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.