A small selection of photos of Djenne’s, in Mali, mud mosque and scenes from the Monday market.
The mosque, the largest of it’s kind in Mali, was built in 1907 and the outer walls, which wash away with every rainy season, are re-rendered each year in a huge event in which the whole village takes part.
The market is the largest in the region and attracts people from far to trade their goods.
A few photos from the cycle from Kouroussa in Guinea, where we ended the boat trip, heading northeast into Mali for Bamako and then on to Djenne.
Mali is famous for it’s music but I haven’t heard much and haven’t tried to find it. I’ve been singing my own song and I’d have to say it’not very soulful.
Having had a bout of literary diarrhoea after two weeks of paddling a pirogue down rapids and through shallow waters, I am now suffering, in the other extreme, from the travel blues. After months of fun and challenging cycling along the lesser known back roads of Guinea Bissau, Guinea and Freetown and an adventurous time on the Niger River, the most recent cycling into Mali has failed to inspire me – I’ve barely taken my camera out of the bag in a couple of weeks which is most unusual.
Mud mosque in Malian village
I shall soon be taking another break from the bike and travelling through Mali in the more traditional back-packing style as I have a friend from home coming to join me. There’s plenty to see and do further North in Mali, so I’m hoping I shall find some inspiration along the the way…. the Djenne mosque, Timbuktu, the Dogon country.
But first it’s back on the bike for a few days to get to Djenne and then Mopti.
So apologies in advance if I don’t post another update for a while. It means I’m busy exploring Mali and when I find what I’m looking for I’ll be sure to share it with you. I hope it will be worth the wait.
List of Books read during ‘Take On Africa’, in order read. (Those with an asterisk * are related to Africa and those in bold I enjoyed most and would highly recommend):
Wide Sargasso Sea – Jean Rhys
Lolita – Nabokov
A Short History of Nearly Everything – Bill Bryson
Our Man in Havana – Graham Greene
The Last Templar – Raymond Khoury
* Sahara (The Life of the Great Desert) – Marq de Villiers and Sheila Hirtle
The Road – Cormac McCarthy
What I talk about when I talk about running – Haruki Murakami
* Bend in the River – V.S. Naipul
The Good Soldier – Ford Maddox Ford
The Unbearable Lightness of Being – Milan Kundera
Breakfast of Champions – Kurt Vonnegut
The Memory of Running – Ron McCarty
The Kray Brothers – Charlie Kray
* What is the What? - Dave Eggars
War of the World – Niall Ferguson
White Teeth – Zadie Smith
* Hustling is not Stealing: Stories of an African Bar Girl – John M. Chernoff
* The Poisonwood Bible – Barbara Kingsolver
* The Sword and the Cross – Fergus Fleming
Currently Reading:
The Mulberry Empire – Philip Hensher
Currently Listening to:
The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (audiobook, abridged) – Lars Stiegsson
Other books in my bags to be read:
* In The Footsteps Of Mr Kurtz – Michela Wong
* Moods of Future Joys – Alastair Humphreys
A Ride In The Neon Sun – Josie Dew
Imperium – Ryszard Kapuscinski
Below are three photographs showing all the gear and equipment I arrived in Africa with on my bike.
I have since got rid of the MSR stove and fuel bottle as I had problems with this and I forgot the bike helmet in Bissau (although I never actually strapped it on my head before then anyway).
Main equipment
Regarding photographic and electronic equipment - this is all holding up exceedingly well on the bumpy Africa roads. No complaints here.
Photographic and Electronic Equipment
And then there’s the few items that didn’t really fit in the first photograph - namely my money belt, passport and other documents plus reading material and maps.
Important documentation and literature
I have since finished reading Graham Greene and have expanded my reading collection to, at it’s height, seven reading books in my panniers.
I shall be including a comprehensive list of all the equipment I have, as shown in these photos, in a future update.
For some numbers relating to our Niger River boat trip, see the article posted over at The Travelers Notebook:
http://thetravelersnotebook.com/by-the-numbers/by-the-numbers-paddling-the-niger-river/
This is just a short clip of me and Lars paddling through one of the faster sections of water.
Shortly after this clip ends, when we’re just out of camera view, we run into the bushes and I fall out, losing my sunglasses and flip-flop in the process.
This is my first ever video upload and I don’t really know what I’m doing yet, so apologies for the lack of quality. I’m hoping that I will get chance to upload several more videos from the boat trip and also of me cycling - I’m gathering quite a collection - I’ll work on the quality as I go, but for now please be patient!
Of course, if you have any recommendations on the best way to compress and edit videos then please drop me a message. I’m recording using my canon compact camera which records .mov files.
Fast rapids – Boat unload – Stuck! – Decision to quit in Kouroussa
It was a successful start to the day, with calm open water which Joliba II glided over with considerable ease.
Boosted by our progress and steady rhythmic paddling, when we heard the distinctive white water ahead and then saw the rapids; fast water flowing in channels between the large, smooth rocks, we didn’t stop to check out what lay in store for us downstream. On our approach Lars had called back ‘Should we stop and check it out?’, to which I dismissively called back ‘Nah, F*@k it, let’s just go for it!’. So we did.
We sped between the rocks, dodged one here, one there, made a sharp turn, then another. A couple of times I thought we would hit a rock hard, but either the water was strong enough to carry us over unscathed or we took evasive action just in the nick of time. After some hair-raising action, the water slowed enough that we could direct the boat into calmer waters and pull over to the bank. I needed to catch my breath before we continued downstream.
This time we decided to take a look at the route. I’m glad we did. We weren’t going to be paddling the next rapid. Instead we began to walk it down with the ropes. But once again the current was too strong; the boat picked up speed and became impaled on a rock. The boat tilted and water rushed inboard, flowed down the hull of the boat and exited the front end which at this point was significantly lower than the back end.
Once again we found ourselves emptying the boat of our belongings as the water continued to flow through unabated. Boat empty, we were able to tilt it back enough to stop the flow and Lars set to work flushing out the remaining water with the scoop. With a forceful shove, we shifted the boat from the rock and it glided down the remaining rapid until we were able to drag it to safety where we could set about re-packing the boat in it’s entirety.
Lars emptying the boat
We dealt with this set-back surprisingly efficiently, losing perhaps only an hour of paddling. So safely down the rapids we took a short break and ate some more unappetizing biscuits.
Setting off again, we silently hoped for an equally successful afternoon. Alas, it wasn’t to be.
Barely round another bend and the river divided into more channels. We picked one and persevered but weren’t far gone before we were pushing the boat over shallow rocks. Only this time the boat got stuck. We couldn’t shift it forward or backward. We struggled for over an hour, using all our strength until finally, inch by inch, we managed to dislodge the boat and move it forward.
View from the rocks surveying the 'wrong' route
Just as we freed the boat, a local walked on over to us and proceeded to explain that we’d taken the wrong route. Now I know it might be impossible to get lost paddling down the Niger River, but it is definitely possible to go the wrong way. We went the wrong way many times. Now if only the local had come and told us this an hour earlier.
Finally back onto the wide main river, we paddled on tiredly some more – we were keeping track of our progress using my GPS and knew we still had a way to go if we were to get to Kouroussa before our food ran out.
Having discovered some of our pasta was mouldy, water having seeped into the packaging during the fourth day semi-submerge, we were already rationing our dinner. Five meals worth we were stretching to last six. I didn’t want to have to split it further because it was going to take longer than 16 days to reach Kouroussa – yesterday’s estimated arrival. Apart from powdered cereals and dry biscuits, our evening meal was the only meal we ate each day. I was starting to feel hungry a lot of the time.
In need of a rest
Late afternoon we pulled up onto the river bank and camped for the night. Over dinner I checked the GPS and it seemed likely that tomorrow, day 15 would be our last full day and would could arrive in Kouroussa late morning of the 16th. This was a relief to know. I also started to get quite excited at the prospect of a hotel room, not being attacked by sand-flies and no having to get up in the morning and paddle and push.
We both agreed we would end the boat trip in Kouroussa, rather than continuing to Bamako. This first 350km section was turning out to take 16 days – significantly longer than the hoped-for 10-14 days initial estimate – and was considerably tougher that either of us imagined. We would have been cutting it fine to reach the Mali border before our visas ran out anyway, but at our actual pace, this would be a certainty if we continued to paddle. Besides, we both felt the previous two-weeks alone had been full enough of adventure and the 400km route from Kouroussa to Bamako would be all the hard paddling and pushing without the fun of any rapids or abundant wildlife.
In any case, I didn’t think my body could cope with much more paddling unless I took several days to rest and recover and bearing the visa situation in mind, there just wasn’t time for that.
Oh, and then there was poor Joliba II to think of. For the last few days, the boat had been gradually taking in more and more water throughout the day and we were spending more and more time removing the water with the plastic kettle, while silently hoping that she would stay in one piece long enough to reach Kouroussa. Would she get us to Bamako anyway? It was looking increasingly unlikely!
Too much sand - 1.. 2.. 3.. Heave - Estimated arrival - River crossing sighted - Sell boat - To Kouroussa!
We began the day enthusiastically. The end was finally in sight (figuratively speaking for now). Just one more big day…
Unfortunately, the river had other plans for us. Shallow water again. But this time there were no rocks, just sand. The whole frustrating morning we spent more time out of the boat than in it. Standing in ankle keep water while we mustered up the strength to inch the boat forward into a deeper channel. With repeated 1, 2, 3, heave… and now breathe manoeuvres, we gradually pushed the boat over the sands until we could get in the boat long enough to paddle a few strokes.
Too much sand
We were now stopping regularly. Getting exhausted soon after a break and getting hungrier too.
After lunch however, we finally came to a longish, deep section of river and we burst forward energetically. And then in the distance we spotted something unusual….
It looked man-made. It looked like a truck. Surely not. Apart from the chimpanzee sanctuary we hadn’t seen a single other building or vehicle in two weeks. We can’t already be at the river crossing?
We paddled harder and gradually got close enough to make out lots of people, pirogues on the river, dirt roads leading down to the river on each bank and even a stationary vehicle ferry.
Amazing. We’ve made it. The road on the left will take us into Kouroussa!
We paddle over to the bank and confirm with the locals that we really are at the road to Kouroussa.
It’s true. I am so happy!
But now what?! Everything then happens all rather suddenly….
We will need to unload to boat, reassemble the bikes and pack everything onto them so we can cycle the 12km into Kouroussa. But what should we do with the boat? Try and sell it of course.
So I walk over to the fishermen mending their nets and enquire as to whether anyone wants to buy our boat. They do. We sell it for small change – enough for a few beers in town – and once we’ve unpacked, leave it in the charge of a small boy who is going to paddle it to the other side.
Before we know it, we’re riding into Kouroussa, to a hotel and cracking open a celebratory beer!
We made it!!
I go to sleep that night in the comfort of a bed in the knowledge that I don’t have to paddle anywhere tomorrow. It’s a good feeling!
Don’t get me wrong, I loved the whole two weeks paddle down the Niger river, but by the time I reached Kouroussa my body and mind just weren’t capable of paddling another day.
After a much needed, and if I can say so myself deserved, rest day in Kouroussa we set off on the bikes for Bamako in Mali.
Unfortunately, by the end of the first day I was exhausted again and the next day I felt ill with a bloated stomach. When we stopped to camp, I had only enough energy to put up my tent and fall fast sleep, leaving Lars to cook dinner.
The third day I struggled the 25km into the next town, Siguiri, where we agreed to check into a hotel so I could rest for the remainder of the day.
The final days from Siguiri into Bamako, although on paved roads were gruelling for me. Ill and cycling in the intense heat of the sahel against the harmattan wind blowing constantly in our faces was most unpleasant. I had to spend long periods of the day, lying in the shade, trying to muster up enough energy and well-being to continue.
But we did finally make it to Bamako. We made it 23 days after leaving Faranah in the boat with only one full day of rest.
And now my body has had a chance to recover from the previous weeks’ exertions, I am feeling much better and am looking forward to hitting the road again… which is what I’m doing later today. It’s time to explore Mali.
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Warthogs - Broken boat - Hippo encounter - Bush fire – Bat exodus – Uniformed and uninformed – Poacher or American?
A long, hard morning paddle – at least we were paddling and not pushing or dragging, but the wavelets on the river surface were tiresome. With the ripples lapping at the boats keel it felt like being at sea.
With rustling on the left bank, we looked over to see a family of warthogs darting away from the river, clearly startled by our presence.
Around one o’clock we came to a virtual dead end in the river. The river here is significantly wider than at Faranah, but the entire span seemed to be blocked by a wall of black rock. We pulled the boat over to take a closer look. We could see plenty of water on the other side and so there must be a channel through. Besides, we could hear that familiar rumbling sound.
Having seen the channel with water rushing through, we opted to lead the boat down on ropes – the slower but safer option – and as a precaution, take out our valuables bags and the food in case of a problem.
It should have been an easy enough manoeuvre – we had led the boat down far harder sections. But the flow here was just too strong. And 11 days into the trip, I was just too weak.
White water and into the calm
I couldn’t hold the back end. The rope ripped through my hands, the back end flipped round in the stream and crashed into a protruding rock. With some careful pushing and further guiding, we managed to pull the boat to safety in the bay below. The boat had taken quite a knock though and besides the wooden back support which had broken off, the bottom of the boat at the stern now had a long crack propagating along the panel length.
We paddled over to the nearby sandbank and Lars, using a rock, hammered in some spare nails we’d fortuitously brought with us. Safely on the other side, boat repaired, we could now appreciate the view in all it’s simplicity. The deep blue river, the golden sandy shores, the vivid green trees and the shining black rocks. Just four elementary colours. Sometimes the simple things are the best.
Paddling on, I spotted something hippo-like in the water ahead. For several days I had been seeing hippo-like things in the water, but they had only been rocks jutting out mid-stream. So rather than be mistaken again, I say to Lars, ‘That’s just a rock isn’t it?’. But then the rock’s ears twitched.
I’ve just seen my first hippo on the Niger. I’m elated!
Then pragmatically, I ask Lars which side we should pass by this hippo. ‘The side furthest from it,’ comes the matter-of-fact reply. So I steer us sharply towards the left bank and as I do, the hippo’s head sinks below the river surface. With determined paddling, we pass the point where we had seen the hippo. Then ten minutes after the first sighting, it resurfaces upstream of us – it is now exactly at the point we had been when it first disappeared. It’s as if it’s trying to catch us. It let’s out a resounding snort that resonates downstream before sinking once again.
I repeatedly look back over my shoulder to see if the hippo will surface again, but am soon distracted by the drama unfolding in the other direction, downstream. From the tree-lined left bank, hundreds of winged creatures are fleeing the trees and swarming in circles above the water. There is something not quite right about the scene… these animals are not behaving like birds, nor are they sounding like birds. Their motion through the air is uneven and the high-pitched screeching is unnerving.
From a distance, they look and sound strangely like bats. But what are nocturnal creatures doing flying in the middle of the hottest part of the day?
We then see smoke rising above the trees. Fire encroaching on their homes could indeed explain this mayhem.
Not wanting to be fatally bitten by a rabid bat, we change course for the right side bank, trying to give as much clearance between us and this horde of distressed animals. But then we see in the river ahead of us yet another hippo head peering out of the water.
Change of plan – we’d rather deal with rabid bats than an angry hippo! So we violently change direction yet again and this time head back to the left bank. As we’re paddling hard, I conjure up images of how I can more successfully (and unrealistically) fend off a bat attack with wild swings of my paddle like a baseball bat, sending the vicious winged mammals flying over the riverbank for a home run, rather than pitch my strength against a mighty hippo, that would surely crush my wooden paddle as if it were a tooth pick in it’s jaw and most likely crush me with it too.
By now we have passed the second hippo, which like the first had disappeared underwater shortly after sighting us, and are paddling downstream alongside the left bank. The bats (they are very definitely bats, which are so close we can now clearly see their individual faces; bat-ears, teeth and all) have ceased to circle wildly above the river and are now embarking on a mass exodus downstream, overhead of us, marginally faster than we are paddling.
But before we have a chance to calm ourselves to the presence of the bats than another hippo appears in the distance. This time, we choose to pass by on it’s right and so once again cross the river to give the widest clearance possible.
On reaching the far side, we hear a loud rustling coming from the trees (well at least it can’t be a hippo). Simultaneously we swing our heads round in the direction of the sound. And there we see it…
A huge, male chimpanzee, sitting in the tree having peeled back the leafy branches to get a better look at this passing peculiarity (two white people in a pirogue; us). For a few moments, he stares at us with intelligent curiosity and we smile right back in stupid wonder. As much as we would love to sit and observe this passive cousin (his calm reaction to us was in complete contrast to the destructive violence of the chimpanzees at the sanctuary), we were more concerned by the attention we were continuing to attract of the hippos.
So paddles in hand, we pushed on downstream where finally the wildlife of the Niger gave us some respite and we were able to stop for a short break.
The wildlife may have been content with us taking a break. A military officer approaching us in an inflatable, motorized dinghy, on the other hand, was not…
He wanted to know what we were doing, he wanted to know what we were transporting, he wanted to see our passports. His local guide during this inquisition had paddled over to the bank and in minutes we were being greeted by a Frenchman. It turned out we had stopped near the release site for the chimpanzees and some of the volunteers from the centre were in the area working.
The Frenchman, being considerably more fluent in French than me, explained that we were friends of the sanctuary, tourists travelling towards Kouroussa and clearly not poachers, which the military officer is tasked with searching out and stopping. Now, if this officer seriously thought that the typical poacher looked like we do, he’s clearly not being very successful at his job. Even I know that the poachers of antelope are none other than locals with a gun trying the only way they know to feed their family. They are definitely not the infrequent white, English-speaking novices paddling slowly down the river with bicycles strapped into the boat… I suspect more white men have set foot on the moon than have paddled the Niger River between Faranah and Kouroussa.
Not entirely convinced by our story, the officer spends an inordinate amount of time staring at the front cover of our passports before recklessly searching through the pages, while me and Lars casually chat to the Frenchman about the work he’s doing. Eventually our passports are handed back and the officer then directs a barrage of questions concerning us at the Frenchman. ‘Are we American?’, he wants to know.
Now I’m sorry, but which part of our passports did he actually bother to read? Eventually, out-numbered, he gets bored and says it’s ok for us to continue. (I’ve no idea how he planned to stop us.) So without a chance to even sit down, we get back into the boat and paddle off downstream before this small-minded man in love with his camouflage uniform and shiny black boots changes his mind.
A rare moment of calm clear water
By the time we get to take a break, it’s time to stop for the day. Now we can relax.
Sound in the night - one lady and her dogs – Joliba II suffering – more wildlife - sand-flies continue to attack
After the long, eventful previous day, I was quick to fall asleep in my tent once I’d eaten and the stars were clearly visible.
However, I was rudely awoken in the early, dark hours of the morning to a strange call. We were camped up on the river bank in the bush. It was not a fish, crocodile, hippo or chimpanzee – all sounds I was by now familiar with. It couldn’t be a wild cat could it? Estelle’s (the director of the chimpanzee sanctuary) comment that the guards on patrol locally had heard a lion recently was ringing loudly in my mind.
My mind alert, I opened my eyes and to my horror, realised that I had fallen asleep without putting up the outer cover of my tent. If indeed there was a lion (or any other predatory animal) on the prowl, it would be able to see straight through my mesh inner to my small body lying on the forest floor. Oh crap. I lay there motionless, glancing from left to right to see if I could see any movement in the shadows nearby. Nothing. I remained frozen, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. Some rustling. And then silence.
I continued to lay there without a sound. I wasn’t even going to ask Lars if he had heard something. After a peaceful period had passed, I unzipped the tent, hastily put on the outer cover and retreated back into relative safety. Ok, so it probably wasn’t a lion, but I vowed I would never forget to put up my outer again. Of course, when I asked Lars if he’d heard anything in the morning, the answer as usual was no. Ignorance really is bliss or at least leads to a good night’s sleep.
With daybreak, our camp was visited by four dogs and a friendly local woman. Although we spoke no common language, it didn’t stop us exchanging warm greetings and bidding a good day. She was the only person we were to see that day.
Nothing of specific note happened during the day’s paddle. It was really hard though with lots of pushing and dragging the boat. Poor Joliba II is really suffering from the voyage and continuous pounding against rocks and now long pieces of material that were proofing the seams of the wooden panel joins are trailing uselessly in the water.
A maze of waterways
We do see plenty of wildlife; waddling guinea-fowl, tiny duikers (small antelope), several vervet monkeys and lots of large fish flicking their tailfins out of the river surface.
I continue to be plagued by sandflies. My attempts to thwart their attacks on my legs by wearing trousers resulted in them attacking my arms. In wearing long sleeves, they now mercilessly cause the backs of my hands and neck to bleed. With two hands on the paddle and no gloves or neckscarf to wear (which would be unbearable in the heat anyway), they are definitely winning the war. Simply put - I’m outnumbered.
More hippos - tent rest - camp on 3 rocks in river – hippo call
Yet more hippos today.
In the distance, surrounding a large rock in the middle of the river were four pairs of pinkish-grey ears twitching above the surface. Three heads in front of the rock, one behind. We circle wide. Then further downstream, another two. We tried to go wide left, but got stuck on some rocks in shallow water. While we were getting out of the boat to free it up, the hippos had silently bowed down and were now causing concern due to their prolonged absence from view. Just as we freed the boat and got back in to paddle, one of the hippos momentarily re-surfaced, not far ahead of us. I told Lars to paddle hard and soon enough I had steered us clear to the other side of the river. Twice more the hippo’s head emerged from the river, it snorting loudly as we increased our distance.
We then had to get round the bend, but didn’t know where the other hippo was. Seeing a clearing that looked like a hippo access point to the river on the bank, we decided to cut across to the other side again. At mid-point between the inner bank and outer bend, we saw a series of bubbles rise from underwater and burst on the surface just a paddle length away. We paddled away fast. Very fast. If only we could have paddled that fast ever since Faranah, we would be in Bamako by now.
After nearly two weeks on the river with only a half day of rest, the long days with hard paddling and even tougher pushing and dragging, are taking their toll. That’s not to mention the mental strain of constantly watching out for potential wildlife threats and figuring out navigable routes through the myriad of streams and channels of shallow waters between rocks. We decide to take an extended lunch break and put up the tent for a hour’s rest where we can’t be bothered by sand-flies or tsetse flies. Of course, lunch by now is nothing more substantial than the bland imported glucose biscuits that we eat throughout the day; having only brought bread for five days (it was stale long before those five days were up) and finished the last of the oranges several days ago. The rest is much need and much appreciated by my fatigued body.
Three Rock Camp Spot
With rocky sections becoming larger but less frequent, we decide to camp when we see three flatish rocks in the middle of the river. They are just large enough for the tents. The rock to the left is for Lars, I take the far right one and the central one we use as a kitchen and build a small fire having collected wood from the riverbank earlier.
We enjoy yet another beautiful sunset and retire to our separate tents once it is dark. Lars reads and I just lay there, drifting slowly to sleep.
Cloudy reflection at sunset on the Niger River
A thunderous splash and accompanying snort rips me from sleep and back to reality on the Niger. That was the unmistakeable sound of a hippo – like the sound of a stallion flaring it’s nostrils in the air at he scent of a mare on heat and snorting wildly mixed with that of a whale spurting a tall jet of water skywards as it surfaces. Hippopotamus translates in many languages as ‘water horse’ and that is exactly what it sounded like.
No need to ask Lars is he heard that. No need to ask Lars what the noise was. Instead, awestruck with a hint of fear, I shout from my tent ‘F@*king hell! That was loud!’. And all Lars can bring himself to say with a gulp is, ‘Yes’.
Neither of us have the foolish courage to get out of our tents to see the hippo up close. Instead, we each lie in our separate cocoons perched on our rocks and listen as the hippo snorts a couple more times, enjoying bathing in the cool evening air, before it leaves our space on the river. As relative silence descends (there is always the constant crickets and croaking frogs and occasional chirping or beeping of birds), I again drift off to sleep.
Ou tu vas comme ca? - Bee island - Frogs and splashes
Nearly a week into the trip, about 100km downstream of Faranah, getting close to the National Park and the number of people we are seeing has diminished – just the occasional onlooker from a riverbank and lone fishing boats. We exchange the bare essential greetings of ‘bonjour’ or ‘ca va’ but people here know no other French and so after that we usually pass by in silence. One young man stood on the shore today however shouted out, ‘Ou tu vas comme ca?’. A fair question! We’re going to Bamako we reply, we hope. But we are not progressing as fast as expected and neither of us are sure if we’re going to make it. Let’s reach Kouroussa first – that’s still some way downstream!
The day passes uneventfully which makes a surprising change and consequently we cover our longest distance for a day yet.
As the evening draws in, we spot a small, grassy island in the river.
This idyllic, isolated island is not as peaceful as it appears from a distance. As we pull up, we hearing buzzing and seeing hundreds of bees flying above the ground. There have been no rocks or clearings on the river banks for miles though so we decide to camp where we can, on pastures green.
Tents are hastily erected and a fire lit to cook on. Dinner is eaten in the confines of the tent, while the bees become fascinated by Lars’ shoes outside.
Fortunately, the buzzing quickly fades when the bees disappear as the night draws on and the stars appear in the sky. It is about this time though that the croaking of frogs begins. The first deep croak seems to come from near our island, following shortly by another croak in another key and many more, rhythmically returned upstream and echoed back down. But just as suddenly as the cacophony of croaking erupted, the frog-orchestra sounds it’s final note and the silence is filled with the background noise of crickets. The prelude over, it’s time for the main ensemble and once again the croaking fills the darkness.
Occasionally, when the frogs are silent, a loud splash resounds like a large applause. Just a fish we hope, not a crocodile. And it’s with this music of the river in my ears that I drift off to sleep each evening.
Little Voice - Frog Choir on the Niger
Monkey rock coffee - Hippo tracks – No early camp – Fishermen’s warning – Path of least resistance – Fish supper
As the sun comes up, the bees return, so we make a hasty departure and stop for morning coffee further downstream. As we paddle over to an expansive rocky outcrop on the riverbank, we see a small troupe of vervet monkeys scamper off into the bush. Where there’s less people, you find more wildlife. With some relief, we get to enjoy our coffee on this relatively insect-free rock.
By lunchtime it’s getting hot even though the sky is clouded. The air is oppressive, heavy and silent. We reach a section of river that seems to divide around large islands of sand and boulders. We go left, but it’s a dead-end. We walk over to take a look on the other side and come across clear signs that hippos have been here – huge footprints leading to and from the water. We look around carefully but the boulders really are inanimate. We see the main route through and so paddle the boat back around cautiously, on the lookout for hippos. The silence is eerie. The calm before the storm?
For once, there is no storm. No hippos either.
I have to admit I’m mildly disappointed. While I don’t want a close encounter with a hippo (I have a well-founded respect for these creatures, since they are known to kill more people in Africa each year than any other large animal), I would still love to see them from a safe distance. It’s only a matter of time I expect.
We decide to camp early, having had a successful day. But as is so often the case when cycling, at the point you want to camp, people suddenly appear. And so it was today – we want to camp and no sooner do we round the bend and we come across a fishing camp. We paddle on a short distance and pull over to check out some flatish rocks. While Lars explores, I take a couple of photos and unbeknown to us, two young men from the fishing camp are paddling towards us.
The come and say hello and ask where we are going. They explain that downriver it is difficult to pass. In their sparse French and some hand-signalling, it seems that we may need to push the boat through or carry our gear on land. They say they will accompany us and help. So much for camping early.
The two pirogues slowly make their way downstream, until the young men pull over and we do the same. We can hear the white-water already. Walking over to assess the route, it is clear we are going to have to walk the boat down and steer it from on top of the rocks. The young men seem less concerned about helping though than in having a cigarette. They reluctantly take some rope when I pass it to them, but we haven’t walked far with the boat before they are explaining they have to return to fish. They retreat to a safe distance and watch us struggle alone with the boat through the rapids. We make it through though.
Fishermen watching us negotiate the rapids from a distance
Ahead though, it seems the river has recently forged a new route downstream, cutting off the tightly looped bend. Our route is blocked by a fallen tree. On closer inspection, it seems someone has already cut back enough branches to make a small path. With Lars clearing more branches with the machete and me pulling loose the caught-up driftwood and debris, we at last have a space big enough for our boat to get through.
And now, finally, we can camp and cook the fish we bought from a local fisherman earlier that day.
My birthday - Half day – Snake escape – Stock check – Beer
It’s my birthday today! Although it was business as usual on the river. Morning coffee followed by a good morning paddle. We covered plenty of ground and so agreed to take the afternoon off to rest – our first break since we left Faranah. My body, at least, was beginning to get tired earlier with each passing day.
I slept under the shade of some trees on the riverbank in my tent, safe from sand-flies and tsetse flies.
Later I collected some wood ready for a fire and then retreated back to my tent. Having squashed the numerous sand-flies that had entered the tent with me (and so covering my tent roof with another spattering of blood – mostly mine I believe), I set to work on the tsetse fly.
The tsetse flies are rather more resilient however and I was well into round 3 of giving this bothersome fly a pounding when I hear a shout from Lars, ‘Helen! Look out – Snake!’. Distracted by the tsetse fly which is now leaving a thick trail of blood on my tent floor, I look up to see a snake slithering with exceptional speed in the direction of my tent, the rustling as it moves through the dead-leaf-covered ground reaching my ears a split second later. Lars has disturbed it when he picks up the food sack which it must have crawled under.
My attention is now rapidly focussed on trying to zip up my tent before the snake reaches me. But as I grab at the zip, the snake is already here. It slithers under my tent. ‘Helen! Don’t move!’ Lars screams. I freeze, pinned to the spot. Motionless, like the sandfly remains on my tent roof. Lars is worried I may accidently stand on the snake and then who knows what it may do. But just as quickly as it arrived, it leaves – disappearing into the forest behind.
I don’t know who was more scared. Me, Lars or the snake.
I do know that my heart is now pounding, double time, from some new location in my chest cavity to where it jumped when Lars shouted out the word ’snake’!
Once calm has returned, I provide the knock-out blow to the tsetse fly and we (me and Lars that is, the tsetse fly is dead) do a stock check to see how much food we have left. It’s more or less what we expected. We have food for another six dinners. Then we need to be in Kouroussa. It’s going to be close.
At the end of the day, while sitting by the fire as dinner cooks, we open those two beers we’ve saved. Wow – beer has never tasted so good. If only we had more….
Chimpanzee rehabilitation centre / Bee-sting / Antelope
We’ve been paddling barely half an hour when I see on the top of the river banks a couple of large buildings with corrugated roofs. These are the first man-made structures (besides pirogues) that we have seen since leaving Faranah. But these were local homes as you would find in a typical rural Guinea village. We paddled over to investigate.
Niger River bend at Somoria
It turns out that after nine days of saying, ‘Do you think we’ll reach the National Park today?’, we are finally within the park and are at the chimpanzee rehabilitation centre of Somoria, which is run by the dedicated Estelle Raballand (www.projectprimate.org). We are invited to see the chimpanzees at feeding time at noon. In the meantime, we have look round the centre and chat with the volunteers. Of the seven volunteers, two of them have also cycled to Guinea, on a tandem! Amazing.
Estelle has been running the centre for ten years and recently released a group of chimpanzees back into the wild, some 35km along the river. The first group release of it’s kind. They keep track of the chimpanzees and all seem to have adapted to their new environments well.
Come feeding time, the dinner bell rings and the local workers carry the chimps lunch round in wheelbarrows. The chimps know the sound and are causing an expectant racket.
We observe the chimpanzees from a distance as Estelle and the others hand the food through the cage bars. The chimps however, clearly aware of our unfamiliar presence, are on edge and putting on a bit of a show. The males in the group, beating the bars in a show of machismo and chase off the smaller chimps from the food.
Chimpanzee waiting for lunch
I don’t recall ever seeing chimpanzees before (maybe when a child on a zoo visit) but these animals were huge (much larger than me), incredibly strong and intimidating and I was glad there were strong metal bars between us. It certainly made me apprehensive about potential encounters in the wild.
We left the chimpanzees to eat in peace and walked back to the main hut with Estelle. She provided us with some useful advice:
After lunch and a book exchange we get back to our boat and start paddling again. But not before I am stung by one of the many bees that have become fascinated with the contents of our boat, especially my shoes.
It’s a solid afternoon with steady progress and we end the day camped on rocks, having startled away some antelope drinking by the river’s edge.
Hippo encounters, bats gone crazy and officious Guinean military… could I really be mistaken for a poacher?
See this post for photos of our visit to the chimpanzee sanctuary
Please show your support for the expedition and help me raise money for the Welbodi Partnership.
Copyright © 2008 Take On Africa.
