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.