Sept-places in West Africa take a lot of abuse. A whole lot of abuse. So it's no surprise that, oh maybe once every 5 hours in a sept-place, I see another sept-place on the side of the road, its passengers lying, sitting, or milling about, and the driver and the mechanic hard at work under a wheel well or under the hood. Half of me feels sorry for these poor people. The other half of me does a Nelson "Ha ha".
I woke up bright and early-about 5am. I wanted to get to the gare early for the car to Bamako Mali. I got there and 2 guys were already there. They wanted the front seat which was fine with me. I took the seat next to the door right behind the driver. A lot of people came--it seems the overflow goes either on a minibus or maybe another car comes. After a while it seemed like more than enough people were there, but we still weren't moving. Then the car repositioned to get gas which took a long time. Then at 7:15, we were on the road.
The road is great. The wind was in my hair and we were going fast--really fast. If the needle hadn't broken off the speedometer, I would have known just how fast. This part of Guinea is mostly devoid of cows. There was only one large herd in the road, but not the dozens off little 4 or 5 cow herds like on the way to Kankan.
We were making such good time. No potholes--the only thing in our way in the road was that one herd of cows and some speed bumps in the little towns and before the bridges.
At 9:15, the driver pulled off to the side of the road. Soon he had the back drivers side tire off. I didn't know what was up. They part that has the 4 bolts that the rim is bolted to was wobbling. Hmmm... That doesn't look good. With a lot of effort, a hammer borrowed from a guy in the tiny village about 200m ahead, and chisels and wrenches, they got the brake shoe thing off. Then they took off the bolt thing. Then a few minutes later, out came the axle. Sheared completely. A 3cm diameter solid rod of steel with a fracture. He didn't stress it, as far as I can tell. I have no idea how it happened. Now I was one of those passengers milling about while the driver and the mechanic were hard at work under the wheel well. There were 4 women passengers and 5 men. Two of the men seemed to be friends. They weren't phased at all. They were devout Muslims and fasting for Ramadan, but they were in the best mood I can imagine. They were joking with me and having all sorts of fun. French is like hair--I have good French days and bad French days. This was a bad French day. I had trouble understanding and finding words I should have been able to find. But they enjoyed the whole thing. A bus came by and the driver had a chat with the driver. It ambled off and 15 minutes later, it came back empty and stopped. The driver and the 4 women got in the bus. Then a first for me. Usually, when a car needs a push for a clutch-pop, they tell me I don't need to help--maybe because I'm white or maybe because I don't speak their language well enough to follow directions. But I got recruited to push the mini-bus. It was kinda cool. The bus left again and only the men were left.
I got my journal out and started writing to keep myself occupied. The men were fascinated with this odd behavior I was exhibiting. If they were fascinated, I don't know how to describe the people of the town--Namankoumbala, a village of about 20 round houses with conical thatched roofs. A spet-place breaking down would be front page news in their village. But a white guy being one of the passengers in that sept-place; now that's a humdinger of a story. It started to rain lightly, so I got into the car. A mother came down with her kids to show them a real live white guy. I said bonjour to the kids and they just stared at me. Another group of kids came to stare at me. Then a third group came to shake my hand and stare. They all smiled. Not many white people come through in Namankoumbala.
Normal men with midlife crises buy a sports car. I'm stuck on the side of a road in a lightly populated part of Guinea near the Mali border.
There was no sign of the driver for quite a while. Then at about 12:15, 3 hours after our breakdown, the driver returned. He got out of the bus and kid--probably only 12 or 13 years old--with a new axle in his hand got out behind him. The driver and kid started to get to work on the axle. But they couldn't get some part off the old axle, so they had to go to the village where they had some tools. About an hour later they walked back the 200m to the car. They evidently accomplished what they need to accomplish because they got into the wheel well and started to assemble the axle. It took a long time and when they were almost done, they noticed a rubber ring on the ground and realized they had forgotten to put it on. So they took the whole thing apart again, slipped the rubber ring in place and put it back together. They tightened the nuts to reattach the wheel. And at 1:45--4 and a half hours after we broke down--we were on the road again. We had plenty of room without the women, but the kid still got in the back cargo area. Just past Namankoumbala, I saw a sign that indicated it was 40km to the border. The engine was now running really rough. I'm not sure if it's related to our breakdown or not. The new axle had no grease on it and the old one was covered in grease. Maybe the sound was the ungreased axle?
We made the border fast 2:15. We rejoined the women and the kid got out. I guess the driver came all the way to Kourémalé to get the part and the expert kid who came with it. It would explain his long absence. Guinea customs was first. They sent me over across the street. A man looked at my passport. Then he asked for my yellow fever vaccination certificate. I shouldn't need one to exit, but when people don't have the certificate, the police extract bribes. I pulled out the book with the certificate on the inside. The guy looked at the front cover, then the back cover, but he didn't open it to see the certificate. Then he handed it to his buddy who looked at the front cover and back cover but again didn't open it to inspect the certificate. They handed my passport and yellow book back to me. I walked a ways down the road to the immigration police. The guy took my passport and gave me a stamp. He didn't enter anything into a ledger or ask for money. Then, the border was right there. I walked over to the Mali customs. We had to wait for our car to come. I watched as they tinkered under the hood still on the Guinea side. Then it finally came. Mali actually looks at the stuff coming in. I left my computer in the car, but the guy watched me as I took out the first few items from both my backpack and my attached stuff-sack. Everyone was OK, so the stuff got loaded back up onto the sept-place and we went about 100 meters down the road to the immigration police. They processed me pretty fast. They didn't even ask my yellow book with the vaccination--just my nationality. Then they gave me a stamp. No cost. I went to the car and waited. One of the Guinea women had a problem because she didn't have her vaccination document, so they got CFA 1000 (US$2) out of her--down from the starting price of CFA10000. The whole customs and immigration process took an hour and 20 minutes--mostly on the Mali side. We left at about 3:35pm.
After that, 120km to Bamako. The scenery to the south would make Utah envious. The cliffs are like Utah but with trees. There is even an arch near a formation not unlike the towers of the Notre Dame cathrdral. There was a small stretch where we got detoured to the side of the road on a dirt path because it was under active construction. But that didn't even last 10 minutes. Then back onto the lovely road. The population density started to increase and at about 4:45, we went through one more customs checkpoint where the officer had one guy open one box, then we were at our terminus. I got a cab for the probably high price of CFA 2000 (US$4) but getting ripped off the first time you enter a new city is par for the course.
I checked into the Maison des Jeunes or the Youth Hostel. I got a bed for 4 nights at CFA 2000 per night. That's only US$4! Wow. While checking in, I met a Swiss couple.
I unloaded my luggage onto my bed and decided to head out to check out the neighborhood. I found a place called Appaloosa. It's an American style bar in the back. I ordered a Flag. CFA 1500 (US$3) but there was AC, WiFi, and the waitresses are smokin' hot. I killed the first beer in about a minute. After all, I hadn't drunk anything on the trip from Kankan. Before the evening was up, I had 3 beers there. Upon returning to the hostel, I headed to the restaurant where I had steak and fries with a large bottle of tap water for CFA 1550 (US$3.10). The Swiss couple came in and we chatted. Then the three of us headed over the youth hostel's bar. Before the evening was up, I'd have about 4 more beers and turn in at about 2am.
The Swiss guy is a history student researching one of his ancestor's role in Africa from 1920 to 1922. He went to the archives in Mopti and for all the effort to get there, was only able to find one page that was relevant to his research. There was a French guy too. He is an intern working for a bank that refinances micro-credit loans. We had an interesting discussion about micro-credit.
Unfortunately, there was a local guy who is the kind of guy who clings to white people. He is always too eager to be of assistance. He was smoking marijuana. He offered me some but I refused. Then he told me it was marijuana, like I didn't already figure that out. He tried to show my name in Arabic, but I can read a little Arabic and it wasn't my name. I showed him what my name should be in Arabic. He got a bit defensive and said he never went to school--just learned it all on his own. The Swiss guy kicked my under the table and rolled his eyes to indicate what I already knew--this local was annoying. When I finally went to bed, the Swiss guy told me a little about the local guy. He's apparently persona non grata at the youth hostel, but he goes there anyway. He is said to have sold drugs to one tourist and then sent the police after the tourists. In fact, he tried to invite me to meet some American friends which sounds like a scam described in Lonely Planet where you get invited to something, drugs are there, and then the place is raided and the tourist has to pay a bunch of money to get out of the sticky situation.
I got to my room and got out my sleeping bag liner. I put my valuables in with me and went to sleep.
September 12, 2008 12:00 Mali local time
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