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’íng 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.