Many thanks to my readers for their kind comments – most of which seem to be about how much time I spend riding round the country and how little time working! I’d just like to point out that you’re all being very mean and to remind you that I will be looking for a job in England next year so please, just in case there are any prospective employers reading, could your comments be more along the lines of, ‘I’m glad you managed to take a short break to travel round the country. I know how hard you’re working and I was beginning to get worried that you might damage your health.’ Believe it or not, I have actually been doing a little bit of ‘nose to the grindstone’ lately. It’s quite a busy time in the office as the school year nears its end: the official closing day for schools is 10th July, but evidently as soon as the rains arrive (anytime from early June), many children drop out as they are needed on the farms. The biggest job at the moment – which fortunately is not my responsibility, although I am helping with it – is sorting out next year’s teacher postings. The majority of teachers in the country prefer to work in the coastal districts where there is 24 hour electricity and water, and the climate is generally cooler. This means that it is difficult to find teachers to work in the ‘up-country’ schools. A recently introduced ‘hardship allowance’ has helped a little, but in general teachers still prefer to be in the more developed towns. To overcome the teacher shortage away from these areas, there is a rule that, once they have qualified the Ministry for Education can send teachers anywhere in the country. They have no right to appeal against these postings for the first 3 years, after which they can apply to transfer to a different school within the same region. After 5 years they can apply to move to a different region. As a consequence of this, in the summer term the office is inundated with requests for transfer from teachers who have served the minimum time requirements. Working out how many teachers a school needs next year and which teachers can be posted there, and which are allowed to move away from the area is a mammoth task. In fact, the job is so complicated that in most years, many teachers do not know where they will be working in September when the schools break up for the summer, and schools are not sure whether they’ll have sufficient teachers to cover classes at the start of the year. As well as this job, I have also been working on next year’s academic calendar (putting in regular holidays so I can go travelling of course). This is another tricky endeavour as I have to take account of the many Islamic festivals which are on different dates each year, but I also have to try to build in sufficient days to allow for the many unexpected extra public holidays which can be declared at any time in response to important events. Last week Ivo and I spent a lot of time on the bikes again. This time it was work though: we were travelling around schools assessing the impact of some region-wide phonics training for teachers earlier in the year. This involved questionnaires for heads and class teachers, as well as conducting quick reading tests with sample groups of pupils. It was an interesting experience as the youngest children in the better schools were able to decode and say English words that they didn’t even know the meaning of! I wish I knew more about this area of teaching as it seems very odd to me that children who cannot even speak a language are taught to read and write in it. It seems to go against current ideology in English primary schools where children are immersed in oral language before being expected to learn the written form. Anyway, as you can see, I do occasionally do a little work to earn my crust and life isn’t all one big holiday! That said, I’ve just signed up for a trip over the border to a coastal nature reserve in Senegal next weekend – I promise I won’t take any time off work though!
The next day, we were up at 8am (temp in room 32.2°C) and made a reasonably early start. We hoped to make it to Bansang before the fuel ran out as we knew we could get it from the Riders for Health depot there. After the long ride the day before we weren’t confident and took things steady to cut consumption as much as possible. As it worked out, we made it easily and filled up at the yard around 10am. The mechanics there were so friendly they checked our tyre pressures and adjusted and oiled our chains just to make sure we were OK for the rest of the journey.
The road from Bansang to our destination for the day, Soma, turned out to be surprisingly good – for motor bikes that could dodge around the potholes anyway – and we made it without anything falling off the bikes until we had passed by Janjangbureh on the sounth bank. After that the road deteriorated and, as is traditional with Nat’s bike, an indicator decided to end it all and hurled itself from its mounting to hang pathetically from the end of its wires. Fortunately, skilful application of parcel effected an almost invisible repair and other road users were once more safe in the knowledge that I could let them know before swerving off to the left.
Shortly after that the unthinkable happened: Ivo’s normally ultra-reliable AG100 broke down!! OK, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, but the cover did fall off his speedo and necessitated the purchase of a 10 dalasis tube of superglue from a village shop to fix. They say things always happen for a reason, and this mishap proved the point perfectly as, whilst Ivo was gluing the speedo back together, I realised that we’d forgotten to have breakfast and it was now 1pm (37.3°C in the shade).
An egg tapalapa (hard boiled egg mashed in a breadstick) soon cured the problem and we set off, confident of survival until dinner.
By now, the road was really getting rather rough, and making good progress was hard work as we constantly crashed into potholes around a foot deep. At one time the road had been metalled but the surface had worn through in many places and the heavy summer rains had excavated it to the point that it had the texture of the skin of an orange – only much bigger.
Weaving our way around the worst holes, we laboured our way to Soma, surprising ourselves by arriving early at 2pm. As we intended to spend the night in fellow volunteer Angela’s compound and we thought she’d still be at work, we set about the arduous task of finding a hostelry with some suitable dust-slaking beverage for sale. This we managed, and we spent a relaxing hour watching the world go by before making our way to Angela’s (40.1°C).
Angela was a star and cooked a wonderful meal for us and yet another good evening was had by all.
The next morning we were up just after 7am after a fairly sleepless night. The temperature hardly seemed to fall overnight (no, I didn’t check the thermometer) and neither Ivo nor I could get comfortable as we lay in our respective pools of sweat.
Angela again rose to the occasion though and after cups of coffee and a breakfast of tomato and cheese spread in the ubiquitous breadstick soon got us back on our feet.
This was quite lucky as the next few hours turned out to be a tad difficult. We were on the road by 8:40 am and headed west along the legendary south bank road. The south bank road is mostly famous for not really being a road at all. Those well versed in local folk lore will tell you that it used to be a road once, but now it’s more a collection of dips, ridges and craters linked loosely by deep, red dust.
We knew we had a long ride ahead of us and tried to push on as quickly as we could, with bits flying off Nat’s bike as we went. That morning the luggage rack supports broke so that every time I hit a bump the whole rack, including my rucksack, pivoted on the surviving front supports and hit me in the back. The already wounded headlamp after showing great fortitude by hanging on for the last couple of days, was unable to maintain the effort and fell off altogether, as did another 2 indicators. The roll of parcel tape was nearly finished by lunchtime!
Another hazard faced by travellers along the south bank road is the frequent police and army check-points. Sometimes motorbikes are waved through (presumably you can’t get many insurgents in the top-box) but we were stopped a total of 4 times by men with guns that morning. As long as all the necessary documentation can be produced, there isn’t usually any difficulty at these stops, but there’s something about men with big guns that makes me feel edgy.
Such were the trials of that leg of the journey that I forgot completely to take any photos or measure the temperature once.
Amazingly, we made it to the point the tarmac road begins again just south of Brikama around 11:30 am – just less than 3 hours. The bikes were still running and, apart from being covered head to toe in dust, we had survived unscathed. From here on in, the roads would be smooth and the pubs frequent: the hard part of the journey was over.
We rode down to the beach at Kartong: the most southerly point in the country, and indulged in a much needed Julbrew at Boboi Camp (positively arctic conditions at only 27.3°C). From there it was a leisurely ride up the coast to where an aptly named ‘Vesuvius’ pizza awaited me at Paradiso in Senegambia.
The bulk of the final day of the journey was spent waiting around the Riders for Health workshop in Kanifing as major surgery was carried out on Nat’s bike. From there it was a routine Banjul – Barra ferry crossing (26.9° in the middle of the river) and a race along the well-surfaced north bank road to make it home just as night fell.
A check of the odometers revealed that we’d managed 932km (580miles) in our 5 day epic voyage. I heard a rumour that Charlie and Ewan managed a little further. Personally I don’t believe it, but even if it is true, I bet they didn’t enjoy themselves nearly as much as we did.
The End
The next morning was Sunday. For some reason, on Sunday mornings I often seem to have a headache. This day was no exception! I did however manage to be up at 0800 and have the house tidied by around 0830 (temp 27.7°C). By 0845 we were down by the ferry crossing have a wonderful breakfast of nebbe (spicy bean paste served in a bread stick) and weak, sugary instant coffee, served in a cracked Union Jack mug the stall holder proudly produced for me.
Before taking the ferry, we had to go and visit Danny and his wife Fiona: both to say and goodbye, and also to try and persuade them to part with a little of their fuel allowance to see us on our way.
We ended up taking all their fuel (thanks Danny!) and still had room for a drop more so we had to stop at a roadside fuel station where a young man measured petrol from a plastic container into our tanks.
We managed to catch the official ferry this time, and by 10:00 we were back on the north bank of the river ready to begin the day’s travels.
The first day had all been spent on tarmac roads and the riding had been quite easy. Today was going to be different. On the north bank, the only roads between Janjangbureh and the eastern end of the country were (badly maintained) dirt tracks. As soon as we hit the potholes, I discovered a major limitation of Nat’s bike which, unlike the Yamaha AGs, was built for the road and had very short suspension. With a medium-sized rider like myself, and a heavy bag full of my travelling kit on the back, the centre stand was hitting the ground every time I hit a bump or a dip. As the stand is bolted directly onto the bottom of the engine casing, hitting it too hard could lead to the casing breaking and that would have been the end of the trip. The only way forward was slowly – I took the lead and picked my way through the potholes, with Ivo getting bored and frustrated behind.
The day was very hot and the sun was burning. We went through all the water we’d brought with us (around 2 litres each) by midday, and we were forced to stop to buy bags of water in villages we passed through. The landscape was fairly flat and featureless, and we began to wonder what on earth we were doing as we plodded steadily on through the heat and dust. Fortunately, with The Gambia being so long and thin, it’s quite difficult to get lost. If the people you meet speak French, you’ve strayed too far north and ended up in Senegal, and if you find it’s suddenly very wet, you’ve strayed too far south and ended up in the river! Neither of these things happened to us though, and we simply kept ploughing on through the midday heat.
Around 2pm we finally made the river crossing at Fatoto. The ferry here is similar to the small one we used to get onto the island of Janjangbureh – but without the engine. Propulsion was by means of a large paddle fastened to the stern and waved around in the water by an incredibly fit man. We lifted the bikes onto the boat, and a few minutes later were dropped of on the south bank. From there it was only a short ride into the town centre, where lunch of more nebbe, swilled down with a couple of bags of ice-cold water. Grand! (temp – 39.9°C).
Fatoto is close to the eastern end of the country, but not quite there, so we decided that, to make it a proper ‘round the country’ tour, we’d have to go a bit further. We duly headed north-east to the small town of Koina, arrving at 3.20pm and discovering that the temperature was only 41.8°C which was comparable to Kerewan! Those Basse volunteers just love to exaggerate!
From Koina, we rode west down a dirt road to Basse, where Julbrew was quaffed in Mike’s Bar at 4.50pm We were hot, dirty and tired after 7 hours of hard riding (during which time we’d actually only covered 130 miles), but we’d made it and were feeling rather proud of ourselves!
We found a hotel (backpacker hostel type place), showered and went out for chicken and chips. Worried that we might not sleep, we took some special potion (Julbrew, I think it said on the label) back to the hotel room and talked and drank the evening away. Heaven!
To be continued ……
The ride to Farafenni went well. Nat’s bike, whilst being incredibly small-framed, is a road bike and runs quite smoothly on the tarmac. Annoyingly for Ivo, it has a top speed about 10mph higher than his AG100 and I had to ride behind him as when I went first I kept forgetting to wait for him. There were a few embarrassing moments with the gearbox leaving Kerewan: on the FDMCO, to change up, you press the lever down instead of up. I had to pretend I was just revving the engine to look cool on the occasions I inadvertently changed down instead of up!
It took us just less than an hour to reach Eddy’s Hotel and bar in Farafenni – a place we know quite well as it’s the nearest place we can get a beer and a meal with chips instead of rice.
It was in the hotel car park where I carried out my first modification of Nat’s bike. I’d put it on the side-stand next to the wall and decided, as the bike has no box, I’d better take my bag inside with me. As I lifted the bag from the rack, the bike fell over, away from me and straight into the wall. Fortunately the headlamp acted as a crumple zone and protected the hard metal parts by disintegrating and absorbing the impact. Actually the damage wasn’t too bad and was quickly cured with a roll of parcel tape bought in a shop over the road. The brown looked really good with the blue paint and the chrome work.
Whilst eating our chicken and chips I took the first of my ‘Let’s find out if Basse really is the hottest place in the world’ temperature readings. To explain: everyone who’s ever been to the eastern end of the country in general, and the town of Basse in particular, constantly regales anyone they meet – people on the bus, strangers in the street – with tales of how their car melted and the book they were reading spontaneously combusted there as it’s the hottest place this side of Mercury! I’d brought my digital thermometer with me to check whether this was in fact true.
For the record, in Eddy’s courtyard at 1045, my thermometer registered 34.8°C.
Having eaten our fill, we left Farafenni and set out on the road to the east. The bikes were still running well and I was discovering that with my knees doubled up as they were, I could rest my chin n them when my neck started aching.
We stopped briefly in Kaur to say hello to Tracey (36.5°C in house – 41.8°C in back yard) and then set off for Janjanbureh.
There are only s few historic sites in The Gambia, and when we passed a sign for Wassu Stone Circles, I couldn’t resist pulling in to have a look. A sign outside the entrance announced that entrance was D50 however and, with Ivo standing there saying he’d been before and it wasn’t worth D50 I decided to just take a couple of pics over the wall instead. As if by magic, as soon as I produced my camera, a man appeared from nowhere and started jumping up and down in front of me saying, ‘No picture, no picture.’ Slightly put out by this but not wanting to get into an argument, I decided to walk around the perimeter wall to see if there was a suitable vantage point round the other side. Unfortunately the man followed me, walking on the inside of the wall waving his arms in front of the camera and repeating his order that photographs should not be taken. Whilst I was sneakily trying to get my shot, I heard Ivo’s bike start and watched as he bravely sped off to avoid being associated with me should the man turn out to have a large friend. As it turned out, he didn’t and I was able to grab a quick snap and hurry back to the bike with the sound of, ‘Fifty Dalasis! Fifty Dalasis!’ ringing in my ears.
At the river crossing to the island of Janjanbureh, we discovered that the ferry was stuck on the island side as a tractor had broken down on it. After a very long wait in the hot sun, we were persuaded by a man who had a very small boat that he could in fact squeeze two motorbikes on as long as we crossed his palm with silver. His palm was crossed and the bikes were manhandled so they were balancing precariously on the edge of the boat. The ride over to the island was an interesting affair, but we made it safely and found Danny the husband of education volunteer Fiona waiting for us on the other side.
Danny said he’d booked us into a lodge for the night for only D200 (breakfast not included). We were expecting some sort of dirty hovel and were amazed when we found that we actually had a 3 bedroom bungalow with a fridge that worked, running water and a rather splendid view of the river (temp on verandah at 1730 – 39.2°C). Of course, having a fridge that worked was such a luxury that we had to find something to put in it. Fortunately Danny knew a shop which sold some strange golden coloured liquid with ‘Julbrew’ written on the label and, using this very sensibly, we were able to entertain ourselves for the whole evening!
To be continued …
One of the VSO volunteers in Kerewan, Ivo Jonker, suggested to me a few months ago that, as he will be leaving this summer, he’d like to travel right around the country on his motorbike and that, were I a real man, I’d join him. I obviously had no choice but to do so, and we agreed that the week after Easter would be the time. There were a couple of problems to overcome: we’re not supposed to take our VSO bikes more than 100km from our homes, plus the journey would take at least 5 days and neither of us was due that much holiday (if anyone reading this is from either VSO or the Education Office, it is of course a fictional account rather than a true story!)
Being rather devious, we came up with a cunning plan – we wouldn’t mention it to VSO and would just hope that they never caught us and, if we visited several of the newly arrived volunteers around the country, we could tell the education office that we were meeting them to discuss our work and share ideas.
Having agreed this much, it seemed that we’d probably overdone the planning so we simply forgot about the whole venture until a few days before we were due to leave.
I was away from home for the run up to our start date (which might be Friday, or maybe Saturday depending on how we felt) so I left Ivo to ring a few strategically placed volunteers to arrange stop-overs. He eventually fixed up lodgings for 2 of the 4 nights we’d be out and felt that he’d done all that was needed.
We finally decided that Saturday would be the best day to set off, and so I arranged to travel home on the Friday. I met Natalie, another Kerewan Volunteer, and we crossed on the ferry and rode along the North Bank road towards home. My bike was running like a dream right until the moment the engine blew up about 10 miles from home! I was rescued about half an hour later by one of the office pick-up trucks which just happened to be passing, but it seemed that the trip was going to have to be postponed.
Ivo swore quite a lot when he heard the news – he does that when he’s upset and let’s face it, he’d gone to the trouble of making 2 phone calls to arrange accommodation so I could quite see why he’d be annoyed.
Natalie though remained cool and calm and suggested that I borrow her bike for the trip. Natalie is not a tall person and VSO had bought her bike as a one off as she was the only person in recent years who was physically unable to ride the standard issue AG 100s. Instead, they’d found her a Chinese built FDMCO 125, being the smallest frame they could lay their hands on. It is also a rather cheap and badly made machine and is strictly a road bike – not suitable at all for the dirt tracks we’d be riding. We rolled around the floor splitting our sides for a few minutes and then, when the realisation that this was the only way the trip was going to be possible dawned upon us, I was faced with a very tricky decision.
Being a careful, methodical planner, I considered carefully for 30 seconds and then said that I’d love to borrow it.
The next morning I was up at 0800, packed by 0830 and at Natalie and Ivo’s house by 0900. I hadn’t had breakfast as we’d agreed that our first stop should be Eddy’s Hotel, Farafenni for a chicken and chips brunch.
As the official tour photographer, I set about annoying Ivo by taking pictures of him doing the bike checks he should have done two days ago! This amused Natalie and myself until Ivo was finally ready to start around 0945.
Unlike Charlie and Ewan, there was no ceremony to mark our departure, simply a screamed, ‘Break my bike and you’ll be sorry!’ from Nat as we screeched out of the compound.
We hit the tarmac road a few minutes later and settled back for the 40 mile drive to Farafenni. The sun was out (as always) and the sky was blue (again, as always) and it was good to be on the road – even if I did look a bit silly riding along with my knees round my ears!
To be continued….
The reason I came to The Gambia was to try and share what little I know of managing schools with the education authorities here as they work to improve their systems and provide a quality education for all the children in the country.
The school system here, although based largely on the English system, is very different in many ways. Firstly, education is not compulsory and schools have to do their best to convince parents of the need to send their children to school at all. This isn’t always easy as it is traditional for children to work in the home and on the land as soon as they are old enough, and without this extra labour it is difficult for families to manage – particularly at busy times such as harvest.
Attendance throughout the year is very variable with more children attending in the dry season (November to May) than in the rainy season, when they are needed on the farm.
A few years ago, the Gambian government pledged to make education available to all pupils and started a campaign to enrol more children. The campaign was very successful and the numbers of children suddenly turning up at school overwhelmed the system and there were acute shortages of buildings, furniture and teachers. For some time now, the Department for Education has been doing all it can to build new classrooms, provide new furniture and train more teachers. In spite of their best efforts, many schools are still having to operate a ‘double shift’ system where some pupils attend in the morning and others in the afternoon. There are many disadvantages with the system, not least the fact that by 6pm, the teachers have been standing in front of classes for over 9 hours.
In spite of these measures, there are still insufficient trained teachers to cope with the workload and so most schools have to use unqualified teachers.
Teachers across the country tend to be demotivated by the hard working conditions and the low wages. When you add in the fact that they can be posted anywhere in the country and have to live in remote villages away from their homes and families it is not surprising that the retention rate of teachers is very low, with many leaving each year to pursue more lucrative professions.
It is against this background that the staff at the Regional Education Directorate work to ensure that all children who wish to attend school are able to do so and that they receive the best quality education possible. The staff at the Directorate is quite small – particularly when compared to an English LEA. In the office there are the Director of Education, a Principal Education Officer, a Senior Education Officer and two Education Officers covering a region with nearly one hundred schools. There are also 9 ‘Cluster Monitors’ covering clusters of around 10 to 12 schools each.
I work mainly with the Principal Education Officer (PEO), Saite Saine, and sometimes with the Director, Musa Suso. My role is to offer a different perspective on the work they are doing and hopefully be able to suggest new ways in which they can tackle issues.
For the past few months, my main task has been to improve the way schools are monitored by the Education Office. Communications are difficult: there’s no regular postal service, no email in schools and, unless the head has a mobile phone he can be reached on, there is no way to keep in touch with schools other than to actually visit them. Department of Education regulations say that staff from the Regional Directorates should visit each school at least once a month. In practice this is impossible: there simply isn’t the manpower – or the vehicles – or the fuel supply! Visits in the past tended to be very rushed affairs and Education Officers would simply accept the word of the head that all was well in the school and move on to the next one. When I first visited schools I could see in fact that all was not well and so I have been devising ways of improving the way visits are conducted and trying to find out what is really happening in a school. At times I feel a little like an OFSTED inspector, which is not how I want things to work, and heads can be very defensive. It is a cultural thing in The Gambia to always say that everything is ‘fine fine’ and not to point out where there are deficiencies. Unfortunately schools cannot improve unless they first acknowledge where they are not working as well as they could be and so I’m playing the role of the nasty man from the ministry. The more positive side of things though is that I’m also working to get the Senior Education Officer and the Cluster Monitors to spend more time in
the schools that need most help, offering support and on the job training to the heads. Gambian headteachers receive very little initial training and are left to sink or swim according to their natural abilities. I feel certain that many more of them, given a little training, could actually make good headteachers. Fingers crossed!
Other than school visits, I help with drafting operational plans for the region, writing reports work done by the office and have even written a speech for the Governor of North Bank Division for the Independence Day celebrations in February (he’s a personal friend of the Principle Education Officer). Oh yes, being the only person in the office who can operate a digital camera, I’m the official photographer too!
Those Those of you who’ve read this blog before will know how much I value my bike – the little Yamaha AG 100.
It is my sad duty to inform you that the trusty little chap is seriously ill and fighting for his life in the Riders for Health Garage in Kanifing.
Poor old AG has been ill for a few weeks now. He suffered plug failure some time ago and needed an immediate transplant. This was followed quickly by a punctured rear tyre which, although not serious in itself, obviously drained his energy and left him vulnerable to further illness.
Over the next week he began to lose power and his top speed fell steadily until he could barely manage 60kph – he can normally manage 80kph easily. I took him to the Riders for Health bike hospital where they diagnosed a clogged silencer and replaced it with another. Unfortunately this made little difference and AG’s power and speed fell further until he could only limp along at 15kph.
There was no hope of keeping him alive long enough to reach the garage and so a mechanic had to rush out to see him. It transpired that the new silencer AG had been fitted with was even more clogged than the first one. The mechanic was hopeful however and cleaned the silencer thoroughly by putting it in a cooking fire and burning all the tar and oily deposits off. He then removed AG’s cylinder head and cleaned the top of his piston and cylinder which had become badly sooted.
All seemed well for a few days and we all hoped that AG would make a full recovery.
Last Monday, in the full heat of the afternoon, the brave motorcycle was struggling valiantly to overtake a van when he suffered a blown piston and collapsed by the side of the road. It is a testament to his noble character that, rather than just stopping in the middle of the road and potentially killing his rider, AG fought to return to the kerb before grinding to a halt.
His condition is now so serious that he has had to have his whole engine removed and dismantled.
We are all hoping for the best, but it must be remembered that AG is getting rather old – he has covered over 27000 kilometres (around 17000 miles) which is a lot for a small bike like him, especially in the hot dusty conditions of The Gambia. It is likely that, should he pull through, AG will soon be transferred to a less demanding position in the coastal town district where he will travel tarmac roads and always be close to medical assistance.
Should this prove to be the case, he will be replaced by one of his younger brothers who has been providing excellent service for another volunteer in Soma for the last 18 months.
I know you will all join with me in wishing AG a speedy recovery. I would like to thank him for the loyalty he has shown me throughout my time in Kerewan and I sincerely hope that we are able to continue our partnership into the future.
Whilst awaiting further developments, I am having to make do with a substitute bike: a Kawasaki 650 trail bike. It may be bigger, faster, comfier and better handling than AG, but it just isn’t the same!
Niokola Koba Park – December 2008
On 19th December 2008, a small group of volunteers, including myself, set out for a mini adventure in the form of a short visit to Niokola Koba National Park in Senegal. Originally we had planned to cross Senegal and visit the hills of Guinea Conakry, but the Land Rover we would be using was becoming increasingly unreliable and we decided it would be safer not to be too ambitious.
The trip had first been suggested by myself and Venus in October and then, once Lebi had confirmed his interest, Greg signed up. After that, Venus and Lebi put word out about the trip and collected expressions of interest (and deposits towards the cost of the fuel) from other friends of theirs down in Kombo. Unfortunately, in the week before departure both Greg and Venus had to pull out due to important meetings being arranged (and rearranged) at work. The trip was suddenly in jeopardy as there wouldn’t be enough people to cover the costs. Luckily, Jacqui and her friend Lisa stepped in at the last minute and the expedition was back on again. The final team list being Lebi, Tracey, Susan, Jacqui, Lisa, June and myself.
The Kombo volunteers arranged to meet up and travel up to Kerewan in the Land Rover on the morning of Friday 19th December, collecting the Kerewan contingent around lunchtime and then heading for a first night stopover in Basse. Venus had bought bags of water and enough rice to keep us going for a few days, the Land Rover had been loaded and everything had been made ready to go. Apart, that is, from Lebi who, being from the Philippines needed a visa to enter Senegal and it hadn’t been issued! Numerous anxious texts flew back and forth between worried prospective adventurers as people waited at the Senegalese Embassy in the hope that the visa would be issued at the last minute. It wasn’t and by around 1pm a decision as to what to do had to be taken.
Lebi selflessly informed us that he would accompany us to the border with as many of his identity documents as possible (his passport was stuck somewhere in the visa application department!) and try his luck at getting through. If he was unsuccessful, he would stay in Basse and I would drive the Land Rover to the park. Nobody felt very comfortable about this, but the only other option was to cancel the whole trip so we decided to go for it.
We were already several hours behind schedule by now so of course the Landy chose to develop a flat tyre near the ferry terminal in Barra!
Having had it repaired, it was then a mad dash up to Kerewan to collect June and I and then, hopefully make the ferry crossing at Janjanbureh before nightfall.
Having worn out the concrete pacing up and down the verandah, June and I finally boarded the vehicle and set off around 5pm.
After the trials of the day, things finally began to look up. Until we got as far as Farafenni, about 35 miles down the road, when we had another flat tyre. We changed it quickly but as I was throwing the flat tyre up to Lebi on the roof rack I managed to drop it on my wrist, smashing the pin in my watchstrap. Undeterred, I jumped back in and we were off once more.
It was already well after dark by the time we reached the ferry onto the island and it was clear by now that there was no way we were going to make Basse so we booked into a hotel in Janjanbureh. We had dinner and a Julbrew, watched a little drumming and dancing and turned in early so we could make a good start in the morning.
We left the hotel around 9am and managed to get all the way to Bansang before we had our next flat tyre. This enforced halt provided an ideal opportunity for breakfast so we raided a streetside nebbe stall.
Suitably revitalised by the magic spicy bean paste, we headed for the border, driving the long and bumpy route through Basse and Fatoto.
After a scenic little detour through some villages at the very eastern end of the country, we found the border. The border post was an impressive brick shed with 3 border guards busily engaged in eating lunch. We waited whilst they finished and then presented our documents. Everyone, including Lebi, was stamped through without any fuss (I’m still not sure how it happened) and we drove into Senegal – my second African country!
It was another couple of hours’ drive to the gates of Niokola Koba, and we managed it without breaking down once!
In order to enter the park, tourists have to engage the services of an official guide. Ours turned out to be a very pleasant and knowledgeable gentleman who unfortunately had a name which I could never get my head, let alone my tongue, around.
As we drove through the deepening darkness we were treated to our first real wildlife. A troop of baboons crossed the road in front of us! We stopped and watched – so did they. Some of them climbed into the trees and began throwing twigs and nuts at us so we decided to leave. Over the next few miles we caught glimpses of more baboons and monkeys, and we almost ran over a small jackal.
The excitement proved too much for the Land Rover and, as we negotiated a rough section of track, a harsh grating noise suddenly came through the open windows and we stopped moving. The engine was running fine but nothing seemed to be reaching the wheels. I shrewdly suspected that there was a problem with the drivetrain and suggested trying the diff lock. It worked and we were able to limp through the park to the ‘Camp de Lion’.
Our little faces dropped when we reached the camp: reed huts with no water and no electricity. We were tired and hungry and the place looked terrible. Action man Lebi didn’t bat an eyelid however and set about gathering wood for a fire. Camp staff turned up with a table, some chairs and a few candles and suddenly the place was transformed into a rather attractive camp in the African bush – exactly as imagined from watching TV programmes. We ordered dinner and a Julbrew and settled back to chat and listen to the rather strange sound of hippos grunting in the river just behind the camp.
Following a pretty good night’s sleep, we were up early and everyone walked the 100m down to the river. The sun was just rising over the trees and mist was rising from the surface of the river. It was brilliant – I was standing in a photo from National Geographic feeling like some great explorer or naturalist. When the guide arrived and announced he’d heard a lion in the distance, that was it, I actually became David Attenborough!
We packed up the Land Rover and set off, the guide pointing us down non-existent tracks through the scrub with Lebi clutching the steering wheel and closing his eyes as we nudged our way through the tall grass. At one point we all had to jump out for the poor old Landy to claw it’s way up a short steep bank, the badly-tuned engine throwing out so much smoke we were nearly arrested for gassing all the animals.
The rest of the morning became a blur of driving along and then suddenly stopping as the guide pointed out animals and birds that I’d grown up knowing as the stars of TV wildlife programmes – and here I was, actually seeing them with my own eyes – in Africa – in a Land Rover!
Although Niokola Koba doesn’t have all the big game found in some regions of Africa, it does have a few lions, leopards and elephants as well as numerous hippos, crocodiles and antelope. The birdlife is also rather spectacular.
Unfortunately we didn’t manage to see the lions or leopards or elephants, but we did hear a lion on several occasions and found a fresh footprint. We did see baboons by the hundred though, and many warthogs, several varieties of antelope and another jackal.
In the early afternoon we arrived at the Hotel Simenti and decided to stop for drink and a bite to eat. We checked our funds and decided that we could also afford to spend the night there. When we were sitting in the bar we noticed that Lebi was missing. We eventually tracked him down in the hotel garage where he’d employed the services of the mechanics to diagnose and fix the problem with the Land Rover’s drivetrain. It turned out that the splines on the end of the driveshaft had stripped and the shaft was just spinning in the hub. The enterprising chaps simply welded the shaft into the hub and reassembled it all with a lump hammer.
Later in the afternoon we took a motorised pirogue trip along the River Gambia. Another brilliant experience on which I bagged my first ever sight of a hippo, as well as some great close ups of crocodiles and even more birds.
My only regret was that I couldn’t get any good pictures as my fantastic, professional quality, high resolution, ‘wakes you up in the morning with a cup of tea’ camera was so expensive I couldn’t afford a long lens to go with it! For those who want to look at other people’s pictures in bird guides, I saw on that one short trip along the river: hadada ibis; African fish eagle; pied kingfisher; blue-breasted kingfisher; woodland kingfisher; woolly-necked stork; little bee-eater; red-throated bee-eater; fork-tailed drongo; Senegal thick-knee; hamerkop; Egyptian plover; white-crowned plover; western grey plantain-eater; Abyssinian roller.
That evening, half the group ate in the hotel restaurant and the other half – including me – had a campfire culinary moment in the car park.
The next day was Monday and Jacqui and Lisa wanted to get back to Kombo that evening. Someone rather optimistically calculated that they could make the last ferry if we left the park at lunchtime and so we had another great morning exploring more of the park.
By the time we dropped our guide off at the park gates and began the long journey home, it was 1pm and it looked doubtful for the ferry. Lebi put his foot down though and we bounced along at a good rate of knots.
Sadly, we bounced a little too much at one point as we lost all the luggage and the spare wheel from the roof rack! Nearly an hour was spent searching the verges for pots and pans, and we’d almost given up on the wheel when a helpful passer-by discovered it in the middle of a field about 200m from where it had left the roof!
We reached the village where we’d crossed into Senegal without further incident and headed off down the track to find the border post. Somehow, we must have taken a wrong fork somewhere and we wandered around in the wilderness for quite a while before we arrived in a small village. We asked where we were and discovered that we’d crossed back into The Gambia without even noticing.
It was now fairly obvious that we wouldn’t make the ferry, but Lebi was determined to do his best for the ladies and pushed the Land Rover so hard along the pothole-littered road that bits started to hurl themselves off. First the speedo packed in, and then, following an encounter with a particularly fine pothole, the rear lights and all the indicators decided they’d had enough.
Lebi merely gripped the wheel tighter and forged on into the twilight.
Suddenly, shortly before we reached Janjanbureh, Lebi pulled to the side of the road and announced the clutch wasn’t working. He reassured me that it was an old problem and he just needed to top up the reservoir with fluid. We managed this by torchlight, but found the clutch still didn’t work. We probably had air trapped in the system, but we had no tools to bleed it properly so we simply hit things with large spanners and pumped the pedal until large bubbles began to appear in the reservoir. Eventually they stopped appearing and the clutch had a bit of feel to it again.
Another few miles further on and the same thing happened again. The bottle of clutch fluid we had was already two thirds used and we were starting to get a little twitchy.
We made the ferry onto the island and then dashed over to catch the one off at the other side. The clutch was getting worse and the gears were becoming increasingly difficult for Lebi to change.
As we left the ferry, Lebi worked his way up to 4th gear and then announced that the clutch was completely gone and that he would drive all the way in 4th.
We bowled along quite merrily like that for some time – and then we came across a police checkpoint. I was wondering how Lebi would cope with stopping and restarting the Land Rover with no clutch, but I needn’t have worried, he simply slowed down as far as he could in 4th and drove straight past the amazed (and armed) policeman shouting, “NGO. No clutch!” in a Philippine accent. Now I like a bit of excitement in my life, but driving through armed checkpoints at night in an unlit Land Rover is probably taking things a bit too far. Luckily I was in the front with Lebi and was able to console myself by reasoning that, should the police open fire, the people in the back would probably stop the bullets reaching me!
As it happened, the shooting never started. Neither did it at the next checkpoint we hurtled through.
At Kaur, we faced a more serious problem: Tracy had to stop to pick up some clothes from her house and there was no way Lebi could slow down enough for her to jump out, run to her house, collect her things and jump back in. He had to stop.
We poured the last drops of the clutch fluid into the reservoir and pumped the pedal. Nothing happened. Lebi crawled underneath and, by the light of the torch on someone’s phone, discovered that the fluid was pouring out faster than we could pour it in.
The Kaur police vehicle arrived on the scene and fortunately it turned out that Tracy knew the officer driving it. He did a quick check to see if he could do anything before announcing that we should drive it, without a clutch, all the way to Banjul. He recommended that we didn’t stop for police checks and said that, as we had NGO plates, we should be alright.
Lebi had never driven without a clutch before, but, thanks to owning a disastrous succession of dodgy vehicles in my youth, I had.
I started the Land Rover in gear and we were on our way again. I admit there were several slightly iffy gear changes, but overall I don’t think I performed too badly considering I hadn’t driven anything with 4 wheels for nearly 5 months, let alone something with no clutch.
The highlight of the drive was picking my way through the pedestrian strewn streets of Farafenni, negotiating a roundabout and a couple of junctions without stopping.
We reached Kerewan about 11pm and I rolled the Land Rover down the banking into Furut’s compound, announcing that I would be travelling no further that night. Lebi said there were enough empty rooms for the Kombo-ites to stay overnight. Their disappointment at not making it back to Kombo was attenuated by their relief at having made it as far as they had in one piece.
June and I picked up our cases and headed off down the sandy roads of Kerewan to our compound. We were exhausted, dirty and hungry, but we still couldn’t stop talking about our adventures.
PS – all the above was written late at night and has not been proof read or checked through in any way. Any grammatical or spelling errors you may find don’t really exist and are simply the figment of your own imagination.
Being rather keen on riding motorbikes, this was something I was really looking forward to whilst in the country. I knew the placement had a bike attached but, apart from it being a fairly small dirt-bike, I didn’t know exactly what I’d be getting. I have to admit my face dropped when I turned up for the first day’s training and saw the beast: a Yamaha AG100! I’d never come across this bike before (I’m not well up on small trailies) but it didn’t look promising. It was small, had a fully enclosed chain (like a Honda C70!) and was old and battered. Plus it had a tatty red frill around the headlamp for some reason! My first impressions when riding it weren’t that encouraging either. The frame was far too small for me (I couldn’t ride standing up as the handlebars were so far down I was bent double). My electric toothbrush generated more power and the handling was hopeless on the road (knobbly tyres) and not good off it! Maximum speed (on a very long straight) was 50mph. Plus the instructor insisted on treating everyone as complete novices so the overall experience was rather disappointing.
Fortunately, this disappointment didn’t last long. After a few days riding the bike (and after the instructor realised I didn’t need stabilisers) things started to be much more enjoyable. The bike would undoubtedly be hopeless in England, but out here it’s a really useful and practical form of transport.
Although the bike isn’t particularly good at anything, it’s not too bad at most things – and in The Gambia that includes smooth tarmac, mud, deep sand, potholes and rocks. None of the roads, even the tarmac ones, are really safe for fast riding. The standard of driving is low and there are many accidents, plus the potholes always appear just as you’re swerving to avoid the goat that’s just run out in front of you. With conditions like that, a low top speed becomes less of an issue. When riding the dirt tracks, the bike performs reasonably well. It’s not an Africa Twin, or even an XT 400, but it chugs along over most surfaces and, in bottom gear, has the strength to pull you out of anything. You even start to appreciate the chain case when you see riders of other bikes constantly having to wash the sand out of their chains or replace worn sprockets.
Riding a motor bike in Africa is great fun. The weather can be so hot that even sitting in the shade makes you sweat, but as soon as you get moving on the bike, it becomes a wonderful kind of heat that keeps you dry as the blast hits you like a giant hairdryer. Admittedly, we all have to take short cuts with the protective clothing, which is always a worry, but it’s the only way to stay cool.
Riding in the towns is an experience not to be missed. The other drivers do their best to make your day interesting, and they really keep you on your toes. So much so, in fact, that in the short time I’ve been here, two of my friends have been knocked off in town. Fortunately neither was too badly injured: one had a dislocated shoulder and the other a minor fracture in the foot. I’ve escaped so far, but I’m not going to say too much as these things can happen to anyone on these roads.
Getting down to Kombo for the weekend is also much easier with a bike. Those poor souls without such a thing have to queue for bush taxis, get jostled around whilst wedged between large and sweaty strangers in the back of a rather dodgy old minibus, and then wait on foot at the ferry.
We bikers simply ride to the terminal, get on the ferry first and then we have the bike to sit on for the crossing too! All in all, having a motorbike is one of the best things about being here at the moment. I’d like to apologise to my little AG for ever doubting it’s potential for fun.
Just a short note to say thanks to all those who read and leave comments. Keep them coming – it’s great to hear from you all. I don’t always get time to reply to everyone, but for once it’s not just me being lazy – it’s quite difficult to get to an internet cafe as there are none where I’m living, and often when I’ve travelled down to the main towns, I find the connctions are down in all the cafes. Latest problem is that my computer at home has picked up so many viruses from moving files around on flash drives that I’m now unable to write things at home and then bring them down and upload them. Am trying to find a way f updating my anti-virus software, but it’s not easy with a computer that never gets connected to the internet. Will keep working on it and I’m sure it’ll be sorted soon. In the meantime, things are fine here. Work varies from quite intense, 10 hour days carrying out monitoring visits on schools, to very short and dull days when I turn up at the office and find that everyone else seems to have forgotten to come. As there’s only electricity for 3 hours during the working day, and no internet at the office, it can be difficult to get things done, and I often work on spreadsheets for data collection etc at home in the evenings when the electricity comes back.
Other than work, I fill my time with reading, visiting other volunteers in Kerewan, sitting out with my landlord drinking attaya in the evenings (attaya is a peculiar drink that the men in The Gambia are all addicted to – don’t panic, it’s only very strong china tea made with an incredible amount of sugar and served in tiny glasses) and getting down to the big towns near the coast to visit other volunteers, do my shopping and relax every few weeks.
Will try to upload some more pics when I get the virus problem solved. Look forward to hearing from you all.
