Ode to an Irishman!

I've been lax of late, still not finished the whole Franki debacle but this weekend knocked me for six.  This isn't an ode, it's not a poem, but this is my blog and it's saying goodbye to a great Irishman.

Stephen Keenan died on Saturday in the Blue Hole, in Dahab, Egypt.  Steve was an amazing guy, we've kept in contact for 10 years after travelling together after a chance meeting.  He was open, honest, laid back and loyal to his friends.  He had a heart of gold, always looked for the positives, didn't take any stick from anyone and he loved the Dubs!

He had a wanderlust, like so many of us, it took him to South America then onto Africa which is where we met.  People have been asking me where we met, I nicknamed him BBB, short for Bissau Brothel Boy, we met in a brothel in the Caracol district of Bissau.  A pretty horrendous area of town, we later discovered that it was a hive of activity for crack cocaine and the evening wasn't the most calm I've had in my travels!  As described in my 2006/2007 trip to the region it wasn't as though we had much choice in Bissau but to sleep here and by pure chance Steve also decided to find a room at the same place, considering we'd not seen another European since Senegal, it was a surprise to meet him.  Steve took a photo of one of the rooms the following morning, it was awful and always said to me, his mother should never find out that he was forced to stay in this lousy hellhole, he also described it as a 'Gentleman's Club' hmmm!

Commandering a boat to the Bijagos with the Bubaque Chief of Police

I'm telling this story now because I don't want to forget some fun memories, often dangerous but Steve took the brunt of the danger.  We crossed the border into Guinea separately, we'd separated in the UNESCO protected Bijagos Islands, I headed back to Bissau, he went onto another island, Orango famous for it's saltwater hippos where he wanted to swim with them.  From Bissau I went onto the Guinea Conakry border with my Italian friend Gianni who also thought the world of Steve.  He was a few days behind us but we were in contact.  When we got to the Fouta Djalon region of Guinea there were strikes against President Conte, the Guinean President of that time.  The country had a major fuel crisis and things were getting desperate, I decided to head into Senegal as my flight left from Dakar, Gianni went south to Conakry to carry on eastbound, Steve was still somewhere in the west of Guinea.

Steve Keenan RIP - on Bubaque, he loved water, died doing what he loved

On arriving home in France I got frantic messages from Steve, he was near Donka Bridge area of Conakry and there was gunfire all around.  Power outages were getting worse and his mobile phone battery was getting lower but could I help him?  I rang the Irish Embassy in Paris, declaring his situation but it was a weekend, the consular official on duty was a saint, he rang the Foreign Affairs office in Dublin who subsequently called Steve to check on his safety and make arrangements for him.  Sunday morning, Steve was calmly having a cup of tea with the British Consul having made it across town in the chaos with the Consul waiting at his front door for him. He made it across into Sierra Leone the next morning, from memory.  An excerpt of an e-mail:

"In Freetown myself - got here last night after aother fucking shocker of a trip. Should of been 6 hours but due to a wreck of a car took 13! Left Conakry at 9 nd arrived here around 10 a broken man, covered in dust and smelling of diesel.. 

Sent you a text, not sure if you got it. Anyway I should be overjoyed and happy to be here but truthfully I'm not - I'm sad to have left Guinea behind and my heart aches thinking about all my friends I became so attached to while stuck in Conakry. That's one reason I hate staying in places for more that a few days - you can create relationships that become so hard to walk away from. Just hope things work out for them.

Anyway the reality is that I got out of there with my life and all my stuff, which might well of not been the case - so that, and all your help, I'm extremely grateful for. Thanks"

I got regular texts and e-mails from him telling me about his journey and experiences in Sierra Leone and horrendous journey down the coastal road in Liberia.  Then he got to Cote d'Ivoire, describing Abidjan as somewhere like Europe, reminded him of a few South American cities he had been to.  He was due to meet his father and brother in Bamako, they were flying in from Dublin and it was clear he was very excited about having some of his family with him.  He sent an e-mail to me protesting at the cost of a bus to Bamako at 40,000CFA (price has dropped considerably since then!) and was off to find other options.  He obviously went back to the bus company as I was getting text messages telling me how he had bought a seat but there was a big argument between the driver and the bus station chief that he couldn't understand and he kept being told to get off the bus.  Finally I got a text telling me he was en route for Bamako, but had to get through the northern part of Cote d'Ivoire which at that point was controlled by the Forces Nouvelles, the 'rebel' army.  His texts went dead for over 48hours, I was concerned but had no way of contacting him.  This an e-mail arrived a few days later explaining the silence after the few texts I'd received when he was free:

"I have just reached Mali, having made my way from Abidjan in Ivory coast to Bamako, Mali's capital. In doing so I had to cross the rebel controlled north of Ivory coast - this trip was without doubt my most perilous, taking 3 days and included 15 hours locked up in a cell with 14 other Ivorians and, thank God, one Dutchman.... The rebels imprisoned me.

Ivory coast has been in the grips of civil war since 2002. The south of the country is controlled by the government and the north by the rebels or "New Forces" as they call themselves. However in recent months things have calmed somewhat. I crossed into the south from Liberia about 2 weeks ago. Lots of military checkpoints and a few bribes but other than that it was alright. I asked a few people about crossing the rebel controlled north - almost all said it was fine that the war was almost over and I had nothing to worry about. So I decided to risk it and get the direct bus Abidjan - Bamako. We pulled out of Abidjan Saturday morning and headed north accompanied by  military vehicle. We reached the Gov/rebel divide at about 7. There was an army checkpoint, then UN checkpoint, then about 20k of no man's land, another UN checkpoint after which we entered Bouake, Ivory Coast's second largest city and headquarters of the rebels. We were all told to descend the bus and hand our Identity papers over. I was the only white guy. The rebels brought us into a large room where one of them stood up and addressed us all. He said who they were, their purpose and that there would be some payment necessary depending on the length of each passengers trip. I felt reasonably relaxed but then as he was speaking another rebel went through the ID papers, found mine, and put it aside indicated to someone that I was to be kept or something like that - I was standing too far away to hear. They began to give back the ID cards and the hall emptied till it was just myself standing in front of 6 seated rebels.

They asked me the purpose of my voyage, what I did, etc. One guy was quite aggressive and asked me how long I had been in the army - I said I was never in the army and that in Ireland it was not obligatory. he shrugged this off as if I was lying. They then summoned the bus driver and told him to carry on as I was to be held for more questioning. My heart sank, I so just wanted to get back on that bus. I pleaded with them and one of them said that the questioning wouldn't last long and that as the bus was stopping anyway for something to eat I will be back on it no worries. I had to get my bag off the bus. A pick up arrived with armed rebels in the back and PCO written on the side (Not sure what it stands for but it's seems to be their title). So I was driven off to the rebel headquarters, a large compound with big iron gate, and brought into an office where sat a slight man wearing a traditional Muslim robe. Behind him on the wall were photographs of various rebels and pictures of some guy called Bele Bele. Beside him was a chart with various lapel tags attached and their corresponding rank written alongside.

He began asking me similar questions as before, all was going well and I was hopeful I'd be back on the bus. I was devastated when he put my passport in his pocket and said I was to be kept there until he got clearance I could pass from "Le Chef". I had to leave all my belongings in the office for inspection. I also had to count all my money and hand it over. He wrote down the quantity and gave me a receipt assuring me I would get it all back. I was allowed keep some small change. I was then marched out into the main yard where a traditional style hut stood - it had a TV inside being watched by 3 dozing rebels and a white man! - I couldn't believe it, I hadn't seen a white person since Abidjan. Also he was a young and looked like a traveller. He was told to come out and then the 2 of us were brought to the back of the compound to a building with an iron gate and people lying around inside, it was a small prison. The rebel brought us inside and over to a vacant corner and told us we were to sleep there, and that he would come for us in the morning. I couldn't believe it - it was Paddy's day, and there I was lying in a cell...

My white companion was a guy called Ernest from Rotterdam, he had made his way to Bouake from Bamako hoping to visit the Medicin Sans Frontiers group stationed there. He was a nurse and was interested in working for them. I was so happy he was there, we kept to ourselves and were generally left alone. The cell was a large L shaped room with 3 smaller cells attached. These small cells were packed - about 15 people in each. In our own big cell I counted 14. Ernest luckily had taken his sleeping bag out of his bag. So we lay on that and I actually managed to get some sleep.

  At sunrise all were up including myself staring out through the bars waiting for someone to come take me out and tell me all is well. Across the far end of the compound I spotted the guy who had takin us into the cell, but I never saw him again. Time rolled on, every hour feeling like 10. We weren't fed, nobody was - they had people come, relatives and friends, with food. Eventually around 11 we decided to ask for a coffee and some bread. One of the guys, a prisoner from Guinea, was allowed leave the compound to purchase food. He came back with 2 bread rolls and 2 cups of coffee, the jailer accompanied he him and said we could eat outside. We were out!, it felt so good to be out of that cell. We sat under a tree for about an hour, then someone from across the compound beckoned us. Great I thought, but my heart sank when he indicated they only wanted to talk to Ernest. So I was alone, but they left me under the tree and thankfully not back into the cell. Ernest was walked to an office building about 500 meters away. He went in the door with 2 men in front and 3 behind him. He must of been in for about 40 minutes, I was getting worried. He came back out looking drained. He told me they asked the same questions over and over. They seemed sure he had a military purpose or something. They were more suspicious of him than I as he had a GPS with him and had a Dutch Army issued backpack. My questioning wasn't so bad, after a while they did believe that all I wanted to do was go to Mali. Ernest got some more hassle until he eventually agreed to leave along with myself. We were free. They put us in a bus along with another rebel to accompany us to the border.

I got off the bus at a town near the border as the bus was going to Burkina. I bid my cell mate goodbye and waited for a bus to Mali -  I was still in rebel country and so wanted to leave - about 2 hours later, 11pm a bus came. It drove for about an hour then stopped at a checkpoint. The rebels left me alone but we were told we were to stay there for the night. We slept on the side of the road and at about 6am we headed off again. Soon in the distance, through the morning Harmattan haze I spotted a Malian flag, the border. I never saw any more rebels. Phew."

Just over a year later, I went to Bouake as an Irishwoman, it was still controlled by the Forces Nouvelles but they weren't too worried about my presence.  I asked around about an Irishman that had been imprisoned a year earlier, they all knew about him, referred to him as my 'comrade' and were confused as to why he'd been imprisoned.  Steve had told me at the time they believed he was a spy ... for who?  The Irish government???!!!  The border town he was taken to was Ouanlangoudou, I remember the text message asking me if I could pronounce it ... I can now!!!  It was good to be there on 30th December in Franki

Steve said he'd always like to return to Cote d'Ivoire, I always hoped he would one day ... he sent a good few texts and e-mails as he made his way through West Africa, adored Nigeria, went up the Congo on barges with his backpack, loved Uganda, Kenya then found Dahab, Egypt where he's been living for the past 8 years and very sadly lost his life on Saturday.  He's had tributes pouring in on an international basis.  Some lovely photos here of the guy who always went home to see the Dubs play at Croke Park where on 5th August there will be a round of applause in his memory during a match at the 39th minute, he died too young at 39 but doing something he loved, a small consolation! Steve, a true hero in various press reports

RIP Steve, you're missed by so so many of us who had the pleasure to meet you!

The Capital Goal

Another good night's sleep in a bed for a change, excited to be setting off with the hope that I'd reach my goal of arriving in Yamoussoukro, Cote d'Ivoire's capital city to spend that evening, New Years Eve, with my friends.  I was concerned that the road would be problematic all the way south as I'd heard that it hadn't been upgraded since my last time on this stretch in 2009.  I had 387km to complete today, venturing out of Ouangolodougou the south side of town was a mess with trucks all over.  I soon discovered why, the road to Ferkessedougou was being re-done and had just been completely resurfaced.  Lovely smooth road for 45km to Ferke where I stopped to withdraw some cash and have some breakfast whilst receiving a call from a Moroccan friend Hamza who works in Abengourou and wanted an update on my progress!

Things never change, I'm always too optimistic whilst travelling around Africa in regards to the time it takes to get from one place to the next or the state of the road.  Of course, I left Ferke at 930am with the dream that this smooth road would continue southbound, of course it didn't!  It was a crazy, tiring, zigzag drive all the way to Katiola, 186km of pothole slalom with police and gendarmes stopping me every 15km or so, asking for a chicken to eat, my hand in marriage or just plain paperwork!

Bus from Niamey, Niger - a long tiring drive!

Poor old sheep, sun, exhaust fumes and staying upright with the bumps

Finally I pulled into the southern edge of Katiola, it was about 1pm and I decided I deserved some lunch.  I found a small shaded maquis and parked Franki under a tree.  A young guy was serving a few bits and pieces on the side of the road, ordering some spaghetti with liver I sat in the shade under a mango tree with a drink.

Setting off again, I reached Bouake with a few less potholes, this is where the north/south divide used to be prior to the 2010/2011 crisis.  Initially I came to Bouake in 2008 when the Forces Nouvelles (now the united FRCI) were in charge, getting through 'la corridor' to enter the north on the southern edge of Bouake was always interesting as being white they usually assumed I was French.  Luckily, having an Irish passport made things somewhat easier!  Bouake had grown since my last visit, I was surprised by the change in town and development that had gone on, I drove through fairly quickly, almost able to smell my Yamoussoukro goal now!

Bouake

The road from Bouake was in a similar condition to the Katiola - Bouake road, in relatively good condition until finding a sizeable pothole that could cause serious damage.  I certainly decided I preferred the roads that really slowed you down with gaping potholes.  Driving along this one was hair-raising as it gave drivers confidence to speed along, and then dodge the potholes.  It wasn't much fun at all.  I pulled up in Tiebissou, a small town I've stopped in before, it's the centre of Baoule cloth weaving where there are many stands with cloth for sale.  The cotton is hand loomed on extremely long looms found throughout the village and surrounding area.  It comes in strips, like Kente cloth in Ghana but then sewn together to make one large piece about a metre wide and 1m70 long.  After a bit of negotiation I bought some more and set off south again.

Ridiculous place to take a photo whilst driving!  Should be ashamed of myself!!!

41 kilometres later I finally entered Yamoussoukro, so happy to be back, I was in very slow moving traffic due to the police stopping vehicles ahead of me.  I got my phone out and took a photo of the 'Orange' telecom sign welcoming me to Yakro!  A bit of a stupid move, doing this in full view of the police who of course watched me take it.  I was STOPPED!  

Police:  "Madame, where have you come from?"

Me:  giggling "ummmm" more giggling ... "today or originally"

Police:  Scratching his head trying to work out what drugs this 'blanche' had been taking

Me: "From The Netherlands"

Police: "Alone?  You can't take photos whilst driving in Cote d'Ivoire"

Me:  Still giggling, "sorry but I'm so happy to be here in time for New Years Eve with friends"

Police:  "I should fine you, just go, but Happy New Year Madame"

My welcome into Yakro, I was so elated!!!

I pulled up a few hundred metres later and called PC to ask where he lived.  I was told to wait exactly where I was and he came to find me in his car.  He was in front of Franki less than 2minutes later, massive smiles, screams of joy to see him again, I followed him back to the house.  I caught up with his three children, the smallest of which I hadn't met before, she's a real little character.  His son who was born just after the 2010/2011 crisis, I welcomed in the early hours of the morning when we were part of a group on Twitter and then his older daughter.  Both his son and older daughter I'd met before, but his son was about 3 years old last time and petrified of me, he hadn't met a 'blanche' before and we had all had a good giggle in their old apartment in Abidjan in 2013!

New Ivorian beer, made from rice, brewed by Heineken

PC - to who I owe a lot over the years, a true friend!

After a decent shower, some clean clothes and my sandals a little cleaner, PC took me out to a maquis nearby.  He bought me an Ivoire, a new beer on the market that seems to be doing remarkably well.  We sat and talked for ages whilst Irene, his wife, was on her way back from shopping.  I was so happy to be back with them all.  Returning to the house, they got ready to go to church, I was left in charge of the house, with the keys.  I curled up on their sofa watching TV, the air conditioning on feeling thoroughly spoilt and promising to be awake when they got back ... I fell asleep.  They returned from church and spent quite some time trying to wake me up, finally PC managed to wake me with a phone call, I was a very embarassed house guest!!!

By 1am we were out again, at PC's maquis Restaurant Alie-Fe near the centre of town with his business partner and other friends.  A long night with too many bottles on the table by 4am, I had a very sound sleep for the rest of the night!

Hypocrite

I finally got to Abidjan, I turned up at 1am in a bedraggled taxi from Adjame with Brice who'd travelled with me since Ouaga; an Ivorian studying environmental engineering in Ouagadougou.

I had almost 48hrs in Ouaga, enough time to get my visa put into my passport for a fraction of the cost of an Ivorian visa in Europe, have a lovely lunch with old Burkinabe friends and their 4 kids.

The bus left Ouaga at 11pm, as usual it was perfectly on time with 4 gendarmes on board armed with kalashnikovs in case of bandits on the road; we were the lead bus of 4 TCV vehicles.

Burkinabe transport still amazes me - it is so well organised compared to the rest of W.Africa, large, clean, air conditioned, comfortable new TCV bus headed out on the road to Bobo Dialausso to arrive at 4am where I would have a wait of 3hrs before catching the connecting bus to Bouake, CI. What ensued was unimaginable ...

I fell asleep, at 12.10 in the morning the brakes were jammed on, what had been a great ride and a lovely sleep was broken. A few of the guys got off with the gendarmes and came back to say there was an accident. We all started getting off for a leg stretch when things became clearer and there was a bus 2 vehicles in front of us that had gone head first into a truck; possibly due to the age of the bus and the pot hole a few meters beforehand. Whilst on the side of the road a tall Burkinabe guy came up to me and asked me to help; turns out he is one of the heads of the gendarmerie from Bobo called Francis - passenger on the bus behind mine. I explained I wasnt medically qualified but I'd go and do what I could.

Arriving on the scene we found most of the passengers sitting on the side of the road in shock but no injuries to speak of apart from one or two scratches. The truck driver had died and the bus driver was being freed by a few guys from my bus along with a girl sitting behind him. Someone had called the ambulance which was on its way from Ouaga along with the firemen to cut the wreckage. The bus driver had a fractured leg and I said it needed a splint and straightening, it was an open fracture and even in the early hours it was warm but I couldnt do anything for him. The girl had a broken foot I think and dirty cuts to the base of her foot, I offered to go and get my bandages and disinfectant etc and try to clean her up; she was about 14. The traffic was going through the field to one side of the road as the accident had completely blocked the road.

I walked back to my bus with Francis and asked around for my bus driver so that I could access my pack and medical stuff, couldnt find him, just the other driver of the bus behind us who had bought me a coffee just prior to leaving Ouaga. Suddenly the gendarmes starting screaming at us all to get back on the buses, at the same time someone said 'they're firing' and I ran down the slope into the bush in the pitch dark with Francis not far behind me. The noise did sound as if bullets were being fired but then it changed and got louder and nearer but I couldn't see anything until this 10 wheeled truck pulled up narrowly missing the front of our bus.

What transpired was that the truck, Togolais, with 3 guys clandestine goods (TVs and DVDs) on board had driven at full speed right through the accident, so the noise was of the metal being hit by the truck. Someone ran up screaming at us saying 'theyve all been killed' - they had driven over all the passengers from the first accident. I'm not going to go into details, but you can imagine what had happened. It turned out later via Francis the gendarme who has been in constant touch, that 7 died, there were a few walking wounded, a few stretchered and one or two very lucky ones who miraculously survived two accidents in one night without a scratch!

We left the scene via an alternative route to Bobo having buried the dead with the gendarmes + pompiers helping out once they had freed the 2 men found in the back of the original truck - I have to say they were very professional in their job and thanked the gendarmes several times - we had all been through a lot and they were excellent and caring!


It's part of the reason I've not been able to write this blog for so long, it's taken a long time to get this out of my head. Dealing with the situation afterwards was far harder than being there on the scene, something I never want to go through again or wish others to experience.

So we continued on, changing buses at Bobo for Bouake there were about 10 of us who had come from Ouaga; we stuck together as a strong group, they really looked after me. We had arrived in Bobo 2.5hrs late which is unusual for Burkinabe transport but they had held our bus back.



We got to the Ivorian border around 1pm and the rebels were there, very much in charge and I had fun and games again. Firstly they wanted 200CFA from each passenger, I went back into 'dont speak French mode' and they gave up with me, took my passport off and I went over to the medical formalities for Yellow Fever, one of the rebels came and got me and told me to go to another hut to get my passport. This guy stamped my passport and demanded 1000CFA, I said in English; no - I paid for the visa yesterday you arent getting any more out of me, he held my passport back and purposely put it out of my reach - I demanded it back and got my phone out saying I was going to ring the Embassy (likely chance getting the number for the nearest one in Abuja, Nigeria whilst in the bush near Ouangolodougou - remembering a text when an Irish friend had arrived there after his stint in Bouake's prison as a spy!!!)


So he gave me my passport and I said; 'ok I go now', he yelled at me '1000CFA now', I couldnt go, I then noticed the hand he had been using to stamp passports now had a gun in it, handgun that looked a little old but 'useful' to frighten some blanche tourist. I told him that he still wasnt going to get the 1000CFA and he could put the gun away again which annoyed him that he hadn't frightened me. Finally 2 Burkinabe diplomats turned up heading to Abidjan and tried to help me with my non-existant French and got me off the hook. 200m away from the hut I spoke to them in French and they doubled up laughing at me that I'd managed to fool the rebels and get away with it!!!

We got to Bouake around 5.30pm and Brice and I got the same minibus to Abidjan, 'Operation Christmas' was in full swing there, checkpoints all over. Money wanted and harrassment by the customs guys to the point of which one in Yamoussoukro told me CI was still at war - I had a real go at him saying that he's killing any chance of tourism for the country.


We finally pulled into Abidjan around 12.30am after losing my temper with the military at a roadblock outside Youpougon who had decided the curfew had started at 11.45pm. The driver came back to the minibus and said it was fruitless trying to get through without giving over something, we'd have to wait till 6am After the journey Brice & I had had, I wasn't standing for it and possibly the horror of seeing a filthy dirty blanche lose her temper the barrage was opened without any money changing hands. Worse still a kilometre up the road I saw a baboon chained to a street lamp, not sure which had me more angry!

The driver dropped us all in Adjame, the worst district of Abidjan. Brice was a saint and told me that he'd find a taxi and make sure I got to my friend's place in one piece. Not having visited my friend's new place, I had our taxi going around in circles, around prostitutes and my phone battery was getting weaker whilst trying to find the address. Finally we arrived at 1am and my friend dragged me out to Alpha Blondy's 'Cafe de Versailles' bar till 3am trying to calm my nerves after a 25hr trip from hell

So, moral of the story is that I will continue to say, dont travel at night and I will respect my own rules - life is precious and I was very lucky!! I admit to being a complete hypocrite!

First leg ...

I got into Ouagadoudou at 3am in the morning; after a whirlwind few days in Tripoli!

My Libyan host gave me an excellent driver who spoke very little English but did remarkably well and taught me bits of arabic - mainly involved swearing at drivers and had me laughing a lot about the antics of crazy Libyan drivers - you'd have to know Tripoli to understand!!!

Libya was incredible; mainly due to a very good friend of mine - who introduced me to another friend who is Libyan. He totally looked after me, saying a million 'shukrans' wasnt quite enough.
Tripoli was great, although I was constantly worried about not being 'dressed' covered up as much as possible but must remember to buy blouses that can touch my knees!!! The town is so different to what I expected but I dont know exactly what I expected, but did enjoy it. The place is booming, construction going on all over, top western brands moving into flash showrooms, new cars and fast food joints selling 'fried viagra' !!! Its aiming to be the Dubai of the med!

So I got into Ouaga; the airport is a disaster ... so little infrastructure. Got a bit of a shock last night when arriving at the check-in counter, they had bumped me off as it was full and the flight was going to Bamako before Ouaga ... but managed to get myself back on it at the last minute & raced through immigration to be last at the gate.

We landed an hour late at 3am which wasnt bad. I found a friendly honest taxi driver, fought off a few phonecard touts + bounced down the dimly lit city streets into the 'village' of Ouaga or thats how it felt; weirdly enough I was missing Tripoli and wanting to be back there! I think I woke most of the auberge that Danika, Maddy and I stayed in 2years ago whilst trying to wake the guardien to let me in and see if they had a room, did the usual trick of no booking prior to arriving but it all worked out fine. Sadly the auberge has gone downhill a little, chairs broken, plaster peeling off but still has the same charm and very quiet in the centre of town with a few French staying there.

My first morning in Ouaga I was up and at 'Service des Passeports' on the Bobo road out of Ouaga for the Burkina Immigration authorities having a VTE visa (5 countries) so that I could enter Cote d'Ivoire on it. I immediately got another taxi across town to purchase a bus ticket (breaking all my own rules) for 11pm the following night to Bouake in CI arriving around 4pm day after, so an overnight journey which is usually a no-no for me but needs must + the ticket selling lady let me choose a place, crossing my fingers we wouldn't meet with an elephant at Boromo in the middle of the night!

So, for the second day running I was waiting to get my passport back; I'd applied two days previously for my Burkina visa in Tripoli and got it back 4pm the day of departing Tripoli after a bit of a battle with embassy staff.

Yamoussoukro & into 'rebel zone'

Entered the capital Yamoussoukro from Abengourou; long & seemingly expensive minibus ride of 6.5hrs because of the driver who really didnt know how to drive or change gear!!! Overjoyed to be in town at 6pm having not eaten for 11hrs but had drunk several litres of water I found a lovely taxi driver called Ibi.

Ibi took me to a few hotels before I found something seemingly 'suitable' - turned out it was another brothel but I was too tired to move and it seemed OK; at least the security was better than a Bassam hotel; it was cheaper and the door locked well!!!! I had Ibi's number and he picked me up and drove me all over the place! I had planned to move 'hotels' in the morning, to find one that preferably had water when you turn the shower on; so that I ddin't have to scream down corridors to get it all working!!!

Unfortunately I didn't spend long in Yamoussoukro or go up to Koussou, to the NW. Tired but getting text messages from a friend in Bassam I decided I had to visit my friend's hometown of Bouake and maybe onto Katiola. I had some fascination of Katiola, I still don't know why; my hotelier friend's wife in Assinie is from Katiola & maybe that drove me to wanting to go there.

Yamoussoukro is weird. It's not an African capital. It's European, with a modern architectural/town planning influence but with the most gorgeous lily lakes in the centre .. it feels like the city's still not fully formed. People there were lovely, very open and arriving in town I discovered I had a military convoy as company whilst Ibi was trying to find a cheap hotel for me; all very surreal!

Ibi dropped me at a Lebanese restaurant that served burgers in a nouvelle cuisine sort of style for a price that could be paid in any large city. I wasn't impressed, it was my fault, I'd seen an internet cafe and realised the restaurant was next door but I was miles from anything else & my weary body wasn't in the mood to move any further!!! Spent a few hours between sending e-mails, eating & refreshing myself before I realised there was a far better option just around the corner. More fool me!

The following morning I had a look at the cut on my leg I did on the way to Assouinde. It didn't look good. I went off in search of a pharmacy and found one nearby and bought a cream, crossing the road to Yamoussoukro's version of my Starbucks I met Ibi. Apparently he lived nearby; didn't start work till 2pm so we sat and had a coffee together and a chat ... he was telling me that work has really dried up.

During the crisis things were bad but now it was even worse, taxi drivers were driving around empty for hours on end ... He organised a taxi for me that I commandered to take me past the Basilicia for a photo then down to the gates of the Presidential Palace where there's a crocodile pool. Amazingly at the crocodile pool some guy quietly asked if I'd like to buy a chicken to throw to the crocs, no pressure; just asked & being money conscious I turned the offer down. Nowhere else in Africa would you get that, it would be constant pressure to pay for one!

Having explored the market, had a coffee & been clock watching I had two choices; to go to Bouake that afternoon or to move hotels by 12pm. I chose Bouake, I needed to do laundry, I needed a different hotel and seeing as Bouake was just over an hour away I thought it wouldn't hurt doing a short journey despite being tired.

Getting into Bouake was an eye-opener, just on the edge of town is 'La Corridor Sud', essentially a checkpoint set up by the rebels to divide the Cote d'Ivoire between north & south. On the way there there were more & more checkpoints manned by CI soldiers. Getting there I had a young unfriendly militaire & for the first time this year ask for a cadeau, the guy next to me gave him 500CFA I did the usual shrugging of shoulders, don't speak French routine and stayed firmly in the van. He told me to get out and go through the control, but strangely enough I didnt understand French. Interesting thing was that the others on my minibus said I should have been stamped into Bouake, so I kept my fingers crossed the police didn't ask for my passport ... oh well such is life in Africa!!!

Sitting in Bouake I decided not to carry on north as I was too tired! Bouake was a little 'hot' shall we say ... leaving Yamoussoukro I asked around and everyone said it was fine but being there was another thing, people are certainly suspicious as to 'why' I was there, the friendliness had gone and I got the feeling its still a little jittery - the UN were all over the place I wasn't too worried. It was sad seeing so many of the buildings around town that had been shelled during the crisis.

Had some great conversations there about the situation past and present. Firstly I met a Burkinabe who had a restaurant in town who sat and chatted with me, telling me about how he stayed put during the crisis & gunfire happening 15m away from his front door. Whilst he was telling me this I had a boy come over. He said he was 12, at school, but his parents had returned to Burkina Faso & he had nothing. The story really didn't add up, I asked him over & over again what exactly was going on. I offered to call Abidjan and take him back with me to the centre which gave him a look of shock in his eyes. Finally I lost patience with him having conferred with the restaurant owner about the boys background which was in fact far better than he was making it out to be, the boy was well known as a scrounger!

That evening I went to an allocodrome next to the auberge I was staying at (having done all my laundry & hoping it would dry by the morning). The lady who owned it was a head teacher, she came and had a drink with me telling me about the delay on getting registered to vote, she'd only registered the week before yet the elections should have been held on 30th November 2008. She went through hell during the conflict, her house was almost gutted and left for a year to stay with relatives in Yamoussoukro. However her neighbour, a gendarme, came home to find nothing left of his house, even the ceilings had gone! Then I had an interesting chat with a young guy Jean-Marcel who was one of the rebels but accepted the 80,000CFA x 2 payout to leave and is now setting up a phone kiosk at La Corridor!

Spending the night in Bouake, it was fine, the rebels are still very much in charge there although seemingly weaponless; cadeaux were demanded at any point but with my refusal to understand or speak French they didnt get very far with me! I managed to get a pic of La Corridor Sud on my way back south which is 'the boundary' between north and south, the north being controlled by the rebels; they werent happy with my camera being out but knew I was the 'difficult one' who didn't speak or understand French so couldn't do much about it!

My Irish friend was a well-known man in Bouake!!! Everyone I talked to about imprisoning foreigners came up with the story of one of my camerades who was in jail in Bouake on 17th March 2007, got laughs all round when I confessed to meeting him in a brothel in Bissau!!!