Bumping east!

It was quick and easy to pack up after a night on the banks of the River Saloum on the eastern edge of Kaolack.  We got back on the main road heading east, Christophe was still coming with me but unsure where he would turn back, but this was sadly his final day.  I had heard from Oleg, the Russian biker who was sending google map locations via WhatsApp as to where he had been camping, he was probably 250km ahead of us!  I had 511km to complete to enable me to stop in Kedougou for the evening, we stopped a few kilometres down the road in Birkelane for breakfast next to the Mairie (town hall).  Continuing on, we came across a bus that had recently crashed, it was on it's side, burnt out and still smouldering, another reason I don't travel at night!  The following village two large trucks had crashed head on, we both thought of Pietr and Marius who were reliant on truck drivers to give them a lift, luckily they weren't in this smash!  The road was in a good state of repair, the vehicles were often not so safe!  

Another coffee break

We continued on, Christophe was debating whether to stay in Tambacounda, which is a large town and gateway to the Niokolo Koba National Park.  A small minibus full of toubab tourists kept overtaking us, we were surprised they didn't seem to stop to show the tourists the sights en route.  Eventually we got to Tambacounda and refuelled on the eastern edge of town having tried to find somewhere for lunch.  Christophe still wanted to continue, so I suggested we get to Wassadougou and have lunch, about 60km further on, I'd stayed here years ago on my way back from Guinea and the Fongolimbi border crossing with a Spanish man who owned a campement.  

Really into baobab country

We entered Wassadougou at speed and almost had a nasty meeting with the bridge which shocked us both with Christophe at the wheel.  Having crossed the bridge I knew we'd gone too far, so we turned around to find Francisco's campement just off the main road.  We spoke to a man walking out of the road that led to Francisco's place, he confirmed that it had been closed for a few years.  We drove back into the village and followed the signs to Campement Hotel Wassadou which was a few kilometres through the bush, to the most stunning site on the banks of the Gambia River.

A group of German tourists had just arrived and were settling in.  We went into the restaurant to be told there wasn't anything to eat, they had only catered for this group!  We ordered a drink and were given a bowl full of nuts, this was the end of the road for Christophe, he had decided to get transport back towards Dakar from the village.  It was a sombre half hour talking about my drive to Kedougou and his accommodation options in Tambacounda where he finally spent the night.

Views from Campement Hotel Wassadou

We got back to the village and I noticed a minibus loading, calling out to the driver to ask if there was a spare seat, Christophe was suddenly dispatched.  It was a quick, brutal and difficult goodbye but probably better that way, wished each other luck, gave each other a big hug whilst they loaded his bag and he got on. I'll admit to having a few tears to see him go, he had truly been the most amazing traveller and we had completed thousands of kilometres together on brilliant terms.  We're still in touch by phone and both wanting to do the trip again!

Solo ... I started Franki, pulled myself together and started to drive out of Wassadougou.  I got 300m and was stopped by a young police officer, I couldn't believe it.  He was rather unfriendly and kept insisting I get out of Franki which I refused to do, the doors were locked and I asked him what he wanted.  Eventually it transpired that the man we had asked about Francisco and his campement was owed money by Francisco, the two of them decided I was bound to pay the man.  I was obviously a friend of Francisco and should settle the financial matter.  I wasn't having any of it, I made it clear I had met Francisco whilst hitchhiking from Kedougou towards Dakar, he had offered me a lift then a room at his campement years ago.  I had no other contact with him, the argument continued for 30 minutes or so, I was hoping Christophe had maybe seen me parked on the side of the road with the policeman but he had long gone!  Eventually I was allowed to continue onto Kedougou 173km away.  It was already after 2pm and I wanted to be there by dark, little did I know what I was about to encounter!

Christophe's transport west

Nids d'Elephants ... the most horrendous piece of road for 90km, this was a relatively good stretch!

Only 8km from Wassadougou I found roadworks, red dust found its way into everything, this continued for 30km. It was gruelling and I could help but thinking that Christophe had done the right thing to leave me at Wassadougou.  I turned the music up, sang along (Christophe used to whistle badly but he hadn't heard my singing which is always badly out of tune) and got on with the job of driving.  I entered the Niokolo Koba National Park which is split by this main road, and hoped to see the end soon.  Coming across a small two door car that had stopped in the opposite direction with a French lady in her fifties or so and I presume her elderly mother I asked when it would end.  She grunted at me and said, it's horrendous, it gets worse.  I hoped she was just in a bad mood and this wouldn't be the case.   The roadworks finished, I was on tarmac again for all of maybe a kilometre then the potholes started, in French they're called 'nids de poules' or chicken nests.  These weren't chicken nests but elephant sized nests and horrendous, I was averaging 10kph it was taking all my concentration to drive Franki through the best bits of the road.  The worrying part was that there was very little traffic, for an hour or so I didn't come across any traffic at all.  The only signs of life I saw were a few warthogs and some policemen happily asleep under a tree midway through the park.   Putting a possible breakdown situation to the back of my head, I slowly crept forward to Kedougou wondering if I'd make it by dusk.  I later told my friend Phil in Bamako about this stretch of road, he took it a few weeks later on a jakarta scooter and also suffered!

120km later, I made it to Mako and tarmac.  I was so happy, so filthy, thirsty and very hungry.  I decided to press onto Kedougou anyway as it was only 43km away and I was worried the road would change again.  It didn't, it was a smooth ride!  On the edge of Mako I noticed a lot of small boys, between maybe 8 and 15 years old all covered in mud.  I'd heard that this region has now turned into a mining goldfield with a lot of illegal and dangerous mines, the boys were obviously being exploited in the mines.  Walking along the side of the road, ragged clothes, barefoot and very muddy, life can't have been easy for them.  I crossed the Gambia River and pushed Franki eastbound.

Pulling into Kedougou, 512km from leaving Kaolack that morning I was elated to have made it. I drove around looking for somewhere to stay, I couldn't find the auberge I'd stayed in years ago.  Due to the mining activity, hotels were pricey, so I drove off to the 5* hotel in town, Relais de Kedougou and had a chat with the manager.  Negotiating him down from 5,000CFA, he agreed I could use a shower and stay in Franki in their car park for 2,000CFA or 3€.  The shower was pure bliss, the red earth was washed out of my hair, my ears and I scrubbed my very red face ... I felt normal once more.  I discovered the minibus that Christophe and I had seen earlier that day, it had been full of Spanish tourists who were staying at the hotel. Keeping to my agreement with the manager, I entered their restaurant, chose a table overlooking the river and thoroughly enjoyed a good meal.

It was Thursday 28th December, I was still on target to keep my promise to friends in Yamoussoukro, to spend New Years Eve with them ... but would I make it?

Gambia River crossing at Mako

River Gambia at Kedougou, from Relais de Kedougou

Picking up Poles

Around Ouakam, Dakar

We left our auberge, ViaVia, by 8am wanting to beat the rush hour traffic along the Corniche, it was surprisingly quiet but then it was 27th December and Dakar hadn't got back to work yet!  Headed directly to the Malian Embassy in Fann just a few kilometres away and waited for the gate to open. On arrival at the Embassy we came across Marius and Pietr, two young Poles who had slept on the pavement outside the Embassy.  They spoke broken English and absolutely no French and had been hitchhiking south after spending a few months in France earning cash for the trip.  The two of them had a school sized backpack each and we entered the Embassy together, I translated the form for them. I was promised my visa for 2pm so I headed off in search of Christophe outside whilst hearing the Poles might have to wait 48h!

As usual we went off in search of coffee, drove into the back streets of Ouakam and sat under a tree demolishing a few cups of coffee.  We then went up to the airport, so I could go and catch up with my 'Batswanan sister' who works at an aviation organisation next to it & Christophe could go and buy a ticket home.  The mere sight of Franki arriving into the aviation organisation's car park sent one of their guards running to me explaining that 'toubabs' couldn't just park here to visit the airport.  He then realised I had many friends in the offices and calmed down somewhat!  A wonderful but short catch-up, Christophe took a little longer being sent around in circles by airport security to be able to buy a ticket ... eventually we headed back to Ouakam for a light lunch in another Lebanese restaurant.

Marius and Pietr, Poles found camping outside the Malian Embassy

It transpired that Marius and Pietr had managed to persuade the consular officials to issue them visas that day.  They then asked me for a lift to Bamako, Christophe wasn't sure about them, neither was I, but we offered to get them out of Dakar so they could find transport further east.  Once on the road just after 2pm we heard their story.  It was more than a little shocking, having met someone in France from Mopti, Mali; they decided to go and visit his town, on a whim it seems!  They hitchhiked south and at Nouakchott headed east along the Route de l'Espoir, without visas for Mali.  They exited Mauritania and headed towards the Malian border near Nema.  The Malians refused entry, apparently they tried all they could but were refused, which meant returning to Nouakchott.

Arriving back at the Mauritanian border, the Mauritanians refused to let them back in as their single entry visa had now expired.  They were stuck in no-mans-land!  Eventually someone in the military gave them a lift back to Nouakchott and on arrival asked them to pay for the fuel, they offered 10€ each (2.5 day journey!), which apparently didn't go down too well!  They were put on a bus for Rosso, the border with Senegal and told not to return but to leave Mauritania as quickly as possible. 

After hearing this story we asked a few questions, it appears they hadn't got any vaccination, no malarial treatment as they didn't realise mosquitoes can kill!  They were very worried about AQIM asking countless times if Mali was in fact safe?!  I explained the basics to them saying that the south 'should' be safe but you never know, their reply was 'we don't have any money so they won't want us', unfortunately a little more than naive.  Their request to join me as far as Bamako I shelved, they were going to become a risk to me possibly and the worry of one of them getting sick and feeling responsible was too much!  I was going to Bamako alone!

I would be very keen to hear if anyone other travellers have come across these two ... hoping they got home safely!

Another shot of the expensive new Dakar autoroute out to the new airport

En route for Fatick after the end of the autoroute at Saly, a haven for French package holidays

We all jumped out at Saly, a town I loathe, it used to be full of French tourists on package holidays, not so much these days.  Again we wanted coffee and the boys who were living on milk and bread three times a day wanted bananas.  They wandered off to find some then raced back to ask me to help, the 10 or so bananas were pricey.  The lady had seen them coming and asked for 5€, I talked to her but she wasn't budging, she was going to get money out of these 3 toubabs ... we politely declined and walked away.  I could see these two were going to have a hard time of it, they had no idea how to negotiate and in Senegal like much of West Africa, negotiation is key to survival!

A few kilometres further on we decided to drop them in Fatick, we knew that they were far enough east to find a lift and it was a small enough town to probably find some safe accommodation.  We pressed on hoping to find somewhere to stay at Kaolack 195km from Dakar, it was Christophe's final night with Franki and I.

Hotel Adjana, Kaolack - a little out of our budget

Stunning hotel but lacked atmosphere!

We pulled into Hotel Adjana, following the signs.  The driveway was very smart and as we got closer (and told to park correctly, not at an angle) we realised we were way out of our league.  We had a look around, checked out the pool area and ordered a drink, however they weren't keen to serve us, were we looking a little tatty for them?  They didn't seem to have many, if any, clients, the atmosphere was very sombre so we were surprised that we couldn't sit an enjoy a drink by the pool. We headed back into town at dusk to find a small Lebanese owned bar on the main street, sat down to have a good look over the menu, it unfortunately wasn't up to much.  Christophe decided to go and have a look around town, after 30minutes or so he returned with a bag of goods as well as Pietr and Marius who had found Franki parked on the pavement outside.  They had decided to keep going despite our warnings about travelling when it's dark!

Eventually we left the bar and headed for the bus station, Christophe had found some great street food there.  A lovely lady served us some rice and beef in mafe (peanut) sauce.  We were surrounded by Talibes, young boys who are at a Madrasa, a Koranic school run by a Marabout who are religious teachers.  These boys are sent into the streets to beg for sugar, rice and money, I've seen them on every trip to Senegal, their situation seems to get worse, not better!  The youngest one was quite friendly, we tried to talk to him about his situation at the Madrasa. Although he spoke mainly Wolof with bits of French we had help from our lady at the food stall who helped out with translating.  The older boys soon arrived and got angry with him for talking about his life to toubabs.  This exploitation is a phenomenon that is found across a lot of Senegal in particular, including Dakar; and the abuse can be extreme with a lot of young boys suffering in silence away from their families whilst at the Madrasa.

Supper at the bus station in Kaolack

A young Talibe

Finishing supper, Christophe had already spotted somewhere to sleep.  The Saloum river had wide flat banks, we drove about 2km out of town and about 200m from the main road there were quite a few houses that had the exterior walls built.  We backed Franki up to about 5metres from a wall and Christophe hung his hammock attaching it to the steel reinforcement of the wall and Franki's ladder at the other end.  We went foraging for wood, found an enormous branch of thorns which we dragged across and lit it.  This soon attracted attention as a car from the neighbouring village probably just over a kilometre away decided to come and investigate.  It got to within 500m of us and turned around, obviously deciding we weren't causing too much trouble; again we entered this great bushcamp location on iOverlander!  Whilst he had gone shopping in town, Christophe had found a wine shop of some description with a lovely bottle of red, a French Merlot.  We sat talking for hours drinking wine, absolute silence around us and the sky ablazen with stars, eventually I retired to my bed inside Franki and Christophe to his hammock.  It had been an amazing trip with a complete stranger who had been a star; tomorrow I would be driving solo!

Best camp site ever, bushcamping on the banks of the River Saloum