Sanna writes ... 2

Encounters with Policemen

A constant feature of travelling throughout West Africa is police checkpoints, army checkpoints, customs checkpoints and immigration checkpoints. Every time you enter a town you have to stop at one or other and sometimes all four which can take anywhere between 2 minutes and half an hour. On a hot dusty day, after hours of driving over potholes, remaining serene and unruffled can prove challenging! We have found that these encounters fall into 3 different categories, but all start in similar fashion:

Jonnie (usually) driving along tooting at passersby amid a chorus of local children hailing our arrival with cries of ‘toubab’ (from colonial times when children asked for two bob – now means tourist or white person – to which Jonnie usually replies in wolof ‘mofingo’ meaning ‘black person’ to general hilarity although mostly Jonnie’s). I spot a POLICE HALTE sign and we desperately start scanning the surrounding area for (a) any sign of a policeman; (b) the exact spot in the road we are supposed to stop (very important not to exceed this imaginary line) and (c) small children and goats who are venturing too close to the wheels.

After a moment or two of indecision (and feeling slightly stupid for having sat in the middle of the road for no apparent reason other than to entertain the amused onlookers), we happily think we’ve avoided an encounter when a policeman appears and ambles up to the passenger window. After recovering from the double surprise of seeing a lady on the driving side and then discovering there is no steering wheel on the left the policeman commences…

Friendly Policeman
Policeman: Hello, how are you?
Jonnie: ‘Fine, how are you?’
Policeman: ‘Fine, you are well?’
Jonnie: ‘Very well, thank you and you?’
Policeman: ‘Yes, yes fine. Where are you from?’
Jonnie: ‘England’
Policeman: ‘Ah England’ (knowingly) ‘Good good’ (we smile encouragingly).
Policeman looks at my watch.
Policeman: ‘I like your watch.’
Sanna: ‘Thank you. I like my watch.’
Policeman: ‘Give me your watch.’
Sanna: ‘No, I need my watch’
Policeman: ‘No, no, I need your watch.’
Sanna: ‘But it is my watch.’
Policeman: ‘But I want it.’
Sanna: ‘So do I.’
Policeman: ‘Well give me a beek.’
Jonnie: ‘A beek? What is a beek?’
Policeman: ‘A beek!’
Jonnie: ‘A beek?’
Policeman: Yes! A beek. You know, a pen, a beek.’
Jonnie: ‘Ah, a Bic!’
Policeman: ‘Yes, yes, a beek.’
Jonnie: ‘Sorry, we have no Bics.’
Policeman: ‘Ok, nice to meet you. You can continue.’
Inexplicably and happily waves us off.

Disgruntled Policeman
Policeman: ‘But why did you not stop?’
Jonnie: ‘We did stop.’
Policeman: ‘Yes, but you stopped here, why did you not stop there?’ (pointing two metres back)
Jonnie: ‘Because we thought the stop was here.’
Policeman: ‘No, it is there!’
Jonnie: ‘Shall I reverse?’
Policeman: ‘Yes! Reverse!’
Jonnie: ‘No problem.’ (Jonnie reverses 2 metres)
Policeman: ‘Now come forward’ (we pull forward) ‘Where are your papers?’
Sanna: ‘Which papers would you like?’
Policeman: ‘All your papers.’ (we hand over the numerous documents required)
Sanna; ‘All ok?’
Policeman: ‘Where is my cadeau?’
Jonnie: ‘Cadeau?’
Policeman: ‘Yes, my cadeau?’
Jonnie: ‘Sorry, we only speak english’
Policeman looks hopefully inside the car.
Policeman: ‘No cadeau?’
Jonnie: ‘No’
Policeman: ‘Your steering wheel. It is on the wrong side. That is illegal!’
Jonnie: ‘It’s a British car – right hand drive.’
Policeman: ‘Yes, but you are in Africa. You must drive with the steering wheel on the left.’
Jonnie: ‘That is not possible. Our steering wheel is on the right.’
Policeman: ‘So where is my cadeau’
Jonnie: ‘No cadeau – cadeau are for children not for you’
Inexplicably and begrudgingly signals us to move on.

Officious Policeman (in Gambia)
Usual conversation ensues until we hand over our international driving license…
Policeman: ‘But where does it say Gambia in this driving license?’
Jonnie: ‘It’s an international driving license. It covers everywhere.’
Policeman: ‘Do you think I’m stupid? I know what an international driving license is!’
Jonnie: ‘Of course.’
Policeman: ‘So where does it say Gambia?’ (we frantically search for anything that says Gambia and produce our insurance)
Policeman: ‘But that is not to do with me, that is for customs. I don’t want that document. Where does it say Gambia in this document?’
Jonnie: ‘It doesn’t.’
Policeman: ‘Why not?’
Jonnie: ‘Because it is international’
Policeman: (raising his voice) ‘Do you think I’m stupid? I’m the lieutenant of this police post. I know what I’m talking about and you are committing an infraction!’ (he looks back at his 5 minions sitting under the tree and watching with interest)
Jonnie: ‘We’re very sorry.’
Sanna: ‘You’re a very important policeman’
Policeman: ‘Yes, I am a good policeman. What should I do?’
Jonnie: (hopefully) ‘Nothing?’
Policeman: ‘And what would your police in England say if I did nothing. Would they think I was doing my job properly?’
Jonnie: ‘Yes?’
Policeman: (now almost squeaking with outrage) ‘No! They would not think it was right. You must have a fine.’
Jonnie: ‘We have no money’
Policeman: ‘Well you must go to court.’
Sanna: ‘Ok, we’ll have to go to court then.’
Policeman: ‘You will have to wait for the judge.’
Jonnie: ‘No problem’
Sanna: ‘When we go back to England we will tell them that the international driving license is wrong. We will speak to the RAC so they know in future.’
Policeman: ‘Well you are wasting my time with this driving license. I know what it is supposed to say.’
Jonnie: ‘Shall we continue then?’
Policeman: ‘Yes, yes. Go! Continue!’
Inexplicably allows us to go in flurry of disgusted head shaking.

Generally though we experience the first scenario more often than not. The police, army, customs and immigration are very friendly (see pic 2), and are more interested in having a chat. Recently they have started calling me ‘boss lady’ which I thought was a nice touch (and Jonnie thought was appropriate), but have since found out they call everyone ‘boss lady’ so less impressed. In reality the divisions are more along the lines of Pilot / co-Pilot and Chef/ Sous Chef and I’m not sure I’ve got the best end of the deal!

Wassu Stone Circles

Almost 10 years ago on my first visit to The Gambia, (Aussie) Pete Ray and I made a 4 day trip up river. We were keen to visit Wassu Stone Circles - a neolithic burial site dated to be around the same period as Stonehenge. As fate would have it, we arrived at the stones as the sun was going down making the red rocks glow in the setting sun. With no provisions or anywhere to stay that night we gratefully accepted an offer from the 'keeper' of the stones to eat and sleep at his compond.

And he is still there! Morro was as welcoming and keen to show us around as ever - and yes, he did remember the time two backpackers arrived at the site 10 years ago as he was locking up for the night!
We spent a wonderful evening with the family in their new compound and, just as 10 years ago, a huge bowl of delicious meat and rice appeared as fires and the sound of distant drumming and singing began to fill the night.

Beyond the Sahara

With the Sahara behind us we are now enjoying the lush deltas and beaches of Senegal. There are of course the cities and the magical St Louis captivated us for a couple of days. It was here we heard of the death of Miriam Makeba - one of South Africa's finest singers - and were very moved by the affection of the Senegalese towards her.
Our plans to drive inland to the Nikiolo Kobo National Park changed when we bottled out of the necessary 8 hours of continuous pot-holes! Instead we're relaxing in the beautiful village of Toubakouta, 40km from the Gambian border. I expect we'll cross tomorrow........

'The Choum Railway Piste

For both Sanna and I, one of the great "must do's" of this trip was driving the 500km alongside the great Choum railway (above pic.) in northern Mauritania. Recently made famous by Michael Palin's 'Sahara' series we thought "well, if he can do it......"
His trip was on board the 2.5km train - the longest in the world, carrying ore and phosphates from the mines deep in the Sahara to the coast. Ours, however, was in Jemima who loved and hated the two day desert crossing. She did her best to follow old tracks which frequently disappeared beneath the moving dunes and to find her best route through the 101 different types of sand without getting stuck. Only once did we need to get out the sand ladders, shovel and jack to ease her onto firmer terra firma.
Our night spent in the desert was breathtaking. The sunset, stars, eerie sound of the train during the night and our setting beside an outcrop of rocks (2nd pic) made for what will remain one of our most memorable lifetime experiences.
17 hours of dune and sand driving later and we're in the relaxed, friendly town of Atar planning very little for the next couple of days before our 450km drive south to the capital Nouakchott.

How to Steal a Country

1) Claim it is yours.
2) Allow the International Court of Justice to consider your claim.
3) Ignore their findings 'cos what do they know?!
4) Pour in troops and lure in civilians by creating a tax haven with many well paid jobs.
5) Wait a few years before announcing an election.

This seems to have been Morocco's approach to the Western Sahara since 1975 and after a UN brokered ceasefire in 1991many indigenous Saharawis still find themselves living as refugees in their own land. For us travelling south, other than being stopped at umpteen roadblocks / checkpoints, our experience is of a very friendly region which strangely feels more Westernised the further south we go. No doubt this will change drastically when we cross the Mauritanian border in the next day or two.
This leg of the journey has involved great distances (so far 3 days and over 1000km of desert highway (pic 1) but tax free fuel - 35pence/litre). We're currently relaxing in Dakhla (pic2) - the last major town before we start our Saharan crossing.

Over the Atlas

We crossed the High Atlas via a 111km off road route which give us time to appreciate the spectacular scenery whilst enjoying being off the beaten track. Using GPS co-ordinates we navigated our way up to the pass at 2200 metres above sea level where we spent the night looking down on the most spectacular thunder storm. Just a hundred kilometres or so south of these dramatic mountains the terrain flattens and the Sahara begins. Sand dunes start rising out of the horizon and the clouds which formed and swirled within the mountains evaporate raising the temperature considerably.
We're currently in Zagora planning our drive west along a route which may or may not be passable due to the rains. The rivers all converge on these flatlands creating muddy deltas and washing away tracks and bridges. Still witnessing homes destroyed by these exceptional flash floods.
Above photos of our Berber hosts in the Atlas mountains and Jemima getting herself into a very uncompromising position!

Further Evidence of our Changing Climate

After the last two summers in England we should be used to unseasonal rain, but the storms in this part of Morocco have caught everbody off guard. Not only in the Middle and High Atlas where they originated, but also in the desert flatlands to the south where we are now. High winds, rain and hail have caused widespread damage to roads, bridges and property. In one town (where we stopped for coffee) it was estimated that one in three homes had been badly damaged or destroyed. Being built traditionally of adobe (mud bricks, rendered with mud and straw) such buildings are particularly vulnerable in heavy rain. Sadly, but not surprisingly, they are slowly being replaced with sand and cement - and so the cycle continues....
Above photos show us fording a flooded bridge and me getting 'roped' into some adobe repairs.