HOW MANY HENS WILL TRUMP NEED
TO REPLACE OBAMACARE? - Part 3
Continued from... Part 2
"No, the hotel is not open at this hour", he continued, "you can sleep at my house and I can drop you off here in the morning to pick up a car to Nzerekore". I wiped off my eyes to check whether I am dreaming or not, and dug into my brains to assure that it is not playing tricks on French translation. Given the conditions, I had to shelf my grand plans on farmer interviews and played to him the tune of a stranded traveler on the way to Ivory Coast. I simply could not believe what I was hearing. He would just open up his door to a complete stranger? He did just that; moreover, took me home first, even before his wife and the kid! Only after setting me up in a room with a grass mattress and a battery-run lamp he would go back to pick them up. I crashed soon and woke up only when he announced that my water kettle is ready.
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| Towns still with grass-thatched roundhouses |
My savior rushed me saying that my next transport will fill up soon. This barrio is full of grass-thatched roundhouses and there was a tap with water right next to a common battery of toilets. I was in doubt for a second: reveal to him my real intentions, and dig deeper into this area, clean, organized and deeply entrenched in traditions? On second thought, I decided to stick to my first story and jumped in the back of the bike. I secured a 'place' in that Pajero with torn up tires. Then I revealed to him my project, to be implemented during my 'second coming'. He was very grateful for our French translation of 'El País article on ancestral knowledge'. I counted the money left over before giving him a 'santhosham' (money or tip cannot describe my heartfelt gratitude). Only then I realized that he had saved me from a real inconvenience: if I had to pay for a hotel bed the night before, I would not have had enough to pay for the transport to Nzerekore. I would have gotten trapped in this wilderness waiting for somebody willing to change dollar bills.
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| Milo river at Kankan |
Kerouane is at the headwaters of Milo, a tributary of Niger River that heads North past Kankan towards the edge of Sahara before making a slow U turn near Timbactu, Mali, and head back to reach the Atlantic through Niger and Nigeria. The current state of the 'road' between Kankan-Kerouane-Beyla seems the only thing saved this catchment from becoming another savannah. Still, the rate at which the farmers burn this forest is very frightening. From Beyla south to Cote d'Ivoire border is officially and euphemistically called the ´Forest Region' though I could only see only a couple of km of forest coverage in the 100+ km down to the border. Timber and oil palm industry had managed to eliminate all the rest, along with its rich animal habitat.
The Guinea, Cote d'Ivoire and Liberia border area has conserved some of its past glory, primarily because of its mountainous terrain. The bluish ridges rising up to 1700m, traversed by crystalline streams running under bamboo arches are quite inviting. However, given the lax control on human movement across these borders, I don't expect other living species to survive much longer in this region.
I knew nothing about the crossings to Cote d'Ivoire except some village names on two official roads. As I stepped out of the car in Lola, a small town after Nzerekore, dozens of 'volunteer guides' encircled me. I opted to follow the most serene-looking man to get out the melee, and he drives a taxi on the road towards Danene. As we were leaving Lola, a street-name type sign at a junction drew my attention. It said Cote d'Ivoire / Liberia, but its meaning did not sink-in right away. Because you never expect roadside directions to anywhere in Guinea! Further down, near the Mt Nimba Parc, the driver showed me the road to Sipilou border crossing taking off to the left, with no sign whatsoever.
As this road was as bad as what you would find in a favela, I was concerned how they would do any trade across this international border. They simply don't, except moving contraband gasoline. It is very scarce in eastern Guinea, at least for the public (I don't believe the monster mining trucks suffer because of that.) My car was carrying some ten 5-gallon cans on the roof. They bring gasoline from Danene, 52km inside Cote d'Ivoire, along the main road, which is mainly a mountaineer's track that passes over dozens of bare-logged bridges, all under the watchful eyes of corrupt security forces. That must drive the price in Guinea way over the official price, which is about the same in both countries ($0.80 a liter). Yet, the black market can squeeze money even from the poorest economy of West Africa.
At this border, Guinea Franc has no name, nor any value. The vendors call out numbers and one should know that all is in Cote d'Ivoire CFA. As per my usual practice, I carried quite a bit of Guinea Francs to change at the border, but I had to hunt a person who is willing to take this money. Then I used all my non-violent communication skills to extract a decent exchange rate, only to relinquish whatever I had gained to corrupt border officials.
I 'flew' to Ghana, since I will be returning to Cote d'Ivoire at the end of February. My marathon did not end at the Ghana border, because my Ghanian friend was way up in the north, in Bolgatanga, another 24hrs of bus riding. At least in Cote d'Ivoire and Ghana, the 'place' and the seat has the same meaning and you can try to sleep, on the road. Finally, at Bolga, I was obliged to rent a $50 hotel room and my body deserved that luxury, at least for a day.
Kashyapa A.S. Yapa
March 2017, Cote d'Ivoire, West Africa.
kyapa@yahoo.com
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