Janet's diary. Travelling with Ollie in Africa
Bamako City, Mali. (a catalogue of disasters)
Thusday 8th January
We had arrived at the outskirts of Bamako city and from the map, we had worked out that we would have to cross the city and the river Niger to reach camping le Cactus, the camp site that had been recommended and which as far as we knew was the only camp site in Bamako. But of course we did the usual thing and made a total cock up of finding our way. Stopping a few times so that I, in my limited French, could ask asked directions to the, Pont Roi Fahid, we were given several routes and still didn’t manage to find the bridge.
The traffic was chaotic with cars and mopeds hurtling in all directions. We stopped at a petrol station and I asked an attendant if he knew the way to the bridge. At the time he was talking to a guy on a motor bike who now offered to show us the way. We followed him as closely as we could, not easy in the traffic and on reaching a wide avenue he stopped, he told us to continue on the same road and take the first right turning, this would take us to the bridge after thanking we carried on and took the turning. We continued for some time and then realised that we were still on the wrong side of the river. We retraced our steps back to the avenue and somehow in doing so we found the bridge. We drove across the Niger River and reaching the far bank, managed to find the road to Kalaban Koro where the camp site was situated. Beyond the bridge we drove through the suburbs of Bamako, past small shops and street traders selling all manner of goods. Lined up on the side of the road were three piece suites, hat stands, dining tables, chairs and beds. Some of the double beds were painted in quite amazing colours and had elaborate head boards.
The tar road ended after a few kilometres and we were now on a road made of red earth. The vehicles were churning it up into a fine powder which filled the air and covered everything around with a layer of fine dust. Seeing a sign post to le Cactus camping we turned off and drove on for another six k’s, on an even worse road. Finally 15k’s from the city we reached the river and found Le Cactus. The gates were padlocked and the whole place was overgrown it looked as if it hadn’t been occupied for a year at least, I could have cried, what to do now? Reaching for our trusty Rough Guide I thumbed through the section on Bamako and found the name of a Hotel near to the Gare Routiere it was on the side of the river that we were now on and so decided to try to find it. We drove back the way we had come but of course we got lost and found ourselves crossing the Pont Des Martyrs, by now it was rush hour and the traffic was even more chaotic. As we left the bridge, on the wrong bank, we decided that we would try and find our way back across the bridge. Steve indicated to turn left around a traffic island that would have taken us back onto the bridge and at this point a motor cycle came along the inside of us and crashed into our front wing. The rider went flying off onto the pavement, fortunately we were going slowly at the time so he didn’t look too badly injured. What a thing to happen, my heart sank and Steve jumped out of the truck looking rather pale and shaky. By now the traffic had piled up behind us and a small crowd of onlookers had gathered
The motor cyclist got to his feet and, thank god, had suffered no more than torn clothes and a few cuts and grazes, but his machine looked rather badly bent. A policeman was sent for and arrived within minutes, he, after marking the road with chalk, told us to drive Ollie into a nearby car park and then once parked he asked for our car papers, a discussion followed with the motor-cyclist but we couldn’t understand what they were saying. At this point a guy popped up out of the crowd that had gathered, he could speak very good English and explained to Steve that the motor cyclist was saying that it was our fault, Steve said that he had signalled in plenty of time and we were not to blame. At this point the policeman seemed to lose interest and wandered off taking our papers with him.
Steve by now, looking very pale, asked our interpreter, who as it happened turned out to be a Ghanaian hairdresser, how we were going get our papers back. He explained that we would either have to make an agreement to compensate the rider for the damage to his machine, even though we were not to blame, or we would have to go to court and argue it out there. If we could reach an agreement then the Policeman would return our papers. The crowd were all looking on with interest and giving their opinions, not that we could understand very much. I got out the first aid kit but we couldn’t find the rubber gloves which were buried somewhere in the truck. Being well aware of the AIDS risk I very carefully cleaned and dressed the motor cyclist’s wounds which seemed to get the approval of the crowd. While I was doing this Steve came to a tentative agreement to pay him the guy 50,000 CFA (Quite honestly to get going we would have paid him more or less anything he asked!). Now our new Ghanaian friend said that he was sorry but it was getting late and he had to go. We thanked him for his help and shook his hand.
Now that agreement was in sight, the policeman was sent for and it wasn’t long before he appeared once more. He asked, the now much happier looking, rider if we had come to an agreement and when Steve told him that we had he returned our papers. The excitement now over, the crowd quickly dispersed leaving just the three of us plus a couple of hangers on. As we were standing there a young white guy came walking towards us across the car park. He looked at us and was about to carry on but then stopped and asked Steve if any help was needed. Steve explained what had happened and that he was about to give this man 50,000 CFA compensation. He looked at the bike and poked it around a bit and then started berating the rider for asking too much money. After much argument a new price of 40,000 CFA was agreed with the motorcyclist. I paid him the money and he went off pushing his motor bike. The guy who had just saved us 10,000cfa now introduced himself as Arthur. We told him that we were looking for a Hotel for the night and he said that he knew of a decent place and would lead us there in his car which by coincidence was parked just a little way from Ollie.
We followed Arthur back across the bridge and down a maze of very bumpy potholed side streets until we came to the Hotel Baobab. We parked Ollie in front of the building and checked in. Arthur then led us up to the roof top bar, which commanded a superb view across the city for a well earned beer. Over a few more beers we sat chatting as the sun went down and learned that Arthur, a Parisian, was doing overseas work for the French Government as an alternative to Military service. Just now, two guys with strong South African accents came into the bar and ordered drinks. They wandered over and asked for our help as they were then having trouble translating the French dinner menu. It transpired that they were business men from Johannesburg and were in Bamako selling water pumps to the Malians. By now it was 8.30 and Arthur had to leave for another engagement but before he left we arranged to meet at 12.30 the following day to have lunch together. He promised that he would bring some maps of the Dogon country with him which was the next place on our route and somewhere that he said he had spent a lot of time exploring.
We ordered our dinner for a bit later, finished our drinks and returned to Ollie unloaded a few things for the night and took them up to our room. Back at the bar for our meal, Steve realised he had lost his glasses. Leaving his meal on the table he rushed off in search of them, returning with glasses on nose. He’d found them on the top of Ollie and must have fallen out of his top pocket when getting stuff off the roof rack.
After our meal of steak and chips, two very weary souls went back to room 34. In anticipation of a steaming hot shower I stepped into the shower tray, turned on the tap and a little trickle of water emerged from the shower rose. I was past caring and did the best I could to wash off the dust and dirt before falling into bed at 10.45 but as tired as I was, so much noise was drifting up from the courtyard below that it was some time before I managed to doze off. This will go down as one of our more difficult days in Africa. Day 6. Mileage 79.
Friday 9th January.
This morning when I woke it took me a good couple of minutes before I realised where I was. It was still dark but I knew it must be about 5.30 as I could hear the Muezzin calling the faithful to prayer. It’s been a long time since we’d slept in a bedroom. The room was painted in dark colours and sparsely furnished but felt cool and shady. We were using our own bed linen from the truck as we were not sure about the bedding supplied. For some reason there was no electricity and so we had to wait until Dawn before we could get up. It was light enough by 6.30, so I attempted a hair wash, the first in eight days but the water supply was almost non existent and I had to get down on my knees in the shower tray to get any water pressure out of the hand shower.
After Steve had ”showered” and washed his hair we went out on to our balcony, which overlooked a small courtyard and I set about cutting his hair and trimming his beard as he was beginning to look little wild.
The Hotel was not exactly bustling, there being only one other couple in the dining room when we went down to breakfast and Breakfast was rather a frugal affair, just bread and jam with tea, no Bacon egg and Sausage here! And it was costing us 40,000cfa a night! The plan today was to find the Burkina Faso Embassy and apply for a Visa but after the problems of yesterday in the city traffic Steve decided that we would go by Taxi and in any case we did not know where the Embassy was located.
Reception ordered a cab for us, which, when it arrived turned out to be a rickety old heap. We negotiated a price with the driver to take us to the embassy for 5,000 CFA and of course, not knowing the rates here, we had a pretty good idea that we had been done again. Off we went down the potholed side streets. How these cars survive the roads god only knows, it certainly explains why they are all wrecks. We had been going for a few minute when Steve realised that he’d left the passport photo’s and his credit cards in the truck safe, so back we went to fetch them, much to the disgust of our driver. It was quite an education driving through the streets of Bamako, if we’d thought Dakar was chaotic then Bamako was up another level. Most of the Streets were just mud tracks flanked by open Sewers, with the usual seething crush of humanity, animals and a million Mopeds. Upon arriving at the Embassy at about 10.15 we paid off the cab and after filling out forms we handed over 13,000 CFA our Photographs and passports and then were told that the visas would be ready at noon. Being a long way from the centre of the city, we decided that we would wait for them and finding an old three piece suite in the reception room we settled down to wait. Several people were bustling around setting up a television and video recorder. With the TV organised, we were joined by some more of the embassy Staff and a tape was inserted into the Machine. This turned out to be a video of an event that had taken place recently when the ambassador had visited a village somewhere in Burkina, we never did find out where. There was dancing and music and quite a few of the people who were in the room with us appeared on the screen and were hooting with laughter as they pointed themselves out to us. Time soon past and at 11.30 our passports were returned, duly stamped with our Visa’s. I checked them and then put in a zipped compartment of my leather money belt before setting off down the dirt road from the embassy. After walking about 50yards we reached the main road and hailed a cab. We asked the driver to take us to the Pont des Martyrs, about half way there, he stopped to pick up a woman and two children, she sat in the front with an infant and the other child, a girl of about eight sat in the back with us. On reaching our destination we paid the fare, 1,000 CFA. As we alighted from the cab we were set upon by a young man selling news papers, he would not take no for an answer and hassled us as We needed to change money but on consulting our rough guide, we discovered that the Banks closed at noon and so we decided to go to the Hotel L’amity, a huge towering building that we could see just a few blocks away to try our luck there. Entering a huge foyer through large plate glass doors we enquired at the reception if they would change traveller’s cheques and on being told this was possible I went to my belt to get Steve’s passport. To my horror they were not there, I quickly unzipped and searched the other two compartments still nothing, by now I was shaking and breaking out into a cold sweat. We checked everywhere that we could have put them but it was obvious that they were gone. By now we were in a flat panic and could not make out what had happened or where we had lost them. The only thing I could think of was that I had put them behind the belt instead of into the zip pocket and perhaps they had fallen out in the Embassy. The receptionist then tried to phone the Burkina Embassy but without luck. we tried to get through the throng of people and across the busy main road. We finally got rid of him and crossed to the car park where yesterday’s disaster had occurred.
By now it was 12.30 and so we raced off to meet Arthur who would be waiting for us at the Pont des Martyrs. We met him and told him our tale of woe, without any further ado Arthur said he would go with us the Embassy to see if they were there. There was an additional complication as Arthur had been involved in an accident in his car that morning (a common occurrence here it seems) and was now travelling on his Moped.
Arthur hailed a cab and explained to the driver where he must take us, negotiating the price at the same time. He then rode alongside the cab as we set off through the traffic back to the Burkina Embassy. On getting there Arthur had a long conversation, in French, with the staff and a search was made but our Passports were not found. Realisation dawned on us that they must have been stolen from my belt, probably by the Newspaper seller who had given us so much hassle. Using the Embassy phone, Arthur called the honorary British consul. Her name was Violet Dialo and she worked at the American School. I spoke to her and she informed me that before she could help us we would have to go to the police and inform them of the loss and obtain a document called a “Pert”.
We left the embassy and Arthur once more negotiated a price with the waiting taxi driver and told him to follow him to the nearest Police Station. When we reached there they were just closing because it was Friday and Ramadan, trust us to lose our passport on a Friday. Following Arthur, we tried another Station and again it was closed. We had a discussion and realised that we still needed to change money for the weekend, so setting off in convoy once more we returned to the Hotel L’amity. The receptionist recognised us and asked if we had found our passports, we said no and asked him if he would accept the Photostat of our passport. This was OK and we changed 2,000 French Francs. Arthur spoke to the receptionist of our problem in trying to find a Police Station that was open; he said that he was sure that the central station would be open.
We left the Hotel and once again Arthur negotiated with out Taxi driver and once again we sped off through the busy streets, our driver trying to keep up with Arthur, weaving in and out of the traffic ahead of us. Luckily the police station was open and Arthur explained our problem to the Policeman at the desk, I don’t know what we would have done without him as no one in the Station spoke any English, It would have taken us a month of Sundays to muddle through with our poor French. The policeman said that we would need two 100CFA stamps to endorse the “Pert”. Once again our guardian Angel, without hesitation, sped off on his Moped to the nearest Post Office, five minutes later he returned with the stamps. The “Pert” form was now filled out and franked with a police stamp, for this we were charged 1,000CFA.
Before entering the Station we had paid off the taxi driver who after much argument with Arthur agreed a price of 6,000 CFA, not bad for about two hours. (We had paid 5,000 for one journey that morning!!). After all the dashing around we were all very thirsty and brought some cokes from a vendor to slake our thirst whilst Arthur negotiated with another driver to take us to the American School which he knew was somewhere on the opposite side of the river across the Pont des Martyrs.
After a search we located the American school in a quiet residential area on the banks of the river. At this point Arthur said that he would have to leave us as he had another appointment to keep. But before leaving us he arranged with our driver a price, to wait and then take us back to the Hotel Baobab. We thanked him for all he had done and agreed to meet at our Hotel for dinner later.
We entered the school and asked if we could see the Consul. We were then shown into an office and given Coffee. A few minutes later Violet Dialo the Honorary Consol joined us. Violet who was a very English middle aged lady explained that she did not have the authority to give us new passports, she could only supply us with temporary ones and also that she would also have to obtain permission from the British Embassy in Dakar. Everything would now be closed for the weekend and so nothing could be done till Monday, fortunately we had our briefcase containing our papers with us and were able to let her have copies of our passports along with the “Pert”. She told us that we could only get new passports in Dakar or Abidjan so we had to make a decision whether to go back or re-route our trip to the Cote d’Ivoire. The last thing that we wanted to do was to go back to Senegal and so made the decision to go to Abidjan. Violet told us that she knew the ambassador there and would phone her, she then told us to return on Monday to collect our temporary Passports. Business completed, violet asked us where we were staying and we told her how we had wanted to Stay at Le Cactus camp site but had found it closed and overgrown and we were now staying at the Baobab. Violet said she knew the couple who had owned the site. They were a middle aged Canadians, who she said had had problems with a Bank that had foreclosed on a loan and repossessed the camp site. They had consequently fallen on hard times and were now renting a house nearby and took in the occasional guests. She was sure that they would be delighted to see us. We thanked her for helping us at such short notice and returned in our cab to the hotel.
After checking in for another night, it was up to the roof top bar for a recuperative beer. There we met a couple who had been at breakfast; she was German and her Husband French. They had been travelling around Mali for the past month looking at property as it was their intention to settle in the country. We ordered more beers and related our tale of woe.
From our rooftop haven we sat and watched the sunset, a red hot ball of fire descending through a pink fog of dust hanging over the city.
We were still shell-shocked from the days events as we showered, changed and then went down stairs to meet Arthur. While waiting in reception, we made a two minute phone call to Alan in Jersey, which cost us 9 pounds! Arthur arrived at 8pm and told us that he had booked a table in a traditional Malian establishment.
Entering the restaurant, through a large room there was an impressive display of Malian craft work on sale and the walls of the restaurant itself were hung with paintings by local Artists that Arthur explained were changed each month. The waitresses were dressed in Elegant Malian costume but, as it was a traditional restaurant they did not serve Alcohol, a bit of a disappointment, instead we were served with fruit punch, I had lemon and Ginger, Steve and Arthur Tamarind and Ginger, and I have to admit, were quite wonderful. After this we were shown to our table and ordered our meal.
We started with Smoked fish wrapped in plantain slices then for main course Steve had brochette of meat and I brochette of Capitan, a type of fish. A musician sitting on a cushion in the corner played an odd looking stringed instrument that seemed to produce, perhaps, two notes, the sort of monotonous sound that could eventually drive you insane. The atmosphere in the restaurant although very busy was rather subdued, probably due to the absence of Alcohol. Later, after enjoying an excellent meal, Arthur took us back to his house for a night-cap. He lived in a small bungalow in an area where most of the French Expats lived. He had a wonderful collection of traditional North African tools and Masks that adorned the walls, collected during his stay in Mali. One of Arthur’s friends who was French but had been born on the Ivory Coast arrived and made us Malian tea, this is made from a red Herb and the preparation of it is a lengthy ritual. Drinking and chatting till well after midnight, mostly about our impending visit into the Dogon country, the boys then took us back to the Baobab and we made a date to meet again on Sunday.Day 6.
Saturday 10th January.
There was no partying down stairs in the Courtyard, below our room last night, so I had a peaceful nights sleep. At 7.30 a loud knocking on the door woke us; my laundry had arrived back, well washed but not very dry. After Breakfast we started packing things into Ollie and while we were doing this the guy who did our Laundry returned with the bill, 15’000 CFA!. I told him that he must be joking, these guys really try it on, and told him to go back and think again. Once we were all loaded up we paid our hotel bill, another 40,000cfa. Then the laundry guy popped up again, this time the bill was down to 8,000, still too expensive, but we paid anyway. Around 10.30 we set out for Kalaban Koro and Le Cactus Camping again, it was quite easy to find the road this time and this morning, not being under so much pressure, we had time to look around. We were quite amused by some of the wonderful designs of Bedroom furniture lined up alongside the road as we were with the stalls advertising roadside hairdressing. These had pictures painted on them of various styles, they were something to behold. Every conceivable trade seems to have a roadside stall or shop. From electricians and Tailors to wrought iron workers and many more.
We arrived at camping Le Cactus at around a quarter past nine and began searching for the Canadian couple’s place that Violet had told us about. We parked Ollie and walked along the river bank a short way, but couldn’t find their house. We turned Ollie around and drove back up the track and then just and as we were passing some Bamboo gates a young chap emerged, waved us down and enquired if we needed help, we told him we were looking for the camp site. He smiled and opened the gates for us to drive in.
Once inside we parked Ollie in their field and the young man, who said his name was Michael, took us through a shady garden to the house. On the stoop he sat us down on a dusty old settee, asking us if we would like a drink, we asked for a couple of beers. Returning a few minutes later with one bottle and two glasses, he said that it was the last beer they had, and that the Patron had just gone to town to get more. Michael, who spoke very good English, told us that he came from Ghana. He had been travelling through Mali on his way to England, when he’d had all his papers stolen and so consequently he was for now, marooned in Bamako.
Looking around we found ourselves in a dusty garden under shady trees, at one end of which there was a covered Bar and placed around the garden were chairs and tables, none of which appeared to be matching, some were covered in pieces of polythene sheet and everything was coated in a thick layer of dust. Dotted around the garden were numerous pots of all shapes and sizes with different species of Cactus growing in them. We could only surmise that all this had been brought over from the old Camping Cactus.
A rather scruffy looking mongrel wandered over to lie at our feet and peering at us over a fence a few yards away was a rather vocal Donkey. A few minutes later a young African girl emerged from the house carrying a puppy under each arm, she was about twelve years old and handed us each one of the puppies.
Patron returned, a small lady in her mid sixties with a strong Canadian accent who introduced herself as Joan. We introduced ourselves and said that we had been to the camp site two days before, to find it all closed, but since then we had met Violet Dialo and it was she who had told us that they were still here. Joan explained that they were trying to start up again but in a small way. Apparently the Cactus had been a thriving business until the main road to the site had, through lack of maintenance, become almost impassable. This had caused a drop in local trade and they’d had to make many representations to the authorities before any repairs were made. Then to cap that, the CFA had then been devalued by half and they had run into serious money problems, the Bank had then foreclosed on them - and we think we have problems!
Enquiring as to the camping fees she said it was 2,000 CFA a day each so we booked for a couple of nights. After finishing our beer, she took us to a small guest room around the back of the house which had small bathroom that we could use. There was no running water and to shower we had to either ask for water or draw it from the well. The toilet flush was a large earthenware pitcher and a scoop. Steve parked Ollie in a corner of the field and we set about making camp. The afternoon was spent cleaning out the inside of Ollie which, after our long journey from Senegal, was in a dreadful state.
Later on in the afternoon a large Mercedes Benz camper arrived owned by a young German couple with a baby. They were accompanied by a young black girl who was nanny to the baby. They asked where we had just come from and I said that we had come down from Dakar in Senegal; they then asked if we had stayed at Rufisque. When I said that we had, they seemed very interested and asked lots of questions about the camp site. They told us that they were very interested in opening a camp site in Mali, but at the moment were helping Joan and her husband to install some new plumbing. They left us and went off to do some work and we continued giving Ollie his wash and brush up. A little while later they returned and we offered them a cold drink. As we sat drinking he explained why they were so interested in the Rufisque site. He said that they had leased the land, built the camp site and had then run it for four years. The land the site was on was owned by another German and they were having a lot of trouble renewing the Lease, they’d felt that he was trying to get rid of them and take over their business. The owner was also using the place for some dodgy car dealing which was causing aggravation with the police. Things reached a point where they were frightened for their lives and one night they packed all of their possessions that they could carry into the camper van and drove over the border into Mali.
They told us that their daughter had been born at Rufisque; they had delivered her themselves with no other help, other than the book “where there is no Doctor” which we also have in our kit. You do hear some strange tales in Africa and never know how much to believe.
We had arranged earlier with Joan to have dinner at the house so now we washed and changed before going to eat. Joan and her Husband Andre were very good hosts and Joan an excellent cook. She served Steak Au poivre, French fries and salad and for pudding we had Banana flambé. After dinner we sat and chatted about our journey and they told us a little about their lives. They had arrived in Mali 19 years before. He was an Engineer who had come to Mali to build Harbour installations at the port of Mopti; they had fallen in love with country and stayed on after the end of his contract. They had since survived a revolution and many hard times. They had grown up children and family back home in Canada who wanted them to return there but despite all the problems they did not want to leave Mali. They had also adopted three young African children whose parents had died from aids. Now they were trying to pick up the pieces from their latest set back. We turned in at midnight, it was nice to be back in the tent again, and we rolled up the door flaps just leaving the mosquito screens in place. Down here by the river away from the dust and smells of the city we were able to enjoy fresh air wafting through the tent.Day 7.
Sunday 11th January.
After a peaceful night’s sleep we arose around 7.30 and set out for a walk along the river bank we hadn’t gone far when we had our first sighting of an Olive crowned shrike, a beautiful black and scarlet bird with a yellow cap. Among the other birds that we saw were plovers, sand pipers, pied kingfishers, and the very smart looking Crocodile bird, another new one for us. There were also lots of Coucals around, they are not as shy here as their South African cousins. To walk along beside river was so relaxing, fishermen were poling their pirogues through the shallows of the wide, lazily flowing, Niger river and along the banks, pirogues were moored with men up to their necks in the water scooping sand and depositing in their boats.
After a couple of hours we returned to our camp, had breakfast and then spent the rest of the morning cleaning Ollie, finishing where we'd left off the day before. I prepared a Tuna Pasta for later and then around three in the afternoon we went up to the garden for a beer. We were sitting in the Shade with Joan and Andre chatting when two of their adopted children brought a litter of six puppies out to us, they were only six weeks old and so cute. Joan told us that the children’s little brother was being very sick and could not hold any food down so I went to our First aid box to find some tablets for him.
In need of a “shower” I asked for water, so one of their staff filled an earthenware pitcher in the bathroom with hot water and then it was just a matter of using a scoop to pour it over ones self. Later on in our journey there will come a time when we will have to “bush shower” this way, all the time, but for now it is still a novelty. After our meal we set off for Arthur’s house. It was very tricky and not a little dangerous driving in the dark through Kalaban Koro, there are so many vehicles here without lights and driving through the dust it is difficult to see them until you are nearly upon them. The only illumination at the sides of the road came from small fires with people sitting around them, the glow from the flames lighting there faces in the dust filled air, candles and lanterns glimmered in the darkness.
Somehow we managed to find our way to Arthur’s, which shows that our navigational skills must be improving. As well as us he had invited another couple for the evening, a French lad and his English girlfriend. We had a very pleasant evening with these young folk. We dined on fish and rice and Arthur made some of his special red tea. He also gave us some very good information on the Dogon area as well as an excellent large scale map. We said our fond farewells around midnight and thanking him once more for all the help that he had given us we headed back to the Cactus. At this late hour the roads were very quiet, Africans are not known for keeping late hours. Arriving there just after 12.30 we erected the roof tent and turned in. Day 8.
Monday 12th January.
At about 4.am I awoke to a strange sound and after listening for a few minutes, realised that what I could hear was the sound of paddles being dipped into the water and the melodious chanting of fishermen as they paddled their pirogues down stream. We got up at dawn and enjoyed listening to the dawn chorus while eating our breakfast in the lovely cool morning air.
A little later we set off for the American School to see Violet Dialo (the honorary consul). She had obtained permission to issue us with temporary passports, that would last for one month and allow us to travel through Southern Mali and then into Burkina Faso. We would then have to enter Cote D’Ivoire and obtain new passports from the British embassy in Abidjan. While we waited for her to finish our paperwork, we met the principal of the School and his wife, a very nice couple. They gave us the address and name of the principal of the American School in Abidjan and said if we had a chance we should pay them a visit. To help us with border crossings Violet had also written us a letter explaining why we were travelling on temporary passports.
We left the American school around 11.00 and crossed the Pont des Martyrs back into the city and went in search of the Burkina Faso embassy. The traffic was awful and to complicate matters we encountered a traffic diversion. At 12.20, more by luck than judgement, we located the embassy. We had been told on Friday that they would issue new visas free of charge, but there was a shock in store for us, even though we explained that our passports had been stolen after we had paid for our visa, the issuing officer insisted that we must pay again. We pleaded, but to no avail so we filled out more forms provided four new photos and handed over another 30,000 CFA. We were then told to return at 2pm to collect them. Steve insisted on a receipt for our money and a small scrap of paper was supplied. It was now a quarter past one and we decided to go back to the city centre. On our way we stopped at a telephone boutique and phoned the British consul. We explained our problem and she said that she would phone the Burkina ambassador, but couldn’t promise anything.
At this point we were extremely hot and thirsty and brought ourselves a couple of cold cokes from a street vendor before making our way back to the Burkina embassy. There we waited until 3pm, when our new visa’s and 4,000 CFA change was returned. Our next job was to obtain a visa for the Cote D’Ivoire and so we set off as fast as we could to try and reach their embassy before it closed. The office was situated in the centre of the city so we parked Ollie in the central car park, just off the Pont des Martyrs. Having located the embassy, we were shown in to see the Ambassador, he explained to us that we would have book a hotel in Abidjan and then they would have to the Fax the details to the embassy in Bamako. We were given forms and shown into a small room already occupied by three young Germans and two oriental Gentlemen. They told us that they had also been told to supply details of hotel bookings. After filling out the forms and supplying four Photographs I was shown into the Ambassadors office again, here I was given their fax and telephone number and told that once we had supplied a hotel booking our visa’s would be issued. It was now 5pm and on returning to the truck discovered that we had acquired a minder and who now, as we set off to shop, automatically became our guide. It doesn’t matter how much you protest you cannot shake these guys off, you just have to accept there services.
Steve had promised Rocas, Joan’s eldest adopted daughter that he would show her how to use a small computer that Joan had brought back from Canada for her. So we set about looking for some batteries for the machine. These were found, and as Joan had told us how much to they should cost, I refused to pay the inflated “Tubab” (white man) price and got them down to the right one. Our new guide now took us to the Amex office, where we were hoping there would be some mail for us, unfortunately it was closed. On our way back to Ollie I made a couple of roadside purchases, fruit etc and for which our guide negotiated a good price. On reaching the truck we paid our guide 1,000 CFA, good money for doing little, and made our weary way back to Le Cactus, arriving there at around 6pm.
No sooner had we parked when Rocas came rushing over to us with her computer. So, while I cooked dinner Steve set about showing her how to use it. She was a very bright youngster and could pick things up very quickly. A little later Joan brought over a couple of beers and we sat and chatted. Once our dinner was ready they left, Rocas was excited and keen to try out what she had learned. After eating we went to bed at about 9pm, both exhausted. Day 9.
Tuesday 13th January.
I woke very early and feeling chilly, I pulled our Berber blanket over me, but didn’t sleep much after that. Got up around 7.30 and after breakfast did some laundry. At 10.15 we set off for the American school again, I think the residents of Kalaban Koro must be getting used to seeing our blue Land Rover trundling backwards and forwards through their village. We explained to Violet our problem of having to make a hotel booking in Abidjan and she told us not to worry as she would do it for us. We had picked out the names of two hotels from the rough guide so she tried to phone them but couldn’t get through she said that she would fax them and we should call her later that day. Leaving Violet, Steve decided to drive to the Land Rover dealer that he had seen on the road out to Arthur’s house. He wanted to see if he could buy another wing mirror and two plastic covers for our wheel bearings that had been lost in the accident and which were still covered with the with adapted spray can tops. He took his parts list and went in to see them. Returning a little later he laughed and said we would have go without for a bit longer as they had wanted to charge him 40,000 CFA for the two bearing covers. Forty pounds for two items that would have been about 4 quid at home, he didn’t bother enquiring the price of the wing mirror!
On our way back through Kalaban Koro we did some shopping for food and I went off in search of a bakery that I had been told about, searching up little back alleyways it took some time to locate but I’m getting quite used to trotting off on my own now. The search was worthwhile because the bakery sold the most wonderful Croissants. Back in camp at 12.30 we sat in the shade of the garden and had a beer with Joan. She said that the pills we had given her for the young boy who was having stomach problems had worked and he was now eating again, it was nice to help someone else for a change.
After lunch I prepared a veggie sauce to go with Pasta for that evening. Later that afternoon we drove back to Kalaban Koro in search of a telephone Boutique so that we could contact the American School. We found one but the line was so bad that we decided that we would have to drive over and see Violet at the school. Violet had made a booking for us at the Palm Beach Hotel in Abidjan and they had agreed to fax the embassy straight away. We thanked her for all her help and set off again back to Le Cactus.
We took a short walk along the river bank to watch the sunset. The Niger is such a beautiful wide river it has lots of reed covered islets dotted about it’s width and like all African rivers it is the hub of everyday life for a large part of the population plus there is always plenty going on along it’s banks and although we have had our problems here we have found Bamako a vibrant and fascinating city. Later that evening after our meal we listened to the radio and Steve did some work on the news letter. Day 10.
Wednesday14th January.
Last night was the coolest for a long time I had to put the Berber blanket over us, and closed the tent flaps. We got up at half past seven, had breakfast and were heading off into Bamako by nine. Fusinie, one of the staff came with us as far as Kalaban Koro, it was his day off and he was going into town for the day. We parked at our usual stop near the bridge and went looking for a bank. The first we visited did not handle Visa, so we rushed along to the BMA bank that was situated near the cathedral. They took the card and told us to return at noon for the money. On our way to the next appointment, the Cote D’Ivoire embassy, we called in at the Amex office but disappointment, still no mail. Arriving at the embassy at 10.15, I rang the bell and we were shown into the ambassador’s office. The ambassador, a very charming gentleman, said that his wife had received a phone call from Violet Dialo asking us to call in and see her when we could. He told us that he had received the fax from the hotel in Abidjan and we could have our visa and gave us the bill 60,000 CFA! Not having enough cash on us Steve had to go back to the truck for some French francs. Having handed over the money we then had to wait again till 11.30 when a young lady presented us with our passports and visa’s. From the embassy we made a dash to the Bank arriving there very hot and flustered. Bamako at noon is very warm, mid 30’s, the air thick with dust and traffic pollution and trying to make your through the throng of people is quite an achievement in itself.
Waiting in the queue for our cash I suddenly heard a shout from across the room, looking around I saw Marietta and Bruno, a French couple, whom we had last seen back in Nouadhibou in Mauritania hitch hiking on our convoy. They told us that after Mauritania they had hitched to Tambacounda and from there they had taken the train to Bamako. They said that it had been a horrendous journey and had had to stand for thirteen hours. Now they were staying with Bruno’s uncle, a priest in Bamako. After we had collected our cash, they invited us to lunch with them at a local café that they often frequented.
We wandered through narrow side streets to a little café that was little more than a lean-to shed. Here we spent an hour or so catching up on each others news. We ate rice with a peanut sauce washed down with two large bottles of local beer. While we were eating a small boy who was sitting on the pavement near us came over to ask if he could clean my sandals he made an extremely good job of them. The bill for our meal for the four of us came to 2,400 CFA, a couple of quid.
On leaving the café the four of us took a walk up through the market, an amazing place, thronged with people, full of colour and noise. The shops and stalls were crammed with goods. I think that you could have purchased just about anything you might wish for. Amongst the stalls, sitting on the pavements surrounded by their pots and little stoves were women cooking street food and for many people in West African cities, this is the foremost source of a cooked meal.
Bruno and Marietta had to leave us and so we said our farewells and expressed the hope that we would meet up again on our respective journeys. Then while I went to find postcards and the Post office, Steve went hunting in the motor section of the market. When we met up again Steve had managed to buy one plastic wheel bearing cover. It had cost a whacking 9,000 CFA but, he said that at least the important front bearing would be protected.In contrast to some other African markets this one was quite a relaxing place to wander around in, the people taking very little notice of us and very little hassle at all. We slowly made our way back to Ollie and drove along to the American school to find out what Violet Dialo wanted to see us about. She asked us if we would be prepared to give a young English girl a lift to the Dogon country. Violet told us that she was a scientist from Washington DC doing research into Malaria and was in Bamako collecting blood samples.
Although this would cause problems for us as the truck is crowded enough with two of us, we felt that Violet had been so kind to us that we should accommodate her. We explained that she would have to bring her own camping equipment as we only had sufficient for us two and arranged to pick her up at the school the following morning.On our way back to Le Cactus we did some shopping in Kalaban Koro, and then when we got back to camp I went and sat in the garden with Joan while Steve did some maintenance on Ollie. Later I did some laundry and after that I cut Joan’s hair for her.
The light was just beginning to fade and I was cooking our dinner when a Standard winged Nightjar flew right over Ollie, a fascinating sight, it had two long quills terminating in a couple of inches of feather. In the fading light it appeared that the bird was being followed by two black butterflies.
Dinner was good old veggie pasta and the rest of the evening was spent catching up on the diary. We turned in at 10pm. Day 8.
Wednesday 14th January.
We got up early after an excellent night sleep, had breakfast and had Ollie packed and ready for the road by 10.00.
Fusinie had filled the big earthenware pot in the bathroom with hot water for us to have our “bucket shower” and then, when we were ready for the road, we paid our bill, 20,000 CFA and said our goodbyes to Joan, Andre and the kids.
For, hopefully the last time we drove to the American school arriving there at 11.20. A few minutes later, Andrea, our passenger arrived and Violet introduced us. We loaded all her kit into Ollie plus a tent and sleeping bag that Violet had loaned her. Andrea said that she didn’t have enough cash and would need to visit a bank before we left Bamako.
We said goodbye to Violet for the last time, she has been so kind and helpful to us, and set off for the city. A few hundred yards down the road Steve suddenly said that Ollie was overheating badly and decided to return to the school. Poor Violet must have thought that she would never get rid of us.
Steve stuck his head under the bonnet and said that the fan belt had come off and it was going to take a while to fix, so Violet said that the school bus driver could take myself and Andrea to town in Violet’s car but Violets car was a real old heap and despite the best efforts of the driver it refused to start so he had to take us in the school bus. Once in the city I went with Andrea to the bank which as usual was crowded and we had to queue or ages. We were so long that the bus driver came looking for us. Lo and behold when we got back to the bus it been clamped. Later we learned that Bamako is twinned with Angier’s in France and some bright spark over there had sent over a load of clamps and now the police were running around town clamping cars and anything else with wheels on it willy-nilly. It took another half an hour for the driver to negotiate the removal of the clamp and this of course required a backhander.
On the way out of town we stopped to pick up some medicine for Violets dogs and by the time we got back to the school and said our goodbyes to Violet, again, and got going it was 2pm. But we were very excited because we were heading for the mysterious Dogon country.