Part 2 (apologies for errors and funny keyboard gremlins!)

I am now so far behind with news and the blog and sitting in downtown Conakry in a cyber cafe -- the first in almost two weeks -- where the connection is painfully slow and seems downloading photos is just about easier than finding the golden fleece.

 

Anyway -- it is going to have to be briefly and then pics later -- but from southern senegal and the casamance, we travelled into Guinea Bissau, crossing the border at Sao Domingo. Suddenly everything is Portuguese, the people look completely differeent again, the houses are different- lots of colours, wide verandahs around the houses. Everywhere we go people are incredibly friendly and welcoming. You have to remember that for years now these countries have been pretty much occupied with fighting their civil wars and not too many tourists -- and especially white tourists have been coming here. There have been some; but the group travel of the overlanders like us, has not been seen here before.

Shortly -- in Bissau we stayed in a hotel in the town centre. Not far from there the port and the fish market -- so vibrant and colourful it made me *want to cry it was so beautiful. This is supposed to be the port where the drugs from South America come through to go to Europe. We had promised David we would not take photographs -- not a good idea ever in a place where the military are in control and are everywhere you look, brandishing their automatic weapons and looking bored and stoned enough that you don't want to mess with them -- but then it seemed I was the only one actually keeping the promise and everyone else got a few pics in anyway without getting arrested. The fish market was where my camera started screaming to be let out of the bag, but I stayed strong -- and very sad that I got no pics of the men delivering the ice, the piglet that fell into the water and stood shivering on a huge pile of fish, the woen laying the silver fish glittering out in beautiful patterns for sale, the men hacking the massive tunas and yellow fins in pieces and packing them with ice, the young boys running with carts of crushed ice and fish and the babies on their mothers' back looking out at the wolrd with their huge round brown eyes.

And of course, it was in Bissau that I bought my latest cow mask! Not a mask in the traditional sense of the word; but a small cow that has straps of rope which you put over your shoulders and then carry the cow on your back. These masks are amazing -- there are giant sword fish heads and the front half of cows and hammerhead sharks and massive horns that fit onto the tops of heads -- how people carry that weight and then dance as well, remains a mystery. Would have loved to see this in action. These quite different masks come from the Bijagós islands off the coast of Bissau -- apparently very beautiful but quite remote and unfortunately we did not have time to venture there. Definitely a place I woulkd love to go back to and explore lots more.

Guinea Bissau has like the Casamance a lot of flat lowlands -- marshy and lmots of water and consequently large areas of rice fields. But then also many palm trees and dense forested areas -- quite quite beautiful.  Our last night we spent on the edge of the Carubal river (the rivers here in this part of the world are somethjing to behold!! They are huge! And of course at the end of the rainy season they are swollen and strong and very impressive!). We stayed at a little encampement right by the bridge which crosses the river where there are the Soltinho Falls. Not really waterfalls but massive rapids that stretch fopr a long way and looked particularly spectacular at sunset and then again in the early morning at sunrise. We all pitched our tents and went straight down to the water where there was a little area where the water was calm enough for us to swim -- wonderful! And the next morning I got up at sunrise and went down the side of the river again to watch the fishermen -- they lind fish from the rock or from the bridge and bring in some pretty impressive big fish!

During the night though a storm came up that was even more ipressive -- it thundered down and we ended up all getting drenched -- IN our tents! NOTHING was going to keep that rain out! A sad and sorry lot we were the next morning, and not having anywhere to hang out wet washing for three days after, also a very smelly lot we were!

All too soon we had crossed right through Guinea Bissau and we were at a border crossing again -- this time to enter Guinea. -- all these names that have always only been exotic names on the vast map of Africaz for me --- quite thrilling!

The border town here was a real border town -- scruffy; dodgy, dirty; messy, strange, unpredictable, packs of dogs running about or lazing in the late afternoon sun, derelict buildings with doors hanging on hinges, -- in an area where mandmines are omnipresent and a woman killed by one only a month ago -- so we were advised by the military there to sleep in the backyard of the little clinic (in name only) -- and if we had thought we aere going to get our clothes dry we were sadly mistaken -- another huge huge storm duyring the night and scurrying for fly's and trying to cover the tents before the rqin came down too hard. Why not put the fly's on before going to bed, you may well ask? Well -- if you had any idea how hot it is here -- in the upper thirties and with a humidity that goes into the nineties, you would understand. We are melting. All the time. The heat is quite unbearable. So if the skies are clear with no cloud or hint of a cloud in sight when you go to bed at night, you leave that suffocating fly off for as loing as possible...

Next night was bush camp and definitely a Red Button one at that -- waking up in the morning with the cows licking the dew off the tents, the mist rising around the mountains surrounding us... Guinea is by far now the most beautioful African country on my list -- even more beautiful and impressive than Uganda and Ruanda. it is lush and green and wild and forested and dense and mountainous with huge rivers, waterfalls that are just simply indescribable -- and so far so unspoilt. (but I am now in Conakry which, by contrast, must be the ugliest dirtiest messiest city after Nouackchott) Loving Guinee.

 

Quick rundown --- the Fouta Djoulon absdolutely beautiful -- the mountainous north of the country: Labe -- where Miriam Makeba lived in exile!, Pita, Delaba -- the most amazing stunning exquisite view over yet another canyon where you can see for miles and miles  and miles -- breathtaking . Spent a day on the back of a motoirbike travelling across roads that are not really roads with a young 15year old dirver/guide who took me to Doucki (had to see the place, Nix!) five hours away from Pita where we stayed -- well, only about half that but we got hopelessly lost!!! -- and then with a guide -- Hassan-- down into the gorges and down the cliffs of what they call the Grand Canyon of Africa -- and I can vouch for that -- only it is so very very green! -- absolutely magnificently stunning!!

And then another day we took a taxi -- for a 48 km drive over some more soil erosion ( how these cars stay driving is a mystery) to the Ditin waterfall -- about 80 metres high so very very imprssive!! I went in and had a swim -- definitely one of the best highlights EVER! And of course a RED RED RED Button moment!!

 

Two nights ago slept in a camp at the foot of yet another waterfall -- the Bridal Veil -- and survived another thunderstorm the likes of ahich I have never experienced!! And last night arrived in this mad mad place Conakry where the festivalof Tabaski (muslim sheep slaughter festival where gifts are given; offerings are made -- BIG --)meant that hotels are full and camping limited so an owner of one of the little guest houses offerend for us to sleep in his back garden! Wonderful! Abd tonight is our African Kool party -- so I had better get going and go sort out some fancy dress for the occasion! Nici -- won't be anything as fancy as your Black Swan outfit (cannot wait to see th pics!!!) and nothing as smart as dad's white tie and tails outfit of last nighjt (want to see those pics too!!) but will be African and will be kool --- I am planning a few fanta tin pieces of jewellery......

Writing to you from Guinee -- trying to catch up -- too many thoughts, impressions, indescribable experiences... Part 1

Fouta Djulong, Guinea.

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!

Border crossings, elegant travellers and dolphins in the river

The journey continues...

Travelling down from Dakar, Senegal, towards Guinea Bissau, is not a straightforward itinerary. For one, there happens to be another little country stuck in there -- The Gambia -- which is sometimes referred to as the thorn in the side of Africa. To get from the north of Senegal to the south you have to pass through the country -- and stretched out all along either side of the Gambia river as it is, thus long and narrow, you can quite easily ass through it without really realising that you have just been in a different country...


No -- not really!


First of all it takes time to get through African borders. The country you are leaving has several officials -- from Immigration, from Customs,  the man with the stamps,  the man with the book in which your details have to be written up, who have to inspect your passport and all in it, scrutinise it with a fine tooth comb, write down the details in a large ledger book, and make sure that all the information they collected from you when you entered the country, is still the same and has not changed in the three days that you have spent in the country. 

Border crossings

Then you queue up to get through the border -- money changers clamour around you, young girls with large baskets of hard boiled eggs, peanuts, cassava, beads, toiletteries, children who want BIC pens or who want their photographs taken, mothers with babies on their backs, donkey carts loaded with people crossing the border, truck after truck after truck with goods -- some of them waiting three, four, five days to make the crossing -- and if you are clever, you pretend to be a bus rather than a truck, and you are allowed to jump the queue and get across that border sooner than later. 

Secondly, believe it or not, when you cross a border everything changes. And I mean EVERYthing. Suddenly the people look different -- completely different. The Senegalese are generally very tall and slim. The Gambians are generally  a good measure shorter and  more squat in build, with rounder faces. The trinkets the vendors sell are different -- in Senegal Rastafarian/Senegalese colours (green, yellow and red) are usually present somewhere, whereas in Gambia there are much more browns and blues, and the fabrics that both the women and men wear differ  -- in Senegal mostly the African prints - bold, colourful, printed designs and in Gambia far more batik and tie-dyed cottons. The architecture has subtle differences - the colour of paint is different on walls and roofs, the mosques look slightly different, the village compounds have different layouts. It is in fact quite remarkable, when you care to pay particular attention, just how many differences there are. In Senegal, in the areas we travelled through,  there were lots of forests with giant trees and thick undergrowth, but when we got to Gambia, as a result of the geography of the country, the landscape is pretty much one of marshlands, mangroves and rice fields.

                                                    
                                                    Stingrays by the trillions drying in the sun

Thirdly the country on the 'other' side then wants filled in forms -- mother's name, father's name, number of children, secret pleasures and reportable vices, where will you be staying, who will be vouching for you once you are there... Well, so it seems -- one gets pretty nifty at filling in forms in all sorts of languages and answering some pretty nosey questions. On a continent where there is such a massive migration of peoples across borders every moment of every day, it is quite remarkable how much information must be gathered from each one of those persons each time they cross a border. Definitely border posts are the one area where there will never be unemployment! And then -- the officials at the border posts also have their own hierarchical system -- the more junior clerks are dressed smartly in their uniforms, neatly pressed and ironed, boots polished, very officious. But then, the guy who saunters about, charming the womenfolk and collecting email addresses and penfriends, the one who wears flip flops and a t-shirt, a pair of flashy dark glasses and a thick gold chain around his next, invariably turns out to be the commandant of the border post who is the last one to take the bundle of passports and to ask the odd uncomfortable probing question. 

                                                 
                                          The Senegalese bride -- money pinned to her dress  as a gift from the guests

What quite amaze me at the border posts is to see just how many people from other African countries travel. I love going up to especially the women waiting under the big mango tree outside the immigration office or seeking shade in the leeway of the trucks and commenting on for instance the fabrics  they are wearing,

"Is that a typical Gambian fabric?" I would ask about a design I had not seen before, speaking English because we are now on the Gambian side.  First I get a blank expression, which tells me they don't speak English. I repeat in French. "No," comes the reply, "it is Malian". "Malian?" "Yes -- we are from Mali". So why a I still surprised that women from Mali should be waiting to be processed on the border between Senegal and Gambia? Especially women who look as if they had just stepped out of a salon where they had had their hair coiffed, their makeup done, their dresses laundered and pressed -- in other words, meticulous and neat and tidy and cool -- when they had been travelling for the last three days on a packed bus with no airconditioning or facilities? I  cannot tell you why -- because I am still astounded that this is the way it is. Here we are -- looking hot and sweaty and scruffy, dusty feet in dirty sandals, clothes in disarray and creased and sweat stained,  -- and feeling quite fine about ourselves for, after all we are travelling. I have always taught my children what my mother taught me -- when you travel, like anywhere else, you look your best. In Africa no one needs to be taught. That is how they are. No 'comfortable' clothes because you are travelling long distance, no track suit bottoms and shorts and creased t-shirts like we see on long haul flights. Here they travel for days at a time, squashed in a hot, airless bus seat for 36 plus hours on dusty roads, muddy streets, no water, nowhere to freshen up, nowhere to sleep for the night before moving on -- but they look neat and tidy and smart. Yes -- that is how they are.

                                            

So -- where was I? 

Border crossings. We crossed the border from Senegal into Gambia at Soma, stayed a few days - a few glorious days in beautiful beautiful Gambia -- first at Tendaba -- where much fun and hilarity was had in the pool, involving washing lines, volley ball games and bird spotting boat trips into the mangroves, then in BintangBolong with more boat trips, swimming in the river and enjoying sleeping under a giant baobab tree -- and then crossed the border at Farafenni back into Senegal -- this time on a ferry -- and here we are now in the Casamance -- an area where hardly any tourists have been coming during the last ten or so years because of the sporadic rebel activity and landmines in this region. As Will put it in his blog entry today -- the situation is "a little like Scotland wanting independence from Britain - but then, it is not exactly the same"...(sic!) The Diolan people want independence from Senegal -- which in a lot of ways make sense seeing as they are a completely different people from the Senegalese (although probably the most of them have a Senegalese mother or father or grandparent somewhere along the line). They are also south of The Gambia -- so separated from where the government and the action is. Dakar probably do not care too much about them and the fact that there has been conflict and unrest in this area, resulting in the Home Office of ever western country advising their people not to come here, because it means that all tourists come to Dakar and the northern part of Senegal and they do not have to share the spoils.

                                                   Diolan architecture: the incredible impluviums

But -- the fact of the matter is that despite the landmines and the strong -- very strong military presence in this area, it is SO worth visiting. It is beautiful -- truly beautiful. The people are warm and friendly and welcome you to their region with pride -- they have so much to show and they do so with pleasure. These past few days I have seen and experienced things for the very first time -- such as the stunning architecture -- double storey houses, impluviums, dolphins in the river, a 107 year-old man, a queen that can shoot a bow and arrow seven kilometres across water to kill a Frenchman who had laid claim to her people's land,  vulture fish eagles, fishing villages populated by people from ten different countries, all fishing here for a specific fish which they salt and dry or smoke and then send back to the respective countries they come from (Kafountine and Elinkine), attending a Senegalese wedding and participating in the joyous festivities, -- and the list goes on. 

What a pleasure this place is!

 And the journey continues...

 

African graciousness and elegance

Karabane , also called Carabane is both an island and a village located in the extreme south-west of Senegal , in the mouth of the Casamance River . Heavenly site, with a pleasant climate and lush vegetation, it is also a historical perspective the first counter colonial French in Casamance . In addition - both economically food - they also practice fishing craft and collecting shellfish , but professional fishermen come mainly from other regions. -- where we are now
                                   

The Map of Senegal and The Gambia and Senegal's map

Putting landmines and twitchers in the same scene is probably not such a good idea -- Senegal, The Gambia and back into Senegal

Wow! Wow! Wow!

I am not sure at all how to even begin describing the overwhelming assault on all my senses these past few days. Sights and sounds, colours and smells, sensations and textures -- an entire world of energy and life and joy and passion.

How often did I not use the words 'amazing' and 'exquisite', 'flamboyant' and 'gorgeous' -- and now I wish I had spent the last year since I got home from my last sortie into Africa on studying new and unique adjectives so that I could even begin to describe what I am currently experiencing. (but alas! I did not, so bear with me -- there are bound to be a few more amazings and breathtakings and the such..)

I am sure you would all remember that I absolutely feel in love with West Africa last year -- and returning to this part of the continent, has just made me recall how completely I had fallen in love then. I think that the second half of the African Oddyssey last year -- the East Coast Experience, was in so many ways such a contrast to the West Coast Experience, that I had lost a little track of that first encounter of the western side of Africa. But here I am back and it is good. It is very good!

Arriving in Dakar was a strange experience. I am not sure why , but it was. Dakar is such a dichotomy; contradictory in so many ways. It is an African city through and through, but with more fancy homes in the Les Almadies neighbourhood than probably anywhere else on the continent apart from South Africa, more Porche SUV's than in any one place anywhere in the world - and yet it is not a city of expats or diplomats or NGO workers, or World Bank people. The rich people here are Senegalese in the main. The wealth is local and home grown. The sophistication is strangely African. I learned from my African-American landlady that the medical system here is one of the best in the world (?) -- so much so that all the international organisations send their employees here for treatment -- and I bear witness of a few of the clinics dotted all over the city -- they are modern and smart and look inviting enough for you to feel quite confident of their services -- definitely different from my personal experience of hospitals and clinics elsewhere in Africa! The same lady also waxed lyrical about the education system and I have to say, my impression in talking to some of the people around was that they were far better educated than many a young westener.

While in Dakar I visited Isle de Goree -- yet another little island off the coast of the continent where the slave traders of yore picked up their cargo. Again -- this sad shaming history but in an environment that is beautiful with its colonial architecture and colours, local artists selling their wares and quaint little restaurants enticing you to sit down out of the extreme heat and enjoy an ice cold glass of bissap (my favourite red hibiscus flower tea) or a plate yassa -- grilled fish and fried onions and lemon sauce -- yum! On the day that I spent on the island it happened to be one of the most important days  on its calendar : the Dakar'Go swimming race -- a 're-visit' of the old slave route - over a thousand participants swim from Dakar to the island. It is 7.8 km for adults and 4.7 km for children under twelve -- IF you swim straight, but since there  is not clear route to follow, no markers or buoys or even little boats to show which way to go, most people swim in from all directions -- some having done more than double of the route! Thousands of Dakarians had come across the ferry to watch the swimmers come in and over many hours there was a loudspeaker hailing the successful finishers. In a ceremony at the end of the day all the swimmers were issued with t-shirts and certificates and the queues to get back on the returning ferries stretched right around the island.

On Monday morning I got to meet die group of people with whom I will be spending the next ten weeks exploring this little -known (for tourists at least) part of the world. An interesting bunch of people -- and even though the average age is probably about 55, I am positively the rookie amongst them as far as overlanding goes! All of them have been everywhere in the world where overlanding is done -- and that more or less covers the planet! But it makes for interesting conversations... I am still positive that this is going to be a good group..

Leaving Dakar was an exciting event! We were all ready to get moving after waiting for our Guinea visas and to finally be on the road. The truck is amazing (first one...but warranted!). David and Jimmy have done an excellent job on designing and building the truck. The seats are ex-railways -- so comfortable -- and can even recline a little, we have a fridge on board (!!) as well as speakers right down the length of the truck so everyone can hear the music (mmm), we have windows (!!) -- a novelty for me!, proper chairs to sit on at night (!!)  -- and in the kitchen section everything is brand new and very well laid out. Quite quite impressive and a pleasure to travel in.

We are not bushcamping as often as I would like -- mainly because of the tricky areas we are travelling through and most of the places we arrive at to pitch out camps, have to scurry around like broody chooks to get things in order for us -- not expecting guests, since none have arrived for these last few years. Our first night bushcamping we were all so relaxed and happy to be back in the rhythm of overlanding -- and so enjoying sitting in the comfortable 'proper' chairs that we completely ignored the massive black thunderclouds ominously approaching overhead at an impressive speed -- that we were still sitting there commenting on how welcome the cooler breeze was when the heavens opened -- as they can only do in Africa -- and sent a deluge down the likes of which would have made even Noah doubt his carpentry. The result was that all over tents were inundated with water, some floating downstream where no stream had existed only 30 minutes before, we were drenched right through, our backpacks were wet, the world was wet, wet, wet. A proper roof wetting if ever I had seen one!

So here we are one week later to the day -- all settled in, everyone still changing seats every day in the truck, everyone still smiling,, me covered in mosquito bites from head to toe and itching -- like in the old days -- already far too brown -- through no fault of mine, I assure you all, hot sticky and in constant yearning for a cold shower, having slept on a beach under the most breathtaking and exquisite (I did warn you) starry African sky last night -- one that earned its Red Button ten times over -- and where I am sure I caught a strong whiff of the fragrance of a shooting star... and tonight staying in Ziguinchot, in the Cassamance, currently sitting under a giant mango tree where the frogs are crawling over my feet and the mosquitoes are having a banquet on my Tabard coated back,  off to the Guinea Bissau embassy tomorrow morning to get our visas, already warned not to go upstream tomorrow because of security alerts, rebel movements, the kinds of things that are the norm in these parts of the world... but so very  very happy to back. Life is good. Very good. 

Much love to you all -- and so wish you were here!

wwxx