7th February 2013

Guinea is crackers!

This is the maddest place we have ever been to. Every time we arrive in a place that brings out this remark, we come to another place that moves to even greater heights.

But first.

Sanatorium, God’s bridge and Miriam Makeba!

After another moderately difficult, but generally pleasant drive, that is other than for the driver of the artic which was completely overturned in a deep gully, which had happened during the night and the driver was calmly sitting on a blanket eating some food. The road was winding mountain tracks with a treacherous surface but stunningly beautiful. This is a busy road populated mostly by the transport mainstay of West Africa, the ubiquitous Peugeot ‘taxi’.  It seems to me that this carmaker should be enormously proud of their contribution to the matter of keeping Africa moving. I am really not kidding, these ancient cars, mostly around 20- 30 years old, ply these difficult roads day and night, carrying truly monster payloads. Typically they will carry between 6 and 10 people, depending on whether it is an estate or just a saloon. They then carry a load of goods and luggage on the roof. Often this roof load is huge. (I am sorry but I am running out of superlatives.) All manner of goods from loud coloured plastic buckets, agricultural equipment to livestock.  I have seen ten goats and several chickens in addition to all the goods that the nine passengers have bought at the market. These cars have reinforced springs which help them to charge along these terrible roads at breakneck speeds. Often with the bumper(if it has one) all but dragging on the ground amid huge clouds of bright red dust.  Oh I almost forgot, they will generally have 2 or 3 passengers calmly clinging to the roof . This is how people and goods are generally transported around this region by hardworking and seriously skillfull drivers.

Not too top heavy!

We have many times found ourselves using all our abilities to negotiate these roads and feeling rightly proud of our efforts and considering what an excellent choice of vehicle we have to take us on our mammoth journey. These thoughts will be interrupted suddenly by a Peugeot streaming past us in a cloud of red dust bouncing along with its massive load of humanity and essential goods. This will invariably followed by another one. These drivers keep Africa functioning! Mr Peugeot should also be very proud.

Garden of the SiB hotel

Anyway, back to our next stop, we entered the town of Delabar heading for the big hotel, which was so popular with the French in the old colonial days. The hotel is built on the sight of a location considered by the French to be both beautiful and health giving. The hotel setting is lovely. There was an old Sanitorium not far from the hotel, now derelict.

Looking down the waterfall

Many surprises here, we were able to visit some beauty spots nearby with the help of a guide. We were taken to an old botanical garden, where plants were brought from Europe to Guinea as an experiment to see how well they thrive. The garden just about survives, surrounded by a forest of pine trees – very European!

                         
                   Traditional carved mud floor that withstood time

We went to the place where the regional chiefs met in the early 50s to decide on demanding independence from the French. Now in very poor condition this traditional meeting hall is impressive with a carved mud floor.  It is as hard as concrete and bears a beautiful geometric pattern.  It seems an odd kind of pity that Guinee which struggles to feed its people also has hard choices to make about maintaining its heritage. Despite the best efforts of UNESCO there is little money here for heritage.

On to Gods bridge, which is a complex of small but lovely waterfalls with a natural stone bridge which passes over it. Followed by a short visit to a traditional village where we met a few people just doing their thing. That was nice.

For me there was a high spot however and it is this:

Ever since, the early 60s I have had a great interest in the music on the so called ‘Protest movement’ and the Civil rights movement in the USA. One of the most significant characters of that time was a woman who was exiled from aparthied South Africa, settled in America but who was eventually so unsettled by the lack of progress in the way that black people are regarded in America that she then exiled herself from the US.

Miriam Makeba came first to Guinee for a few years before settling in Mali until her death about 2 years ago. She left a legacy of music and peaceful political agitation which will continue. 

We were privileged to be allowed to visit her home in the grounds of the hotel, and met with local people whose lives were touched by her. The house remains as it was left about ten years ago. It is a beautiful, though never ostentatious house with a living area that was clearly built for music with a vaulted acoustic ceiling. There were pictures on the wall and books on the shelves.

Yes it is really true, I was allowed to visit an empty almost derelict house and fell quite privileged!

We had to make our way to Conakry, the capital, so that we can seek visa for the countries on our new route plan. On the way, we passed through the city of Kindia. As we entered the city, we made a stop to see if we can get some cash from an ATM. Ping went to get the dosh while I stayed in the van. I was parked in a frantically busy market place. Thousands of people were dodging around cars and trucks passing this way and that. I watched the myriad of motorcycles, whizzing in and out and around the cows, goats, the occasional chicken, street vendors, pedestrians,  and young children wandering around without supervision. I sat there for about 20 minutes and came to the conclusion that this was the maddest place I have ever been in it was really crackers!

Looks, calm, neat and orderly ..............not!

Needless to say that Ping couldn’t get the cash, as the machine had run out of notes. Ah well!

Our Belgian chums had info on a good hotel and off we went to search for this hotel. We gathered from information from local people that the latest news was that the hotel had been burnt down. So we went to see the very few others that are scattered around an army base in a very poor part of town. We found one in an obscure little corner, it was quite a tidy place though rather oddly all the trees in the ground had all been felled and the place appeared deserted. It was some 15 or 20 minutes before we found someone who firmly said we could not camp there. This was a bit odd, but the last place on the list was even more so. It was a hotel which was described in the lonely Planet guide as being ‘a delightful place even though it is a bit past its prime’. It spoke of the air conditioned rooms, the restaurant and the swimming pool.

We found the place, the gate was open and as we drove in we could see a television on, in what we took to be the restaurant.

The only cars were 2 dilapidated taxis.

The place looked on the face of it to be quite pleasant but……………

Closer examination showed that the pool was empty and had probably been so for a couple of years.

The only people were two men who were apparently completely drunk or stoned and it was impossible to get their attention to find if we could stay there.

                     Bates motel in Kindia, abit past it's prime

I have to say it was a really spooky experience. (Made The Bates motel look like a Howard Johnson) We really got the impression that the owners had thrown in the towel and had just left leaving the place unattended and that local ne,er do wells had moved in. It was weird!

Anyway we were concerned that we would not find a place and eventually settled on a small hotel where we had to get rooms.

We stayed overnight and then left the vans at the hotel as we set off for Conakry.  Oh I almost forgot, I found we had another puncture!  The staff of the hotel said they would get it fixed while we were away.

Taxi!

We went back into town to get a taxi to take us to Conakry some 3 hours away. We really didn’t want to be squeezed into one of the taxis described above. So the driver from the hotel agreed to find one for us. The first attempt was a so called ‘9 seater’ but the driver expected us to pay for 5 of the empty seats which was exorbitant. Attempt #2 - a private car turned up and as he opened the tailgate a swarm of flies flew out and we were hit by a dreadful stench! 

So what next?  We set off to the taxi station where our car were jumped upon even before we stopped. Several young man all appearing to be shouting and gesticulating that we should go into this or that taxi, we really had no choice and in the end got propelled, pushed and channelled into a 9 seater and found ourselves squeezed into one of the taxis described above. Fortunately, there were no loads or passengers on the roof. So off we went to Conakry.

Conakry is not an easy place. It is very hot dusty and dirty. It has the most unlikely shape for a capital City. It is situated on a small peninsular so it is very constricted. As a result all the growth, it has been a massive sprawl,  mostly of poverty I am sorry to say at the top end of the city. The traffic is unbelievable dense, busy and completely crazy. It can take a couple of hours sometimes  to cross the city as the main highway to the centre is full of potholes with little left of the original tarred road. On the whole it is hard to find pleasure here but it has been a necessary journey to get a visa for Ivory Coast and to get good information on visas for the other countries we have to pass through. The only problem is that Ghana will not issue visas though they say it may be possible to get one at the border. We shall see.

When we returned to our vehicles 3 days later, I found that the tyre was inflated but I noticed that the tube had been changed and as we had not been charged for a new one I was a bit suspicious.

We have now parted company with our Belgian friends, though sadly not on the best of terms. They have found that West Africa does not offer them what they need and have decided to return to Gambia and then to Belgium.

Actually, it is quite nice to be travelling on our own again, driving when we feel like it, and staying put when we need to rest. The journey to bring us to where we are now has been a bit rough with the difficult roads. I am starting to think that the clutch may need attention soon. When we were stopped at a checkpoint the Gendarmes demanded to see, ‘licence, insurance oh and by the way your tyre is flat’.

I found myself changing a wheel on a very uneven surface in the heat of the day. Surrounded by about 20 ladies who with bowls of fruit on their head crowded round me trying to get me to buy their oranges. They were completely oblivious to the notion that I may have other things on my mind. It was a surreal scene and the colour scheme must have been odd as they were dressed in a riot of colours and I was bright pink and shiny as I tried to pass between them with tools, jack and wheel. Add to the mix, the drab green of the gendarmes  who stood on the sidelines, unstinting in the amount of advice they would offer.  Needless to say I got a bit grumpy.  When I eventually got the tyre to a repair shop it turned out that the tube had been replaced with a smaller one that was filled with holes.

Football.

I have little interest in the game of football but I am truly fascinated with the way that Football is such an important social force, in a way that I find really heart-warming. There seems to be several levels. One is that nearly everyone we see is interested in Manchester united, Chelsea or Barcelona.  Then there is the general interest in all major football games, satellite football channels broadcast in every village and community. Most villages have a blackboard posted with the fixtures displayed.  The only thing that makes this surprising is when does anyone get the time because they are all playing football on the pitches that are everywhere. These are mostly makeshift pitches but almost always with regulation size goal posts.  One day we were walking out in the bush, a long way from anywhere  as we walked out into a clearing I was amazed to see a proper football field. They even have pitches on the roundabouts.

What really appeals to me is that hardly anyone has any money here so it all about the sport. Long may it remain.

Just at the moment the Africa cup of Nations is being played off  and it seems the whole world is glued to it. As you may tell it has even got my attention. As I write I learn that Mali has just smacked the botty of South Africa in a penalty shoot out. Come on you Malians!

As we have driven away from Kindia We find that the road is once again dreadful. I think that, rather than grumbling about it in a general way it worth taking some time to speak in a bit more detail so that you, dear reader, may have a feel of how it is here.

The first thing is to know that for us it is a discomfort, a nuisance and something to bear and of course we had a choice about coming here. For the people of Africa as they try to make their way through life they have to live with these kind of problems day in and day out.

What kinds of roads are there?

                 Route Nacional (N1) to the border

                 We  covered 45 kms in 4 hours

                    Fording the N1 to Cote D'Ivore

Dust and more dust

Well, first of all there is a strong movement of various Chinese interests to improve the infrastructure in Africa. This is because they are most keen to exploit the minerals that are locked away here. So they are building roads among other things. This in turn has prompted others  to compete. Here in Guinee, for example, Rio Tinto is incredibly active as they work with the government to exploit the huge Iron ore deposits.  So there is a lot of improvement taking place.  Roads are being upgraded but there is much still to be done.

So you can often drive long distances on perfect tarmac roads.  Then suddenly it’s gone!

By the way as I write Ping is listening to the Archers Omnibus on a BBC download.

So we find sometimes that although fairly flat we are driving on those dust roads that I have spoken of so often.  It might just as easily be patches of loose fine sand. If you hit one of these your wheels sink in and all momentum is instantly lost and you are very often stuck sometime you are stuck a bit and sometimes you are stuck a lot. Either way it stopped being fun weeks ago.

The most common is where there has been tarmac but it has not been maintained and the potholes appear.  So you have to navigate along the blacktop avoiding the holes, which can vary enormously in size and frequency. Sometimes there is much more hole than tarmac sometimes the hole make a bit of a bump and sometimes you have to measure the size. If it is big, you stop, get out the truck go on foot to the edge of the hole and you drop a stone in and count the seconds till you hear it hit bottom that way you know how deep it is. I did hear one description that some holes are big enough to hide a fridge in. So that is potholes, for now at least.

Then sometimes the sandy surface gets worn or washed away and what is left is the bedrock. This can be a real trial as it can go for miles in unrelenting fashion. Sometimes it is the so called washboard surface where as the name suggests it is a kind of stony corrugated surface. This can take out the fillings from your teeth and will loosen every nut, bolt and screw on the van.  The other surface is where water coarses have formed valleys and gaps, these can cause violent undulations that are hard to foresee and can cause severe jolting. This can go on all day and every day. Can be a real trial.

So there you have it just a taste of what working Africans put up with daily.

So back to our most recent leg of the journey.

We have driven on some difficult roads and have been somewhat undermined by the way that cash is a bit difficult to get and evaporates in the midday sun.

We had a rather odd and really quite difficult adventure when we went to buy diesel.

It seemed that the pumps were not working and we were overwhelmed by people arriving with plastic cans and syphoning fuel into our tank.

I only needed half a tank. Ping went to pay and amid the usual struggle of working out how may zeros there should be, we drove off and she realised that we had been badly overcharged. So we went back and argued.  They insisted it was correct. And I was beginning to believe that it was our mistake when the man said he had given us 80 litres. Not only was my tank almost half full before we started, it does in fact only hold 50. So I returned to smelling a rat. It all got a bit heated. So, I started to pull away Ping gently relieved the man of a wad of cash that he was holding  and we made a run for it.

One of them came after us on a motor bike then joined by a couple more and a furious argument ensued. I stated loud and clear many times that I was going and I would report to the Gendarmerie in the next town. Interestingly there was one man who appeared to be part of all this, but he kept repeating in half French  and half English ‘don’t give them money just go’ he was very keen that we took his advice. In the end, I felt that the threat was high enough that I took off again followed for a while by two motor bikes but they gave up. We went 20 km down the road, and reported to the Gendarme there. He wrote down a few details and sent us on our way. He was really sympathetic but it was pretty clear that would be the end of the matter.

After we totted it all up the fuel that I had been given and the ‘voluntary’ refund that Ping secured, we were still about £40 down but we didn’t have a fist fight and we escaped with our dignity so I can live with that.

We had a rotten drive for the rest of the day and eventually stopped at a recommended hotel which was rubbish. No electricity, water from the well in buckets.  We agreed a price, he asked for the money up front so he could buy petrol for the generator.  I paid, and he asked for more. I could not understand the French but he kept talking about his Grandfather and his little brother. In the end I got cross, normally I would want to make sure that I was not misunderstanding first but on this occasion I pointed out that we are tired travellers who have stopped for the night,  we have paid the agreed price for the room, there can be no more complications  and I gave it to him big time! I wasn’t going to be had twice in the same day.

The next morning we left.  We went to the bank; we were able to get enough cash for our journey and to fill up again. We drove to a hotel where we had been invited.  We have been allowed to clean the van which is horribly dusty and dirty, do a few repairs and I have now adjusted the clutch. I was getting concerned that we may need a new one. The hotel people have been superb; they cater for the road building contractors so have incredibly not charged us. We have gone from quite worried, to quite happy and in the morning we drive to the Ivory Coast border.

random picture of Ping with Simona, whose hotel we stayed in Conakry

I should by now have posted this but due to internet access problems it has not been possible. Found ourselves listening to the World Service last nite. The semi final between Burkino Faso and Ghana.

We are parked in the grounds of a hotel on the hill above the city of Man.  Man is home to a significant portion of the Burkino Faso Diaspora.

As we listened to the game it became a fantastic experience. Every time someone scored or did something clever for Burkino a huge roar came up to us from all over the town below it was just incredible. Although I have no allegiance I could not help but get really excited as the game went into extra time with a draw and then to penalties. In the end, Burkino triumphed and the racket from the town was deafening and went on for  hours. Just incredible.