Snapshots of West Africa

Vibrantly clothed women balancing bundles of firewood and huge basins of water on their heads with grace and ease; wizened, toothless old men sitting in the shade of a tree and watching the world go by; laughing, barefoot, partially clothed children playing with a tire and a stick abandoning their games to tear after the truck as we pass by with smiles that light up their faces with delight; young, wirey men clearing vegetation with machetes, sowing staple crops to feed their families.

“White, white white”, “white man”, “cadeaux, cadeaux, cadeaux”, “les blanches”, ” how are you? you are welcome”, shouts or loud sharp exclamations of surprise; the call to prayer – sometimes beautiful and haunting, other times a cacophony of harsh voices which seem to be competing to be the loudest; birds that sound like a puppy playing with a squeaky toy that sing at 1am above our tents; roosters crowing to welcome the impending dawn; tooting horns to announce anything and everything; drumming and singing at 4am coming from a distant village.

Raw, fly covered meat left out in the heat of the day; pungent, salty dried fish; sweat; street meat roasting on a roadside bbq; sweet, ripe pineapple and mangoes oozing their juices; grass drying in the hot sun after a rain storm; wood smoke; fermenting millet turning our stomachs; a sudden burst of perfume in the hot breeze from unseen flowers by the side of the road; drainage channels filled with rubbish, excrement and urine.

Dry, yellow, wispy grass; majestic baobab trees; spikey thorned bushes; cracked, parched earth gives way to green, lush palm fronds; dense jungle; mud.  Hot, hot sun in a clear bright blue sky gives way to hazy, moisture laden skies through which the sun can hardly break through as we head towards the equator.

Tiny ants, enormous ants, flying ants, mosquitos and sandflies – all bite! ticks; spiders; moths; beautiful butterflies dancing; darting, yellow weaver birds build their nests in roadside trees; bright blue, long tailed birds perch gracefully on power lines; skinny goats, tall goats, fat goats, short goats, roast goat; free range chickens everywhere.

Nigeria… OMG… it has blown my mind!

We are currently in the depths of the Gabon forest about 200Km from Libreville on the equator having exited Nigeria almost three weeks ago. I am not even sure where to start blogging about the sixteen nights that we spent there; quite possibly the most enjoyable, hospitable, friendly country I have ever been to. This most fascinating country could offer a lifetime of wonderful discoveries so you can’t believe all that you have read with regards to the corruption, military coups and email scams.

My preconception of Nigeria did not paint a pretty picture; thus I have learnt a very valuable lesson (as we all have) that until you have experienced a country don’t believe all that is written in the media or guide books. In hindsight the best thing about heading from Benin to Nigeria was the fact that the incredible north of the country was out of bounds (for political and religious regions) so there was no chance of seeing any of the big sights; this meant no pressure to tick off sights and an ability to just dive head first into the human picture of Africa’s most populous nation.

The first day we crossed the border (very slowly due to the chief wanting to take a mid-afternoon sleep in the middle of our processing) and headed for our first bush camp. The first two hours in Nigeria were without question the most trying we had had; it is no exaggeration that we were stopped and searched (and in a roundabout way asked for bribes) at least 15 times in the space of 30 Km’s… no bribes were paid! The worst part of this was that we still had our preconceptions firmly in place, thus seeing men in “uniform” wielding AK47’s like children’s toys was not a pleasant experience and left most of us wishing that we had flown to Abuja to meet the truck. The border crossing and ridiculous number of henchmen had put us a long way behind schedule and also on-edge; so much on edge that most of us stopped looking out the window of the truck to see who was pulling us over! On pulling up to our first bush camp the trials and tribulations of the past two hours were washed away the moment we met the locals. The greeting party consisted of roughly 20 people, headed up by the local pastor. As is normal in Nigeria (for people not wearing a uniform with an AK47) the locals only wanted to see what we were doing and wish us all the best and safe travels. What was particularly interesting about this encounter is that they came to warn us about the ensuing church service at midnight (Friday night) as it was going to be incredibly loud, rapturous and would create a din highlighted by the glow of numerous lights in the night sky. They also informed us that this would last until 5am! I asked how often this event occurred and the answer astounded me “Every Friday night, every Sunday and every Tuesday night”. Thankfully we were not really disturbed and managed to get a fairly decent sleep; a sleep that would not have been so comfortable had we gone to bed with the thoughts of the uniformed militia and not the local villagers.

Abeokuta was the first major city that we passed through, but despite its incredible size there was almost nothing open. We realised later that this was because it was the last Saturday of the month; which can only mean one thing… cleaning day… a national requirement! Abeokuta is set in a spectacular location overlooked by enormous granite boulders that were crying to be climbed, but alas there was no time. Despite its size and dramatic location Abeokuta looks more like a shanty town born out of the endless sea of unpainted, rusty red hued corrugated iron shacks; we had left these behind in Ghana but they reappeared here in all their lack of glory; it is something to behold, although probably something that most would blink and miss. This corrugated sea was to become the norm throughout Nigeria and northern Cameroon. It is odd that this only really occurs in Anglophone countries considering that iron is not particularly widespread in Britain as a building material?!?! Anyways; the main reason for entering the city of Abeokuta and not skirting around the side was to food shop, however, with nothing open we were required to move on to the enormous Ibadan and what has turned out to be the best piece of driving / maneuvering I have ever seen.

Ibidan, until the mid-60’s was the most populous city on the continent and the latest estimates put its population around 5 million. It was here that we finally saw what an incredible driver Nev Kelly actually is; although the incredible driving was only achieved after becoming well and truly lost in a maze of markets and one way streets. Sitting in the back of the truck we were not privy to the decisions that were made, but what we were privy to was the location that we found ourselves in down one of narrowest streets that the truck could possibly fit down. Not only was the street incredibly narrow with regards to the size of the truck but there was absolutely no way of exiting in the direction we were heading. The street was framed on two sides by markets, parked cars, wheelbarrow pushing transporters and numerous locals; above, the street was essentially framed by low hanging telephone and power wires. Not only this, but we were on a one way street now wanting to reverse up against a back log of roughly 20 cars. To put things in perspective the truck is around 11 meters long, 2.5 meters wide and 4 meters high; so being on this road was very much a square peg in a round hole! The main concern for us in the back was that Nev would hit one of the numerous cars parked on the side of the road, which would have undoubtedly emptied the market straight into the truck for some group justice. What Nev achieved here was nothing short of spectacular. He reversed (directed by Kristy) into a side street, clearing the power lines by less than 50mm and then managed to turn the truck back up the one way street… this with the gaze of hundreds of entertained locals. The cars that he avoided were so close that on turning the wheel of the truck a car creating an obstacle at the front ended up under the wheel arch and the closest car at the back was less than an inch from the back tire. Not only was the car at the back less than an inch from the wheel it was inside the rim of the wheel and somehow miraculously strayed from the tire; which would have made quite an impression on the back bumper. This description does not do the situation justice but it is without doubt that there was a collective sigh of relief in Nev’s ability to negotiate the obstacles.

Having successfully managing to maneuver our way out of Ibidan without any real incident we pushed on towards what would become the most eye-opening driving madness any of us had ever seen. The road from Ibidan north towards Abuja is full of trucks taking goods from the coast; I can’t even really imagine how many trucks we passed (or passed us) but it would have been in the 100s. From the photos you will also see the results of the ridiculous driving attitudes with the road littered with the skeletons of dozens of burnt out truck carcasses. The incident that really stuck in my mind occurred on the way up a hill where we occupied a position in an enormous line of trucks negotiating the detoriating roads. At this point we were reviewing the truck carcasses on the side of the road when a very impatient idiot pulled out into the oncoming traffic at the steering wheel of a 45,000 litre petrol tanker on a blind hill and blind corner. If this wasn’t bad enough a van was coming over the hill, all the van could do was slow down, stop, and then reverse up the hill (now towards oncoming traffic). Whilst the reversing was taking place the van had to swerve off the road (only just missing a motor cyclist who had taken refuge off the road); the scene was complete comedy; however it just showed how inconsiderate the truck drivers are. The incident concluded with the van driver getting out and throwing rocks at the cab of the truck! It was this truck that also pulled out further along the road right into the path of a car and motorbike; both vehicles had to take evasive action and swerve off the road… it was just a complete free for all for the trucks and there is no apparent regard for their lives.

Enroute from Ibidan to Abuja not only did we witness a huge number of ridiculous driving antics from trucks, vans, cars and bikes driving past us at Mach1 but also by drivers attempting to manoeuver past our truck. Attempting is the operative word here… on at least two occasions other trucks hit our truck… leaving not a single scratch on us but ending the joyous abandon the drivers of the guilty trucks felt! I am not sure which was the funniest incident and both will be fondly remembered for years to come! The first incident came when we were waiting in a queue because of a broken down truck. A large truck (cab only… no load) similar to the one Stallone drives in “Over the Top” was less than a metre behind us when it tried to pull out impatiently to pass; however the driver failed to recognise that as he was pulling out he was also riding up on to the back of our truck. This manouvre cost the driver the front right side of his wheel arch as it creaked, bent and then split off… could not have been funnier, that is until we were hit again. The second incident occurred on the very fine Federal Capital Territory motorway heading into Abuja. A truck laden with plastic water-tanks bulging over the side came to stop next to us and then attempted to pass; it would appear that the driver was unaware of the overhang and one of the water-tanks was rammed straight into the side of the truck, crumpling it like a piano accordian! The drivers rage was unabated and the fist pumps in his cab just provoked more outrageous laughter from us. The driving here was truly something to behold and be happy that we survived the madness.

After numerous close run-ins with oncoming traffic we finally made it to Abuja, the new(ish) capital of Nigeria where all of our fortunes were about to take a strange and surreal twist. Abuja is a very modern city by African standards and is built amongst huge stone inselbergs that dominate the surrounding sky line. There are also incredibly well kept roads, footpaths and the basic ammenities that you take for granted in the West. The change in fortunes that I mentioned came via Ivy (American girl on the truck); Ivy has a number of friends in high places all over West Africa. It was one of these friends that she got hold of, who in turn got in touch with tourist minister (whom he works for), who in turn invited us all over for a meeting with him at the parliament offices. This meeting turned into a media circus, where we were all interviewed (Ivy was interviewed by the national television station). Following this meeting, where we had managed to close off three lanes of traffic we moved on to one of the new shopping centers in Abuja where we were hosted by the CEO of the complex (he is also the CEO of the national TV network)… this essentially meant a free for all for a couple of hours and then an absolutely massive session at one of the night clubs. The night club was showing the news when all of a sudden we flashed up for the best part of a minute. This could not have been funnier; one of the girls from the truck was being served at the bar when the barman looked up at the news and saw the same girl on TV… it was priceless watching him do the double take; girl customer, girl on TV, girl customer, girl on TV, girl customer…. then the very very confused look ;p If we weren’t already receiving free drinks I am sure they would have started to flow.

Having left Abuja and the relative comfort of the Sheraton football pitch; which is where we had made our home we headed for Calabar. Calabar is a well to do resort style town near the Niger delta that has the most laid back attitude of any major city I have been to in Africa. Our time here was spent resting and trying to do as little as possible because the heat and humidity was unrelenting. The place we found ourselves staying on the first night is almost impossible to describe; impossible to describe actually how bad “Paradise City” was (is). It was so bad that we sent our chief negotiator off to another hotel to barter down a deal. The photos of the hotel will give you some idea of how bad it was. It reminded me of some awful place off a movie where people would be taken to be murdered; it is honestly too bad to discuss in detail. This said, there were a couple of funny incidents; one involving a transvestite prostitute walking into the room we had rented for the use of a shower and toilet (I use the words shower and toilet in the loosest sense) and one involving a prostitute being found in the aforementioned room by one of our team. Not only was the room that we had rented frequented by businessmen in fine suits and ladies in… nothing; there was also an enormous dead rat in the cupboard. The reason that we know about the dead rat is because Ivy was so petrified of using the bathroom for fear of being murdered she burst into the room and checked all the cupboards before having enough stomach to enter the room where the ablutions were located. This all paints a very bad picture of Calabar, which is completely unfair as it was an excellent city; just so happens that Paradise City is far from paradise and we were all very happy to be out of there on the second night (thanks Harry for sorting out the other hotel).

By reading all of this you are probably thinking that I have lost my mind in the blazing African sun by stating how accommodating Nigeria (and in particular Nigerians) were to us. Well; I haven’t lost my mind… it is just that if I mentioned all the generosity and kindness that was given it would become mundane and repetitive.

In summary; I had some of the strangest experiences of my life (some outlined above); but the overriding memory of the country is one of incredible kindness. I truly hope that I will be able to return to Nigeria one day to see the places that we missed out on due to threat of terrorism.

BTW – as some of you will know, we are now in Durban; I started writing the blog in Gabon, however with a lack of internet and other circumstances out of our control it has taken a while for this to be posted. I will update you all on why we are here and not driving through Angola as soon as I can motivate myself to sit indoors whilst the sun is shining, beers flowing and rugby raging outside.

Off to take in the Sharks v Reds at King’s Park… looking forward to finally watching Rugby in South Africa.

The dream never sleeps. Tuck.

Niegria photos can be seen here

Highs and lows of an incredible country….

Having waited all day and half the evening for one of our visas to be issued we made a mad dash for the Benin border from Lome (a mere 50 odd Km’s) to make sure that we did not overstay our visa time in Togo. Arriving at the border well after dark presented an incredible sight with all the street stalls in full flow lit up by the glow of numerous candles, which danced on the faces of the customers surrounding each one. The border was also the most straight forward of the journey thus far taking a total of 14 minutes to sign out and 26 minutes to sign into Benin… and on to Grand Popo!

Grand Popo was unfortunately an area that we did not spend enough time in; having arrived around 10pm we all got to work getting dinner prepared, cooked, server and cleaned up by 11:20 which was a pretty good effort. When we woke it was evident that we were at one of the prettiest yet most treacherous beaches of the journey. The sand stretched on as far as the eye could see and the rising sun shimmered on the Gulf of Guinea like a picture post card. In stark contrast to the natural beauty of the place you could tell that the undertow was too powerful to make swimming an option, this was seen in action when an enormous piece of drift wood was being tossed and turned at the water’s edge with no hope of escape from the relentless ocean. For anyone who has been to Whiritoa you will appreciate that the beach was much steeper than that! Aside from a picturesque beach, we were camping in the grounds of a very nice resort made up of refurbished (and not so refurbished) colonial buildings, including the hotel restaurant that sat right on the beach allowing one to take in the spectacular scenery… alas we left here by 11am… this is a place and a country I would return to in a heartbeat!

Ouidah was our next stop enroute across Benin towards Nigeria (Benin; like Togo is an incredibly narrow sliver of land); Ouidah is famous for being one of the largest and most significant slave areas on the Gold Coast, coupled with this it is also the single most important voodoo centre in all of Africa (if not the world). The voodoo here is engrained in everything that you look at from the cringe Python Temple to the leader of voodoo’s house in Africa; the term “Vatican of Voodoo” was referred to on numerous occasions.

We thoroughly enjoyed our time in Ouidah with street upon street of cracked facades and sagging wooden porches from the past glories of the colonial French architecture, however it was not the architecture nor the voodoo that was the highlight of Ouidah (and in fact Benin) but the horrific Route des Eclaves. The Route des Eclaves is essentially a four-kilometre sand track that was walked by millions of slaves from various holding points in the town to the coast, where they would be shipped away to numerous locations around the globe. All along this walk there are statues representing certain people(s) involved in some way with the slave trade as well as significant land marks such as the Tree of Forgetfulness* all of which culminated in the Door of No Return. This is a vast and imposing monument decorated with disturbing depictions of slaves leaving their homeland in shackles (on the outbound side of the monument) and returning as ghosts of their former selves on the inbound side! Along with the genocide museum in Kigali this four-kilometer stretch of sand track may be the most depressing / upsetting thing I have ever seen, more so because the guide brought the tragic story to life with his inside knowledge and close connection to the trade.

* The Tree of Forgetfulness – slaves were forced to walk around to forget their previous life, religion and culture… “To become a people with no will to react or rebel”. All in all, just one of the sick things slaves were subjected to before being forced into a horrific life of unimaginable hardship.

Having left incredible Ouidah we made for Cotonou to spend the night on the beach before heading for the Ganvie stilt village and Nigeria. Ganvie was one of the many things that I was looking forward to before the trip, sadly it did not live up to its expectations and I found it a very disappointing experience in a country full of wonderful culture and people. The stilt village itself was incredible and so was the journey out to it on the vast expanse of Lac Nokoue, however on arrival to the actual village the attitudes of the locals could not have been more hostile to the point of almost physical aggression…

I think the Rough Guide sums it up perfectly here…

“Ganvie is at times overrun with tourists (which it was not when we were there) whose presence has encouraged a commercial free-for-all in the little town, destroying the initial impressions of a tranquil aquatic idyll. If you have a low tolerance for this sort of thing, it’s best to avoid it all together”.

Coupled with this the locals around the car park where Truck was parked were without question the rudest I have encountered in a very very long time; this left a sour taste in everyone’s mouths (none more so than Nev who had had to put up with this whilst we were all out on the lake). It would be my suggestion to anyone wanting to visit this incredible country to perhaps visit one of the less commericalised stilt villages around Porto Novo or even on the outskirts of Ouidah; thankfully this was not our last impression of Benin…

Having left the abysmal Ganvie experience behind us we plodded on north and then east towards the highly anticipated Nigerian border, however because we had made such bad progress during the day we were forced to stop for the night in the smallest of small towns. Having identified a large field surrounded by crops and village houses we pulled up to be greeted by no less than 50 locals shouting, smiling and gesturing in the typical African way. You have to bear in mind that we had just had the horrific experience of Ganvie and did not really know what to expect… what we got was one of the single best bush camps of all time! The local people could not have been any nicer, they helped set up the fire, collecting firewood and instructing us on lighting it. We were offered Grass-Cutter for dinner, which is a bush meat rodent and delicacy in these parts; also on offer were some of the local spirits which I declined with some pathetic excuse but anyone celebrating Australia day took to with great gusto (and subsequent hangover ;p); in fact we were offered anything and everything to make our stay on their land more enjoyable. This experience in English would have been magnificent, the fact it was played out in French with hand gestures, laughing and facial expressions is something I hope I never forget. Also, Ivy was fortunate enough to meet with the local principal of the school and his incredible family at their house in the village where she was hosted for dinner before being returned to us for a second dinner on their enormous community lawn / field.

With all of this going on the night was flying by and when I looked at my watch it was well after 10PM; at which point I asked (via Lisa) what time all the children usually go to bed as there were still many out and about… the answer was something along the lines of… “this is a very special day for our village to have white people here, this has never happened; it is like a message from God, so the children will only go to bed when all is seen and done here”!

We all felt very fortunate the next morning when we left the village that we had an experience like this in Benin, particularly on the last evening to give us that ever lasting impression of what is genuinely a great country waiting to be explored.

I am writing this from the Rainforest of South Eastern Nigeria more than two weeks on from that incredible night and the memories are still fresh in my mind. This is a tribute to how good Benin was because Nigeria has twisted my mind in all sorts of ways that I did not think were possible… that is for next time… we are now off to see the Afi Mountain Drill Ranch dedicated to the rehabilitation of drill monkeys. The same monkeys that we could hear (but not see) jumping through the canopy of our current home last night.

Unrelenting heat, humidity, sweat, sleepless nights, warm beer, no beer… Choose Your Attitude and Live the Dream!

Click here for Benin photos

The road less travelled…

Having left the relative comforts of English speaking Ghana we made our way towards Lome (via a single bush camp from Accra) the capital of Togo and French-speaking West Africa’s smallest nation.  The first thing that struck me about Togo was the absolute madness at the border where it would appear to be a free for all (excluding Westerners) to go back and forth between both countries, in fact the border fence didn’t even go all the way to the water so people were just walking around it. Somehow in amongst this madness the border guards presided over a very calm and orderly desk where we were able to obtain our seven day visas for this wonderful sliver of West Africa. More often than not first impressions last and this could not ring more true for a border crossing (Senegal comes directly to mind as negative examples of this)… the people could not have been more helpful and there was in amongst the throngs of people an order that was impossible to see from the outside… it is fair to say that I fell in love with Togo from the very first moment.

Lome, which you essentially enter as soon as you cross the border from Ghana (not before passing a sign to indicate that Benin is 50Km – that is how narrow the country is) was more colorful, more exciting and a lot friendlier than the guide books had suggested.

Lome’s Grande Marche, which takes up a full city block as well as spilling over onto countless side streets provides the focal point of the city; it is here that Katie and I encountered the most incredible fruit and vegetable market thus far. You would assume that all most markets would be heaving with produce due to the warm climates but as far as we have seen they are very regionalised; if a fruit grows near a market then there will be lots of that fruit and nothing of anything else… this is not the case for Lome… it was probably better in terms of fruit and vegetables than the famous Boqueteria market on Las Ramblas in Barcelona. The colours jumped out and grabbed our attention, the smells tickled our nostrils with fragrances that defied the location (a pleasant change from the rotting garbage etc… of other markets) and stall owners bartered with each other and potential customers with the most incredible flair that it was a pleasure just to sit back and watch the world go by.

The reason that we were wandering around the market was en-route to get the replacement computer that I am now typing on following my run in with that unruly monkey (which also bit a girl on our trip quite badly prompting all sorts of stress around Rabies… but that is an altogether different story)! Eventually we found the street where computers were sold (and other electronic items), which in normal circumstances would have been quite a nice stroll, however in 37 degrees and 1.8 million % humidity it could not have been worse. The people in and around the computer shop however could not have been nicer! As soon as I had tested out the computer and it came time to pay, it was apparent that there was no way a credit card was going to be accepted, this meant that I had to go with a man to try and find a cash machine. The mode of transport for this was some souped up motorbike, the map for finding such a strange machine (that dispenses money) was asking any and every local and the method of me hanging on was a combination of white knuckle fever and eyes closed bravado! … as you can probably guess from the fact that I am writing this blog the purchase was successful.

The night before entering Togo I wrote of my excitement, particularly with the prospect of visiting the Akodessewa fetish market. It did not take long before Katie, Kristy, Amy and I were standing in the car park (after a day of visiting embassies) of the market. The market was not at all what I was expecting in terms of layout or hustle and bustle, but it certainly was in terms of content as some of the following photos will attest to…

http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenprescott/sets/72157629241019437/

All in all the fetish market could not have been more interesting and it is easy to see (after seeing other markets) why people travel from all over west and central Africa.

As good as the market was it would have to fall into second place on the highlights of Togo for me. The highlight came via a random meeting with a man who offered to take me, Katie and a couple of others to a local bar to watch the Real Madrid v Barcelona Copa del Rey match. Off we went around some back roads resembling more of a beach than actual roads until we found a door with a huge din coming from inside… 200 CFA later we were all inside. Other than the intense heat and humidity the first thing that I noticed was the lack of a bar… the whole place was T-total, which on reflection was a good thing. The room was full of bench seats with the intense darkness only punctuated by a rusty low-definition projector beaming images to one wall. As the game ebbed and flowed so did the supporters verbal insults at each other, it was also evident that we had entered a mainly Real Madrid bar making it quite interesting when Barcelona drew level and then took the lead!  I have always wanted to see a football match in Africa and although this wasn’t at a live match it certainly was more intense than any sporting match I have ever seen… only wetting my appetite to try and get to a match somewhere over here in West Africa; hopefully this will happen in our next country of Cameroon.

On that Cameroon note… we are currently in Calabar in Nigeria and will be heading towards Cameroon soon enough, this may be the last communication with the outside world for a couple of weeks. This is two-fold; there will almost certainly be no internet connection and with the incredible rain that we have had the road into Cameroon may or may not be full of truck sized bog holes that will have to be laboriously emptied and then traversed… can’t wait!

Will hopefully have communications again when we reach Limbe on the sweltering coast of Cameroon, but I am not too sure when that will be.

Over, out and excited about the bog holes ;p

Ghana

My first thought when we crossed the border from Burkina Faso into Ghana was that it was so good to be able to speak English again after 2 months of struggling with French. It was also the first predominantly Christian country we had been to since Spain. This was immediately apparent from the huge number of Pentecostal, Presbyterian, Baptist, Evangelist (etc. etc.) churches on the sides of the roads and the shop names which are almost exclusively something to do with God or Jesus.

From the moment we crossed the border we were travelling almost directly south until we hit the coast at about 5.5 degrees latitude. From about mid Ghana onwards we hit the humid climate quite suddenly which was a real shock to the system. Any small amount of exertion seemed to bring on extreme sweating. This is not good considering Steven’s role as chief firewood chopper!

The change in climate also brought about a very noticeable and sudden change in the vegetation; moving from dry grassy savannahs with enormous baobabs to very lush, thick, green foliage and tree upon tree laden with bananas and mangoes. The great thing about this is that we are now almost daily having the freshest, juiciest pineapples and mangoes for breakfast for next to nothing.

Mole National Park was one of our first destinations in Ghana and an opportunity for the first proper wildlife spotting of our trip. Although animals are few and far between compared with the parks in Southern Africa; for those seeing their first elephants in their natural habitat it was always going to be an exciting moment. We were not disappointed. The moment we arrived at the campsite area perched on a rocky escarpment above the tree dotted plains we spotted a family of elephants wallowing in the large muddy watering hole below us surrounded by grazing antelope. There happened to be a swimming pool (the first of our trip) and a bar with a perfect view of the surroundings so naturally we spent the afternoon there watching the wildlife below us and the occasional warthog that sauntered by just metres from us.

Kumasi, a city in central Ghana, used to be the capital of the Asante kingdom; one of the most powerful nations in West Africa in the middle of the 19^th century. It still oozes with the traditions and customs of this tribe whose power was all but destroyed by war with the British.  The city was razed to the ground in 1874 and the treasure taken back to London.

Kumasi is also home to the largest market in West Africa and possibly on the entire continent. It is a rabbit warren of corrugated iron roofed stalls sprawling over a huge area dissected by a disused railway line and spilling out into the surrounding streets. The market is easy to find as all roads seem to lead to it and every man, woman and child seems to be walking to or away from it. Once inside, women and young girls swarm like lines of ants weaving around obstacles, over train tracks and anything in their path. The majority balance impossibly bulky and heavy loads on their heads with grace and apparent ease. There is really no choice once inside but to join one of these columns and move at its pace until you find a nook to duck into and take a breather!

There are very clearly defined zones to the market; fresh fruit and vegetables, cloth and tailoring, cheap tacky jewelry, linen, dried fish and other meats (very smelly!) etc. There was always the exception however, such as when we came across a nail bar in the middle of the dried fish section.

This was not in the least bit a touristy market but really for everyday basics and necessities so there was no hassle from the sellers, only curiosity and welcoming smiles. The 6 of us that went together had an incredible experience just wandering around but this was topped off when we came across a hair braiding stall. Both Josh and Steven were both sporting long topped mullets which we decided would be perfect for corn rows. The ladies at the stall and all the onlookers thought this was hilarious (apparently men do not get their hair braided!).

Cape Coast is a town on the coast of Ghana west of Accra that is home to one of the most significant slave forts in the country’s history. We escaped to a beach resort not far from here while we waited for our Nigerian visas to be processed in Accra which gave us a chance to visit this haunting reminder of Britain’s involvement in the slave trade. Entering one of the airless dungeons where 200 slaves were held for up to 2 months in near total darkness with only the tiniest window was an eye-opening experience. The strong men were kept shackled so they couldn’t fight back and they had to sit in their own excrement which built up to a maximum of about half a metre high during their 2 month stay. Many died in these conditions through starvation, diarrhea and disease and their bodies were left to decompose until the slaves were ready to be shipped out. I can’t even imagine how bad the smell would be.

Kakum National Park, just inland from Cape Coast is a rainforest national park which we visited for a morning. The highlight is a canopy walk through the treetops made of ladders, netting, planks of wood and cables. Surprisingly Steven, who usually hates heights, was absolutely fine and I felt distinctly wobbly. Although the views were amazing and the trees dizzyingly tall I was very glad to get back on solid ground.

We’re currently at a bushcamp in Nigeria having had a horrendous day of driving on the terrible roads which are littered with trucks crashed by their reckless drivers or just overcome by the enormous potholes. More about this will come in the Nigeria blog. We will definitely be glad to get to Abuja where this blog will be posted and we will be able to chill out for a few days.

 BTW – The last Kindle has now failed!

Photo Update

Yesterday we got into town and purchased a reconditioned Toshiba laptop. The price was relatively good for this part of the world; but the OS is completely in French and I have yet to get around to updating this.

What this means is that we have quickly compiled the following albums for you to check out. I will apologise now to those who care that we have not edited (cropped etc…) any of the photos as we thought it better just to get them up. This has been a depressing exercise as we had spent a lot of time getting all the photos just right before the monkey incident wiped them out.

The Northern Ghana and Bobo-Dioulasso albums are missing most of the best photos as Lisa has them backed up on her computer. Sometime before Cape Town we will get those photos back up and notify you when this happens.

Lastly; I have not updated the Photos page on the blog yet; this will be done when I get some more time (or can be bothered ;p); but I have updated the map so you can see our progress.

Mauritania – http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenprescott/sets/72157629002941397/

Senegal – http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenprescott/sets/72157628998194457/

Mali Bush Camps – http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenprescott/sets/72157629003296677/

Bamako – http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenprescott/sets/72157629003507663/

Christmas Day – http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenprescott/sets/72157629003615081/

Bobo-Dioulasso – http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenprescott/sets/72157629003773247/

NYE – http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenprescott/sets/72157629008133207/

Northern Ghana – http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenprescott/sets/72157629008236645/

Accra – http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenprescott/sets/72157629008352799/

Kakum and Cape Coast – http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenprescott/sets/72157629008461109/

Abandze (Relax) – http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevenprescott/sets/72157629008559481/

Hope you enjoy the photos. Back online at least until the next monkey comes around.

Monkey Business

Togo is more incredible than I could possibly have imagined, however I will dedicate a more detailed blog entry about it at a later date!

So; we pulled into Chez Alice, a small campground on the outskirts of Lomé (capital of Togo) to find that not only was there an exceptional bar but also three primates kicking back in the grounds. There were two monkeys and a caged baboon; it is one of the monkeys that I want to briefly update you on so that you can understand more about the upcoming frequency of blog entries and photo updates.

Even prior to visiting the exceptional bar I went over to the area where one of the monkeys was tied up to see if it was playful; it certainly was that. The monkey was more than happy to bounce around on Shaun’s head and arms, but as soon as I turned up it lunged forward with an outstetched claw to take a swipe at my leg… no damage done… and I was off to the bar! Two days later (our last day there) Shaun was again playing the joker with this monkey and I thought that it was a good idea not to get too close and just take some photos. This was going quite successfully until again the monkey started its lunge again… I was ready; so I started back peddaling very quickly to get out of the reach of the monkey. To my great suprise and the enjoyment of all watching I managed to trip over backwards over an enormous flower pot… I genuinely wish that it had been recorded as even I found it amusing… Amusing that is until I realised that our computer was strapped to my arm (in a dry sak bag)… essentially as I was falling backwards to much hilarity my left arm went up and then came crashing back to earth with the computer bag attached! This has completely written off our computer (HDD knocked irreversably unconcious)… the actual result of this is not as bad as I first thought however (even though we are now a computer down). All photos were all backed up on an external HDD, but the 450 photos I had prepared to put on the blog are no longer with us… all in all this means that you will have to wait a little longer for photos and blog entries. We are off into Lomé tomorrow to try and buy a new computer… fingers crossed.

Technology is currently down and out… but the dream continues.

Togo Excitement

I have just woken to see the crescent shape of the moon peering down at me through our mosquito net in a field around an hour outside of Accra towards the border with Togo. The reason that I am up so early is three-fold; one, we went to bed incredibly early last night; two, the bush camp is the most inhospitable since I was in Jordan driving down to the Dead Sea seven long years ago (so much so that Nev apologised at dinner and said he was “ashamed” of where we were camping) and three, the excitement of heading to Togo is all consuming, much like waiting for Christmas when you are a child!
I have enjoyed Ghana, although nowhere near as much as Mali or Burkina Faso; it has played its part in the great adventure and provided a respite from the French speaking countries but it is now time to move on.
One of the main reasons for choosing the west coast of Africa to travel through is the two slithers of land known as Togo and Benin; today (hopefully in the next six hours) we will be in Togo. The reputation of the Togolese is welcoming and friendly, the local food (or street food) is reputedly some of the most interesting anywhere in the region and the Atlantic shorefront in Lomé is apparently picture-postcard; for these reasons alone it would be worth visiting. It is however the intrigue that surrounds the local voodoo customs dominating the country that woke me early this morning. With any luck we will be able to dive head first into this wonderful culture tomorrow in the Marché des Féticheurs at Akodessewa; west Africa’s largest fetish market. It is this market where I expect to find all manner of strange imaginable and unimaginable ingredients for the traditional medicines and religions… this will be made even more interesting by the fact that my French could not be more abysmal… bring it on ;p

Christmas and New Year

15^th January 2012

I thought I should write about our experiences over the festive season, which, although we were only just out of the Sahara desert and in predominantly Muslim countries, felt very Christmassy.

We spent Christmas in Bamako; the capital of Mali. The duration of our stay here ended up being seven days whilst we not only prepared for Christmas (and the subsequent Christmas hangover) but attempted to get our Nigerian visas; which proved fruitless. The week that we spent in Bamako’s Sleepy Camel campground presented an excellent opportunity to wash our clothes (and ourselves) as we were all pretty filthy from the rigours of a seven day bush camping stretch (see Steven’s photo of the collar of his shirt – yuk!). Aside from this we were also able to check out the world renowned Malian nightlife, and make use of a constantly full beer fridge; which was a great luxury following the weeks of hit and miss beer and disgraceful Moroccan wine. In fact the campground was so relaxing that most days there were always a few people who didn’t leave the campsite at all.

Bamako was also the location where Steven was intent on getting an outfit tailored to wear for Christmas Day! A few days before Christmas we both went out into the markets in Bamako to hunt for a tailor that could hopefully understand us and then tailor a suit in time for the festive activities; this proved to be one of the most rewarding experiences thus far. The markets for a start were hard to find, we turned off the main road where we thought they should be and found ourselves in a maze of rusty corrugated iron enclosed passageways filled with electrical goods, hardware and a vast array of seemingly unwanted throw backs from the west. The ground was dirt, rocks, dust and an interesting (and sometimes unimaginable) smell of sweat, street food and the close proximity of animals and humans vying for a passage out of the sun. An added extra was the hustle and bustle of men heading in every which way preparing for the next prayer session. We were both thankful for all of this as the afternoon sun, even in the winter in Bamako is unrelenting, particularly with not a breath of wind to whip away our sweat and dust covered brows. Finally we emerged into sunlight and a small open area filled with men sitting at sewing machines. Luckily we had stumbled on the one and only fabric and tailoring area; if this great piece of fortune had not been bestowed upon us we may have walked around for hours, finally leaving the market with Steven raging and our tails between our legs!

The shops are full of waxed cloth in bright, colourful patterns hanging from ceiling to floor. We entered a small shop at random as there was no real way of distinguishing between them and told the people there in a mixture of broken French, English and sign language that we wanted a shirt and trousers for Steven and a top and skirt for me. It took about an hour and a half of explaining, negotiating price, meeting the tailor and measuring; together with a lot of laughing, especially when Steven was trying to demonstrate that he wanted his trousers to be slightly flared! We left not really knowing what we were going to end up with or indeed whether we had just been completely ripped off and wouldn’t get anything at all! It was a great experience however and we decided then and there that it had been worth the money whatever the outcome (we paid about £30 between us). Two days later on Christmas Eve, I had a dress and a skirt (which was a bonus I hadn’t expected) and Steven had a wonderful suit that he absolutely loved (and still loves). We tried them on in the shop and created much hilarity among the locals who all wanted a look at these strange people getting overly excited about their new clothes.

Christmas Eve night was an outrageously big party that went well into the next morning at one of the many Malian nightclubs we had within walking distance. It also proved to be a great excuse to try and end the seemingly limitless supply of Moroccan wine by turning it into an enormous vat of sangria. Suffice to say there were more than a few sore heads in the morning!

Christmas day was sunny with temperatures in the 30s as was the norm for our entire time in Mali. Christmas breakfast consisted of sausages, fried eggs, baked beans, amazing banana pancakes with nutella and fresh baguettes with butter. Following this; the first of many Christmas day feasts we were presented with our Secret Santa presents; I got a necklace from Essouira in Morocco and Steven got a pair of yellow leather shoes from Marrakech which perfectly completed his Christmas outfit. The rest of the day was spent admiring the pig on a spit (and turning it occasionally), drinking Christmas punch, playing games and eating copious amounts of food including cheese and crackers, avocado dip, salsa, philly cheese and celery dip with carrot and cucumber sticks and pitta bread. This may not sound anything special to most people but we hadn’t had proper cheese since Morocco and no butter since the first couple of weeks of the trip so we were all super excited. Needless to say everyone was pretty stuffed by the time we got round to eating the pig.

New Year’s Eve was a slightly different experience. It was a new country (Burkina Faso), bush camp (no showers), no bar and the beautiful Karfiguela waterfalls to ease our hangovers the next day. We almost didn’t get there when a few kms from the entrance we encountered a bridge with half of it missing. There was no way we could go over it; some passers-by said it could only really take the weight of a bicycle, but luckily a dude on a motorbike took us through the sugar cane plantations as there would be no way we could have found it ourselves.

We celebrated the first new year of the trip (New Zealand) at 11am closely followed by Australia at midday and 1pm and luckily that was it until midnight. Some people made it all the way through the evening and into the morning to celebrate the west coast of Canada at 8am the following morning; thankfully we had managed a little sleep! The waterfalls were about a 20 minute uphill hike from our campsite. It was hot and sweaty but well worth it for the amazing views and rock pools full of clear cold rushing water. We ended up spending most of the New Year’s Day up there followed by an evening of entertainment with some of the local children who could not have been cuter or more well behaved.

Altogether it was a very different experience from the usual but one we will not be forgetting in a hurry.

This, that and the other

Quite simply the most stunning beach that I have ever had the good fortune to sleep on and swim at… that is where this blog is being complied. Ok… so we are not really sleeping on the beach; more of an extension of the beach, but it is still an enormous sandy area where our tent (free standing mosquito net to be precise) is less than 10 meters from the beach proper. This extension of the beach is dotted with incredible bougainvillea, palm trees (with our machete it is a simple task to enjoy the coconuts), the obligatory beach volleyball net and of course a very fine bar; although the prices are somewhat ridiculous so not a lot of drinking is being done! The beach itself is framed by a decaying slave fort perched high up on the point, fishing villages that come alive around 7am with dozens of boats returning from deploying nets, palm trees backed by rain forest that look like something out of a movie (the classic Greystoke, legend of Tarzan lord of the apes comes to mind) and the luke warm water of the Gulf of Guinea.

Aside from the incredible location the Abandze Beach Resort does not have an internet connection, so Katie and I have spent some time compiling photo albums to be uploaded when we get a chance. Because of this I am writing a few unrelated very short stories about this, that and the other in the hope that it explains some of the photos (that will be posted when we have a proper internet connection) and highlights a few observations that I have been making.

Kindle – yes, that’s right, the infamous Kindle; I thought that I would start by taking a dig at the most overrated technical device ever to emerge! Although a potentially brilliant design, great idea and incredibly helpful for boosting the profits (if they indeed needed to) of Amazon this has become the source of much frustration on the truck. I could not be happier that I did not waste my money on one of them. The Kindle might be fine for the Tube or around the city or anywhere that you can get it replaced, out here where you would think it would be most useful it has failed miserably! I chose to carry about 8KG of books with me in protest and now it looks as though the chiropractor sessions and press ups were well worth it; because even though I almost broke my back carrying this extra burden at least I now have my books! Quick fact…. 75% of the Kindles on the truck have broken through no fault of anyone; they have not been dropped, they have not been used as a beer coaster and they certainly have not been used as chopping blocks; they have simply stopped working! Let me put this into perspective; as bad as the Kindles are they are still not as bad as the All Blacks are good – having recently passed a 75% win ratio in all tests ever played ;p

Football jerseys – the premier league for all its marketing is falling behind in Africa! When I first spent time here (albeit in east Africa) the only jerseys I ever saw were Man U and Arsenal; both of these teams have now been eclipsed (Arsenal to my great joy has been overtaken even by Newcastle). It is clear to see that the Champions League has now become the most important of all competitions in the football world! Barcelona “replica” jerseys would account for roughly 70% of the jerseys we see, with Messi accounting for almost 80% of these. Second would be Inter Milan and Real Madrid; with Man U and Chelsea coming in after this. I can only imagine that Drogba, Essien and the like wield unimaginable influence out here because it would certainly not be their results in this competition. I am now looking forward to see how far this influence reaches and if east Africa will be the same as it was five years ago. One thing is for sure; the world over everyone loves a champion and Messi certainly is that.

Shooting stars – until recently I had probably only seen about a dozen shooting stars in my life time; this all changed on the bush camp stretch out of Ouagadougou towards Kumasi! Sleeping in a free standing mosquito net has its pros and cons but when it comes to lying there looking up at the sea of glittering stars it is untouchable (of course no net would be preferable; but Malaria is not). When on a bush camping stretch you tend to get into the rhythm of going to bed when it gets dark and waking at some random point in the early morning. If you wake just after the moon goes down then the sky is pitch black and the stars look even brighter; it is this time of the morning that we have been fortunate enough to see over 50 shooting stars. Having seen around 30 in the space of 10 minutes I can only presume that it was some sort of meteor shower; in any case; it is a truly spectacular sight and has made me more determined to get up and see the aurora borealis this year or next.

Mullet – now a mullet; as we all know is a super fine hair cut originating somewhere in the early 80’s and worn by any self-respecting rocker of the time. It must be said that it has been carried on by most that follow the Holden v Ford super cars (I am most certainly not one of those) and generally live the dream in black denim and Metallica t-shirts. This said; it is generally unacceptable behaviour (and rightly so) to wear these throw backs to a more relaxed and liberal time to work… so when the opportunity arose to get a mullet for Christmas I jumped at the chance; this is; as we all know not the real world (a world made up of only two days in a week never could be ;p). To be fair I was somewhat shocked to see the aggressive lines and complete lack of hair adorning the sides of head, but as time has moved on and the mullet has started to mature it has been more accepted (both by the group and more importantly my poor suffering and very understanding wife). The truck now sports a total of four mullets and long may this number increase!

Grow ‘til you go – if you have seen any of the albums from Africa you will have noticed the wild man Shaun Ironmonger among them. This man and his wife have been on the road now for exactly 400 days (and have roughly another 300 left) and as he left his job he proclaimed that he would “grow till he goes (home)”. On meeting Shaun I was most suitably impressed to see the epic scale of what he had achieved in the relatively short time of 300 days. I am not too sure if it was the first, second or third night of the trip when I packed my razors away and agreed (along with six or seven others) that I would attempt to grow ’til I go. This seemed like a reasonable idea at the time as it was close to freezing at night and anything to keep warm was the only thing on my mind… clearly I had not thought this all the way through to Cape Town. As I sit here now it is well over 30 degrees and close to 90% humidity and as you can imagine those first fateful nights come flashing back more often than I care to count. If going to Cape Town is not far enough we have also decided to get back on the truck in Zanzibar to continue all the way to Cairo thus completing both the North-South and South-North trips of Africa. With regards to this challenge it has essentially added a daunting 16 extra weeks; but like the mullet it probably the only chance I will get when it is (almost) socially acceptable.

Police chase (that wasn’t) – whilst taking a taxi from our beach hideaway into the centre of town to obtain visas, shop and site see our taxi was pulled over by two policemen. I presume that the main reason was that our driver was trying to manoeuvre over two lanes of traffic and take a gap onto the other side of the road to run past the morning rush hour; as you can imagine the policemen did not like the look of this. Fortunately for our taxi driver he was the second of the two taxis that was questioned (or at least he would have been); this was until for some unknown reason he backed up so that he could turn 180 degrees and then bolted off back up against the flow of traffic and then a sharp left took him onto a side road… I use the word “road” here loosely as well! It did not really dawn on us until we were flying down the road ducking in and out of traffic, avoiding on coming goats and pot-holes that the guy has actually done a runner from the police! As you can imagine this caused much discussion, although my first thought was that I was glad that neither Katie nor myself were sitting in the front with no seatbelt; the front seat was occupied by poor Bruce, who promptly turned around (almost reading my thoughts) and asked if anyone would like to swap seats! To cut to the chase; our driver successfully negotiated his way through a gut-wrenching, white knuckled maze to out run the police who never for a second chased us! All this before 9am put us in good stead for taking in the madness of an enormous west African city.

Slave trade – Katie is going to touch more on this. Having visited a museum in Accra and now the exceptional UNESCO listed fort in Cape Coast (and accompanying incredible museum) I have had my eyes opened quite dramatically in much the same way that the Kigali Genocide museum opened my eyes and made me ask questions of myself that I certainly don’t have answers for. To my great shame I knew very little of this disgusting chapter in human history and will endeavour to take in as much as I can whilst I am here. Being locked in a dungeon (in the most humid environment imaginable) for a mere 10 seconds was enough to send me over the edge; I am not sure that that experience will ever leave me. All I can say is if you ever get the chance you should visit the Cape Coast fort; it is an incredible story and I am so glad that we made the effort to see this!

Old Faithful – this is the name of the axe, which you will probably see in numerous photos. I have now taken complete ownership of Old Faithful; so much so that I envisage a trip down to Somerset on Truck’s return with a replacement axe for the truck of the next trans! We are all now on the lookout for a fine piece of leather to use as a strop to help sharpen it so that one day we may be able to attempt to shave with it.. possibly the only way that we will be allowed to get out of the grow ‘til you go challenge!

Business names – on arriving in Ghana we have been inundated with excellent business names taking their inspiration from biblical times. Below is a list of some of the names that have stood out for me; this list is by no means the only list that I have, more of a sub-set of eye catching names. I hope you enjoy them as much as we all have.

• Jesus is coming soon (dealers in cement)
• Prince of Peace printing press
• Jesus is lord meat pies and soft drinks
• Jesus is my all fashion
• Repent fast food
• God is love supermarket
• God has done computer services
• Vote for God phone and accessories
• If God say yes who can say no? – pork fast food
• God first Rasta hairdos

The dream never sleeps… so tuck into it!