Liberia

30 June: Despite the fact that I was once again crippled by fear of the unknown, the hike to the Liberian border after visiting the highest peak in Guinea Connokry, was not totally unpleasant. A Motorbike ride to Yekepa was followed by a taxi ride to Ghanta, where we waited patiently for the taxi to fill up, while I read Eckardt Tolls’ ‘The New Earth’

Suddenly, just before we left, I got the message in the book. The bumpy ride was pure magic. The trees were beautiful, there were fire flies all along the way and I was just happy, sitting with a huge grin on my face. 6 Hours later, at 22h30, we arrived in Zorzor, covered in dust.
 
Letter from the Superintendent
1 July: I slept like a baby. Although the toilet was past disgusting, all was well in Africa. Our taxi driver from Ghanta, helped us to find a taxi to Voinjama. When the driver asked for $100, everyone burst out laughing. We paid $20 in the end for the 70 km ride. I was still worried about food, but so far, people have always taken care of us.  

Once in Voinjama, we were taken to a guest house, before being sent to the Superintendent, who told us to come back the next morning. We could not go anywhere without his permission. Luckily, the sun came out and we could air our clothes. We discussed the possibility of changing our ticket dates since it was taking longer than we expected.

Bridge to Lisco
2 July: I slept once again like a baby, and the visit to the Superintendent turned out to be quite pleasant. He arranged a recommendation letter and a chartered vehicle for us. I also located some food and we all had a coffee with condensmilk before setting off on our journey.

The new road to Lisco was build by the Texan company and to my horror I noticed the felled trees along the way. The tears just streamed down my cheeks. It felt as if my limbs were being torn from my body. I was warned by Al to keep quiet about the trees.  

We finally arrived in Lisco at 14h00 where the Chief offered us food: rice and bush meat. Trying not to offend anyone, I tried to eat the rice without touching the meat. Afterwards we went for a walk with the Chiefs father, an adorable character that has traveled extensively. I was feeling nauseous and couldn’t believe I was so stupid to eat something my body is not used to. I could just picture myself trying to get up the mountain the next morning.

Bushmeat? NEVER EVER AGAIN!
It looked like it could rain so we slept in the principal’s office in the school. Taking a stroll that night turned into another magical experience. The skies were lined with millions of stars and there were fireflies everywhere.

3 July: It has started to rain during the evening. We were ready at 6h00, expecting 2 guides, a rough forest hike then an elephant path through the savannah to the top. By 7h30, we had 3 smiling guides with guns and pangas and 1 very reluctant grumpy guide, complaining about no breakfast. The whole village knew we were coming to the mountain and expected us a day before. But the 4 guides were only informed at 7h00. They carried no food or water.

The team on top of the mountain
A 2 hour trek followed in the forest and then the big surprise. No savannah. No elephant path. Only shrub. 4 Hours of panga swinging followed. Suddenly I was told we were on top. There was no flat top, just more bush. The next moment the sun came out, the mist cleared and they started chopping down a tree (for the view). Noooooooo! I shouted. Luckily they stopped. I was so happy I have bought food and they were happy to get food. Everyone was happy. They posed for a picture with their guns and the South African Flag. Then it was time to go down. The descent to the forest took 1 hour, the wag 'n bietjie digging into my skin. Then the descent through the forest followed where I felt like Jane, swinging from one branch to another, running down trying to keep up with the guys. At the village, we were treated as heroes. My scars were admired. The walk to the Chief was full of jokes and I felt so at peace.

A similar welcome followed and my scars were once again admired. We were given food (which I declined gently) and then I showed them the pictures. Our driver was happy. The chief was happy, the chief’s wife was happy. When we left, it started to rain. Everyone was happy

Once again I have been privileged to see a beautiful mountain.

  • I have picked up 7 empty gun shells on the mountain.
  • A helicopter was hovering around, exploring the mountain for iron ore.
  • The Texan company has built the road to Lisco to a saw mill and the magnificent trees are being chopped down.
The Liberians are so grateful that people are keen to invest in their land. They are all educated but there are no jobs.

I have been privileged to experience the energy of the forest and the magnificent mountain. I can just pray that who ever does the mining and logging of the trees does it responsibly. Deep down I have a feeling my grandchildren will not be privilege to see what I have seen.

I did not cry again on my way back.

4 July. Our taxi driver was quite aggressive with a music system that didn’t leave too much space for passengers. 5 km into the ride, he stopped and disappeared into the bushes. He returned a happy chappy, reeking of dagga. Music blared all the way to Foya, where motorbikes were our only option to Sierra Leone, so off we went.

7 km down the road, Alan’s driver had an accident and we ended up in the village with a flat tire. They tried to fix it by tying a knot in it. When it didn’t work, my driver jumped on another motorbike and disappeared.  10 minutes later, he was back. We didn’t ask any questions. 2 km further we swapped drivers. Apparently the one motorbike had no brakes. So we were stuck with 1 motorbike with no brakes and the worst driver I have met.

Alan got the good driver on the motorbike with no brakes while I climbed behind the worst driver I have met. 2 km further, I insisted on getting off the bike. He was really bad. It was decided that the bad driver would take the luggage while the two of us will go with the motorbike with no brakes. The road was extremely slippery but I felt 100% safer.

Another bridge to cross
At the border, we were informed by the immigration officers that they didn’t have a stamp. I lost it. First of all, we were convinced we have been overcharged the last couple of days. We have been asked for gifts by just about everyone. Time to get to Senegal was running out. We had no food or water with us. I was petrified to travel anywhere with our bad driver. The problem was solved when Alan went with our good driver to get a stamp at another border post, getting away with only two falls while I tried to ignore all the subtle and not so subtle hints for money.

Once at the other border post, Al’s driver tried to convince him to have both our passports stamped, pretending that I was around before illegally slipping back. Alan refused. The only option then was to pay for an immigration officer to come and stamp our passports where I was waiting. Upon arrival, Al asked if I was feeling strong. I replied: “I can’t deal with this money anymore”. Apparently he felt like crying as well. 2 km to the Sierra Leone border followed. It has been a long journey, and a very long day.

Happy child fetching water


Guinea Conokry

28 June: It was Guinea Conakry’s general elections the previous day and unsure about the stability of the country, we decided to take only the bare necessities with us. 

It was a short ride on motorbikes to the border, where we ignored any gift requests.

The border officials in Solo took forever to write our passport details down, but for once I was living in the now and just enjoyed the light rain outside.

We were banned from using the path on the mine

A slightly uncomfortable bike ride to Gbakore to pick up the permits followed.  Our drivers stopped at the entrance of a mine, and we were told to ask the South African guy for permission.  We were more than surprised when not one, but two South Africans arrived twenty minutes later.  We were taken to the empty conservation office, where we were advised to go back to Selinbala for a guide and accommodation before climbing the mountain.  Nothing was said about the permits.  

It was my turn to sing “Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me”, when we were invited for lunch at the mine.  Between Alan and I, we had 2 dry rolls and 1 liter of water with us.  Once again, there was no place to buy any food.  After 82 days in West Africa, my body was craving vitamins and whatever else it needed.

When Alan, as usual, held out his plate for my meat/chicken/fish, he got a nasty surprise!  I had convinced myself that the chicken was free range – and would have eaten his chicken kebab as well.  My strawberry fanta tin was also empty, he just stared at me in surprise.  I wanted to kiss David, the South African who offered us the meal!

Looking for transport back to Selinbala could have turned out to be a problem but Al said we must go with the flow.  Yes, but what if we hit the waterfall, I replied!  20 Minutes later we were on our way to Selinbala, once again thanks to David.

Once in Selingbala, our driver arranged a guide and we were taken to the guesthouse.  The mist has lifted and going for a hike, we discovered just how big a distance we had hiked the previous day.  My blisters were acting up but as the Nimba range was so spectacular, it was definitely worth it!

We entertained the village children by taking their pictures and videos and then I cried on Alan’s shoulder.

  • My hair was past dry and had turned grey,
  • Thousands of wrinkles have sprung up on my face,
  • My insects bites were festering,
  • I have lost too much weight and my pants were falling off me,
  • My boob size has shrunken to a size AA,
  • I’ve just eaten a chicken!
Entertaining the village children
My future was clear – I would remain single for the rest of my life.

When Al mentioned that I could always obtain a certain electrical device to help me with one of the negative sides of being single, my crying turned hysterical.

That evening - peace reigned in the village.  Singing and storytelling could be heard and I guess because of all the crying, I drifted into a peaceful sleep.

29 June. 02h00. It is pouring outside and I can just imagine us hiking in the rain, blisters popping. I try to be positive, 12 hilly hiking hours lay ahead.  We had 2 dry rolls and 1 liter of water.

03h30: I am fully awake.

06h00: The rain has stopped.  We have two guides and a magical experience followed.  The 3 hour steep uphill through the forest was followed by a 2 hours steep hike through the savannah.  One of our guides got sick so luckily we only had to share the two dry buns with one other person.  Once on top of Sir Richard Molard, the mist lifted and we had a spectacular view.  It was magical with clouds 50 meter below us.  The descent was just as spectacular.

Flowers on top of the mountain
I started to plan ahead.  Since it took us 2 less hours to do the hike, we could make it back to the Liberian border in time.  Al complained that I was back to rushing ahead.  The truth hit me head on: throughout my life, I’ve never been satisfied with what I have achieved.   As soon as I get to the top of a mountain, I am off again – rushing to the next mountain.

After paying our respects to the chief, we rushed to the guesthouse, just to be stopped by the ECO Guide, who demanded to see our permit.  Since we had no permit, we had to accompany him to his office. I had no idea if his office was 2 or 30 km away.  I tried to stay calm, feeling the seconds ticking past.  At his office (only 2 km away), I page through a book while Al handled the political aspects.

All of a sudden, a woman was brought in and she showed me her cancer riddled breast.  It was grotesque and left me speechless.  When I looked in her eyes, I stared into nothingness. The Eco Guide then explained that he used plants to cure the sick people who came all the way from Conakry.  I was then asked to take pictures of another patient, covered with bleeding sores.  I had no idea why I had to be there but felt somehow, connected.  

On top of Sir Richard Molard

After taking a picture of the ECO Guide (and paying the 50 000 L) he escorted us back to the village, where he gave us some leaves to enhance our appetite (just our luck with no food in sight).  If we could find a motorbike to take us to the border, we could still make it.  But there was no motorbike or villager in sight, and I suspect it had something to do with the permits.

I finally made peace with the idea of spending another night in Guinea Conakry.  After the 21 km hike, I was starving.  Al asked our host for food, and expecting cow belly and intestines, I was overjoyed when two big plates of rice and maggie was placed in front of us.

30 June: I was once again being crippled by fear of the unknown.  The hike to the Liberian border was not totally unpleasant.

With the guide on top op Guinea Conocry's highest mountain


Liberia - The Nimba Range

23 June: We were finally in Liberia. It was raining, I was bloated and all my insect bites were festering. But all was still well in Africa. The guys at the Liberian border were so excited about the world cup soccer; they forgot to ask for any bribes. (Unfortunately, I was informed by Alan six months later that it was not the case). The pastor and two fellow passengers (one turned out to be a policeman who decided to take care of us) decided to stick with us and we all chartered a vehicle to Monrovia. The policeman’s presence turned out to be a miracle. At every police post (and there were several), the pastor and her fellow passengers sang "happy birthday to me" and clapped hands. Apparently, they would have to pay money at every stop if the policeman was not traveling with us. It was a joyous ride in the rain.

Once in Monrovia, the police captain took us to an expensive hotel, but we convinced him to take us to a cheaper one. He was worried about our safety so we compromised and ended in a hotel with security for $80 per night. Considering that we paid $5 in the brothel the previous night, it was quite a blow to our budget, but it promised 24 hour electricity and running hot and cold water etc. I was happy to pay the money. The rain has not stopped for a second.

24 June: Waiting for our Sierra Leone visas, we thoroughly enjoyed the hotel with it’s TV and hot running water while it rained outside. Although the streets were filled with UN people, we were not so sure about our safety, and didn’t want to venture out too far. Since we were already over our budget, we splurged some more by drinking beer at their restaurant.

25 June: I woke up startled at 03h00, heart throbbing. Aha, so this is what a panic attack feels like, I mumbled. Nine days ago, in crazy Freetown, I received an e-mail from Camelman III, informing me that he was seeing someone else. For nine days, I have tried to block out the pain and fear. But all my fears have finally caught up with me. During the next 3 hours, I died several times, reliving every painful memory.

When Alan stirred at 06h00, I shouted “I NEED HELP AL”

Since breakfast was included in the $80 per room deal, I had to wait another two hours. On our way into Monrovia, I have noticed a bookshop. I needed help desperately.

I found the bookshop, and although it only had 20 different books, two of them were “Dale Carnagees “How to stop worrying and start living” and Eckardt Tolls “The New Earth”. For four years, I have tried in vain to read Eckardt Toll’s “The power of now”, but I was going crazy and I had to try and stop the pain.

“IT-IS-$40”, Alan hissed when we walked out the bookstore:
“I – NEED -IT”, I croaked back. “No one has bought me a birthday present”. I could not stop crying.

To add oil to the fire, I had more beer that evening.

26 June: Our bookstore guy was so grateful I bought 2 books from him, he picked us up at the hotel and took us to the red district, where we got a taxi to Yekepa. We had to share the back seat with two rather fat people so we both had exactly 2 cm to sit on. We were warned about motorcycle guys dragging you into the bushes so we didn't venture too far once we finally arrived in Yekepa. We expected a big town and food. Unfortunately, the only food we could find was popcorn and peanuts. No water. By now, our insect bites were really festering and everywhere remarks could be heard about “Whites not surviving Africa”. 

On our way to the highest point on the Nimba Range
27 June: Our room could not lock and people kept on shouting throughout the evening. Add that to the numerous warnings about being kidnapped and it makes sense that we ended up slightly paranoid.

For security reasons, the Liberian chapter was left out of our Rough guide so we had no clue where to hike to but our host came to our rescue. Following his advice, we set off for the highest peak in Liberia in the Nimba range. We had 2 liter of water with us and a dry bun. Luckily it was misty, because we couldn’t see the top. 
Mr Agrawal, Alan, myelf and Ian, the South African
we met on the Nimba Range

We took our first tower reading at 10h30. Another tower followed and then we got to the third tower. A 4X4 has just passed us earlier and what a great surprise to meet a fellow South African on top. Ian has just started working in Liberia and was just visiting Yekepa. His colleague gave us some Indian snacks and juice (heaven since we have devoured our dry bun) and invited us for supper. They told us we could just follow the road and we'll get back. Two hours later we have come to a dead end and had to backtrack. After our 33 km hike, we got back to the guesthouse just in time for a quick wash before being picked up for our meal at 18h30.

A lovely evening followed where I had the best meal of my life. Phillip, the chef surprised us with home made samooses and vegetarian dishes and I did not hesitate to ask for seconds.

28 June: It was Guinea Conakry’s general elections the previous day and unsure about the stability of the country, we have decided to take only the bare necessities with. A short ride on motorbikes to the border followed where we ignored any gift requests.

Another mountain destroyed by mining


Sierra Leone

Whether it was the weather, the forests or the World Cup soccer excitement I’m not sure, but I fell in love with Sierra Leone the minute we landed.  It was raining, everything was green and it was just electrifying.  Upon entering the airport building, we were immediately informed of the soccer score before the usual African rush followed.  We were urged to buy tickets for a boat, rushed off to a bus and then we waited and waited and waited. 

Another day in Africa, another bad road
The bus drive down to the beach was pleasant and although some of our fellow passengers complained about the service etc., I was ecstatic.  The boat ride to Government Wharf was an added adventure and once on land, we took a taxi to the Place Guesthouse where we stayed for 5 days acquiring our Liberian visas.  Adapting to chaotic Freetown was quite something.  One was never certain of running water or electricity, the music competed with the generators and you could forget about finding one nanosecond of silence.  But let’s not forget the magical 500 year old Silk cotton tree whose spell I fell under every time I walked past it, or the fact that traffic was chaotic and Alan got hit by a motorbike, or that pickpockets were a real problem in the busy streets and that even the toilet cisterns had burglar bars around it.  All and all, I was happy to be in Africa.  After traveling in West Africa for more than two months, I was happy to be in the green Sierra Leone where everyone shouted “I LOVE YOU” at me.  

16 June.  After 5 days in hectic Freetown, I was happy to get on a Government bus to Kabala.  It was African Child day and happy school children were putting up makeshift road blocks along the way, much to our driver’s irritation and our amusement.  Once in Kabala, we arranged motorbikes to Alikalia where we were welcomed by the Chief and his councilors and were shown to our guesthouse and given pineapples.  Lovely fireflies added to the magic when it got dark. 

17 June.  Our motorbike drivers took us to Kumalo where we negotiated with the paramount chief for passage into the mountain and received a letter from them stating that we should be given all the assistance we need.  Another motorbike ride to Yiffin followed.  The road was terrible and the horrendous downhill’s had my stomach in knots.  Once at Yiffin, another councilor meeting was held.  We paid our mountain fees and the councilor appointed Mamba as our guide cum porter.  He set off at a hectic pace and it was quite something keeping up with him. 

Hammock crossing
Just outside the village, a nice hammock crossing awaited us.  Alan had a spectacular fall crossing a second river and the lovely silk cotton trees and trumpeter hornbills added to the magic.  After two hours in the forest, the heavens opened up to cool us down.  I was expecting to hike for hours but 2½ hours later, we were in Konomboia.  We paid our respects to the chief and money exchanged hands before we were shown to our room for the evening.  The roof had not been finished, neither had the door and window.  The children flocked to us and demanded that I take their pictures.  Going for a walk meant dragging one child on every finger and they never stopped giving us food to eat. 

The youth leader arrived and demanded another 20,000 Le before allowing us on the mountain.  I saw “Julius Malema” and my ego got in the way.  I explained that we had already paid money and were given a letter by the main chief stating we did not need to pay any more money.  He stormed off; Alan followed him, looking for a solution while I kept the kids entertained. 

Happy kids in the village
The Mafiosi then arrived (teenagers), chased the kids away and asked for the “big man”.  I whispered, "youth leader", and one of them grumbled back "I’ll be back".  The kids sneaked back.  Alan returned, having solved the problem.  We had a guide for the trip to the peak.  In order to have some peace and quiet, I crept into my sleeping bag in my room with no window or door while the kids giggled at the door. 

8 June: I slept fitfully until 02H00 and then I waited and waited.  We were supposed to leave at 07H00.  Mamba turned up and by 08H00, we realized there was a misunderstanding.  Fodday, our expert guide was waiting in the fields for us.  It was not a good start!  He was grumpy and even though they were carrying our backpacks, we had to run to keep up.  An adventurous river crossing was followed by loads of uphill’s.  I hadn't been sleeping well and eating was not always an option when you had 50 kids staring at you, so after running up the mountain for 4 hours, I was knackered.  Luckily the camp was just around the corner.  After a nice wash in the river, we had some of Mamba’s spicy rice before trying to cook our month old spaghetti and inedible soya.  No such luck, it started raining.  Some sort of meal was had a bit later but not too much to write home about.  I made up my mind about the Indian Soya Alan got for a bargain in Laudium – it was inedible and in my opinion, unfit to share with anyone.  Feeling a bit restless, I decided to amuse myself by streaking across the grassy patch in my rain jacket. 

The final ascent
19 June: I slept fairly well and was up by 06H00, rushing to find a stone of some sorts.  We only left at 08h00, at a horrendous pace.  2 hours later, we were on top.  It was amazing!  The wind was howling and after the customary pictures we went down.  It reminded me a lot about the Drakensberg.  We raced down and saw some Savannah buffaloes.  We got to camp two at 12H00, had a 10 min break and then raced further.  There was no time to appreciate the lovely trees.  The river crossings followed and we stumbled into the village by 17H00, where we were treated like heroes.  Apparently, no one has done it in two days before.  After a wash in the river, I felt like a million dollars.  We had hiked 24 km and I had aches in places I only just discovered I had. 

20 June: I slept like a log and only woke at 06H00.  What a relief to finally leave.  Everyone was expecting cash but we hadn’t brought anything extra with us.  The normal road was closed since they were repairing the hammock bridge so we took the detour via Kumoro.  Once again, the hikes were more of a run.  At the village, we were given Kola nuts (very bitter) and bananas and were asked for 10,000 Le, we gave 5,000 and the chief was ecstatic.  Just before Yiffin, another hammock bridge awaited!  My shins were aching and my blisters were broken.  At Yiffin, Alan donated one of his shirts to Mamba and we got two motorbikes back to Aliagria.  I doubt if I would have been able to hike the 15 km all the way back.  My driver was excellent but I still closed my eyes on some downhill’s.  I reckon I’m getting too old for these adrenalin rushes.  We got to the village at 13H30 where a nice shower waited.  It was time to wash some of the sweat off my clothes as well. 

I also asked Alan to kill the huge cockroaches I left the last time.  Somehow, he manages to miss them every time. 

21 June: We gave our host 10,000 Le and she was so grateful.  (Apparently she was not as impressed with the ice bucket that I donated as I was).  Another adrenalin rush bike ride followed to Benduku and it took us 90 minutes to travel the 15 km.  Alan’s motorbike had no brakes but he was lucky, the driver was also excellent and they only had two falls.  After the wash in the river, the wound he had on his leg from where the motorbike hit him in Freetown was seen to be festering badly. 

Our "perfect" vehicle
 We didn't know what to do about transport once we got to Benduku.  When I saw this nice blue 4X4 waiting, I thought it was clearly a sign from God.  We sat around for an hour, watching them load bag after bag of chillies on the roof.  Then it was time to load more luggage in the back.  4 women and 3 chickens were then squashed in the back.  Then it was our turn in the front seat.  We shared it with the petrol tank, a plastic 20 liter container with pipes leading to wherever.  We were warned about taking the vehicles but considered ourselves seasoned travelers in Africa.

The road was bad.  2 km down the road, the vehicle almost overturned because of the heavy load.  5 km further, our driver bumped a motorbike, causing the 3 passengers and driver to fall down a hill.  Another 2 km and the radiator came loose.  Our driver came prepared, got out some wire and fixed it.  I couldn’t help but admire his skills.  I have never seen an engine tied together with so many pieces of wire!

Another 2 km further and the suspension went haywire.  The vehicle was jacked up, using pieces of wood and grinding stones.  A lot of sawing and hammering took place and voila!  Unfortunately the left hand passenger door didn’t want to close so out came the hammer and some rope again and VOILA! 
Fixing another problem!
Any space caused by the bad road was immediately filled by pineapples and two more passengers.  It was the first time I noticed the shape the vehicle was in and I can definitely say it was the most unroadworthy vehicle I have ever traveled in.  The back door was closed using ropes and everything that could hang out at the bottom was hanging out. 

Another 2 km further, we all started coughing when our view was obscured by the smoke coming from the engine.  Something resembling tea was thrown in the radiator in order to seal it and 5 minutes later, we were off again.  As is the custom in Africa, the vehicle needed to be push-started.  Uphill’s turned out to be impossible so we would all get out, walk and get in the car whenever there was a downhill.  "Good exercise”, the driver smiled.  I was very grateful to get some fresh air since the petrol fumes were getting to me. 

Forced to walk after the vehicle finally died.
We had no water or food and the 65 km took more than the 2 hours expected.  After a total distance of only 20 km traveled, the mountains loomed ahead.  The vehicle stuttered, we got out and hiked to the top.  Suddenly the driver lost control of the vehicle which ran backwards over a bag of pineapples that fell off the roof.  As I was reaching the top of the hill, carrying a little boy on my back, I was beckoned back by my fellow passengers to come and have lunch.  The pineapples, although covered with sand, were delicious.  Our miracle vehicle was still covered in a cloud of fumes. 

The next vehicle’s driver that came past took pity on us and gave us all a lift to the next town, Bumbuna, where we waited and waited.  Not overly famous for my patience, I went back with a motorbike and found our miracle vehicle stuck exactly where we left it.  When I informed the driver that I was taking a motorbike further, he went ballistic.  We pushed him out of the ditch and off he sped, rolling uncontrollably backwards.  More motorbike guys arrived and suddenly he jumped out of the vehicle and raced to the river to fetch water, shouting that he will get the vehicle up the mountain and that he would kill anyone that touches the luggage.  30 Minutes later, he had progressed 10 meters.  The chances of my so called miracle vehicle making it up the hill were zero.  I jumped up on the roof, which resulted in a fistfight.  The poor driver must have had the worst day in his entire life.  I felt empathy for him, especially since I have experienced a worst couple of days in my life the past weeks.  I paid him more than we could afford and upon offering my condolences with the death of the vehicle, he calmed down.  More passengers arrived, demanding their luggage.  For some odd reason, he gave me my luggage with a twinkle in his eye, but detained theirs. 

Our 4 bags were put on 2 motorbikes and off we sped to Bumbuna where we picked up a grumpy Alan.  I caught a glimpse of two of the chickens that travelled with us up till that fateful last hill, but didn’t hang around trying to find out what had happened to the rest of the passengers.  It had taken us 7 hours to travel 20 km.  I was past restless.

The 40 km bike ride to Makeni was fast and without wearing helmets, pretty thrilling.  I was past caring about Alan’s fear of motorbikes and speed.  What a relief to finally get the dirt washed away under a shower. 

Another overcrowded taxi
22 June.  By 03H00, I was multitasking again.  I was sitting in the hotel’s passage, writing my report, trying to conquer my fears and giving Alan some rest.  The taxi ride to Kenema took 6 hours.  My fear of running out of cash cost us dearly since I had to get a cash advance on my credit card.  Looking at it from another perspective, it also gave me my first experience staying in a brothel, since we were too late to travel further and decided the Sameday guest house sounded just dandy.  I would definitely recommend traveling as a pair.  When I finally crept into bed, poor Alan was left with all the girls eyeing him. 

23 June: Our 7-Seater Peugeot left at 10H00.  There were 3 of us in the back, 4 in the middle seat and 3 in front.  And let us not forget about the 3 passengers on the roof.  One of the ladies in the back started with a prayer, which reminded me of our trip in Nigeria.  She also happened to be a pastor from Nigeria.  As custom is, she prayed for the protection of several parts of the vehicle, the driver and the passengers.  Another lady passenger jumped out and disappeared, only to show up at the garage with several purchases she has made, which were promptly put on the roof.  The passengers attacked the driver, saying she should have chartered a vehicle.  We just kept quiet.  It’s a given – you have won when the locals lose their patience.  A couple of roadblocks later, we have lost our 3 passengers on the roof.  They turned up 5 km further.  The border crossing to Liberia was uneventful, or maybe we just ignored the hints for gifts.  Several notes changed hands between my fellow passengers and the border officials.  I just smiled brightly and pleaded ignorance.  Finally, we were in Liberia. 

Lovely Sunset in Sierra Leone
 4 July: After spending 12 eventful days in Liberia and Guinea Conakry, an epic ride back to the very remote border post in Sierra Leone followed.  Drained by now after countless bribes paid, flat tyres and other eventful things, we were finally back in Sierra Leone, just to be refused entry by a border official.  Luckily, some soccer talk lightened him up.  Obviously, not many tourists crossed that border.  When he asked for money, I burst out laughing and told him that we had given everything we had to the Liberian immigration officers.  Our motorbike drivers took us to the closest village, where everyone demanded gifts, our drivers inclusive.  Alan gave them his pants!  The last of our dollars were then handed over to our new motorbike drivers.  I was starting to get my sense of humour back; our bike ride to Kaluhun was pure magic.  The drivers were competent; the sun was setting, the frogs singing and the birds of prey circling above me.  Everyone waved at us, shouting that they loved us.  I wanted to spread my wings and fly. 

Once in Kalihun, our drivers took us to get money changed, then to our guesthouse.  They wanted to take us to Kenema the following morning but for once, even I had had enough of motorbikes. 

5 July: At first I thought it was raining but it was only the stream next to our guesthouse.  The family was singing hymns and I felt like singing with them.  My head was full of noises.  The boys walked us to the motor park.  Everything was peaceful in town and we were told that the road was good.  I had heard that it was definitely not good but I had decided a long time ago that 4X4’s were overrated.  A Peugeot can go much further.  Some hectic 4X4’Ă­ng followed with our driver just fixing whatever needed fixing after a bad spell.  At Duka, a police officer stopped us and told the driver that he was overloaded.  Our driver sped off!  I was still trying to figure out what happened when the vehicle stalled 100m further on and Al remarked drily: “That wasn’t a very successful getaway”.  I burst out laughing.  The next moment, 15 policemen jumped off a bakkie racing towards us, apologizing to me and Al about the embarrassment and explaining that they had to arrest the driver for not stopping at the police patrol and for being overloaded.  We all got out of the 7-Seater.  13 Passengers inside plus 1 chicken and 2 passengers on top.  The minutes were ticking past.  I suspect that money changed hands because the next minute, we had to push start our vehicle and off we went, the only difference now was that the two passengers on top would get off before a roadblock, walk past the roadblock and get back on after the roadblock.  I reckon the driver was just fed up with paying bribes when he made his escape bid. 

Several stops followed and the radiator had to be filled with water.  We had a mentally challenged girl with us, with spittle running down her mouth.  When she asked for my water bottle, I cracked.  The road was not good, 4X4’s are a joke but eventually we made it back to Kenema. 

Luckily we knew where the taxi rank was so we walked there, ignoring the trolleys offered to us.  By now, we were seasoned African travelers and I told the guys shouting at us at the taxi rank to be patient while Alan went to exchange money.  We were shuffled into the bus and immediately started sweating.  And then we waited and waited.  It was like an oven inside.  We waited for about an hour.  The road was good for a change but we stopped several times.  I tried my best not to bond with the chicken next to me. 

Back in hectic Freetown
We finally made it to Freetown at 19H00 where we took another minibus.  The assistant had to fight off people trying to get on the minibus.  Once again, things were past crazy and I just clung onto my backpack.  People opened the doors and tried to jump inside while the traffic was hectic, music was blaring amid the usual noise for Freetown. 

We were dropped off on the East side and started walking straight away.  A guy tried to pickpocket Alan but we were aware of the pickpockets so I saw it coming and pushed him away.  Crazy, crazy Freetown!  Finally we were back at The Place and I was looking forward to a nice shower, but alas, there was no water.  After an ice cold beer, I went to get water.  Once again, I looked like the Michelin Man but this time, a yellow Michelin Man since my insect bites were festering. 

6 July.  Having a couple of beers the previous evening didn’t help, since I ended up having an anxiety attack.  Going to my favourite 500 year old tree trying to relax didn’t help as well.  I guess my moods were rubbing off on Alan so we both ended up sulking.  The rest of the day was spent trying to draw money to pay for our flight tickets back to Senegal.  We finally got a fancy ferry at 19H00 but with the fanciness came a lot of naughty spoiled kids, the first I noticed in West Africa.  Once at the airport, our travel agent guy waited patiently while I told potential porters to wait “small small”, which had everyone in stitches.  We got a taxi to the guesthouse and it turned out to be hectic with cars arriving at all hours.  I battled once again with anxiety attacks.  Poor Alan!

7 July.  After singing happy birthday to Alan, I burst into tears.  I’d hit rock bottom.  So, lying together on a double bed as we had done most of the past 90 days, I shared my fears with my best friend.  We celebrated his birthday by sharing the last of the coffee we had before our guide arrived to take us to the airport, where we discovered to our horror that the plane was on its way to Dakar and we only had a ticket to Banjul.  Needless to say, there was nothing we could do.  Once we landed in The Gambia, we got a taxi to Banjul, then the ferry to Bassa, a bus to the border, a horse cart through no man’s land to the Senegal border and then finally the taxi to Dakar.  It has been a 12 hour travelling ordeal with loads of mood swings.  But still, all was well in Africa

Of all the countries I visited, I loved Sierra Leone the most.  The energy was absolutely contagious. 

Guinea Bissau

5 June:  Our entry into Guinea Bissau was quite friendly and we were dropped off in Bissau, where a dilapidated bus waited forlornly. Communication was a slight obstacle and at first we thought all the transport has already left for the day. All of a sudden there was some shouting and we were escorted to the sad looking bus where a lot of pushing and shoving took place. Two guys were selling plastic hand fans on the bus. It was a premonition. 30 minutes later, people were pushed off the bus again, sweat dripping off everyone and the bus got jump started. We were finally on our way.

Jump starting the bus, this was going to be an interesting trip.
Several friendly police roadblocks followed where we didn’t understand a word being said, but we nodded our heads and smiled. Three hours later my feet started to burn. The next moment, smoke obscured our view. The bus screeched to a halt and with a lot of shouting and shoving, we all staggered to safer ground.
30 minutes later, the fire was extinguished and we were bumping along. The bumps turned out to be too much for the exhaust pipe, but a very relaxed driver stopped to replace it. In Gabu, our bus driver dropped us miles from the motor park on our map. I had been collecting rocks from all ten mountains but put up a brave face walking north past the startled locals to where we thought our hotel was.

After 1.5 km, we asked a local Rasta where the hotel was and he told us to follow him. He made a u-turn and 1.8 km further, he told us to take a seat in his friend’s room. Everyone was smoking Ganja. He explained he wanted us to make friends first before showing us the hotel. We declined his offer, raced out of the room and a taxi was called for us. The taxi took us almost to the exact spot we asked the local for the hotel, the Rasta and one of his friends joining us. It’s been a taxing day and communication was not going too good. The people spoke Portuguese. I was not expecting any running water and after sweating profusely on the bus drinking hot water, it was such a relief to find a shower.

6 June:  Because of the language, trying to find transport, turned into a 007 mission. A UN worker took pity on us and arranged a Toyota Land Cruiser to take us to the mountain. I had marked the place we wanted to go to on a map and an hour later, we were on our way to Lugajole, thanking our lucky stars. According to the driver, the road was sick and it would take us two days. Nine bumpy hours later, we were greeted by the Lugajole villagers. 10 Minutes later, we were back in the Land Cruiser heading to what I thought was a bush camp of sorts. 60 Minutes later, we were back in Lugajole, having visited a war memorial. I kept on showing the driver that we were still 16 km away from the peak. He smiled and pointed to the mountain he had just taken us to.

Just when I had made peace with the idea of entertaining the village children, thinking we would sleep in Lugajole before traveling further early the next morning, our bags were heaved onto the roof and we were told to get in. Four locals climbed in as well. Thinking we must be heading for a place closer to the peak, I developed a permanent grin on my face.

Some of the children in the village
15 Minutes later, the GPS indicated that we were going back to Beli. One of the locals confirmed my suspicion.  I tried what I thought sign language was for climbing the highest mountain in Guinea Bissau, but he just smiled and pointed to the one we have just been on.
Then I showed him the map and shouted "HALT!"

Alan gave me one of his famous glares. Then the realization of what was happening dawned upon him and he grabbed the steering wheel. 
The driver stopped and everyone jumped out, glaring at one another, fists in the air. Before any punches were thrown, a cyclist appeared.

The mountain gods were with us. He could speak a little English and 30 minutes later, we were all gathered around the 75 year old chief. He gave us his permission to go to the mountain as well as a room to sleep in and informed the cyclist to escort us to the mountain

The cyclist who could speak some English appeared 
out of nowhere,  just in time to avoid a fistfight
 The villagers were split in two with half of them on the sulking driver’s side. We have arranged with our very reluctant “guide” to start at 06h00.

7 June: It is 04h00 and I sneak outside to reflect back on my life. Today is my birthday but since I already thought I was 46, I figure God has given me another year.” I needed all the help I could get. As the crow flies, it was 20 km to the highest peak. We had a reluctant guide, an upset driver and only 5 liters of chlorinated water. I used the satellite phone to phone home, trying my best not to cry. 

Tired, hungry and feeling totally helpless with no clue
what tomorrow might bring
A visit to the chief followed at 7h00, and when he indicated that he was coming with us and that the driver must take us, we realized they still were under the impression that we wanted to go to the koppie behind the village. I almost popped a vein, but deep breaths, lots of sign language and the GPS did it. The chief signed that he couldn't walk 20 km, our driver told our guide to have us back by 11, and finally we were on our way. 

I was leading, almost running with our only clue the GPS coordinates. Taking 5km/h as an average walking time, I thought the guide was pushing his luck telling the driver he would have us back by 11h00. But communication had been an obstacle so I just walked faster. Five hours later, we entered a forest.                                                                    

Some serious bundu bashing followed since we only had
 the GPS coordinates to follow
With 200 m still to go, our guide refused to take another step. Alan and I leopard crawled through the last thorn bush, shedding more blood and at 13h00, we burst through the last bush, before stumbling onto a meadow with beautiful flowers. I had to shout! We forced ourselves to eat some of our rations before going down to Babu, officially now our translator since he did not guide us anywhere.
My GPS was low on batteries, our translator had abandoned us at a stage and the chance that our driver was still waiting for us was almost zero. The going down was slow and painful but we all had our sense of humour (our translator found his after we paid him handsomely and he realized we would not be back by 11).
More bundu bashing followed and 12 hours after we started our hike, all 3 of us limped into the village. Our driver had left. Asking for some water to have a wash with, we were given a shower. It was definitely one of the best showers in my life. Some anti-inflammatories were taken and I rubbed some deep heat on my blisters. All was well in Africa.

8 June: By 07h00, we were walking the 12 km to Bali, hoping that the two ladies we met along the way and followed were indeed going to Bali.

We had no clue if we were indeed going to Bali
Every step was torture, but I kept imagining myself on a motorbike and before long, we were in Bali, where our presence caused a lot of excitement. A translator was called for and we were informed that the motorbikes were 32 times the price we expected to pay. Alan said we will walk. I wanted to cry. I could not picture my feet lasting for another 40 km. After a lot of pleading (they must have seen me crying whilst limping), they accepted half the money they asked for. Alan was not a happy biker.

Alan in a foul mood - I think the drivers took pity on
 me after they saw me limping,
A heavenly, although bumpy 2 hours followed on the motorbike. Once in Cheche, we were told that the vehicle to Gabu had already left. I could just picture us sitting under a tree, enjoying the first 5 minutes of rain, and spending the rest of the day/evening trying to keep positive while picking green mangoes to eat and washing in the river. Suddenly someone shouted, we were told to get to the ferry and voila - a vehicle waited on the other side. My prayers had been answered. We left in a Land cruiser 90 minutes later and arrived in Gabu at 17h00. A 2km mentally challenging walk followed to the hotel, then the realization that there was no running water, but we could find water to drink and I could have a wash in 200ml water. We were both exhausted and kept falling asleep, waiting for the running water. At 23h00, I could hear the water and had the long awaited shower.
The last two km to the hotel. I was past tired. We only expected to hike
10 km and didn't take our boots. In the end, we hiked more than 60 km
with tekkies
I was past the crying stage when
 I saw the vultures waiting
Alan fell asleep waiting for some running water.
9 June: Alan said we'll walk but I insisted on taking a taxi to the taxi garage, Thank Goodness, because it turned out to be hidden 5 km away.  Our luggage was thoroughly searched twice in Guinea Bissau and then once again in Senegal.

SENEGAL TRANSIT
9 June: We arrived in Zigaunchor at 14h00. It felt as if my whole life was falling apart, and I could barely put on a brave face.  

THE GAMBIA TRANSIT
10 June: A 7 seater Peugeot got us back to Banjul, where we spend quite some time in the internet café before going for a walk on the beach, where we bumped into the coconut boys. They were busy with coconut tree planting. They had eaten two of their three coconuts and were trying to sell the third one to get tea.
11 June: I felt very lost and uncertain about our Liberian visa, flights to Sierra Leone etc.After visiting the travel agency, things changed dramatically. Two hours later, we were watching the opening of the World Cup Soccer in South Africa on the airport, our flight ready to leave for Sierra Leone.