She Says

I was thankful to see the road after a stressful border crossing.

Woke up to a surprisingly dewy morning in Nouadibou and we even needed to wait for the tents to dry out before we could pack up.  While paying the bill, I asked the receptionist to mail me stamps for my collection since we were never able to make it to a post office during opening hours.  I have him a self-addressed envelope and the last of our small ougiya bills, hopefully I will get them after all.  We drove around looking to spend the rest of our money on diesel and cokes before we cross into the Western Saharan part of Morocco.  We weren’t quite sure what to expect as it is disputed territory and the Dutch family we met had mentioned there being all sorts of refugees in the border area.

The road to the actual border was very quick and the Mauritanians actually were the most speedy in processing all of our exit documents, we got through immigration, customs and gendarmerie quicker than it usually takes just to get through one.  The road that connects Mauritania to Morocco is not obvious at all, it is more like tangle of rocky and sandy trails without any road at all.  I guess the two countries could not reach an agreement on who would pay for the road to connect and decided to just leave it empty.  There were no refuges at all, actually there were barely even any cars at that point.

When we reached the Moroccan side, it seemed modern and had the air of efficiency; paved, painted, and spotless.  However, the simple and dusty Mauritanian side proved to be the better of the two, it took us about 2 hours longer to clear the Moroccan side.

First, we registered with the gendarmerie.  One person only is permitted to go with the passports and carnet.  I was given a number, # 40, and was told to wait with the other people who were lined up against a wall to try to get some protection from the sun while the officer was meeting each person at a table under a tree.  The staff called numbers but not all were present, it probably would have been quicker to just line up.  I waited my turn and once I got to the officer it passed quickly.  This however was only just the gendarmerie and we still had customs and immigration to clear.

We drove to the next point where we would clear customs and immigration which was much more chaotic.  It was just a mass of people waiting between a door and a window.  I started asking people and I learned that there was no line, so we assumed it was just a matter of pushing our way in.  Bobby started pulling me through the door, and just like the good old times in the Middle East, a little and very wide lady in hijab was plowing right through me.  Bobby got curt with me for not being more aggressive in the crowds and that made me quite aggressive towards him…still not helpful.  When I finally reached the officer inside I asked what the procedure is and learned that all the forms we filled needed to be in duplicate, of course.  So I rushed back to finish the forms and handed them back to the officer along with our passports and then had to go back and wait in the sun.  Bobby brought an umbrella out for me to try to shield me from the sun while the rest of the group waited over by the car where it was cooler.

Eventually, we learned that the passports are brought to a window protected by metal barricades, similar to Disney World line barriers but much shorter.  The officer would call your name and then stamp your passport there.  The officer called a few names and then  said “ok, fini, a demain!” and started to close the window.  The thought of waiting until tomorrow to get our stamps seemed impossible so I guessed that they were just closing for prayers or lunch and that they would re-open in an hour or so.

Shortly after, I heard Peta’s name being called so I ran in to fetch her passport.  I was led into a dark room and then they realized that I wasn’t Peta.  They became very upset and demanded why isn’t she here.  I explained that it was very hot outside and that she was waiting in the car and they demanded I go and get her.  As I began to run out the door to call for Peta, they began to call Robert Kent in the next door.  I popped my head in the room and began to explain that he is my husband but before I could finish they shouted “GO GET HIM!”  I ran to the car hollering for everyone to come.  Peta goes in to her designated room and Bobby goes to the window.  Peta then calls me in to translate.  The first time was to establish where she was born; still no one can understand a white African.  The second time she called for me was when the trouble began.

The officer in the room was convinced her visa was expired since most visas to Morocco are valid for 3 months.  Her visa says clearly that it is valid until January.  I went back and forth fighting with the guy whether or not the visa was expired.  I thought for a second that this might be a corruption thing and I blurted out in English and then French, “What do you want!?! What do you want us to do?”  He suggested going back into Mauritania and go to the Moroccan embassy there to get a new visa.  I said again, “No, this visa is good; it says right here, good for six months, good until January.”  A second officer enters the room, this is the man who was stamping the passports earlier.  He seems to agree with the other officer, that visas are valid only for 3 months.  I reiterated that the visa states clearly that it is valid for 6 months, in Arabic and then in French.  Then a third officer enters.  He is confident that Peta’s visa is in order and is indeed good until January.  Officer #2 then touches my forehead, I guess to calm me down, and then began to ask why I speak Arabic and what my job is.  I explained that I studied Arabic in Syria.  He then asked where my parents were from and was surprised when I replied “Lithuania”.  I guess this exchange helped gained some respect because after this he gave Peta her passport, ready and stamped and welcomed her to Morocco.

Bobby then got his passport back with no problem and David’s was next in the pile.  Everything had then just stopped.  Just when I was barely able to tolerate another second of standing outside in the sun, David’s name was finally called up.  After stamping David’s, the officer tried to skip mine.  Bobby hollered to the man that we are all together and he did everyone’s but mine.  This was luckily the officer that was I speaking in Arabic to before.  So he then found my passport and called me over.  I asked him in Arabic if he could stamp elsewhere and began to turn the passport pages to show him where.  I was running out of pages and so needed to be careful to put as many stamps on a page since I still needed to get home and get my Australian visa.  The officer not only was willing to help but also let me actually stamp the visa myself!  We were nearly free; the last step was to have customs check the car with a sniffer dog, who diligently attempted at humping my leg after his inspection of the vehicle.  I tried to be gentle in getting him off my leg, especially since we were still not officially in the country; God forbid we have come this far only to be denied due to some dog bite or something silly.  However, I was not as nice to the second dog that was not employed by the government who came by to sniff my freshly humped leg.

Dakhla was a surprisingly developed town considering it is disputed territory.  It was actually shockingly nice, considering how it has all of the same environment and resources as Nouadibou has just across the border.  We stayed in a khaima at a bizarre surfing campment that was recommended to us by an English couple we met in Mauritania, we were so exhausted that we weren’t keen to search for another place even though there was no water or power on the premises.

The road to Nouadibou.

Today we set out to take the un-road; crossing the Sahara to get to Nouadibou.  We spent the night in Atar at the Auberge Bab Sahara and spoke to some other over-landers who have just come from the route we are hoping to take.  They gave us some GPS coordinates from them just to ensure we are on the right path while crossing the desert.  The road was straightforward for a while; it was even paved for good deal of the way.  Once the road was bumpier, David decided to get off onto the sand and the next thing we knew, we overshot the waypoint of the GPS markers we had.   It doesn’t take long to get misdirected in the desert.  Luckily, we came across tire marks and followed those until we came across another set that appeared to be main one and thankfully reached the village where the train tracks began.  The train tracks will lead us the rest of the way to Nouadibou.  From here on, the route is simple, we will camp at the monolith like the over-landers suggested and just continue to follow the tracks until we reach Nouadibou.

Ben Amera, our campsite for the night.

When we arrived at the monolith Ben Amera we set up camp for the night.  It is election night in the US and hopefully the shortwave radio will work to let us know the results.  It is very windy here and I’m not sure if our poor tent will withstand the pressure.  I’m a bit worried.  We tried to bury the edges with sand and rocks to keep it secure from blowing away but considering we have only a stick taped to the side of our rod for support I am not sure how the rest of the tent will hold up.

Nouakchott has been full of surprises. I was partially expecting a desolate, sandy town with nothing modern about it.  The guide book made it sound as such; no atms, no restaurants, or supermarkets.  The sandy part was certainly true but there seems to have been a lot of money coming into this town.  There are now lots of new buildings, supermarkets, restaurants, and the country’s first ATM opened maybe a month before we arrived.  We had to stop by the brand new DHL office to pick up the car insurance papers that were supposed to arrive in Dakar but there was some confusion about that and so the documents were forwarded to the Nouakchott office.  The office itself was brand new and sparkling, like much of the downtown area.  The female employee even took care to spit in a little bucket she kept for just that purpose so she wouldn’t soil the floor.

After leaving the office, we were bombarded again by men in robes looking to change our money; it truly seems to be a national pastime here. The most troubling part of the day happened at the local pharmacy.  I was asking to get additional packets of the oral contraceptive that I take, a pretty standard thing.  The male employee began to gather the pills and ring up the transaction when another male worker rushed over asking in French, “Why do you want these?  Are you married? Where is your doctor?”. “This is my prescription, this is my husband, the doctor is in the car (Peta is a OB/GYN)”.  “This is your husband?”  “YES!” and I proceeded to take out our passports to show our names, “Kent” pointing to mine, “Kent” pointing to his, “Husband, ma fi haram (Arabic for it is not forbidden)”.  He began asking again Bobby if he understood that this is a contraceptive and I had to explain to him that he doesn’t understand him but yes, he knows what this is.  Then he began asking me why we don’t want children and I was so flustered I began prattling on something like we have no work or something unintelligible while I was pushing the payment for the pills in front of him and we go out as quickly as we could.  I was so shaken by that encounter that I realized that I left a one month pack of pills on the counter despite having paid for it, it only cost about $2 and I wasn’t willing to go back inside to get it back.  They did a pretty good job trying to intimidate and embarrass me from getting my birth control pills, which is actually not prohibited in Islam from what I understand but socially, men here certainly do seem opposed to women practicing family planning.  I have purchased my pills abroad for the past five years through the Philippines, Honduras, and Mali; this was the first time that anyone asked my husband’s permission or if I was married at all.  This would be a pretty effective technique to shaming women out of family planning.

After 58 nights in our tent, something was bound to break at sometime.  As we were packing up, one of our 3 rods cracked and poked through the fabric.  It is still functional and should still last for a while but it may need to officially be retired after this trip.  We have enjoyed watching the pelicans, storks, and ospreys at the national park.  We were directed by the staff of the hotel at the national park for a more direct route to Mauritania.  We arrived to the Rosso ferry quickly but the chaos started immediately as we pulled in.  One guy starts attempting to direct the car where to go while another steps up to Peta’s side (which would be the driver’s side except for those on the British system) and yelling at us that we can’t go this way, it is prohibited and we must line up behind the trucks.  These trucks are shipping trucks mind you and looked as though they have been there for days.  We ignored both of those guys and pulled up to the immigration building.  Once again they were puzzled by Peta’s South African passport, as had been the case at several other crossings.  The officers have a list of countries that they require visas to enter, South Africa is not on the list but they never seem to believe it.  So we wait a while until the officer is able to confirm all of this, despite the fact that she has already entered Senegal twice with no visa, so exiting should be no problem…but that doesn’t matter I suppose.  Eventually it was all sorted and we were off to the next step.

After driving down the street to the ferry terminal we were approached as usual by the young guys who are always filled with stories, demands, and are allegedly there to offer assistance (although who their services will assist is another matter).  The bumsters (as they were called in the Gambia) state all of the documents that we will need and we muster them all up.  Of course, they want to carry them, which I refused and brought them to the window myself.  It isn’t that they would steal our documents necessarily but they will demand payment for their services.  I’d rather stand up and walk it myself and not pay these guys an exorbitant fee.  I get to the customs window and the officer tries to tell me that the carnet is no good for Senegal.  Obviously false since we have already entered twice and are actually leaving.  After telling him this then the carnet was perfectly acceptable and he stamped us out.

The next challenge was to find out how much this ferry should cost and who actually works there, not like there are any uniforms or id tags.  The bumsters were saying that we need to pay 22,000 CFA or 50 USD, this seemed too high.  I had asked one car that was boarding how much they paid and they replied 4,000 ougiyas, or 15 USD. I chased down the cop who had our documents and asked him who we should pay.  He told me that we pay on the other side.  So we now know not to pay attention to the bumsters and just wait until we actually cross to the Mauritanian side.

The man who accompanied us while we walked our papers was now demanding his payment for his services.  He asked “all my work, is that supposed to be for free?” trying to shame me into paying.  In the sweetest voice I could muster I replied, “I would be happy to help you for free and I can see that you are a very good person…a kind person (he is nodding in agreement), such a kind person wouldn’t ask for money for helping someone”.  He stammered and ran off only to come back shortly after, this time I gave him 1,000 CFA and told him that he was lucky to get that and only got it because he is a good man; which he was compared to the other crooks walking around.

Finally the ferry was in sight and approaching the dock.  A new guy now comes up to us and demands 5,000 CFA to get on the ferry.  I got curt and retorted, “ok, but who are you? Every person here tells us that we need to pay them and I still don’t know who works here.  I don’t trust anyone here”.  He leaves and returns shortly making the same demand and my reply is the same.  Finally we see him directing cars to load on the ferry and it was now clear that he is actually involved.  My refusal to initially pay anyone off led to us being overlooked for being loaded on to the first ferry.  There was only room for one or two more cars on what is now the last ferry of the day.  We gave him the money and within seconds we were on board.  The crossing is a ridiculous 15 minutes or so despite the several hours of evading extortion and bribery.  We reached the Mauritanian side only to start the fun all over again.  Some bumsters even followed us on the ferry to “assist” us on the other side also.

While on the ferry, Mauritanian officials collected the passports and driver’s license.  As soon as we were on shore, Bobby and I dashed off to find the office where our documents were being held.  We find the papers and greet “Salaam alykum” all around.  First guy inspects the carnet, stamps it, 5,000 CFA, DONE!  Next room views our papers, no money needed.  Run downstairs and the immigration tells us that it will be 10,000 CFA to process our passports BUT they are closing now until 3pm and need to wait until then.  A man claiming to work for the ferry tells me I need to go to another office, this one was the actual office for the ferry.  I was informed that I needed to pay for our ferry tickets now which will be another 10,000 CFA (the cop had informed me to pay on this side but we couldn’t get on board without the 5,000 CFA to the loader).  We don’t have any ougiyas at this point because all of the change bureaus are closed for lunch.  The officer is coaxing me to make the payment because I was just standing there dumbfounded.  I told him “Look, you say it will be 10,000 CFA for our passports, now this ferry ticket is another 10,000 CFA.  It is cheaper in ougiyas but we can’t get any because everyone is closed and I haven’t got anything other than this (showed my 10,000 CFA)”.  “Fine, just give it to him; you pay no more”.  I gladly forked over the 10,000 CFA note and even got a receipt and 500 ougiyas change!  The Mauritanian officer told me we will pay no more and to come back at 3pm to collect our passports but we must give him a good cadeau.  A bottle of Coca Cola worked.

We returned to collect our passports, a new officer arrived, not the one we gave the drink to.  He scribbled in our passports and asked us who we will vote for and we told him Obama.  The official informed that it is a bad idea to pull troops out and I said that I will make a note of that.  We were then whisked off to finally get our stamps so we can get the hell out of this place and the officer then asks me for 500 ougiyas. UG!!  I ran back to the car to get the sorry looking ougiya bill that I was given as change.  I was supposed to contest paying more but at this point I didn’t care and gave him the money, grabbed our documents and the receipt and ran as fast as I could to the car so we could bolt out of there before anymore payments are requested.  I literally had to push bumsters away from the car just in order to open the door to get in the car.  We got to the gate and one of the punk bumsters insists that he is customs (in an Emporio Armani logo t-shirt) and said that we didn’t complete the formalities on the Senegalese side and need to go back across.  David tells him “Piss off!” and drives past him.  We rush to the gate and find it closed.  Bumsters begin to gather once again.  I get out with our passports and receipts to find an official to let us out and I literally stepped out of the car onto the feet of one of the bumsters and stumble into him.  I unintelligibly start to rant at him but give up quickly since freedom is just a few feet away.  There were a few uniformed officers by the gate who Bobby and I approach and as if a miracle, the gates finally open.  Bobby and I literally race across the fence on foot with David and Peta following in the car.

We pulled into a Total gas station just near the border to ask about banks and everyone is asking us to change money.  Apparently it is everyone’s hobby in this country.  We got our money and carried on to Nouakchott.  There were several checkpoints along the way but they were all extremely nice and there wasn’t a single problem.  The desert began immediately; it is amazing how different the landscape can be after only traveling a short distance.  There were rolling dunes and khaima tents as houses.  Nouakchott was thankfully much more tranquil than Dakar and we found our auberge easily.  It was like a sanctuary after such a stressful day.  There were khaima tents on the roof for us to sleep in, wifi, the Belgian owner cooked us a marvelous dinner, and there was a delicious breeze.  It was the perfect reward for overcoming such a trying day.

After over 70 days on the road, we have finally encountered our first cool nights.  It is amazing how much better one can sleep when in a comfortable temperature.  I feel surprisingly rested.  We have been staying at the Zebra Bar campgrounds just outside of St. Louis with the dozens of people who drive down from Europe for a getaway.  They have these tribal dance/yoga sessions complete with bongo drums…very bizarre.  The town of St. Louis is very quiet and there are still many buildings left in disrepair but it is a beautiful example of a French colonial town; in fact it was West Africa’s very first.

At this point in the trip, we have also noticed some critters that appear to be under the surface of the skin in Peta’s foot and have gotten her some medications from the pharmacy here.  When we were in the pharmacy and I was explaining what the problem was, an ancient looking man was listening in.  He told me, with a twinkle in his eye, to be sure that when the head comes out not to cut it, that I must be sure to roll or wind it out.

Tomorrow we will leave for the Parc National des Oiseaux Djoudj just at the Mauritanian border and spend the night there before crossing the border.

We finally managed to drag ourselves away from Sekuta Camping.  We spent nearly a week in Serrekunda indulging in great restaurants, nice seascapes, interesting people, and cooler weather and after a few ATM runs we realized from the amount of money we were spending that it is time to go.  The ferry was very quick and uneventful this time and we even got through immigration speedily for both The Gambia and Senegal.  All of the Gambian officials were asking why our stay in their country was so short when in fact it was far longer than we intended because it was so enjoyable…well after our first two days that is.

Leaving one great beach area, we headed straight for another in Senegal, Popennguine.  Our little campsite has its own steps down to the beach and a whole array of great looking restaurants; this would have been even more convenient than Sekuta Camping; if we had only known about this earlier.  All of those days of down time leaves us a little bit behind so I think we will go straight for Mauritania.

Beautiful sunrise kicked off our very long day

Setting off for our boat tour

Our little rooms in Jangjangbureh (Georgetown) became terribly uncomfortable as soon as the power went off for the night.  The heat and mosquitoes arrived at exactly the same moment as the fan was keeping both at bay.  We had an early morning planned with our posse who somehow managed to convince us that they are the best bird guides around…more like the only ones around right now.

The ride started off fine, they actually did know a fair bit about birds; at least one of them anyhow.  So there was the one guy who was operating the boat, the one guy who was the most knowledgeable about birds and then four other guys, I’m still not sure what their purpose was.  The bird guy was able to spot things but didn’t know specifics.  If Peta and David tried to elaborate or get more information he would clam up.  For example, according to him, there is a white kingfisher or a blue kingfisher but in reality there are dozens of varieties but he wasn’t interested in learning about the others; there is the white or the blue.

The "blue" kingfisher

Throughout the boat ride the guys would come up to David and say “Papa, cigarette” pointing at his pack of cigarettes.  Never were the words “please” or “thank you” uttered. They do speak English here which makes the minimal grunts of their demands more irritating. One guy pointed at Peta’s bird book to indicate he wanted to have a look.  Another guy took my binoculars and didn’t bring them back until we demanded them back…and I am the one paying for this trip, not him.  Then they asked to borrow the car keys for the bottle opener that is attached so that they can serve us drinks.

David's leg didn't deter them from using the nail clipper

The last straw for me was when I saw them using the nail clippers that are attached to the key chain and used them to clean their toenails.  I said to the guy something like “You should really ask for permission before you use our things, it is more polite” and he responded “No, we are family here” and continued to pass the nail clippers to his friends.  I then pointed to David’s leg, which is red/purple, swollen and has a big hole in it and told them “You really should have asked first to use the nail clippers; look at his leg, that is contagious and you used the same clippers as him and now you may get the same thing”.  The guy simply shrugged and said “Its ok, we are family”.  This really got to me and I blurted “If we are family then what is my name?”  He responded, with certainty, Melinda.  “No, so we aren’t family after all and so you must ask to use things” The rest of the boat ride continued with their antics, I think I preferred them when they were just running after the car and pulling up chairs at lunch.

At the end of the trip, we returned to the camp and got to meet the lady who runs it, she is actually a lovely person.  She even gave Peta some dalasis coins as a gift when they were talking.  As we were nearly ready to get in the car she came up and asked for the payment of the last 3 bottles of soda.  We explained that we didn’t have any more sodas, we were already paid up and showed her our receipt.  She just sighed and said that they boys had 3 drinks and told her that it was on our tab and that you cannot count on them for anything.  I told her about our car run in with them yesterday when we were yelled at by the police because of them and that they were rude.  They gave us a good service in the boat but they were not respectful.  She told us how they approached her yesterday claiming to be responsible for us coming to her camp and she had to tip them.   I hope she will be able to set those kids straight…punks.

After we left Georgetown we went to visit the stone circles.  Just as we pulled up, there was a group of Spanish tourists who had just arrived.  While we were in the museum, the employee had been at the window watching as the tourists dished out handfuls of candy to each child that they saw.  He went to go speak to their tour operator and had to ask them stop. He was concerned about the kids eating nothing but candy and rotting the teeth that they have; they may be able to get candy today but they will never be able to afford to see a dentist.  We had a picnic nearby and the kids swarmed us demanding things like “give me that thing there, I want it”, despite having no clue what it is for.

When we got back on the main highway the police checkpoints became more frequent and they began to inspect our passports at each stop.  One officer asked me why I didn’t have a visa and then I showed him where my passport was stamped by immigration.  He responded “No, that is a tourist stamp”  “Well, yes, I AM a tourist”.  On the sixth or seventh stop of the day an officer asked where we crossed and why we didn’t have visas.  We explained that we paid the 15,000 CFA each for the visas and they gave us those stamps.  Another man very nicely tried to explain the situation and said that we are very welcome here and they don’t want to give us problems and discourage tourists but there is a problem with our visas.  He then needed to call his superior in Farrafenni, the main office.  We arrived at the office and the boss was very helpful.  He said basically that they gave us the wrong sort of entry stamp and we were overcharged.  He would contact that office and make sure the officers were punished.

We went on our way and got to the main checkpoint, the officers there were expecting us and told us that we need to go back to Farrafenni.  The head police commissioner had gotten word about what happened and was on the phone and wanted to speak to David.  So he had to recount exactly what happened at the border, how much we paid, what the officers looked like, etc. They gave us new stamps in our passports to avoid any further problems at checkponts and gave us a receipt with the price of the visa…only 300 dalasis.  Strangely, even with our embezzled, exorbitant visa price, it was still the cheapest of the trip so far!

It took us hours to get to the ferry from Banjul to Serrekunda, ridiculous considering the entire country is only 700 miles long.  The ferry was madness, again all the touts trying to trick you.  While we were waiting to board the ferry there was the array of people asking for a broad range of things from cigarettes to stereo speakers.  One vendor girl said to Bobby, “Give me a drink” and he replied “Sure! We’ve got coke, fanta, water, beer, whatcha want?” “COKE”, “Ok, that will be 50 dalasis!” She didn’t want to pay and tried to give him a cent coin and I’m not sure what happened next but somehow Bobby came into the car with her entire tray of peanuts that she was selling.  He gave it back to her, of course.

It was our longest and latest day of driving of the entire trip.  We finally got to Sekuta camping after being a bit lost; it is a big overlander stop and was bustling with expats in cars, vans, motor bikes and even bicycles.  I’m just so thankful that this day is over with and it seems like we will get to relax here a bit.

It is hard to remember my life when I used to worry about which museum to go to or what thread count the sheets on my bed are.  I am not spending each day trying to find a nice bush to hide behind to use as my toilet with a shovel in hand.  I am perpetually dirty, have bugs in my morning coffee (brings back memories of the Philippines) and I have a creaky back and neck from sleeping every night on the floor in our tent.  My big clothing decision has nothing to do with what looks nice, only which is the least dirty.  I have two pairs of Capri pants, I wear only one pair until we get to a spot where I can wash the ones that I am wearing.  To think of fresh, fluffy laundry, a steamy shower, and staying fresh and clean for more than five minutes is nearly x-rated.  It has been nearly 70 days on the road and we have entered into our eighth country, The Gambia.

It was nice to get back to English again after so long of handling everything in French.  It is nice that I am not the only one to do the talking anymore.  When we got to the Gambian immigration we had to pay 15,000 CFA; with that we got our stamp and 28 days to enjoy this tiny sliver of a country.  We even had to bring in our bags to be inspected, that is certainly a first.  The guy saw the section of my backpack where I keep my medicines and asked for an aspirin for a toothache.  I told him that I only have medicine to help constipation; he let me go after that.

Shortly after entering, we got our first taste of how things work in The Gambia.  There are police checkpoints everywhere and the cops are definitely more strict and thorough than what we had seen so far.  We stopped in Basse to change money and while we were parked, a guy on a motorbike (with a helmet no less, that is rare!) pulled up next to us first to greet us.  This is apparently a Gambian technique for getting an excuse to approach you and scan everything we have at the same time.  Of course, his eyes are roaming the car and he noticed the bottle of beer in David’s lap and told him that he should be careful of that here; he could get a ticket.  David thanked him and within moments a cop approached us asking what this is about us having beer.  Sure enough, the helmeted motorcyclist was right behind him.  The cop then asked for David’s license and documents, all of which were with Peta who was in the bank.  Luckily some traffic offense happened while we were waiting for Peta to return and all the cops ran off to handle that.  The guy in the red helmet left looking dejected that he won’t get his cut of the bribe that will now not be paid.

The cop came back and told David that drinking while driving is not permitted here.  David said that he absolutely agreed; but he was not driving, he was parked.  The officer was confused but let us off the hook and we continued on to Georgetown.

There were several police checks along the way, all of them greeting us in a very friendly manner while their eyes are scanning the car and our belongings. One asked for the pen that he noticed on the dashboard.

When we arrived at the ferry to take us to Georgetown, at least this seemed to be efficient and shuttled cars back and forth quickly.  While we were waiting we were approached by several people.  Instead of the “ça va” that we had grown so used to it was now “Hello, what is your name?” followed by “can you give me a football?”  As soon as we got off the ferry, the touts began to appear.  We drove along looking for the Bird Safari Camp, asking people for directions along the way.

Suddenly we heard a thumping on the car and then shouting, “Hey, the police want you to stop, they are looking for you!”

We pull over to the police woman (another first) and she told us “you cannot have people hanging on the back of the car, that isn’t permitted here”.  We responded that we don’t have people on the back of the car.  She retorted “Well, don’t  you have a mirror?”.  Apparently, the guy who informed us that the cops were looking for us had been hiding on the back of the car with a friend without us knowing.  David responded, “Yes, but the mirror doesn’t help us see if they are hanging directly on the back, only if they were on the sides; we don’t even want them there!”  The officer then let us go and told us that the car is his property and he should tell them to get off of it.

We continued in our search of the bird camp and we see that there are a few guys sprinting to keep up with us…handy mirrors!  David slams on the breaks to yell at them and we hear the dull thud of one of the touts crashing into the car.  Those guys then tried to yell at us for stopping the car when they were trying to hitch a ride.  It was a very bizarre argument, like someone trying to rob your house and then suing you for tripping on your porch.

When we finally got to the bird camp it seemed more like a squatter camp than a place for tourists, all of the staff seemed to be living there and had their laundry hanging everywhere.  It seems the peak tourist season sustains them well enough that they aren’t even concerned with having guests today.  We ended up driving to town and stopping for lunch.  The 6 guys who were chasing us all day pulled up plastic chairs alongside us; as if slamming the car into them wasn’t a hint enough that we are not interested in their services.  They sat there for the entire 2 hours that it took us to have our meal prepared and kept asking to look at Peta’s bird books and guide books.  I had to actually remind them to use the word “please” as if they are children.  The guy at the restaurant also tried to overcharge us for what was clearly priced on the menu.  These guys are really getting on our nerves but we are trying to smile through it.

Car troubles in Senegal

After leaving Djenné we were held up a few days in Bamako while David recovered from malaria.  The past few days kept us on our toes, we didn’t wander too far just in case he needed to go to the hospital.  Once recovered, it was a surprisingly quick and uneventful trip through the rest of Mali until we reached the border with Senegal… and then problems emerged.

With the amount of stress we are putting on poor Priscilla, something was bound to happen.  The battery was the culprit once again. It is possible that the last mechanic’s work on the regulator fried the battery.  Luckily, we made it to Tambacounda which is large enough of a town to have car parts stores.  It was not the greatest selection and the Wolof man working the shop seemed unsure if we were to add sulfuric acid and distilled water to the battery.  We were later led to a workshop, not a store.  We sat there for a few hours while mechanics banged and took apart poor Priscilla; we were just happy to at least be in the shade.

The mechanics decided that the regulator is fine, the problem is the alternator and then finally they decided that all of that is fine and we just need a new battery. This guy tried to sell us the same battery that we nearly bought from the Wolof, of course this time for a considerably higher price.  He insisted that this was a very different battery and pretended to not know of the car parts store that is around the corner from him.  After a good deal of haggling, we got the price down and left towards the border with The Gambia.

I’m sick of the theatrics of haggling here.  The Chinese do it best; more comical than anything.  Africans are more like the Egyptians, they take on an angry or offended air when you question their price or quality.  It is so much easier when there is just a set price; decide how much profit you want and lets just be done with it!

We have made it to Djenné, home to the world’s largest mud bricked building. It was a relatively short drive from Sévaré and then just a short ferry to arrive in the town.  The ferry was particularly entertaining because a few of the vendor kids knew some English.  It surprised us while we were crossing the river and the little girls came up and exclaimed “Hey mister! You give me cadeau!”

Bobby was successful in bartering.  He traded 2 candies or bon-bons for a little car made from old tin cans.  She came down from a steep price of 10 bon-bons.  It was quite the deal. David accidentally stole a little wooden mask from one of the kids, they were thrusting it into his hands and bargaining with themselves.  They just forgot to claim it back.  Another kid tried to get a walking stick that was a gift from our Dogon guide to David and said “Hey mister, you give me this stick, it is good for me!” and we tried to shame him by saying “but you are a young, strong boy and he is an old man and needs it to walk”.  He didn’t care so much.

The cadeau girls

We also met a Dutch family that we shared a campsite with.  They are traveling with their two year old son and four year old daughter.  They will drive all the way around Africa with them and get their daughter back home to the Netherlands in time for kindergarten.

The Great Mosque of Djenné was very impressive, of course.  We couldn’t afford the ridiculous bribe to get inside through the back door so we just settled on enjoying the views from the plaza.