Packed up at first light and while waiting about 30mins for a suitable looking southbound car to follow I only had one thought in mind. Get to the border and get out. Partially dehydrated and with what has now become my usual breakfast of a malaria pill and a vitamin pill I eventually followed the car that turned up.
A high speed blast behind the car to Nouakchott and then alone a further 200km to the border was met with relief at having got there major problem free. Big thanks to my friend Richard for having the panic button on standby. Having researched where I could for my route I was aware that the infamous crossing at Rosso to Senegal was a horrific experience to be avoided. Due to my ‘Tracks4Africa’ GPS card not arriving in time I’ve had to make do with a map and some very basic GPG mapping which only shows the main roads. As a result I couldn’t find and then subsequently missed the 60km turn off along a ‘piste’ (track) which apparently leads to a much more civilized crossing. So I arrived at Rosso which I can only compare to a scene in Mad Max 2 (below)
whereby there is no order whatsoever and a nightmare just waiting to happen. Last year I experienced some terrible crossings with one even lasting ten hours but the big difference here was that they were all down to nothing more than former communist red tape. This was corruption, robbery and threatening all rolled into one. To start with the solo traveler is met with a big set of locked gates into a ‘compound’ which you assume is the border crossing. To make matters worse, inside there’s a small ferry ride involved which has no schedule. So with said solo traveler approaching the gates he/god forbid she is surrounded by a crowd of border leeches all desperate to have the money out of your pocket one way or the other. Amongst this lot was a uniformed official who I selected to help me. The biggest problem by far is not knowing exactly what’s what. I mean, if said official says it costs 50 euros to complete ‘all formalities’ including customs fees, police fees, vehicle something fees, tax and shipping costs etc than who am I to say it’s too much? 50 euros handed over and things appear to be going well despite the crowd of hangers on following us around and all wanting a piece of the action. After a couple of random bits of paper and a stamp matey then disappears, presumably with a nice bit of bunce in his sky rocket. Of the remaining locals one young guy seems to be the superior and later even mentions that his father is one of the high ranking officials that I have to wait two hours to see. He probably was. Despite the young lad trying to impress me with his new Samsung phone and Senegalese music while waiting for two hours for ‘a stamp’ it’s clear than I’m pissed off, knowing that I’ve probably been stung and on top of that his mates or whoever they were trying to rip me off with insurance for 120 euros (3 months for most of Africa) when I know from Mick it’s 50 euros and I even show them the text! With each declining of the offer price tensions rise…Finally on the boat, accompanied by the chief’s son and another young lad (who to be fair I actually quite liked) who’s learning the ropes we cross and enter Senegal border control (control?!)
Again, mob rule ensues and somewhat relived matey makes it clear to them that I’m his punter and sets about his work. This time it’s another 50 euros for police, customs, various ‘stamps’ and a couple of ‘taxes.’ By this time I’ve had enough and tempers are raised. But again if the official demands say 20 euros for a stamp what choice do I have? And they do. Finally the insurance is bought for 55 euros which is about right but one particular guy within the group does it. Each time a price is mentioned or questioned he gets more and more vocal and animated. Words were then exchanged between us and a flashpoint happens. Some squaring up, eyeballs and a minor scuffle later it’s all about to go belly up big time. Bear in mind that there is no rule here at all, this is a long way from what we’re used to. Perhaps worried that he won’t get his ‘bonus’ my ‘fixer’ then separates us and yells at me to “go go go” while the other guy is restrained. Off I hurry without some documents. “Shit.” I stop 200m up the road to ponder my next move when suddenly ‘fixer’ arrives with my missing documents and for his ‘bonus.’ Convinced he’s already had a nice day’s earning but also relived that he removed me from that situation I give him and the young lad who to be fair did a good job of looking after my bike throughout 10 euro each. So, 120 euros then probably 80-90 more than it should have been but what can you do? Refuse and go nowhere? Fortunately I managed to lower the loss by £45 in a way that only my closest friends can discover but even so not a pleasant experience. None of this has surprised me and it’s not hard to see why most of the world just doesn’t want to get involved with Africa, instead just leaving it to fester in its own pool of corruption and hopelessness. Still, things can only get better, tomorrow I should finally meet up with Mick in the Gambia who not only has had time to acclimatize to all this but also has some contacts along the way…
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