We're Ghana Win The Cup!

Kumasi is the second largest city in Ghana, and the old capital of the Ashanti Kingdom, which was a nice enough place, but nothing really special. I walked around for a few days, but in all honesty I spent quite a few hours at a local bar, watching football as the World Cup has now started. One morning I got up early to catch some minibuses to the nearby Lake Bosumtwi, I arrived in a small village then had to walk for a few kilometres before I arrived at the guesthouse. This was a really nice quiet spot, and between world cup matches I walked around the hills and villages surrounding the crater lake. I did struggle to catch some of the games though due to poor reception, so when I met Quentin and Anna, a French/Swedish couple living in Ghana and found out they’d be driving back to Kumasi the next morning, I more than gladly accepted their kind offer of a lift.

Back in Kumasi, another full day of football awaited, and you might be able to see a pattern in how this blog will pan out for the next month or so. My next destination Cape Coast was a roughly five hours south, so I needed to get up early once more, in order to arrive before the first match of the day. Cape Coast is a really pretty and charming town with loads of colonial charm but also a sad history as this was once the largest slave trading port in West Africa. I have been here almost a week now, most days there are three World Cup games on, and I have now got it down to a pretty good routine of getting up early walking around, doing sightseeing between matches and enjoying a few beers throughout. Two of the main sights I visited were the castles of Cape Coast and nearby Elmina.

The first building on the sight of the Cape Coast Castle was actually a timber lodge built by the Swedish, but later converted into a much larger fort and castle by the Portuguese, Dutch and lastly the British. It is an impressive structure on the rugged coastline, but as mentioned it’s history is tragic as it’s main purpose was to hold thousands of slaves captive before their treacherous Atlantic crossing. Elmina Castle is located in the neighbouring town of Elmina, which is smaller but perhaps even more charming. The castle is the oldest European building in Sub Saharan Africa, built by the Portuguese in 1482, but later taken and expanded by the Dutch. Again it was so sad to take the tour, walking around unventilated dark rooms originally built to store gold, ivory and other goods, but converted to cramped dungeons for human cargo when that became the more profitable export. In other news I can tell you I have been robbed again, surprise, surprise! This time I was walking home late at night with a newly found friend when two guys jumped me, one of the held me from behind, with a knife to my throat whilst his friend emptied my pockets of the cash I had on me. I was terrified to move in case he slipped with his grip of his blade, but once they had run off I made the walk back to the hostel. The girl I was with said she couldn’t get home so late at night, and I knew there were empty dorm beds where I was staying, so she came back there to sleep.

Once we were back she started yelling and causing a scene, waking the other poor sleeping guests, I felt bad but she wouldn’t stop so I went to get a security guard and he helped me get her out of there. It was only much later I realised my small backpack was open, and my newly retrieved wad of 2000 Ghanaian Cedis (roughly $400) was gone. The more I think of the situation I’m pretty sure she was in on the first robbery as well, but there’s not much I can do and I can only be happy I wasn’t injured and that I only lost cash and not something harder to replace like my passport or credit cards.

So FaSo Good

Bobo-Dioulasso is the second largest city in Burkina Faso and I spent a few days exploring it and its surroundings. One surprising factor was that for the first time really since Morocco I experienced hustlers, trying to charge you to visit places and even to enter certain neighbourhoods. Whilst I can kind of understand this phenomenon in the Moroccan sights with hordes of tourists everywhere, it was strange to find it here, as I was the only tourist as far as I could tell. As a result I didn’t visit the old quarters or the Grand Mosque built out of mud, but I saw it from outside and it was under construction anyway. One day I visited the nearby village of Koro, where the adobe structures are all built up on a hill, but to be honest it wasn’t that interesting and once more there were people squeezing you for money.

I did have a couple of good nights out though and saw an interesting live concert, with the talented musicians playing traditional wooden instruments. The morning after I got on a bus taking me to the capital Ouagadougou. Since a very young age I have been interested in maps and world geography (rumour has it my first word was Reykjavík) and one of my all-time favourite capitals has to be Ouagadougou, it’s just such a wonderful name that rolls of your tongue, the kind of name that if it were made up in a fictional novel would probably be accused of being too racist. When I arrived, I once again found cheap refuge at a Christian location this time in connection with the large cathedral. That would probably be my top travel tip for budget accommodation in these parts of the world, as hostels don’t really exist the best choice is often these religious institutions usually located in good central locations, the only downside can be that they have early curfews and make you feel like a terrible person for arriving late and intoxicated.

In Ouagadougou I met up with Marcus, a friend of a friend from back home, who has been living here for almost a year now with his wife who works for the Swedish Embassy. Although the city didn’t have very much to offer it was a lot more developed than I had expected, Marcus was a great guide driving me around all the different parts and introducing me to his wife and some of his expat friends, as an extra bonus he also gave me five boxes of snus, so as you can imagine I was over the moon. On my last evening I met up briefly with Irene and David again before getting up early the next morning to catch the long bus south across the Ghanaian border all the way to the town of Kumasi. The journey and border crossings were hassle free, it took almost 20 hours though, and once I arrived in the wee hours of the morning it took a while to find a place that was open, but in the end I managed to find a cheap lodge to crash at.

Trainy Season

Whilst my Ghanaian visa was being finalised I decided to visit the nearby and more relaxed town of Grand Bassam by the beach. Maybe I’ve been spoilt by beaches lately but this didn’t quite measure up to the standards I have come to expect, the turbulent ocean made it unsafe for swimming and a lot of debris and trash had washed up on the sands, also the rainy season didn’t make matters better and the colonial part of town was quite dull. The most interesting part would be the lighthouse which was pretty but oddly far away from the coast. After a couple of days I could head back to Abidjan where my visa had been approved and the next morning I boarded the train heading through the entire country all the way north to Burkina Faso.

I do love travelling by rail and though I had expected the journey to be slow I hadn’t anticipated quite so many stops and for such long periods of time. People were stocking up on all kinds of fruits, vegetables and various other food products along the way, and soon the floor of the train was barely visible, meaning one had to sit with your knees almost up to your chin by the end of it. After roughly 26 hours I had passed through both immigrations, taking me into the first landlocked country of this trip and finally arrived in the small Burkinabé town of Banfora. I figured a couple more hours of travel wouldn’t hurt and decided to make my way to Sindou. However there was no transport until later in the evening, so I killed a few hours walking around in the sweaty markets with all of my luggage before I could squeeze into a minibus.

It was quite remarkable how pretty much the whole time since I Abidjan I had seen nothing but different shades of green forests and fields and then suddenly when we reached the small village of Sindou, these giant, brown, sandstone peaks jut straight out of the ground for miles on end. I watched the sunset, had a much needed shower and dinner before I could finally lay my head down at a cute “campement” with mud huts and open air showers. The following day I spent hours getting lost and climbing around the stunning rock formations and then a couple more hours trying to hitch a ride back to Banfora seeing as all official transport had left early in the morning. There was hardly any traffic, but eventually a car stopped and they agreed to take me for a reasonable fee.

The next morning I met up with Patrice, a Rastafarian guide who drove me on his scooter to the nearby Dômes de Fabedougou. These domes were similar to the Sindou Peaks, but smaller and rounder and not covering as large of an area, they did provide a nice view of the rice paddies and sugarcane fields below before we drove on to Karfiguéla Waterfalls. The cascades weren’t so powerful at the moment as rainy season hasn’t quite started yet up here, however it was nice to cool off in the natural pools. After this I decided to keep moving and to my surprise found a very fancy bus heading to Bobo-Dioulasso.

Ebony and Ivory

Harper turned out to be quite a pleasant small town. It is the capital of the Maryland County which at one point was actually an autonomous nation. Today however its former grandeur can be seen in places, but many of the old buildings have been abandoned after the devastating civil wars, the former Presidential Mansion is now home to squatters. We spent a few days walking around the quiet streets and beautiful surrounding beaches, and then I decided I wanted to cross over to the Ivory Coast hoping to make it to the embassies before the weekend, in order to start some visa applications. The border was very close to Harper but heavy rain had turned the dirt roads into muddy rivers. Unfortunately my only option of transport was a motorcycle and after over an hour of getting whipped by the weather conditions I arrived at the immigration office soaking wet and covered in mud splashes. Perhaps the officials took sympathy on my pathetic entrance as both sides of the border let me through without any complications.

Then began a frenzy of different slow transports, first a pirogue across the river, then into a shared taxi and then to a succession of minibuses, always having to barter hard over prices and then waiting for them to fill up before finally arriving in the small town of San Pedro. Once I arrived here, there didn’t seem to be too much on offer and when I heard there was a night bus going straight to Abidjan I decided that was my best bet. Early the following morning I arrived in the large city, I had no idea where I was going to stay but I told a taxi driver to take me to the neighbourhood of Cocody, solely because it is mentioned in a song by Ivorian reggae legend Alpha Blondy. To my surprise I managed to find a reasonably priced hotel, although all the other guests don’t seem as pleased with their rooms as none of the lovely couples that enter stay for longer than an hour. I was just happy to take a shower and get out of my muddy clothes after 24 hours on the road. Abidjan, though it isn’t officially the country’s capital city (this moved to Yamoussoukro in 1983) is by far the largest and almost all political institutions and foreign embassies are still located here.

Walking around it was sometimes hard to believe I was still in West Africa, tall skyscrapers dominate the skyline, fancy air-conditioned shopping malls are everywhere and when my eyes spotted the familiar Burger King logo I couldn’t resist the expensive splurge and temptation of a Double Whopper Meal. After a couple of days Irene and David caught up, and we have been hanging out and walking around the different parts of the city. As with many other “capitals” a lot of my time has been designated to applying for visas and waiting for them to be processed, my visa for Burkina Faso was granted and now I am waiting for the result of my Ghanaian application, which will hopefully be more fruitful than my previous attempt in Freetown.

MonRover

As soon as I arrived at St Teresa’s Convent, which would be my home in downtown Monrovia, I bumped into Irene. Irene is a Spanish girl, and together with her American boyfriend David, they are pretty much the only other long term travelers I have encountered on my whole trip, having met them once before in the Guinean highlands. David had had to attend to some business back home in Cairo, but the following day he returned to sub Saharan Africa and for the next few days the three of us explored Monrovia and its surroundings. The first thing we all needed to attend to was applying for Ivorian visas and once that was processing we were free to see what else was on offer. Monrovia is probably the most developed city I've seen since leaving Morocco, clearly influenced by its liberated American slaves with large fancy car dealers, furniture shops and supermarkets lining the broad avenues whilst huge gated compounds protect the wealthier population from the not so fortunate. We visited the abandoned Hotel Ducor, which was one of Africa’s finest hotels a few decades ago, but now a nine story skeleton stands in its place with all the rooms plundered, the rooftop still offers some great views of the city though.

Another day we travelled to the nearby town of Harbel, to visit the Firestone Rubber Plantation, which at an alleged 1 million acres is the world’s largest and in its heyday provided 80% of the planet’s rubber. It was interesting to see how such a massive company still seems to be working on small scale, collecting the white latex sap by hand and carrying it in plastic buckets to wherever it gets processed. Monrovia was a nice enough city, with quite a vibrant nightlife, but also a much divided city between rich and poor, giving some areas a very sketchy feeling. Also I don’t feel as bad about my linguistic skills in the French and Portuguese speaking countries before this, as here I can really struggle with the Liberian English and at times it can be near unintelligible to my ears.

Once our visas were processed, we decided to leave the big smoke and head east along the coast. We made it to the port town of Buchanan and searched for a cheap place to stay, what we didn’t know was that former football star and current Liberian president, George Weah, had also decided to visit town. After finding no room at most Inns we finally managed to find a reasonable place, watched the presidential motorcade, had a nice fish dinner and beers in the sunset and then called it a night as we would be getting up early the next day. Our goal was to eventually reach The Ivory Coast, but we opted to take the less travelled route along the coast, hoping to stop off and visit some small beach towns on the way. Being a less travelled route though, meant that the transportation prices were higher, so we decided to try to hitchhike. In my experience there really isn’t such a thing as hitchhiking in Africa, as no matter what transport you get, you will usually have to pay, but we were hoping it would be considerably less than what we were quoted by share taxis. It turned out to be a very long day, not helped by the fact that the rain had really decided to make its presence known. Since starting this trip, rainy season has been a concern as it can make travel very difficult in these parts, many of the dirt roads I’ve taken so far would have been impassible once the wet season arrives.

In the end, the three of us had to split to increase our chances, I managed to get a seat first with some road constructors, then a group of illegal gold miners followed by some local workers for a German NGO, and finally I reached the goal of Greenville late at night. It had taken me nearly 15 hours to cover the 208 kilometres, but to my pleasant surprise only one out of the three transports had asked me for money. Irene and David weren’t quite as lucky, but they arrived the following evening after having camped at the junction where we separated. The next morning we were lucky to find a driver who was willing to take us all the way to Harper at a fair price, and after almost 8 hours on the dirt roads we arrived there safely.

Sour Leone

The doctors gave me the all clear to keep travelling after another visit and some more IVs, so I started making my way to the Liberian border. Originally I had planned to visit some more national parks in Sierra Leone, but all the medication was making me feel very weak and I didn’t feel like hiking was on the cards. The drive to the border again took longer than expected, first I had to wait for more than three hours for the 4x4 to fill up so by the time we reached the border town of Jendema it was getting late. There was a United game on that evening, and not wanting to miss it I decided to spend the night rather than keep travelling. Border towns are not usually great places, and Jendema was no exception, a lot of shady money changers and motorcycle trying to rip you off, but I found a cheap guesthouse watched the boring 0-0 game and then walked to the immigration office the following morning. I had heard bad stories about this frontier and I soon found out why. I got into an office with the very rude officer, who refused to give me his name but I gathered it was Mr. Kamara. Nobody wore uniforms or badges here, giving it a very unofficial feel. Mr. Kamara told me my visa wasn’t the right kind, and that I would have to pay 100 US dollars before I could walk out of his door. This was of course not true, but he pointed to a note on his wall that he had printed off as proof. There was a lot of arguing, all I wanted to do was leave the country and I really had to bite my lip to try and stay polite, but my blood was boiling on the inside. Eventually he agreed to “help me” and I got the price down to 150 000 Leones which is roughly $20. Then I had to go to the health inspector Mr. Clifford, and to no surprise he claimed that my yellow vaccination book was incomplete as I didn’t have a cholera stamp. Once again I knew this was bullshit, but in that environment you are very vulnerable, with him holding on to my documents and an armed guard watching over my every move. He said my options were to go back to the nearest hospital a few hours away, get the vaccine then wait ten days for that to be confirmed, plus I’d need to pay for a new Sierra Leonean visa as Mr. Kamara had stamped me out, or I could give him some small money and he would wave me through.

I hated doing it, but I gave him a ten dollar note, and I was out of Sierra Leone with a sour taste in my mouth after having loved the country for my entire stay, these corrupt and cowardly men had ruined it. On the Liberian side, I had no problems at all and after getting a shared taxi and a motorbike I arrived in Robertsport. I walked around looking for a place to stay, but the limited options were all overpriced and not quite in my budget range. Then I met Kadala, an 18 year old boy who lived in town with his grandfather, he said they had a spare room with a mattress and that I could stay there. I gladly accepted his generous offer and we made our way to his house.

Robertsport is a small fishing town with Lake Piso and green mountains on one side and some wonderful beaches with nice surf breaks on the other. I stayed for two nights, constantly with Kadala and his 15 year old friend Ibrahim in tow, which although it might sound ungrateful got kind of tiring after a while as I am used to being alone and having more freedom to do what I want. So early on Sunday morning I gave Kadala some money to show my appreciation and got a shared taxi towards the country’s capital Monrovia.

Beached As

After several different modes of transport I made it from Freetown to Kent, where a boat was waiting to take me to Banana Island. This was a very small island just off the peninsular coast, which was a nice break from the hectic Freetownian life. I spent two days relaxing, walking through the dense jungle and viewing some old relics from colonial and slave trading times. The beaches however weren’t quite up to my spoilt high standards from Sierra Leone and being on an island I felt almost trapped at the guesthouse which didn’t want you leaving their grounds without paying for tours or their accompaniment, so I decided to head back to the mainland and made it to Bureh Beach.

This was more my cup of tea, perfect yellow sand beaches against the backdrop of the green mountains, blue waters with waves attracting a surfing crowd all set next to a small laid back village. Over the weekend, it was flooded with NGO workers from around the country, which created a bit of a party but was once again relaxed when they headed back to their jobs. I could have really stayed here for a lot longer, but I also feel I need to keep moving as there are still many places I want to visit on this trip. So once more I packed my bags and got some uncomfortable rides to Sierra Leone’s second largest city, Bo.

Bo seemingly doesn’t have too much to offer, a large town full of honking motorcycle madness, but it is where I am currently resting. After not feeling great for a while, I finally decided to visit a clinic in Bo and see if there was anything wrong with me. Of course there was as the test results showed I had been reacquainted with my old African friend Typhoid. The Egyptian Doctor, used the words heavy and severe to explain how obvious the results were, then hooked me up to some intravenous drips and prescribed enough pills to kill a small hippo. It’s hard to know how long I’ve had Typhoid, as pretty much every meal I’ve had in Africa is a potential culprit, but going on my bad luck in Guinea I have a sneaky suspicion I may have contracted it there. Tomorrow morning I will go back to the clinic and then hopefully be allowed to keep travelling, taking antibiotics for the next two weeks and also avoiding spicy or fatty food, a task that may prove difficult as everything here is full of chili peppers and dripping with palm oil.

In Footwear Related News: The life of my Freetownian flip flops was short-lived as I misplaced them at a beach party in Bureh, perhaps subconsciously on purpose as I really didn’t like them and they had already given me blisters. A new pair has been purchased in Bo, which I already like better so we will see how long they last.

Home Salone

After a week at the AirBnb, I moved out and found an incredibly cheap guesthouse. This was probably one of the dirtiest holes I have ever stayed in, windows were missing, the shared bathroom was beyond filthy, but the owner was friendly and paying just a third of the next cheapest accommodation I could find, I couldn’t really complain. Since last writing, I have mostly just been hanging out, celebrating Sierra Leone’s Independence Day, visiting nearby postcard perfect beaches and enjoying what is quickly becoming one of my favourite cities. Then one night I had a minor setback, coming home on a motorcycle taxi, the driver suddenly turned off the main road and took me into some dodgy neighbourhood, he brought out a knife and told me to give him everything. And everything is pretty much what he got, my phone, the cash I had on me including my secret stash inside a toilet roll, the toilet roll and then worst of all he told me to take off my Havaianas. I pleaded to at least spare my trusty flipflops but he was having none of it, and left me standing there barefoot with no way to get home. I started walking the long walk back, but when I was back on the big road, a taxi driver took pity on my sorry appearance and after hearing what had happened he drove me home, free of charge.

This hasn’t really tainted my view of Freetown, I still love it, but it did mean I stayed a bit longer than planned, buying a new phone and finally settling for a pair of cheap slippers, although they are nowhere near the standards of the Brazilian brand. Another setback was that my visa application for Ghana was denied, I still have a few countries to get through before I reach there, so hopefully I can resolve that issue at another embassy in the future. My visa for Liberia however was granted and it is time for me to leave Freetown after spending more than a fortnight here. Tomorrow morning I will make my way east, hopefully stopping off at some more beaches, national parks and towns in beautiful “Salone.”

No Such Thing As A Free Town

In Outamba-Kilimi they had some very basic accommodation in thatched huts with no electricity or water, but it was perfect for unwinding. I was the only person staying in the National Park and I spent my time kayaking to see the hippos, walking around in search of troops of monkeys or simply relaxing and swimming in the river. After a couple of nights I got bored of my own company though, and through a mixture of vehicles I could reach the Sierra Leonean capital of Freetown. This location was once a major port for slave trade, but later when the British abolished slavery it became a settlement for freed slaves, hence the name Freetown.

It’s funny how you can straight away get a good or a bad vibe about a place, but as soon as I stepped out of the cramped minibus I loved it. It was dirty, hot and chaotic, motorcycles, cars and tricycles whizzing in every direction but it was great and people were really friendly right from the start, helping this bewildered white man. I made my way to the local YMCA, and though it was clean and nice it wasn’t quite as much fun as The Village People had made it out to be plus it was a little bit pricey, so I decided to check out after two nights. Knowing that I would want to stay in this city for a while I managed to get quite a good deal through AirBnb, and rented a room for a week. One reason I needed to stay, was to once more arrange visas for onward travel, but really I just loved everything about the place. The crazy mix of archictecture, old colonial buildings stand side by side with modern ugly structures and adorable two or three story ramshackle cottages, a colourful patchwork of brick, wooden planks and corrugated tin, some houses seem to be defying gravity just by staying upright.

Then you have the location, based on series of lush green hills overlooking the ocean and it’sbeaches, even Lumley Beach which is located in the city is surprisingly clean and empty and if you venture just a few kilometres outside of town you have beautiful stretches of sand all to yourself. Most of all though my favourite feature is probably the people, Freetownians are very kind and helpful, also they don’t mind a drink which is always a positive in my book.

One day I visited the Tacugama Chimpanzee Sanctuary, located just outside of the city, on one of the many hills, it is amazing how tranquil andquiet it is. I went on a tour and was just as fascinated by our closest relatives as all my previous encounters with them, they are just such wonderful creatures and this sanctuary does a great job rescuing them from deforestation and more shockingly the bush-meat trade. I have now been in Freetown for more than a week and will probably stay to get one more weekend before heading to new destinations.

Guinea A Break!

After my time in the capital I decided to move to a more quiet location, and got a seat in a “neuf-place.” After many sweaty hours we arrived in Mamou where I experienced the first rain since Morocco. As I got out of the car, it was pouring down and my small backpack which contains all my electronics was getting drenched, so I grabbed it and rushed across the road to find some shelter. I didn’t look both ways, and just as I turned my head a motorcycle was coming at full speed down the wrong lane. The driver managed to slam his brakes and swerve, but still came crashing right in to me at high speed, knocking me out of my flip-flops to the ground, my backpack flying in front of me. People rushed to my help, but I got up with just a few tiny scratches and a slight pain in my hip where the bike had hit me. I was more concerned where my Havaianas had ended up, but someone soon located them. The driver was slightly worse off, as he had gone skidding for some distance, but he was fine and his motorbike albeit scratched still worked. I felt quite bad, because I feel I was more in the wrong for not looking properly, but we both apologised, and people were saying how miraculous it was that we had got off so lightly and that god was watching over us. Then I had to find another car, squeeze my aching body into it, before getting to Dalaba where I reluctantly had to get on a motorcycle taxi to get to my guesthouse.

Dalaba was a really small and peaceful town in the Guinean highlands, I spent a few nights here walking around the lush, green mountains, visiting the nearby Ditinn waterfall before heading further north to the town of Pita. This was only a slightly larger town, but still very quiet, and I did more of the same exploring. One day I got a motorcycle driver called Alpha Ousman to drive me around, first visiting another stunning set of waterfalls, called Kambadaga, where we were the only visitors. It’s strange to think, how these magnificent natural wonders are empty of tourists, foreign or local, as an example Alpha Ousman has lived his entire 23 year old life in Pita, yet never before visited these waterfalls located only 20 kilometres from his home, and he works as a driver!

After this we drove towards Kinkon falls, but the military had set up a roadblock and after viewing my documents they wanted a fee for us to visit. It was only the equivalent of $3, but they wouldn’t give me a ticket or receipt, and I refused to lace these corrupt official pockets with any more money so we simply turned around without seeing these falls. This was the last drop I needed from Guinea, so the following morning I got up early and decided to head for the border with Sierra Leone. My transport dropped me off at a crossroads towards Medina Oula and at once I regretted my choice. There was not much here apart from a few motorcycle drivers, and realising their monopoly, they were quoting some rather high prices to get me to the border, where I knew I would once more be stuck in the same situation. I was kicking myself for always choosing these tiny borders, just because I hate going back on myself and it looks nicer as a route, because it rarely saves me any time or money. Then I saw a vehicle turn in on the small road, and I realised it had Sierra Leonean licence plates, so I picked my bags up and ran after it. The driver, Kandé, stopped and he was indeed from Sierra Leone, heading almost the whole way to where I wanted to go for the night.

Finally my luck seemed to be turning. The following drive was like a scene out of “Blood Diamond” as he raced his 4x4 with a cracked windshield, bouncing down the incredibly bumpy dirt track, until we got stuck, one of the wheels firmly lodged in a crevasse. After some time we managed to get loose, and made our way past some military checkpoints, where I noticed Kandé slipping the soldiers some bills, then passed the two border controls and made it to Fintonia in one piece. This was Kandé’s home village and he asked me for a minimal amount of money, which I was more than happy to give him, then he arranged for a motorcycle driver to take me to my final destination, Outamba-Kilimi National Park.

A Tale Of Two Guineas

In the morning ze Germans headed for the bus station while I went back to the Bissau harbour which I feel like I know pretty well by now. Once more I had to sit around for hours before my canoa finally filled up and left. This time my destination was Bolama, the first capital of Portuguese Guinea, which is a small island a few hours from the mainland. Most of the old Portuguese buildings have been abandoned and the village has built up further inland leaving a ghost town of ruins and crumbling colonial architecture. The feeling is made even eerier by the thousands and thousands of fruit bats that darken the sky, apparently they are a local delicacy but I was never offered any.

The day I arrived also happened to be my birthday, but as it was a Tuesday, on an island with a population of ten thousand people and none of them knew me I figured it would just be a quiet night, how wrong I turned out to be. As every former Portuguese colony I’ve been to, Guinea Bissau has a huge export of cashews, and on Bolama, cashew season had just started. Although I am allergic to the nut I can eat the fruit and more importantly I can drink the wine made from it, which was being sold at 200 CFA (roughly 35 US cents) a litre. I made some local friends, drank the night away and before I knew it we were at the islands discoteca. That night turned out to be a dance show, but not any dance show, the three stars were all cross dressing men with some serious talent. It really warmed my heart to see the entire village paying to see these performers as homosexuality is usually very taboo in Africa and often illegal, in some cases punishable by death, but here in Guinea Bissau it seemed to very accepted and made for a very memorable birthday. I stayed one more day and then crossed over to the mainland village of São João, where I could catch a series of pickup trucks, on very bumpy dirt roads getting whipped in the face by overhanging branches and then a minibus before I finally reached Saltinho.

Straight away before I had even checked in to my hotel I saw a familiar tent, and there were Stefan and Albert once more. Saltinho was a beautiful relaxed spot, next to a river with some small cascades, we had one final farewell night and the following morning I made for the border with Guinea.

The journey was a lot longer than it looked on the map, I first got a minibus, then sat on the back of a motorcycle for five hours, sorting out the usual immigration issues and a few military checkpoints before reaching Boké. Here I noticed that not only had the language and currency changed, also the “sept place” had turned into a “neuf place.” It was the same old beaten up French car, just now they squeezed in two extra people, making the next part of my journey very cramped. We got stuck at a river for about three hours, because although they have built a series of bridges to cross it, it can only take vehicles in one direction, creating a very long queue on both sides. After then getting a shared taxi, I finally arrived in the downtown area of the Guinean capital Conakry just before midnight, about 15 hours after setting off that morning. I found a cheap place to stay at the Catholic Mission, took a quick shower and then got some much needed sleep. The following day I was really welcomed to the city, I had just withdrawn some money and was doing my usual aimless wandering when I heard a voice shouting. I turned around to see a furious soldier and realised it was of course me he was shouting at.

He told me that the road was closed, I looked around and saw loads of other people walking on this so called closed road, but apologised for my mistake and turned to go back to the way I had come. He said no you have to come with me, and guided me to a military tent, here four other uniformed men were sitting and they told me to show them my documents. Luckily I thought, I had them all on me and showed them proudly. They saw my moneybelt and told me to show them the contents. There was the huge wad of cash I had just withdrawn, plus an envelope with US dollars. They told me I was a suspect of terrorism, because I had been walking towards the presidential palace. I explained in my poor French, that I was very sorry, but I had just arrived and didn’t know any better. Then they told me to empty my pockets, where I had a box containing one of my Swedish snus pouches. I explained it was just tobacco, and explained the Swedish writing, but the evil eyes of the soldier just lit up. He told me this was highly illegal and classed on the same level of narcotics as cocaine and now not only was I a potential terrorist but also a drug smuggler. They were going to have to call their bosses and the police to take me to prison, unless I would be willing to maybe part with some “small money.” Usually I would have called their bluff, but the fact that I had so much money on me, which would simply disappear if it was taken into custody combined with the fact that I didn’t want to miss the Manchester derby which would kick-off in a short while, made me consider my options. They hinted towards my moneybelt, and said $200 should do it. I put my head in my hands, and pretended to almost start crying, I explained this really wasn’t “small money” to me, which was hard considering they knew the contents of my pouch. After about 30 minutes of negotiating in broad daylight with people still passing by on the “closed street” I managed to get them down to 200 000 Guinean Francs (roughly $22) they handed me back my passport and snus and I rushed home, happy I had gotten off lightly but shaking with anger and adrenaline. I decided to not let this get me down, stashed most of my cash at home and went straight back out to watch a brilliant game of football. The first half was terrible, but in the second United pulled off an incredible comeback to beat City 3-2 with Paul Pogba in particularly amazing form, coincidentally or not he happens to be of Guinean descent. The next day I got a pirogue with my newfound friend Joseph, a very strong man who has lost the use of one leg due to Polio, to the beautiful island of Kassa just off the coast. We spent a day walking around the small village and beautiful beaches, just the relaxation I needed after the previous day's drama.

Then one day I visited an acrobatic centre where for free you can watch the incredible acrobats, dancers, drummers, jugglers and contortionists as they practice their routines. There really was so much going on I didn’t know where to look, but I spent almost four hours there mesmerised by their talents. Conakry as a city really isn’t picturesque at all, big, crowded and dirty, which although I’m sure may have it’s charm, will always be the place where I had to pay my first bribe, and after that first day I never felt really comfortable with the huge military presence, trying to avoid the men in camouflage at all costs.

Bissau-y Bee

Say what you want about Portuguese colonisation, but they really had a knack for picking out stunning coastlines. Varela was a tiny village with not very much to do, but the beach was beautiful, very clean and completely empty of people. The Harmattan haze still haunted me slightly so I stayed for two nights, and then had to get up at 4 AM to catch the only minibus out of town. This took me over some dirt roads in terrible condition to Sao Domingos, close to the Senegalese border, so I decided to get a motorcycle to the immigration police and explain my issue. It was surprisingly easy to resolve, my short time as a fugitive was over and I could travel at ease to the capital of Bissau. I found a really crappy hotel in the old town, and wandered around the charming, crumbling colonial quarters that evening.

When I found out there was a boat leaving the following morning I decided to make my stay short and got up bright and early to secure my spot. I was told to be there at 8 AM to make the 9 o clock departure, but this kept being postponed and at 11:30 I was told that the trip was cancelled, another captain approached me and said he would have a boat leaving at 2 PM, so I changed my ticket and sat in the sun for another couple of hours. At half past two, this captain told me his boat wouldn’t be leaving either, there just weren’t enough passengers. They say the most important thing to bring when travelling in Africa is your patience, and although it’s a cliché, I couldn’t help but think how true this was, nobody else seemed angry that they had wasted their whole day in the scorching heat, so I decided to take it for what it was and enjoy the fact that I would have one more evening and night to explore Bissau.

The morning after, a massive group of people were waiting at the docks, all wanting to go to the island of Bubaque. Even if only ten percent of the population is Christian, Easter is still a big holiday here and for the whole weekend there would be a big festival on the island. I had opted for the local canoa seeing as the price of the ferry was more than quadruple the price for foreigners. These large wooden motorised canoes crammed in hundreds of people, all of their luggage plus the entire cast of Old MacDonald’s farm. It was a very uncomfortable ride, but the scenery of the Bijagos archipelago and calm waters made it all worth it. Bubaque town was very small and cute but I was concerned how I would find accommodation with the hordes of local tourists flooding to the island. I had no reason to be worried as within minutes I had been offered several options and at a very affordable price I chose a guesthouse close to the port. Later I bumped into Stefan and Albert, two German guys I had met in Varela, and for the next three days we enjoyed the Easter celebrations with the local crowd and a few other foreign tourists. There was a lot of drinking but the island also had some amazing beaches and we all had a great time.

On Easter Monday we knew that a lot of people would be leaving, and not wanting to get stuck on the island, we decided to get up before sunrise and get a ticket returning to Bissau. Once more our patience was put to the test, and after we saw the two large ferries leave, our canoa was still not moving. We were told that it wouldn’t leave until the next day, but now people were not as content and patient, as they had jobs to go back to and after a lot of loud arguing and protests we were moved to a smaller boat and could get back to the capital before sunset. We found a nice guesthouse, had some food and a couple of beers and got some sleep as we were heading in different directions early the next morning.


In footwear related news:
No trip is complete without a flip-flop incident and sadly I have to let you all know that my trusty companions were stolen one day in Bubaque whilst we were playing football on the beach. They have served me well since I had them custom made and designed in the Havainas shop in Bali more than two years and though it was heartbreaking to part with them, I can only hope they will serve someone in more need. However all is not lost, having learnt from my previous trips, I asked my brother to buy me a pair when he was in Thailand, so I had backup and now we will see how they hold up.

Man On The Run

Back in Kololi I made myself at home at Aisa’s guesthouse once more, went to my local bar and met up with Diego. Here we also met Claire, a Dutch girl and it was nice to hang out with tourists around my own age, quite the rarity in these parts. I had decided I would only stay two nights as I really had to keep moving because my future visas had already started to be valid. On our second night, we were barhopping when Claire realised her wallet was gone, we reacted quickly and went back to the previous bar where one guy had been particularly affectious. We found him, and then chaos ensued as a large group of people gathered around. One of the barmen appeared to be holding the purse under his shirt, but he didn’t want to hand it over until the police were at the scene, there was a lot of pushing and yelling and finally the police arrived, slapping the young thief, who claimed he had found the wallet, then dragging him into a bathroom for interrogation. It was clear he had stolen it, but I couldn’t help but feel for the kid, although part of me also felt he did deserve some punishment. Claire and Diego went to the police station, whilst I waited at a bar with Alpha, a young French guy who was living and working in The Gambia. Eventually the others returned and though it was late we decided we needed to keep the night going and have a good final night, which we did. When I woke up the following morning, I had decided to head towards the southern border with Senegal. There was a strange fog in the air, which I later found out to be The Harmattan Haze, not actually fog but a large sand cloud which the winds had brought from The Sahara, leaving the sky in a greyish brown mist of dust, blocking out the sun and creating a very dry heat. This weather phenomenon is common at this time of year, and covered large parts of West Africa for about a week. I got a series of different vehicles, sadly saying farewell to The Gambia and finally reaching the Senegalese town of Ziguinchor. This is the capital of The Casamance region, but it wasn’t a very nice town, very dirty and with the Harmattan sky it felt even duller, so after one night I decided to head towards the coast and got to Cap Skirring. Here I found a cheap guest house, but although it was a very nice beach it felt pointless spending time here without being able to see the sun, so after just two nights I kept on moving.

According to my guidebook and the online maps I could find I would have to go back to Ziguinchor for the border post at Sao Domingos, but it felt unnecessary seeing as I was very close to the Guinea Bissauan border. After consulting some people I found out it was possible to cross over just south, but it wasn’t going to be an easy journey. Concerned for my safety and the availability of local transport, my guesthouse arranged for one of their staff, Sili, to drive me on his motorcycle to Varela on the other side of the border. I am happy they did, as we saw almost nobody on the road, it was a tough drive and I had get off and walk large portions of it when the sand got too deep to maneuver the bike.

At one point we had to cross a river, and we simply lifted the bike onto a pirogue and kept on driving on the other side. It was somewhere around this point I realised why this border crossing wasn’t mentioned anywhere, at no point was I asked for my passport and I understood I had now entered into Guinea Bissau illegally, had I known it was this simple I may not have bothered with arranging the visa. All jokes aside, I knew I would have to look into resolving this issue at a later stage in the country. We reached the tiny village of Varela, I paid Sili a very reasonable fee, especially considering he now had to drive all the way back to Cap Skirring.

Up A Lazy River

One morning I finally managed to make it out of Kololi, after spending over a week relaxing by the beach. I had to go back through Banjul and once more get the chaotic ferry to Barra where I could get a seat on a minibus and finally get to Juffureh. This tiny village shot to fame after American author Alex Haley traced his ancestry back to here, and wrote the novel “Roots” which was made into a hugely popular television series. I arrived late in the afternoon when no more tourists were around and found a cheap and basic guesthouse. That day nursery schools from around the area happened to be having their annual sports-day, and I was lucky to catch the last few hours of the adorable event. The following morning I managed to get a cheap pirogue ride out to Kunta Kinteh Island.

Situated in the middle of the Gambia River this used to be called St James Island, and was another sad testament to the European slave trade, with a crumbling fort and some baobab trees all that was left to show for it. I also visited the small museum in town and played a highly competitive game of football with the village children, leaving my bare feet in blisters. After two nights of getting to know the community I decided to keep moving and got up before the crack of dawn to catch a minibus, once more back to Barra where I could get another one to Janjanbureh. With it’s strategic location in the centre of the country on McCarthy island, this town which used to be called George Town, was once planned to be the country’s capital, but the river was too shallow to accommodate the larger ships that started being constructed and the plans were scrapped. Now it’s a very sleepy town without much to see, but I met the captain of one of the river boats, and as he already had a tour group coming the next day, he let me join for a fraction of the price.

There is something oddly romantic about travelling on a river, the peacefulness takes over. No sound except the birds on the shore and the gentle hum of the engine as you glide slowly through the waters, rivers really are one of favourite environments wherever I am in the world. My main reason for joining this whole day excursion was to see Baboon Island, which despite it’s name is famous for being home to another primate, my favourite animal, the chimpanzee. The chimps on the islands have been rescued by The Chimpanzee Rehabilitation Project which started in 1978, and now more than a hundred of the apes live here. No humans are allowed on the islands (including staff) but they do still rely on being fed, so you can usually see them come out to the shoreline. Just as we were cruising by, and we could hear some noises in the bushes, disaster struck. There was only one other boat on the river, but our captain (who may or may not have been smoking a lot of marijuana that day) somehow didn’t see him, we were headed for a full on collision but at the last second the other boat managed to just steer clear, we narrowly avoided their hull but did hit their small boat which was being towed behind. The rope towing it snapped off and the smaller boat started sinking, some of the guys managed to grab hold of the rope and just about keep the boat from sinking completely. Finally they managed to flip it over and empty it, and strangely no damage seemed to have been done to either of the vehicles, although there was a lot of screaming and unhappy people on both sides.

I was sure this commotion would have scared all the animals away, but once we got back on track, a couple of curious chimps had come to see what was going on, which was a great sight. On the way back home, we also saw some hippos as the sun was setting and it was a great ending to a very good day out. The following morning I had planned on travelling south to Senegal, but when I heard Diego, a Belgian guy I met in Palmarin, was in Kololi, I decided to flip a coin and it landed on me travelling the south bank and returning to the beach once more.