Nigeria - Days 5-11

OK, so the poor little white boys had a tough time in getting to Nigeria’s new capital city Abuja but a corner seems to have been turned in more ways than one. After checking into an average hotel for five nights, the in-room fridge was quickly rammed full of nice cool drinks which included 24 of my much craved for milkshakes, which immediately lifted the mood! As a city Abuja is very different to the rest of Nigeria. It’s clean and clearly wealthy with its numerous new impressive buildings including the striking church and mosque strategically placed to emphasis Abuja’s slogan as ‘The Centre of Unity.’ The prices of things are a bit odd though with a taxi anywhere across the large city available for 200 Niara (One euro) regularly hammered down from anything up to N1200, fuel at about 30p a litre and get this – a film at one of our modern cinemas with popcorn & drink for N1000 (Yes less than £5!!). On the flip side food is expensive for something ‘normal’ in the west and still a bit pricy for something local which usually involves bone, grissle, some sort of innards and rice. Turning corners then...Well, first up after a day of faffing about we managed to get four visas in three days! That only leaves our Gabon visa which we’ll pick up in Cameroon, which is a big result as it’s not only these that cause the main delays but also with how unstable parts of Africa can be it’s not uncommon for countries to stop issuing them periodically. Secondly we’ve now moved onto our Central and Southern African map which shows that although it still looks far to Cape Town the further we progress and the more information we gather, it seems to suggest that the onward road conditions aren’t as bad as we feared and if all goes smoothly we could be ‘down’ by around mid May. He says... Thirdly, after leaving Abuja and heading south for Cameroon we finally seem to have moved away from the dust, sand and searing heat that no doubt originates from the Sahara further north, with southern Nigeria (or at least the route we took) being much prettier with the place becoming more and more tropical with each kilometre passed. It’s also Christian rather than our entire route so far which has been Muslim. I was reminded of this whilst packing up one morning when our neighbour ‘Reverand Oscar’ said a nice prayer for our travels while we all held hands. (Insert joke of your choice here). As for the riding it’s been nice and easy. Although still hot, it’s now more humid which although a bit unpleasant in bike gear isn’t a constant burning heat as before. Last up we’ve also caught and seem to be travelling alongside ‘The Christians’ (two clean cut American guys riding GS650’s) and ‘The Swingers’ (seven South Africans (3B/4G) in two Land Cruisers so called by us as we don’t know who’s with who, so all in plus the spare seems to make things easier for us). Our last night in Nigeria saw us staying just short of the Cameroon border whilst crossing everything we had in the hope that it stayed dry for the infamous Ekok to Mamfe 80km ‘road’ with its horror stories aplenty...

Nigeria - Days 1-4

...Not painful, but agony. What a shocking few days it’s been. Somewhat recovered here’s what I’ve been trying to forget...
Still taking the cross country route we entered Nigeria slowly but without hassle. For my fellow travellers you might be interested to know that I’ve still not used my Carnet. It’s been requested a couple of times but they really don’t know enough about it for it to be a problem, instead I’ve had a few Laissez-Passers issued, some free and some for a fee of less than 10 euros. Quite often just producing my V5 is enough and we’ve just been waved through. So then a free L-P later we’re on yet another ‘road under construction’ heading east. One day many years after reading this maybe someone will retrace my route and wonder what the problem was as they ride the perfect tarmac on their smooth 100kg, 200bhp, quiet, solar powered bike whilst wearing climate controlled protective clothing and having chilled nutrients and liquid available just by thinking about it. But then again maybe that’s a bit farfetched, the bit about the perfect tarmac. Next whinge is the Michelin Map...the roads are of varying colours depending on condition i.e. ‘Improved road’ whatever that means and other helpful descriptions such as ‘secondary road.’ It was on a combination of these two that the fun started. On what should be (for a couple of dual sport riders) a good day on a challenging 80km trail and a crap day on a similar sized badly potholed ‘road,’ for one dual sport rider following a sports tourer it was hell. The ride was mostly at 20-25kph which is right at the top of first gear and at the bottom of second and much more importantly at this speed there is no let up from the heat at all as there is no wind to help to cool the body. On top of all this, when the next village is only 5/10/25km away (depending on who you ask) it’s actually hours away. Several times we’d run very low or out of water and this isn’t our cold, nice tasting tap water either, it’s either water from a village well or the same tasting stuff from a shop that comes in a 50cl bag. Either way, initially when cool (it’s never cold) it’s bearable but when it warms up it tastes fowl and just makes you feel worse. After two days of this we reached New Bussa with me totally on my last legs like never before, severely dehydrated and having only eaten one small meal in 48hrs. Then the local “In charge of security” guy turns up to question us on our visit. I’m in no state to get involved and just sit there while Mick explains that we’re neither terrorists nor spies. The following morning, feeling slightly better we head off for Abuja and we nearly got there were it not for a storm (hurricane?) of ‘proper’ proportions. With an estimated 25km left (estimated because my GPS is now dead and Mick’s had fallen out of its cradle and was lost forever earlier in the day) the riding conditions had gone way beyond dangerous with darkness, water inside our visors, fallen power lines and chaos everywhere adding to the usual mix of dodgy vehicles, terrible roads, pedestrians and animals. We eventually found a motel to stay and after 30 minutes of plain hard work with the staff over whether or not they could accept some US dollars we were in the dry. Damn that global warming again, maybe next time I’ll walk.

Been in Benin

Having now left Benin only a few days ago I can’t recall much that had actually happened, which includes the daily distance. The tarmac has now gone and we are on dirt roads that are sandy and corrugated. With my off road rear tyre now on and with reduced tyre pressures it’s pretty easy going onboard big Des. Mick however, doesn’t have it so easy. His heavy road bike on road tyres, not surprisingly, doesn’t like this sort of surface. There is a problem with this incompatibility though. The problem is that if I ride the road as I should at a fast speed to skim over the bumps then Mick gets left way behind and I’m waiting a few miles up the road while he picks his bike up. Therefore I’m now riding just behind him at a very slow 20-45 kph which is actually harder to ride than at the two or three times the speed that I should be riding this type of surface that his VFR can't manage. Cameroun to Namibia could be painful...
Apart from the slow riding we camped twice more (I really need a shower like never before) firstly in a road construction compound after meeting a French guy named Didier who’s in the middle of his contract overseeing the construction of a 36km rode from the border. We were kindly taken out by four Beninian(?) engineers who were living in the compound near to where we pitched our tents to a local bar for a beer and general chit chat. Good guys and a nice bonus to an otherwise tiresome day. Our other two days in Benin pretty much followed suit with slow, hot, thirsty and dirty rides through the back and beyond and more wild camping before heading into Nigeria...

GOTTOGOTOTOGO

We passed through the Togo border with minimal fuss and without attempting to increase the road kill count on the way. The borders have become much quieter as the route we’re taking is a cross country one that we suspect rarely sees travellers. We both agree that the cities are to be avoided when possible and more adventure is likely away from the well travelled conventional route. Other than that I’ve had to have a word with Mick a couple of times about his music on his ipod that gets played whilst we camp. ‘Diverse’ would be a kind way of describing the quite often bizarre songs that seem to come out of his mini speakers in what must be a shuffle setting. One minute it’s all good with maybe a bit of David Bowie, the next it’s some hurdy burdy Danish/Swedish/Norwegian eurovision entry circa 1983. Back to togo then...we got through fairly late and started to look for a suitable place to wild camp out of sight. This proved difficult as there were people everywhere, as even on the most quietist stretches of roads there would be someone, somewhere. Darkness then fell and we had little option but to head off the road into what looked like a fairly quiet piece of farmland. Dinner and tea later sure enough some locals turned up to see who the two spacemen were. They got pretty comfortable and after what seemed like many offers to stay with them in their village we felt that if we didn’t then the village would probably just come to us. A short ride through the pitch black later we were introduced to the family, all four generations of them. The people here seem to have large families and they live together. I guess if you’re born into a large family then that’s what seems normal, plus of course you should get looked after when you become old. At first it was a bit awkward for us just sitting there on a rug outside their mud huts. With all fifteen of them just watching us I suppose it was the equivalent of us watching TV and waiting to be entertained. Mick kicked things off with his world map, showing them where we’d come from and where we were going. I doubt many of them had seen a map before as a question and non answer session produced little in the way of their geographical knowledge. Then it was my turn, this time with my micro French-English dictionary, which went down a storm. Body parts in English were a favourite particularly when I joked about my big white man’s nose and most of all a demonstration on why we call a flip flop a flip flop. Not quite as good as Micheal Palin does it on his travels but not a bad attempt all the same. In between these geography and language lessons I showed off my scorpion tattoo and we ate probably the freshest meal we’ll ever eat as the (live) chicken was showed to us a very short time before being offered cooked with onion and some sort of chilli. We slept in the open on the mat and by the time we were about to leave in the early morning more neighbours had turned up to see us off. I really can’t imagine any of this happening back at home.
More fun was to be had as we headed for Benin as Mick took a picture of the Togan president as he sped past in a army/police convoy. An angry policeman spotted him and took his passport and my camera that had been used. Some time later down at the local nick after threats of prison followed by “or money” we had these items back for nothing and were free men. During Mick’s very good ‘stupid European’ game I instructed him to show off his now knackered boots complete with soles that are hanging on by a thread which seemed to do the trick. With those two little adventures behind us plus a chance meeting with a Nigerian motorcycle club (one of the members Mick knew) we headed for Benin without further incident.

The Gay Way Down - Episode 7

With a long wait ahead for several visa applications this week Ian and Mick mostly in pants get more and more filthy. First up was Ian’s rear end which had become sticky after he’d stupidly been tempted into letting a local have a go at it with his big tool. Next up Ian played with his chain which was worn well. Then came plenty of lubrication as there were doubts if a ‘finish’ would be achievable as things stood. Things had really been heating up for some time and at this point Ian felt the need to introduce a third person into the equation. Scott was someone Ian had slept with whilst travelling last year and was someone that, importantly, Ian trusted. So with Scott onboard and introduced to Mick the three of them got down to it, with Scott’s new ideas and experience ultimately making all the difference. With a farewell bid to Scott for his efforts there was still an issue of Ian’s bentness. It looked bent but then again maybe it was straight after all? Ian’s ultimate wish was to be straight so Mick withdrew it, inspected it and very carefully put it back in. The outcome was not quite straight, not quite bent but certainly kinky.

So with Des’s rear brake freed up, chain cleaned and lubricated, radiator fan fixed and a front fork slightly improved we waited for our visas for Togo and Benin. A change to our intended route to and through Nigeria means that a visit to Ghana would now be costly in both time and money so we are abandoning this leg of the trip in order not to fall behind on my schedule. And besides, we’ve become a little bored in Ouagaudou, with its hot dust, constant long power cuts and our complaining landlady. So next up then Togo...

Mooving through Burkina Faso

We crossed into Burkina Faso effortlessly due to us being firmly outside of the tourist zone and cheaply too as Mick is a master at ‘playing the game’ which you have to do to avoid the constant request for, ahem, “formalities.” Once into this little known country changes were evident. It’s much more rural than those we’ve visited before. Where previously most people seemed to want more here everyone just seems happy with their clean and tiny village communities. Around these villages the land is farmed so in addition to the village’s water pump from the well they seem to be self sufficient. Nobody here thinks they’re from Jamaica unlike in the Gambia or Senegal. So first stop then was ‘Casa Africa’ which we had previous information on which turned out to be adequate for what we needed. On arrival two other bikes were there too, one an Irish registered GS1100 and the other a South African GS650 Dakar. The big Beemer was being ridden by Mike and Linda with the smaller Beemer ridden by Corbus who Mick knew from an internet site. As well as these people we also met Ivan and Marian, a French couple travelling in a very old 2CV van!! They are proper travellers all of them, no bling.
The second day started very well as DHL delivered on time and finally I had my second passport. Things have been all going too smoothly for too long so to address the balance...I had an accident. Cruising at 120kph along a pretty quiet road I moved to beyond the centre line in readiness to overtake the obligatory donkey and cart in my lane whilst rolling off the throttle and covering the brakes. All good until a cow off the road to my left makes a last second dart across the road into what has now become a small space between me and the about to be overtaken D&C. With nowhere to go and a now hesitant cow blocking any free passage there’s nothing for it other than to scrub off as much kph as possible and brace for impact... At around what felt like 70kph I catch the rear end of the cow, spinning it around and in the process my front wheel is put into the full right lock position. Much skidding later and despite my best efforts to salvage the situation the laws of physics win and me and Des hit the hard stuff with a bang and are sent in a 20 meter skid across the tarmac into what was thankfully an empty oncoming lane. The outcome of all this was a broken front brake lever, a very badly bent rear brake pedal, what appears to be twisted forks and also some ‘patina’ to the bar end, tank, crash protector, lower fork, hand guards and pannier. For my fellow Tenere riders you’ll be pleased to know that all said and done the bike faired pretty well after what felt like high side. My riding kit also did its bit with all the armour areas protecting me despite some scuffs and rips, although not surprisingly my gloves disintegrated. As for the cow it limped off out of site and me, a small bruise on my right pelvis and a bit of a sore right big toe as something slammed onto it after I’d hit the deck. Since that little episode we’ve arrived in Ouagaudou and are waiting for three visas which will take 6-7 days. We’ll use the time to service the bikes and try to straighten out big Des...

Meltdown in Mali

Mali. Bloody hell it’s hot. It’s so hot that if this weather came to the UK it would be banned under health and safety. Mick’s ambient temperature gauge stopped working after it hit 50 degrees and just read ---- which without looking in the instructions probably meant ‘You’re having a laugh.’ That’s not all that’s playing up in this heat, so too is my bike’s radiator fan which doesn’t work and my Garmin 60CSX GPS unit which won’t turn on or off after about 10am after Satan himself really stokes up the furnace.
Anyway, we made it here without any problems at all after our earlier worries. The first official that wanted our documents was Malian so officially we didn’t even enter Senegal at all. Apart from the heat and the many many stops along the way for liquid the riding has been pretty uneventful, with plenty of waves from the locals and no ‘bumsters’ as Mick calls the ones that are always hassling the tourist. Our first night here we again wild camped away from the road (this looks like a cheap trip) where after a nice pasta meal we kipped in the open with no tents. The following morning having avoided a visit from a scorpion or a snake during the night we set off for another 360km or so day much like the day before except at the end of it we stayed in a nice air conditioned(!) room at a campsite just south of Mali’s capital Bamako and had beers, steak and just general luxury that we all take for granted at home. That luxury was short lived for our final day in Mali as we again wild camped in the open with the termites on top of what seemed in the morning like a snake nest. Despite my earlier problems and dislike for this place it seems things are definitely improving. I now have only a couple of mossie bites, my skin has returned to normal after my sunburn and the temperature has cooled to a somewhat chilly 38 degrees. Not only that, but as we head east the people are much more friendly the place is cleaner and nobody wants anything more than a wave, smile or chat. Next stop Burkina Faso with its wonderfully sounding towns to collect my passport which is hopefully about to arrive in Bobo-Dioulasso...

Goodbye Gambia and hello again Senegal. Er, sort of.

We left David and family a day later than planned due to a camera repair, a look around the market and going out for some live music. I was quite grateful of the extra day as whilst ‘getting a bit of colour’ I suddenly remembered Dr Hill’s (my sister) warning that taking Malerone malaria pills can increase your chance of getting burnt. Too late. I ended up getting the worst sunburn since I was about eleven, whilst in Spain, which saw me wearing my pyjama top for three days as unlike anything else I tried to wear, it didn’t feel like Freddie Kruger was giving me a back massage. Oh how I wished I had that little soft blue pyjama top, with red lapels. So, still in agony and with my water blisters just about outnumbering my mosquito bites we finally set off. Forty eight hours later and we’re still together and making pretty good travelling companions. Here’s what I know and something that I don’t really need to know.
Mick Hoey, 31, Danish, Peter Schmeichel lookie-likey, Honda VFR750 (?!, more later) former aircraft technician, has a more than worrying interest in the infamous ‘Mr Hands.’ Wikipedia it if you must – but you’ve been warned.
Day one of this two day entry saw us cross the river again at Banjul to take Gambia’s northern road eastwards, where we made good ground and stayed at a nice campsite. The following morning though saw us have to ride 30km the way we had come due to an impassable river crossing. Studying the map we made the old ‘that can’t be far’ mistake when we saw a tiny white road to Senegal. Lesson seven: white roads on the African map are the sort where you need to check how long’s left until your passport expires before attempting them. Lesson eight soon became sports touring bikes don’t do sand. This 40km took several hours in the heat and saw us run out of water, bad times. Mercifully after this hell we found tarmac which was adorned with signs in French and Senegalesed registered cars. Hooray! Except that we hadn’t actually passed any sort of border with its official procedures. Decision time then, either a) find the nearest cheerful bobby to explain our predicament only for him tell us to ride back the way we came or b) risk sharing a cell with big black Messuire Dique after being ‘pulled’ at one of the many police checkpoints along the way? So here we are then, 50km from the Malian border having waved and smiled our way through the many checkpoints. We’re wild camping 300 meters from the main road out of sight and tomorrow we’ll hopefully get to the border and with no other tactic thought up we’ll just have to play dumb. Or maybe those crappy ‘Dunston’ cigarettes will be useful after all?