Again, I was failing to draw myself from bed.
By the time I reached the transport park it was over 8am. Asking for Kailahun I was led to a shop. There the owner (or employee) asked me which border crossing I wanna use for Kailahun. I didn’t have an idea, I thought it could be the first closest one to town which is at Nongoa, 28kms away from town and 50kms away from the first proper town in Sierra Leone, border crossed by pirogue. The man started naming the places where I could cross the border but all I really could say is that there has to be an immigration post there. I have the 2nd edition of Bradt Guide to Sierra Leone and they mention that not at every crossing (they all are by pirogue) there is an immigration post.
The shop men called for someone and another man showed up – the same one to whom I talked the day before, on arrival in Gueckedou – and he seemed to know things. Again he started naming the border crossings. A glance at Google Maps didn’t even reveal the names he was calling but then he said that to get to Kailahun I can either cross to Sierra Leone as soon as I can – that would be Nongoa – or as close to Kailahun as I can – that would be at a place called Dandou. Dandou shows up on Google Maps when you zoom in very well and it looks just across the river from Kailahun and Google even shows a bridge. Everyone denies it exists.
The only way to get to the Sierra Leone border is by Moto with this very man who knows things. Nongoa is 70,000gnf, Dandou is 240,000gnf, 70kms away. I’d still have to use another moto in Sierra Leone if I take the Nongoa crossing.
I asked for a discount on the Dandou trip and it took a while and I got 200,000gnf and honestly, after I did the road, I shouldn’t be even negotiating if he asked me for much more.
He went for his motorbike while I tried to arrange three things: money change, coffee and breakfast. The shop men called for a money changer. He came and offered a ridiculous rate of 1000leone for 1200gnf. The official bank rate is 1000le to 1020gnf. I didn’t agree, he went down to 1150gnf for 1000le, I refused and he left. Coffee was around the corner, as good as always, I took 3 cups. For breakfast I looked for baguette with omelette. 9,000gnf got me 2 eggs with onion and tomato and half baguette. I keep refusing plastic bags and everyone is trying to give me one. So it was with the baguette. At the coffee joint I even saw ready small plastic bags with a bit of sugar in it – everyone here takes their espresso with sugar – into which they poured a cup of coffee for take away. My favourite juices – bissap, gingembre, bouye – come either in small plastic bottles and cost 1000-2000gnf or in tiny plastic bags for 500gnf. I got myself a gingembre, it will probably be my last ginger juice till Ivory Coast. Then there is drinking water in plastic sachets. It’s very cheap – 25-50gnf, probably 0.33l or maybe 0.5l – getting food on the street comes automatically with a sachet of water. And the plastic is everywhere, although I have seen women swiping it out and I think they are burning the trash – right there on the street. Plastic bottles however are being reused and I have not seen one lying around and there is always someone I can give the empty bottle to and people say merci.
I came back to a shop and his owner told me he can sell me leones for 1120gnf for 1000le. I showed them the official exchange rate but he said he is actually paying 1100gnf for 1000le when someone wants the francs. Incredible. I did have 300,000gnf left and it got me 267,000leones.
My moto driver arrived – his name Ba Amadou – and he installed my large rucksack at the end of the bike. He even took the small rucksack from me and kept it in front of him on the motorbike.
The road is partially marked as route nationale N16 on the map. Then on the Google Maps it turns white from yellow and then again back from white to yellow, which suggests an upgrade in perhaps quality.
While I could pinpoint the moment the road became “white” when we drove, it never really got back to the “yellow” quality we had while driving out of Gueckedou.
Needless to say, the tar ended while we were still in town. Just on the outskirts there was a bridge and before a bridge police. White man in a fully packed motorbike on the road to nowhere? Stop. An elderly lady in uniform. Passport check. She possibly didn’t know what to look for but then she asked for vaccination card. Police asking for vaccination card is police looking for money. I had it once, on some provincial border in Cameroon. Not having vaccination card is like the worst crime you could commit.
She studied the card carefully although only the yellow fever page. She called another policeman and they conferred whether my vaccination is still valid. There is an expiry date in my yellow card: 2021. Back at home the vaccination doctor said that now the WHO declared the yellow fever vaccines to be in fact good for ever. When I had suggested this should be changed in my card because beyond 2021 this will be always an issue, she refused telling me that “they will know.” I wonder what will the policewoman outside Gueckedou say to my vaccination card in 2022.
I thought this police is a sign of problems to come. I was almost certain there would be problem with my visa to Sierra Leone which states the point of entry is Freetown Airport. And I’m here trying an obscure border crossing, even Bradt Guide mentions “you may be asked for bribes”.
We were let go.
The road up to Nongoa was wide and flat and good. Amadou the driver drove fast. The forest was green and the road was hilly a bit. Because he drove fast, I spent time thinking that I wouldn’t mind a helmet and I also held to the motorbike without a chance to take pictures. So my guess is that it’s in Nongoa when the road went mad.
After all, it wasn’t as bad as the road the day before to Gueckedou but only because there was no asphalt. But there was everything else. Sharp stones, steep hills up and down, swaths of red mud and occasional villages. A true bush track. Exhilarating. This is a kind of ride that will cost $100+ in a more tourist-oriented place, advertised with “real village visits”. We passed other motorbikes, the road wasn’t really empty. We even saw a truck because of course and why not. We drove slowly and I even told the driver I can get off the bike in more difficult stretches of the road but he refused. Once we almost fell on a side on a particularly nasty mud and that’s where I could take my only pic of the road. The rest I was holding on to the bike’s metal so as to not fall off this side or the other. It was beautiful but also tiring.
We arrived at the border river, it was a tranquil place, actually quite beautiful. Of course there was a track onto which some bags were being loaded. I took a pic of my driver so that I can remember him, I paid him and I thought I can take more pics when I’m done with passport control. The place looked nice even to hang out!
There was an immigration post, the existence of which I started doubting, seeing the villages we were passing by. A man in civil clothes took me inside, there was already a uniformed captain sitting and they recorded my details. All friendly and curious, asking questions, calling me in a French manner Mr Artür. They stamped the passport and handed it over to me. While I was taking it, I saw their stares. And then the uniformed man said “you’re paying”.
I said “no.”. Discussion ensued. They were adamant I have to pay. It wasn’t even the Nigerian style “appreciate me” or “give me something”. It was downright my duty to pay for the fact that they put a stamp in my passport and recorded me in their book of immigrants. “Every migrant pays.” I said I already paid for the visa but no, I have to pay for their job. I said I need a receipt and they said “yes, we will give it to you.” Then I just stood up and told them that I cannot pay and left the building. They were still calling after me. And I just walked back to the river and I kept hearing Monsieur Artür but I didn’t want to talk to them anymore. Just get on a pirogue and cross the river before I see those men again or they will retrieve their money via the pirogue “ticket”.
By the river the civil-clothed man caught up with me and as if nothing had happened he told me pirogue is… 3,000gnf. That’s less than €0.30. The uniformed man joined him not saying a word. I ignored them and went straight for the pirogue, which truly lived up to its name, a small shallow wooden boat. Some people joined me and we crossed. It took only a few minutes and the water seemed very shallow. I think I could even cross it on foot.
In Sierra Leone there were some men lying under a thatched roof and some motos. I thought I have to take a moto and go further up the road to get to an immigration post. Then one of them nodded towards a leaf-roof area, not even a building, just an open air small patch of ground with a roof made of leaves and said “this is immigration.” Under the roof a desk, a bench and a man sitting behind the desk. He took my passport he took my visa kept looking at it, chatted a bit with me as if he was curious why I’m really in Sierra Leone. Then he called another man. The man joined us and again, they studied my visa and of course the whole time I was expecting they would touch the subject of “point of entry” on the entry permit but they asked again where I will go and how much time will I spend here. Do I need 2 weeks or maybe they can give me a month? I got 3 weeks and they stamped the passport. “Welcome to Sierra Leone Sir.”.
I walked out of their “office” and a man sitting where the motos were said he is a security man and he’d like to look at my passport. Again, he was curious what I’m doing in the country why I’m coming what I wanna see where I will stay in Kailahun, because the only transport onwards is by moto, if I want a vehicle it’s only in the morning. Then he wanted to look at what I have in my bag. Then he showed off a bit of Russian – he said he used to work servicing Polish (!) helicopters at Freetown Airport.
Freetown Airport is a peculiar one. It is separated from Freetown by a wide (ca. 15km) estuary and there is a helicopter service from the airport to town. Otherwise you can take a speedboat or an-hour-long ferry journey and those require a taxi drop from airport to ferry port. Helicopter is efficient but used to cost $80 one-way, ferry used to cost $1 for “first class” and it is quite an experience.
The whole time the man was talking to me, his name was Kena and he was very friendly, I was expecting reference to my entry permit. Nothing like this happened. When he asked me where I’ll stay and I took out my Bradt Guide they all got impressed and one man seemed to know what I was doing. They all agreed Mopama Guesthouse was the cheapest at 80,000le.
I went to town on a moto, 15,000le negotiated down from 25,000le. It wasn’t far. On our way to town in a bush on the left there were three graves. The driver said they were ebola victims. And then it hit me that this is where ebola attacked. And yes, we passed some building compounds even in Guinea coming to Dondou that had signs mentioning something “post-ebola”. And then we saw a group of children at school and I thought to myself: everyone here is a survivor. Everyone went through hell and possibly even my Guinean passport control troublemakers.
I must say that being able to speak English is a big relief. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I can express myself easily and I don’t have to think about the complicated French structures or is it the sound of English that is simpler in its form or perhaps it’s the people who seemed to be more relaxed or perhaps it’s the lack of the sometimes present stress in Guinea. Although – life in Guinea seemes better, there are Sierra Leonians in Guinea just because there are apparently better perspectives. Or they all came for coffee.
In any case that I don’t have to engage my brain here for linguistic reasons is good.
Mopama Guesthouse has rooms but the man had to prepare them for me. I waited but not too long, it seems two brothers and a sister run the place. The room is small and clean, only bucket showers provided, they don’t pretend and there is not even shower installed. Just 2 buckets and a barrel of water provided. It’s 80,000le, a little over $9.
It’s also not far from town centre, I walked up to find a money changer. There is a bank which told me 8,200le for a dollar (the rate according to my xe.com app is over 8,900le) I refused. I saw a sign “free SIM here, report sold SIM” and so I went. The free SIM is 2,000le and the men laughed when I pointed to a sign they were sitting at. Internet in Sierra Leone is expensive! I paid 120,000le for 4.5GB. We struggled with getting the credit transferred to my number and I had to change the SIM. We managed. The young men directed me to a money changer. He laid 8,800le for a dollar and I changed $200. Now I have 176 (one hundred and seventy six) 10,000le banknotes on me. It’s still better than what I got in Guinea, there they only had 5,000le notes.
I walked around the town. It seemed a far cry from chaotic and filthy Guinean cities – no trash, nice tar, with even pedestrian crossings marked, pavements! Sewage covered, there are some double-storey buildings. But there is no sign of coffee and the town seems to be out of power. I found some bars where only warm beer is served, straight from offline freezers. Guinness is cheaper. I walked up to where Bradt Guide says there is food. The restaurant had only one dish: kri-kri (or green green). The green poo type of thing but when I asked if it’s one one of the manioc/potato leave kind of things the woman said no. It came full of palm oil and the fish in it was dried fish. I’ll miss my juicy roasted fish and salads of Guinea. The food was OK, properly spicy, 13,000le.
I walked around a bit, greeting and being greetd by everyone. I saw a warehouse advertising coffee and cocoa on sale but it was wholesale operation and they only had raw coffee (i.e. not roasted). When I asked for roasted coffee they directed me to “shops”. I didn’t pursue the subject.
I also a post office! I did enter and there was a man inside what looked like an abandoned space. “We sell post stamps but not at the moment. Maybe next week.” Maybe.
There are many billboards in town, either calling to register in 2017 elections or anti-tribalism or anti-bribe posters, many of them marked by UKAid signs. I think maybe the generally nice impression of the town is the result of post-war and post-ebola aid? Why also not in Guinea?
It was very hot and I went back to the guesthouse. I managed to find chilled bottled water, 5,000le each. In the guesthouse the man who was preparing my room lied on the porch of my room on the floor sleeping. He said it’s nice becausw of the shadow. I gave him one of my waters.
I lied down on bed but I was sweating as I lied. Google weather strangely was showing temperature of +27C so not that hot. I dozed off.
I walked out only after 6pm when it was getting dark. I chatted with the caretaker of my room and then I went off to search for food. And beer. Food in Bradt Guide is mentioned in two places that are next to each other: On The Spot and Entertainment Centre. I had my lunch at Entertainment Centre now I wanted to try On The Spot. Both were dark and closed down. A man from On The Spot directed me to the town’s clocktower roundabout where I had seen some street chop joints. For beer he actually walked me a bit of a distance to a night club.
At 9pm nothing was going on at the night club – I was the only customer. They had Guinness, in small bottles (finally bottles!), at 13,000le and it was even slightly chilled. I had 3 bottles before I returned to the roundabout looking for food.
The chop joint said they only had goat meat. No thank you. There were some omelette and bread joints but they were out of bread so I went across the street to buy myself bread, a kinda French-looking short type of baguette. 2k. Then I too a two-egg-omelette, declined mayonnaise, asked for onions, declined plastic bag, got persuaded to agree to wrap the baguette in paper. 5k. I walked with my bread towards where I had a warm Guinness during the day but the road was completely unlit so I decided the place must be either closed (I’d see light coming out I assumed) or it’s there but unlit as well. I returned towards the shops, found water that is not entirely warm, discovered that the biscuits around are the Indian ones and walked back to the guesthouse.
The sky is being constantly lit by remote storms. It’s beautiful.
Coming back to Maman 