The rest of the group donned their day packs and set off for the village of Pita about 4 kilometres away. Anthony and Michael had set off earlier, trekking the 16 kilometres to the nearest waterfall, the Chutes de Kinkon. I would have loved to see these waterfalls – mainly because I don’t want to miss a thing! But also realised that I just need a couple of hours of time alone. It is three weeks now that we have been travelling – only three weeks? Goodness, it already feels as if we have been together for far more time that that!
So – sitting in my tent – set up on the verandah of one of the bungalows in the campement of Chez Sister, I am happy to be just here, just me. Why the tent on the verandah? Well – my intention was to upgrade – sharing a room with Inga, as I have done these last two nights, but after everyone who was upgrading had been installed in their rooms, the poor guardian of the emcampement struggled with our room lock, then went to look for another key, and ended up not able to find the key anywhere. The result is that Inga is sleeping under a mosquito net on the other side of the verandahand I pitching my tent on this side.
– Oh! That still does not explain why on the verandah, does it?
Let me explain what it is like travelling through this part of the world during the month of October: it rains every night. Not just a little passing cloud shedding its contents down on the earth below. No. Big, huge, massive black clouds gather in the late afternoon, darkening the skies, making their presence known with thunderous rumblings and whip lash clappings of lighting and then, suddenly, the hot humid air which has been the cause of us all being a constant state of drenching perspiration from the moment we wake up in the morning to the moment we go to sleep at night, starts to stir with a light breeze at first which develops into a stronger tugging wind and then, suddenly, the heavens above us open up and the world is inundated with rain so hard and powerful that you could well imagine this was the beginning of the great 40 days’ and 40 nights’ flood. We have all become quite adept at pegging the fly over our tents so that even if they get saturated with water, the tent still stays dry, and yet, these past ten days or so, not even a brilliant tent strategist could combat the strong torrential rain from making the fly stick to the tent and thus allowing the water to osmositise its way through to the actual tent, leaving it and all its contents wet right through. The result is that almost all my clothes and bedding is now wet – and let me also explain that when something out here is wet, it stays wet. There is so much humidity in the air that nothing dries – even if the temperature gauge creeps way past the upper thirties mark.
And “upgrading”?, I hear you ask. Another explanation due then.
In this part of the world we tend to sleep in encampements more generally than bushcamp. Bush camp – my favourite – is when we pull of the side of the road, usually trying to make ourselves a little less conspicuous by parking the truck behind a clump of trees or in a slight depression, but also making sure that we are parked on solid ground and not in an area where the night’s rain storm is going to leave us bogged down in the morning in a metre deep red clay. We then put up the tarp on the side of the truck, set up our tables and cooking paraphernalia, unload all the backpacks and tents and each find a good spot for our tents for the night. I love this form of accommodation the best for this way you sleep under the vast African skies and, in the morning, you can walk a fair bit away from the rest of the group and find a perfect spot, amongst the trees and the wild flowers, strip down and ‘shower’ with a litre bottle of water, a nailbrush, shampoo and soap – probably one of my very favourite overlanding activities!
However, because of the security situation in these areas we are travelling through, where there is still rebel activity in many places and where there are definitely large areas where landmines remain to be a continuing danger, - in particular in the beautiful Casamance region in southern Senegal – we are staying in far more camping areas than one would have preferred. An encampement is, roughly translated, a camping site. The Campementsvillageois, such as the one we stayed in for a couple of days in Elinkine in the Casamance, are traditional style lodgings that, since the mid-seventies, have been set up to allow travellers to explore life in the rural way while being run by the local community and allowing young people to have an income and dissuade them from leaving for the bright lights and work opportunities in the big cities. While we are therefore sleeping in more secure enclosures and having access to running water, somewhat erratic electricity – and even internet, we are also delighted to get to know many more locals and happy in the knowledge that the money we spend here is going straight back into the community. And it is here then that there is often a choice of “upgrading” – from a tent to a room with a bathroom, electrical plugs where to re-charge camera and laptop batteries, and even a proper bed with actual sheets! Not ‘proper’ overlanding? Mmmmm Who is to say?
But – back to the trip!
I believe the last time I wrote was in Zinguinchor?
We made our way from there in a westerly direction – meaning to go to Affiniam but being strongly advised not to go there – not only are the roads impossible – and remember, if it is impossible for the truck, then it really is impossible! – but also because of recent unrest in the area. This area of BasseCasamance must be one of the most beautiful areas of the entire West Africa, but unfortunately there is still the sporadic conflict, mostly because of the separatist struggles and armed bandits – and let’s face it, more often than not the common criminals who capitalise on the Diola’s strong yearning for independence. And of course, the omnipresence of accursed land mines. The scourge of our times.
So, instead of veering off to the north to Affiniam, we continued west, stopped in M’Lomp for a short but highly informative visit there, and then on to Elinkine, where we stayed in the EncampementVillageois, run by Luc, a rotund smiling Frenchman. This is where I also met and chatted to Cedric – from Bordeaux university! Who is working on his PHD in anthropology, his special interest being the health system in this region.
Our tents were all along a most idyllic beach on the Casamanceriver –We visited the local village and talked to the people – again, like in Kafountine, a wide mixture of nationalities and languages and faces – people who come here to fish and send the fish back to their respective countries. And this is where Anthony and Holly and I attended the wedding of a young local couple – a priceless experience! Another boat trip took us to Isle de Karabane – the most laid back and relaxed village on an island sticking out into the Casamance River delta – with its old Portuguese church ruins, the remains of the slave market and the cemetery which tells the sad and poignant story of the original Portuguese settlers. Our last boat trip was to Pointe St George – a manatee sanctuary (which, unfortunately we did not get to catch a glimpse of) but where we walked a good 4 kilometres inland in the midday sun to go climb a 27 meter kapok tree – on a rope ladder!@ What an experience!! And definitely one my children would be very very proud of had they seen me do it!
We then drove back via M’Lomp and down through Essouye to Cape Skirring – the traditional hippy commune of this part of the world --, up to Diembering where we had hoped to spend a couple of nights to enjoy the beach and exquisite scenery but found that the roads had a tendency to stop midway – suddenly - without warning – in the middle of nowhere. So we turned back, back through Cape Skirring and found in Kabroussethe untra deluxe (well, in our overlanding books, that is!) Hibiscus hotel, right on a beach that took my breath away – stretching for miles in both directions, where cows come to take a stroll at dawn and again at sunset, clean clean water, beautiful waves – in short, an idyllic spot!
After a fabulous two days in Kabrousse, we again backtracked all; the way to Zinguinchor where we stocked up on food, changed money and had a last fling at the little restaurant the boys had discovered on our previous trip there of their most most delicious beef and garlic brochettes, and then headed south to Sao Domingos to cross the border into Guiinea Bissau.
It was with a sad heart that left the beautiful Casamance behind – a region ravaged by war and conflict but so very very ideal for tourism and holidaymakers!
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