trying to get rid of the dust in my clothes.

Lovely Silk Cotton tree
3 June: We received our Sierra Leone visas before we applied for our Guinea Conakry ones. The official looked flabbergasted when we requested a visa. Our visit to the internet café was not very successful but I did manage to find two English Novels – after reading Katy Fjords' novel three times, it would make a great change. That evening we marched down to the shebeen, where the boss lady eventually smiled and I played with the friendly local girls in the street.

Children playing in Gambia
4 June:  Our taxi driver could not speak English and we got a bit lost but we did end up in Serakunda.  Two more taxi rides followed before arriving back in Senegal at 9h30. The ride to Ziguinchor was not uneventful. We had one taxi breakdown and did a fair amount of walking. I also found an internet café where I could sort out the pictures taken so far. That evening, we spend talking to a Gambian in exile who reported atrocities.

I had mixed feelings when it was time to return...

Senegal - Unnamed Peak

25 May. The Rosso border crossing is notorious for harassment so we stayed calm while several people shouted at us. We got another Codliver who insisted on getting in the taxi with us for 3 km and then we calmly informed him that we would take a minibus instead of paying him commission for a taxi. So we waited patiently with our luggage securely on top of the minibus. I had a whole bag of peanuts to peel and eat, filled in countless sudokos, read my novel for the second time and waited - all and all for a whole 9 hours before my sense of humour faded away. We finally left at 22h00 and a nerve wrecking 270 km followed with the driver's door unable to close properly, resulting in him slamming it every few kilometers. The only way to get the driver to stop was to bang on the outside, so the banging followed us for 14 hours.

After waiting for 9 hours, I lost my sense of humour
26 May. Having to pay some money on the way to some policeman didn’t improve my sense of humour and when we arrived in Dakar at 8h00, we were dropped off amongst a lot of shouting. Our co-driver hauled our luggage onto a city truck which sped away. Alan, myself and a fellow passenger ran after it, got hold of the ladder and I climbed to the top of the roof while the others hung on for their lives. I was determined not to become part of the bag snatching statistics. Our next taxi driver once again couldn’t speak English but got us to the Gambia Embassy and we walked to the hotel close by where I almost collapsed on a bench, my nerves shot. The banging throughout the night was still ringing in my ears and we had been swamped by beggars. I desperately needed a shower and some quiet time. It’s been 9 hours of waiting and twelve hours of driving, with thousands of people shouting at us in between and a couple of Codlivers to try and avoid.

27 May. After a shower and some sleep, I could handle the harassment a lot better and we left Dakar around 14h00, looking forward to a nice guesthouse and meal around 21h00. But this is Africa, so we ended up sharing a room with a creepy guy who thought I had beautiful hair, a red light in his room and I shared the bathroom with 6 huge cockroaches (not counting the small ones). We also shared the building with his neighbour, whose door banged non stop throughout the couple of hours left before daylight. Stuffing toilet paper in my ears didn't work.

28 May. Another territorial fight in Tambacounda with the 6 huge cockroaches followed but a lack of sleep made me strong so I had my shower. Then we were off to Kedogou where no one knew where the highest peak in Senegal was. Using the character we have built up during the past weeks, we took a deep breath and had a couple of ice cold beers.

Rejuvenated, we arranged for a translator (our musician) and a vehicle. Armed with GPS coordinates we knew more or less where we had to go. The mosquitoes went crazy in the heat but all was well in Africa.

29 May. After stopping for food, we were finally on our way by 7h00. The journey was pleasant, with nice music all along and the thought of dancing on top of Senegal’s highest peak crossed my mind. A guide escorted us from Nepen Peull on the steep slope. I was looking for a big boulder I had read about and when we finally found it, my heart fell. The only way to get to the top was through a small crack. Luckily I have lost some weight and there was already one branch wedged in the crack. That could get me 2 meters up. Standing on the guys shoulders could add another meter. Our guide got the idea and came back with another 2 branches. It was time for me to act brave. Donating lots of skin, I finally got my body wedged in the crack and chimneyd to the top. I hauled out the flag and shouted at Alan to take pictures before sliding down, donating more skin. It was anything but ladylike. Once down, it took a while before my knees stopped shaking. More pictures were taken since I looked like I’d been in a war zone. The hike back was pleasant and we listened to more music driving back.

Starting from the village
The start of the teamwork. How do I get to the top?
A bit further in the crack

I Chimneyed my way to the top

This was the crack I had to get through
The boulder, seen from a different angle
Everyone was inspired by the teamwork and our musician was determined to write a rap song about the mountain.

The next morning, we traveled back to Temba and then on to Velingore. The Gambia awaited and I needed some time for my scars to heal.

Mauritania - It has many names

16 May: Having spent the previous 38 days visiting 7 West African countries, using mostly local transport to cover the 13 000 plus kilometers, I considered myself a seasoned African traveler. Our planned smooth 1050 km (24 hour) trip from Bamako to Nouckchott had been rudely interrupted in Nioro du Sahel the previous day where, having missed our transfer bus to Nouckchott, we spent the evening sweating in a hotel with temperatures reaching 45˚, fantasizing about ice cold beers.

 
Armed with 5 kg of peanuts and a newly acquired cooler box filled with ice, I waited patiently for the bus to arrive. 6 Hours later, the only thing left in the cooler box was warm water and I crawled my way out under the peanut shell mountain, any thoughts about being a seasoned African traveler long forgotten. The short bus ride to the border was spent in silence.

 
Being stamped out of Mali, we cheerfully followed some of our fellow passengers walking the 1.3 km to the Mauritanian border, where we discovered that our luggage was still in Mali. 30 Minutes later, I was back with both our backpacks. It has been the worst traveling experience of my life. Sitting on one backpack, the other strapped to my back, I clung desperately to the poor motorbike driver. We passed several camel carcasses and being unable to move while cramps almost drove me to tears, the thought of dying in no mans land had me on the verge of hyperventilating. Border posts are somber places. If it wasn’t for that, both immigration officers and fellow passengers watching the skew spectacle on the motor bike, would have cheered excitedly when I finally arrived. Instead, the immigration officers showed their relief by waving us through without one glance at our luggage. 

 
The carpets that were rolled out should have set off an alarm regarding the time before departure. But we did pay for a direct express bus from Bamako to Nouakchott, so I joined the rest of the passengers on the carpets.

Just as I was drifting in to this peaceful sleep, Alan’s warning about being shot by the immigration officers should I shout when I find a rooimannetjie spider running over me, reached me. Sleeping was not an option afterwards.

 
So I waited, and waited. I could not understand a word of French, Arabic or Spanish and when another bus arrived at 24h00, confusion reigned again. Some passengers rushed to the bus but the luggage was first offloaded and we finally departed at 02h00. I was so relieved to get a double seat all to myself and could just imagine getting some heavenly sleep in, waking up refreshed in Nouakchott

When Valerie, a fellow passenger acting as our translator, informed us that our fellow passengers refused to pay the 1500 CFA requested from everyone by the bus driver in anticipation of bribes being payable, my heart filled with pride. 

 
During the next 24 km, there were 3 police roadblocks that took 3 hours. Our senses of humour joined the plastic bags flapping in the small trees in the desert. Without hesitation, we all handed 1000 CFA over to the driver.

 
37 Stops would follow the next 19 hours where; except for the one thorough search where we had to explain what the soya, vitamins, candles, mosquito coils etc were, and the police guy decided that the international adapter was his to keep; we only had to show our passports.

 
Somewhere along the 1000km stretch I realized just how lucky I was to have Al as my travel buddy. Even the police seemed perplexed by our intention to go to Zouratt and kept on telling us that it was extremely hot there. 


Camel milk
Tension was building up in the bus but everyone looked out for one another and between French, Arabic and in my case, Sign language, we managed to wish one another a safe journey after finally arriving in Nouakchott at 24h00.
Camels along the road

18 May. Trying to restore some of my energy and my sense of humour, I went for a walk on my own and found myself lost in Nouakchott, somewhere close to the Olympic stadium, a sign saying it was 12h04 and 44˚ C. Reading the street name turned out to be hopeless, since they were in Arabic. Luckily my GPS got me back and just to make double sure, we went for a pizza that evening.
19 May. An adventurous 14 hour 4X4 drive through the desert followed. The unexpected sight of a mountain range stretching for at least 70 km compensated for the long stretches of nothingness and camel carcasses along the way.
A break along the endless road
20 May. The day was spent recovering, trying to get an interpreter, visiting the museum and market, reading my new novel
I swapped in Nouakchott, and watching endless senseless movies on cable TV. After days of suffering in the heat, we sat shivering under blankets in front of the air conditioner in the apartment. Overtiredness and the desert brought no sleep.
Some of the Mauritanian ladies
21 May. Eli, the apartment owner dropped us off at 8h00, 10 km from town and between writing, sign language and a few broken French words, we understood we would be picked up by 10h00. My GPS showed the highest peak to be 6 km away. 30 Minutes into our hike we realized we would never make it back in time and set off exploring the section being mined. Hiking down, I could not stop the tears. I did not know if it was due to the malaria tablets, PMS or the fact that the mountain was being destroyed by the mining.
22 May. Communication was a challenge but we were grateful when our adopted family picked us up at 9h00. They had brought re-enforcement, the local French doctor and a colleague and we traveled with the French doctor to a mountain 42 km away through the desert. Upon arrival, the doctor was instructed to climb the mountain that resembled a camel with us, while the rest of the group prepared the picnic in the only shade for miles. A healthy lunch followed before we all returned to Zouratt in 3 vehicles. According to our "family", this was the most beautiful mountain in Mauritania.
The French Doctor and Al on Camel Mountain
23 May. Ali dropped us once again 10 km outside the town and armed with 5 l water each, 4 different GS coordinates found on the internet the day before, our senses of humour and the knowledge that we would be picked up in 6 hours time, we set off. A wonderful surprise awaited us, finding that the mining was restricted to some parts.
The mining on the mountain
Plastic bag on the mountain.
I did a handstand when we got the peak whose coordinates I discovered two months ago. Having the time, we headed towards a peak that looked higher. EUREKA! The GPS confirmed that it was higher and a bottle, most probable left behind by the AFROPEAK team, convinced us that this was the real McCoy. Just to make 110% certain, I measured several other peaks, all very close to 915 m.
The "false" top
Feeling strong and adventurous, we decided to go down another route.
We got a bit stuck trying to get down.
3 hours and several kilometers further, we were dehydrated, exhausted and stuck. Descending was not as easy as it seemed. Sheer cliffs made us think twice before going down them and the scree on the easier routes was not an option, I phoned a Spanish friend of Ali that spoke English, explaining to her that we would not be down by 16h00. We backtracked, made another call at 16h00 and were down by 17h00. The family arrived 10 minutes later, picnic basket and all. I could not refuse the tuna sandwich, baobab juice, apples and tea.
24 May. Just when I thought the 4X4 desert adventure back to Nouckchott was getting boring, a fellow passenger handed out bubblegum and our fellow passengers started chewing gum very loudly. The temperature shot to 48 degrees but when the driver was interrogated by the loud chewing passenger about paying for an air-conditioned vehicle, he just shrugged his shoulders, explaining that the air-conditioning gas was low. I opened my window, blotting out the bubblegum chewing. Raindrops started falling, followed by sand storms, forcing us to stop for short periods. 
A sandstorm approaching

Getting to the hotel was another challenge since our taxi driver didn't know where to go and couldn’t speak English. Showing him the map on the GSP was not effective but we did manage to get out and walk the rest of the way without shedding any tears.
 25 May. Once again, our taxi driver could not speak English and an adventurous 10 km followed after we showed him a piece of paper with out destination written on it. We were stopped by what seemed like another taxi driver, who yanked my door open, gesturing for us to get into his taxi. Our taxi driver sped away while I clutched my small backpack. 1 km further another taxi swerved in front of us, signaling for us to stop. Our taxi driver put his foot down, we were unsure if we were part of an attempted hijack or a taxi war. Another taxi and three hours later, we were stamped out of Mauritania.
Some Statistics
Hours in country 210 hours

Hiking. 15 hours.

Waiting for transport. 16 hours

On transport. 54 hours

Km traveled. 2700 km






Mali – Hombori Thando

11 May: After 9 hours of traveling, the guy behind me coughing constantly, we finally arrived in Mopti at 06h00. The heat was overwhelming and I was swollen twice my normal size and as usual, full of dust. Ten minutes later, we were on another bus – back to Sevare, where we were supposed to have gotten off.

A heavenly shower at the motor park followed, and my sense of humour re-emerged. We were told the bus would leave at 14h00. Abraham, a guide from Timbuktu advised us to take Kola Nuts with, so we bought a whole bag full. It was Rasta day and everyone was in a good mood. Just as we were leaving the motor park to visit a bank, we were stopped and escorted to another bus where a fight about our luggage broke out. After a while, peace was restored and we were shown to the back seats, and the luggage was fastened behind us. At last, a nice, although loose seat. I also had a window that could open.

It was hot but I enjoyed the little breeze coming through the window – until the guy in front of me started to puke, and everything came flying through the open window. I got a bit hysterical.

A quick lunch break 160 km further followed but it was too hot so I got back on the bus. The scenery up till here were sad, but suddenly the scene changed and kilometers of mountains followed, with the only backdraw the guy in front still car sick and the luggage behind us falling on top of us. Several mistaken spottings of Fatima's hand followed and by the time we finally reached Hombori at 18h00, 12 hours after we started, we were too scared to take another guess.

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Mountains, mountains everywhere
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Our guest house - it was too hot to shower
The owner of Chez Lelele and his family welcomed us with open arms and set off looking for Amadou, our guide. Alan and I rushed to the garage, looking for anything cold to drink since the 12 liter of water we brought with us was almost boiling. The coldest I could find was luke warm, which had to do. Supper was spaghetti, luke warm coke and mangoes. Anything for some energy. I needed a plan to cool the 6 liters of water I had to take with me the next day on the climb. Sleeping on the roof was my only option. It was a long evening trying to sleep in the heat. You could not use the drinking water since it was too hot and the expected breeze around 24h00 never came, but a small dust storm did.


12 May: I was up by 3h30 and Amadou arrived at 5. The hike to the mountain was fantastic, he wanted to rest but remembering the heat; I pushed on, not knowing what to expect and thinking we would be back in 4 hours.

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On our way to the mountain - armed with 6l of water each
I was surprised to see fixed ropes on top, a bit disappointed but also glad it was not too daunting.

I was given 2 slings with carabineers and shown how it is done. It was perfect, I didn’t feel too intimidated but it was everything except boring.



The 90 m climb took longer than what I expected and the clouds were a blessing. After the climb, we had to hike up to the top. Once on top, 5 drops of rain fell before the sun was out in full force. 


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On our way to the mountain - armed with 6l of water each
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Amadou setting up the rope
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It was guite fun climbing to the top
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On top of Senegal's highest peak
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Amadou on his way down
Amadou warned me about the heat and I took 6 liters with me. I had two sachets of water left and was seriously thinking if I should share it with him since he ran out of water. I stopped to give him one; mentioning that it’s our last water and in the process dropped the precious sachet and we shared the last 500 ml of water. 

I also realized that all the locals and tourists have left for a cooler place and that we were the only crazy tourists trying to climb and hike. There was no one to have our pictures taken with or to give the kola nuts, and the water we brought with us got so hot, we actually got a cleansing treatment in the process. 

I smelled the carcass before I stumbled upon it, and was then told that even the lizards die of the heat. Years ago I saw a move called Dirkie and I could just imagine what the little boy that got lost in a desert must have felt like. I tried picturing a cool breeze but started imagining diving into a blue ice cold pool, and then I thought diving into a muddy bilharzia infested dam would be great as well.
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We suffered from dehydration
We finally made it back to the Auberge, I shouted at Al, grabbed some money before running to the garage and opened and downed half a liter of water before going back to give Amadou some as well. We were both dehydrated and even the hot shower I took was perfect. The owner then called me saying he has ordered colder water and that I should have another shower, which I off course didn’t decline. I couldn’t bear the thought of sweating under the mosquito net and was convinced that the mosquitoes have fled as well.

I took my mattress and erected a semi mosquito net, soaked my Mali cloth and wrapped it wet around me and surprisingly, I did get some sleep.

13 May: 04h00 and we were waiting next to the road for the bus. The Binki bus arrived at 6h30. The bus stopped again after two hours and disappeared for three hours. Apparently they had engine problems. Alan surprised me with a frozen water sachet and I have never had something as delicious. Unfortunately, he left his on the bus and three hours later, it was boiling. Once again, we had the little girls selling their food. I bough peanuts to keep me busy and I shared it with the boys begging for food. The one girl took it upon herself to be my guardian angel and when I offered her some, she declined, but offered us food instead.

The locals seem to suffer just as much from the heat and we finally arrived in Sevare at 17h00, after having several more stops. We bumped into Abraham, who seemed ecstatic to see us and walked with us to the bank, telling us all about his Rasta festival. Once back, we were told that our bus is leaving. I rushed to the shower, getting in with clothes and all, rushed back just in time since the passengers were all shouting at Alan and Abraham. Luckily, Abraham managed to get me some bread and mangoes plus some cool water, I had a shower and could face another 12 hours traveling. Everywhere we go we get a guardian angel looking after us, helping us with the transport and accommodation. Abraham was just glad to have met us.


On the bus, I grabbed a double seat, knowing the possibility of having a double seat the whole way was slim. I was also getting stiff from the climb the previous day and tried to sleep as much as possible, knowing my sense of humour might desert me any time. I always had a vision of traveling in Africa with chickens on the roof.
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A Taxi
Two farms worth of chickens were hauled on the roof, goats were put in compartment in the left, and fish in the compartment in the right. Alan informed me that our bags were thrown in with the fish, but since I survived the guy getting car sick, the guys chewing bubblegum non stop, the guy coughing all over me and the heat, I reckoned I could deal with the fish smelling backpack when the time comes. The fascinating bit was the fancy bus with the TV carrying all the animals.

30 km further we had a flat, but I was determined to stick to my two seats and stayed on the bus. We were seriously dehydrated and tried to drink lots of water. I have managed the perfect position to sleep in, moving my bum close to the window; I had two full seats for my body.
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The ice lady - she saved my life.
14 May: We arrived in Bamako, 1000 km further, by 05h00. My body was full of blue marks, but I was unsure if it was bruises from the bus or the dye coming out of my Mali cloth. We thought we would be better off waiting a while before getting a taxi to the hotel. Bad mistake. By 7h00, we were stuck in peak traffic and add to that the detours because of road works and the 97 times the taxi driver stopped to ask for directions, we finally arrived at the hotel by 9h00. 


After a quick shower, we were off to the Mauritanian embassy where we waited around till 14h00 before picking up our visas. Alan had lost his sense of humour back at the hotel and had fallen asleep once back there while I amused myself by watching the battery charger. Finally it was time for a walk and we got around to an internet cafe, and I got a bit lost walking back but luckily I had the GPS so I did end up in the hotel after a while. It turned out that the hotel can be rented by the hour.


15 May: We first got a taxi and then a bus to Nouckchott, the Capital of Mauritania. I could not believe my luck. It was boiling hot but I got a frozen ice bag which saved my life for two hours. We were then passed on to another taxi, still thinking we were well on our way to Mauritania. At one stage, the taxi driver was falling asleep but luckily the exhaust pipe fell off and he woke up. At the next town, we were passed onto a bus company and a fight broke out. Apparently the bus company in Bamako made us pay too much and the bus had already left.


After exploding, we paid the additional fee and booked into a hotel. Then it was time to explore the little border village of Nioro du Sahel, hoping to find an ice cold beer. We settled for bread, laughing cow, tomatoes and no running water. I got into washing everything except my big backpack, trying to get the long road and dust off me.


16 May: I was able to get a sugar free coffee and an onion free omelet using sign language. The bus was only leaving at 14h00, so we bought a cooler box and 5 kg of peanuts. If I had a tweezers with me, I could have passed the time by plucking my leg hairs out one by one.  At 13h30, I bought 3 bags of ice, put 2 in the cooler box and spoiled myself for an hour with the third one. The bus finally arrived by 16h00 and took us to the border where few people could speak English.
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Getting friendly with a goat - ice bucket in hand
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Gatvol - how long can you last in this heat?
Following the rest of the passengers we walked the 1.5 km to the Mauritanian border, where we discovered we should have arranged transport for our luggage. I took a motorcycle taxi back to the Mali border, hoping the guy would put one bag in front and I could hold one. The most awkward ride on a motorcycle followed. The guy put Al's backpack in the back and I had to sit on top of it, very unbalanced holding on to the petrol tank, unable to move anywhere without falling. The 1.5 km felt like 1005 km. The sun was shining directly into my face and I could see some dead animals on the desert stretch. I did not want to die in no mans land. Everyone just about cheered when I arrived, and the Mauritanian patrol waved us through, where Al was then given some tea and then we waited.

Burkino Faso – Tena Kourou

6 May: We took motorbikes across the border and were just in time for the bus leaving for the capital of Burkina. Initially, we had 5 seats to ourselves, but the bus filled up along the way. The change in scenery was dramatic and, in my opinion, overgrazing has taken its toll. We saw loads of bicycles, donkeys and even a camel. The people were friendly, offered us their food and even offered us their seats. We took a taxi to another hotel since we arrived at 20h00 and were then told that the hotel we intended to stay in had been demolished (they are rebuilding the capital city). I had lost my sense of humour in the dust covering me but felt so bad when the taxi driver gave me change.

7 May:  I’ve never seen so many bicycles in my life. People put their bicycles on the bus, taxi or motorbikes. Alan decided it was time to splurge on a steak. The motorbike salesmen are big and there’s music everywhere. 

8 May: We hit the jackpot and got the seats next to the bus driver. It was pure heaven and I could put my feet on the dashboard without any complaints. Unfortunately, the bus broke down and we waited patiently while mechanics fixed it. Although I got bit worried when they removed some plugs to solve the problem of the red light that said stop! The drivers face said it all and we were on our way. Unfortunately, his face changed again an hour later when the warning sign would change from Caution to stop, but we made it to Bobo Doulosso, determined not to be harassed by any potential guide. After checking into the hotel, we went to the market to buy tomatoes etc before going to the supermarket where we bought laughing cow cheese and gherkins, and then to the bakery for some bread. It was time for my treat.  
Finally - my favourite food!

9 May:  We arrived in Banfora at 10h00, just in time to get a guide who 'sold' us a 4X4 and driver for R1300. There was no other transport except motorbikes, and considering Alan’s dislike for them, we paid the exorbitant price.

A dusty 90 km followed before we reached the village where we paid the chief dash and were given one of his wives to hike with us.  

All along the way she gave us wild fruit she picked. The Cairn was the biggest I’ve seen. The guides wanted to take us to the waterfalls but we declined, and the dusty 90 km back followed, with a flat tire to make sure life didn't get boring. 

On top of the mountain
The African Roads can be very 
dusty. Beware of the red dust
We only had to wait 20 minutes for a bus back but tickets had been sold as day tickets so the stampeding for seats was hectic. Back in Bobo Dioulasso, the second longest shower in my life followed trying to get rid of the red dust. Hand washing was taking its toll and my trustworthy shirt had torn from all the washing. I feasted once again on the gherkins and cheese we bought the day before. All is well in Africa.

10 May: Waiting at the bus station at 07h00, we were informed that the bus only left at 16h00. Then we were informed that the bus left at 12h00. Luckily, we only went for a short walk because by 11h00, when the bus left for the 4 hour journey to Kouri, we were on it. 

Petrol sold along the road
Once in Kouri, we were told to wait. Since patience was now one of my virtues, we waited. Suddenly, we were asked for money, and I refused, saying we’ve already paid for our luggage. We were then ushered off to the centre of the market and a group of Moslem boys followed. At the bus, we were informed that we would only leave at 19h00.  
I wanted to cry. It was hot. There was no sign of water, food or a toilet. Children had gathered around us, holding their hands out for dash and shouting. I was scared and didn’t understand one word of what they were saying.

The next moment I felt a small hand guiding me to a door. The little boy took money out of my pocket and brought me water and my change, before disappearing.  I was flabbergasted.

17h00: I asked around for a toilet. I was dehydrated and too scared to drink water. I was shown to a residential ablution facility, a piece of earth with a wall surrounding it.

19h00: Everyone was sitting outside the bus while the mechanics fiddled with the engine. Al helped with the loading of the luggage on the roof which turned out to be quite dangerous since they haul motorcycles and other heavy stuff on the roof using ropes. They also thought he knew something about engines so he just nodded when the driver said Allah will get us there.

21h00: We finally left and I caught Alan using my plastic fan, something that turned out invaluable. In Nigeria, I had a guy sitting behind me chewing bubblegum for 12 hours. Today, I had a guy sitting behind me who coughed for 8 hours straight.

I did not see that little boy again that day, but 12 months later, whilst I was busy with a Journey course, he appeared again, and he has been keeping me safe ever since.

Benin – Mt Sokbaro

4 May: I was the unlucky recipient of the worst seat in the taxi. Five agonizing hours later, a passenger disembarked and I could change seats, relief written all over my face. Four hours later, we were in Kara.

It did not take Codliver long to smell a tourist, so whilst Alan and myself were sipping a cold beer, he first tried French, then English. He returned with another local, who could not speak English. The third time, he returned with Amen, who we both liked immediately. Since no one knew where the mountain was, it was going to be quite an adventure.

5 May: I was losing my sense of humour with Codliver but Al gave him some dash and he disappeared. Alan, myself and Amen had some very sweet coffee before deciding that chartering a taxi to Mt Sokboro was our only option. According to Peakbagger, the mountain was only 20 km away, but we had no clue what to expect in terms of roads and transport.

Amen, our guide was a tonic. He jumped out of the car to give a road worker some dash and had everyone in a great mood, stopping at all the villages asking the way. We had to pay dash to the Togo border guys as well as the Benin guys but Amen just told me to relax, which I did. Following the GPS, we entered a village before the heavens opened up with rain. 


Amen just paid the roadworker we passed
Yobara, who had just returned from school and could speak some English, welcomed us into his home. Ten minutes later, he opened an umbrella and we all hiked to the mountain, including the chauffeur. Lots of laughter followed and it didn't take long to reach the top, where, on everyone’s request, I had to climb in a tree for the picture to be taken.
On our way to the top of the mountain

More laughter followed the descent and back at the village, we were offered food. Yabara was so grateful when we gave him some money and a peaceful ride back followed, where no one insisted on getting more dash from us. We couldn't believe how lucky we were to have
found the peak and, since it was a very remote village, we decided that chartering the vehicle
was our only option.  

Back at Kara, we had to try the African gin before going to the market to buy food. Amen promised me a pizza but the cheese was very expensive so we decided on a traditional dish instead. Before heading for his home; we stopped at the shebeen for more gin. 

Codliver was there and told Alan that he liked him very much but that he disliked me. Alan refrained from telling him that the feeling was mutual. When I was kissed by an old lady that’s had been sitting in the shebeen since we arrived, I thought it was time to go to Amen’s home.

Getting ingredients for supper at the market
We all hopped on motorbikes to his home where his daughter Bella cooked a vegetable soup for me before adding the fish for the rest of them and everyone had more gin. Amen gave me mangoes and two of his drawings before taking us back to the hotel. The two of them were still feeling strong and left for more drinks at the shebeen.
 
It is so heartwarming to see how generous he is, especially since he had not had a steady job for over three years. He lives in a tiny room, yet he never demanded anything and just offered us his laughter, food and love. Yet another amazing day in Africa.

Bela, Amen and Alan having supper
6 May: Amen fetched us at 6h00 and I finished packing while they went for their first African gin before going to his house for breakfast (coffee, bread and mayonnaise). By 8h00, we were on our way to Burkina Faso. At one stage, three passengers were ordered to get out and by now, we expected them to join us once we've crossed a police patrol. Problems with the door followed and the helper used the window instead. Then the taxi made a terrible noise and the helper had to push us. Then he had to jump out of the window and run to the police patrol giving the taxi’s official papers, jumped on another taxi and met us at the garage, where the chauffeur had to stop to have the engine seen to.
 We finally took motorbikes across the border to Burkino Faso

Another day in Africa, another interesting vehicle