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.”