It’s dingy and seedy and sleazy and dark. The bar in Farafenni, my first town in Gambia. It also feels very West African, the beer finally doesn’t cost a fortune, there is Guinness but not yet the West African style but the foreign stout style with yellow labels that you can buy at home.
It’s beautiful. It’s also the first time there is no chill after sunset, it’s the lazy warm evening that makes you wanna sit back, sip your drink and never go home.
The journey here took time.
I left Ndagane a bit late, around 11am but it was a nice quiet and very sunny morning and the coffee in the guesthouse didn’t wanna let me go. There were warm baguettes with baobab fruit marmalade made by the local women. With the creamy consistency it tasted so good that I didn’t touch the fig confiture by Auchan.
First taxi brousse was to the next crossroads and cost 500cfa.
Second was a sept-place to Nsiodiame which is another crossroads but this time on the main road between Mbour and Kaolack. It cost 1000cfa and the whole time people leave and enter the car.
Next was a bus to Kaolack. It cost 2000cfa and halfway we change to another bus, which was a very chaotic affair with a lot of shouting aka vivid discussion.
Please note I’m not mentioning any baggage fare.
The bus in Kaolack arrives at garage Dakar. The transport towards the border leaves from garage Ndioro (or Nioro). I sat on the back of motorbike, so-called jakarta and I paid 500cfa for it.
Garage Nioro is a ramshackle series of shacks. When getting out from the jakarta, my thigh touched the exhaust pipe and I burnt myself. Skin peeled. It wasn’t very painful but I got a bit scared by the fried skin sight. A man took me to the sept place and while we waited for the car to get full I was able to negotiate down the baggage fee from 1000cfa to 500cfa though the man later demanded a cadeau.
When we left the garage I asked the driver to stop by a pharmacy so I can get something for my burn. I wish I thought of carrying panthenol with me. The next pharmacy was in a village, a small shop, nevertheless it looked well-equipped. When I showed the lady behind the counter what happened she handed over a cream, a paracetamol+ibuprofen pain killer and an antibiotic. She said the antibiotic is for the wound to heal faster. I refused the pain killer as I have my own and I refused the antibiotic as I don’t think it’s necessary for a burn wound and I took the cream. Benzoatec, made in Austria, 1500cfa. It turns out it’s an antibiotic too! And pain-wise it worked miracles, I do not feel any pain anymore. Let’s see about the healing process.
We arrived at a town’o’village of Keur Ayip about 5pm and I took a jakarta to the Gambian town of Farafenni for 1000cfa.
The passport control on the Senegalese side took a few minutes, there was a small queue.
Then we came to the Gambian side. What a relief to be able to speak English freely. As I was chatting with the officers I looked at the wall and saw a list of countries that don’t need visa or “clearance”. There was no Poland! Poland was below, on the list of countries that need only visa but no “clearance”. Talk about being prepared for travel.
The officers were quite curious about me and told me I have to go to town to get my visa and that it costs €50. One of them went out and talked to my jakarta driver. They eventually decided I have to be escorted to the immigration office and I had to pay and dismiss the jakarta. I was asked to wait.
After maybe 10mins they called me and told me that nah, they called the immigration office in town and they were told to let me in, grant me 14 days (only!) and collect the €50. And so they did.
One of them nevertheless took me to town on his motorbike. I had to carry my big rucksack on my shoulder and the small one on one of my knees. He dropped me at Eddy’s Hotel and asked for “something”. I told him I had no money and he said he’d have to call his office and tell them that he got nothing from me and that they have to know so he can explain why fuel has been used. I gave him 500cfa just to go.
The hotel is shabby and the room with AC has no AC and costs 700dalasi for a night.
I went out to change money. I somehow assumed the English speaking countries will like dollars but here it’s sterling that talks. There are exchange offices but they either give lousy rate or they don’t take dollars at all. And I need to keep my euros for the francophones. Another surprise, barely anyone speaks English! Either people try to speak to me French or they speak their own language which I understand is Fula.
I found one elderly Muslim man who gave me a very good rate of 53D to a dollar. I told him I’m gonna bring the dollars as I first thought I’d use ATM. When I came back the rate was already 45D (the average rate is 49D).
As I was walking around I was directed to another elderly Muslim man who offered 48D. He said 49D I can get but in Banjul. I tried ATM at GTBank. The highest amount you can take out at once is 2900D (29 notes of 100D) and for the withdrawal they take 150D. Ugh. I came back to my 48D man and got 96 bills of 100D in my pocket.
Next point of programme: a SIM card. In on of the exchange offices I was told the best network for internet is Qcell. But the Qcell office is closed and the mobile shops only stock Africell. But when I asked how much the internet is, noone seemed to understand me. As if noone uses internet here. And it was again language matter – barely anyone spoke English. I finally bought a SIM card for 10D and it took an hour to activate it – the man took photos of it and my passport and sent it to someone to activate.
In the hotel I found an English speaking sharp man and he also showed me how to buy a data bundle. And internet is expensive in Gambia: 259D for 1.5GB. No more Instagram.
Just before 8pm I went to eat to Sun Yui Fast Food but they told me they won’t be ready for another 30mins so I asked for a bar. A man took me there. His name was Aliyu Ba. The bar is called Jetta Bar, it’s a bit away from the main road and it’s not my first bar, I drank 33 beer in Dakar on Place d’Indépendance but that bar was a city affair full of white people and here is West African realness.
While I was sitting in the bar my card started working. Before I went to eat I wanted to put some money on it so that my umbilical e-cord doesn’t run dry. It took effort as noone knew what I wanted. Finally a soldier named Kebah led me to a mobile shop and I got it.
The food was called chicken afra and it was grilled pieces of chicken, very few chips and a salad quite richly covered with ketchup and mayonnaise. I took a cheaper portion for 70D and it felt like it won’t be enough. Then a man sat next to me with a 140D portion of the chicken afra and first he invited me to eat from his plate and when I refused he took two pieces of chicken and put on my plate. Hospitality of another level.
Coming back to Maman 