Sunday 4 July 2010

Small-holding for rent



So we’ve decided to stay another two years. This gives us a real headache to sort things out in France; We need to find new tenants for Le Coty (if Richard and Jacky really have to leave!), homes for the dogs, sell anything we don’t need, make sure that everything can keep ticking over for another two years. If anyone knows someone who might be interested in renting Le Coty, let us know. It looks like Mick will be coming back alone as it is so expensive to fly at the moment as there are no charter flights due to the season. The rains started a few weeks ago and will continue now until the end of October, scaring all the tourists away. The children and I will stay here, enjoying the rain but we’re not looking forward to Ramadan when no-one eats or drinks between dawn and dusk and the imams wail through loud-hailers from every mosque (and there are many) all day long.
We’ve got about 6 weeks now before Mick leaves to make at least a few of our ruins lost in the jungle habitable! The property used to be the Ecco School of Drumming created by a Norwegian man back in the 1980’s, then abandoned about 10 years ago. We were visiting the neighbouring gardens when we saw the domed roofs of the ‘restaurant’ poking up through the undergrowth between the palm trees, it was like something out of Indiana Jones, wonderful curves and arches, all in red brick. We had to explore! There are five concrete-lined wells and seven buildings, including a large toilet/shower block, small roundhouses, the restaurant and a real wacky underground house built into a cliff (rare in the Gambia) overlooking the river Gambia. It has taken 5 months of negotiations to finally get to the point where we have an agreement to take over the property.
In order to create a centre for beekeeping, firstly we need a lot of hives – we have made 40 for the experiments and are collecting and making as many traditional hives as we can. We will also need a honey processing room, a store room for equipment, an office/shop to display equipment for sale and loan, and a ‘bantaba’ (an open covered area) for training and general lying about!! We have just started work roofing all the roundhouses to provide this – the costs are minimal as we are using the bamboo which is everywhere on the site and grass which we managed to get the last of before the rains began, there’ll be plenty more in September. We have three employees now: Bah2 who has worked for us for a while and will be our field officer after the rains, now he’s are plants-man: Balla, a young lad (who reminds me so much of Sam), who comes from a very poor village on the north bank, he’s as bright as a button and knows all the traditional bush crafts: then Albino who used to work for Helge, the Norwegian, and was involved in the original build, he is so humble and yet without him, we could do nothing – his favourite phase is ‘Small, small’, which means one thing (and more importantly one thought) at a time. We are learning so much – to build a whole roof with only a machete for a start.
Initially we will live in the processing room as we will have nothing to process until the end of the year. We can’t wait to move there, it is so beautiful: we were camping there when the first big thunder storm of the season rolled up-river and seem to park directly overhead for about an hour (Teo slept through it!!!). In the morning the ground was covered with bright red soft beetles that looked like giant red spider mites. The children had hours of fun gently stroking them which made them curl up into furry balls. By the end of the day, the bare earth was already turning green as all the dormant seeds germinated. Now, 3 weeks later, it is like the Garden of Eden. We had a bit of trouble getting down the drive as a stream forms across the entrance but we managed to find some large rubber pipe on the side of the road and have now made a bridge just wide enough for Pinky Ponk – yes she’s still going strong although whether she will cope when the rain really starts remains to be seen.
As an aside, we are having a bit of bureaucratic hassle with Pinky as we can’t get another Laisser Passer for her allowing her to stay in the country on foreign plates. We casually took her to the Senegalese border as we had on numerous occasions, but as it was raining we thought we would use the main Seleti crossing which was on the tarmac rather than the usual one at sleepy Darsalami – what a mistakes. The customs man there wouldn’t give us a new form and after much discussion, we had to leave Pinky on the border, walk back to the nearest village with buckets full of tools etc to catch a bush taxi back home. We then had to plead with the Chief Commissioner of Customs in Banjul to give us an extention which he did for a week. At least we got Pinky back and by this time, the customs official felt so guilty about causing such a problem that he gave us a new form and offer us 50 dalasi to cover the cost of the bush taxi!! He was only doing his job and we’ve done well to get away with it this long. Now they want 34750 dalasi (about 850 GBP) import duty for her!! Where there’s a will there’s a way, as Pinky is the only vehicle of the charity we are entitled to a duty waiver if only we can jump through all the right hoops, get all the appropriate stamps and signatures – we are working on it and have until Wednesday before we become completely illegally.
Back at the centre, we’ve (well, Balla, Bah2 and Albino) dug 60 huge holes for planting loads of fruit trees including citrus, mango, banana, papaya and even coconut over the next few weeks. We were given some passion fruit vines which I planted 2 weeks ago and they are already up to the roof lines! We have a large nursery where we are growing many good bee-fodder plants and live fencing from seed which will also get planted by the end of August. Two-hectares is quite a daunting garden!!
Renovating the main larger buildings is going to cost more and this can only be justified if they will provide additional income to the charity so it can become self-supporting and not reliant on donations. We have proposed operating a volunteer scheme where people come and stay at the centre, helping out with all aspects of the charities work including beekeeping, training etc out in the villages, gardening etc. Whether this goes ahead will depend on the success of this first phase and the board of directors. But, before then, if anyone fancies coming out to give us a hand, as long as you can pay your way, we would welcome you with open arms.

How can it have been this long??




It’s been so long – I’m sure John Carter will have forgotten about his problem with my comments but just to clarify: As I said, projects like his which build schools I believe fulfil a very valuable function in the field of development.


The irony is that we are now building a Centre of Excellence for Beekeeping!! Whether it will differ sufficiently from all the white elephants I have been so critical in the past remains to be seen.


Following our work assessing the beekeeping industry in the Gambia, it became very clear that the use of Kenyan top-bar hives as promoted by most development projects to farmer’s and prospective beekeeping associations was not working. There are some obvious reasons for this: poor construction, a lack of training in management, a cultural resistance to maintenance and doing everything in the dark. What was not clear was whether, with well-made equipment, good training, conscientious maintenance and daylight work the KTB really is the appropriate technology in a Gambian setting. Many questions remained: Can the African bee tolerate high levels of ‘management? Even with management, are average honey and wax yields high enough to justify the initial cost of the hive? Can we improve colonisation rates so hives don’t remain empty, and therefore unproductive, for such long periods? Is the African bee’s tendency to abscond an insurmountable barrier to bee ‘keeping’ in the Gambia?


In order to answer these questions, we first looked for an existing apiary where we could carry out some trials. It is a sad indictment of the Gambian beekeeping industry to say that we could find nothing – the only solution was for us to create one ourselves. And that’s where we are now. We have a 10 year agreement on a 2-hectare site in Lamin village. We have designed comparative experiments for KTB hives and traditional hives, all of which will begin in October 2010 after the rains have finished. We hope by end of July 2011 to have some initial results which will indicate whether we should continue to promote KTB hives or not.


Obviously, this plan requires that we stay on – we’ve agreed to stay for two more years. The children are the main consideration otherwise I think we would stay indefinitely. For the next few years, they will have a fantastic childhood, but the standard of formal education here is really poor. I know we are not conscientious enough to home school them properly so we will have to come back to ‘civilisation’ before it’s too late for them to catch up.

Friday 22 January 2010

Busy little bees




We've been working pretty hard on our project. I seem to spend most of time writting reports. We are hopefully now at the point of forming a partnership with a local bee-keeping association which we have found. Understanding the international development business has been a very steep learning. So much of it is corrupt, enept, inefiecient, and more importantly misdirected and damaging.

From what we've seen here in the Gambia, many NGO's like to build buildings - the reasons behind this are multiple: clear-cut budget over a finite time, everyone can see that you did it because you can write all over it, when the big boss comes from Europe they can visit it, have their photo taken, and praise everyone involved for such a successful project. The evaluation stops at the construction and no-one seems to be asking are these builds being used. The so-called beneficiaries don't seem to care, for them its a status symbol, but they can stand in the grounds of a beautiful, disused building and tell you how life would be perfect if they had a building just 2 miles up the road on the highway!!!

The bee-keeping thing has been running n the Gambia since the 1980's, the idea being that it is one of the few things you can offer rural farmers to improve their income that doesn't have major negative consequences. It has long been part of many tribal cultures to collect wild honey and keeping bees in log and basket hives. The aid community have been trying to promote these Kenyan top bar hives to improve yield, honey quality and also reduce the incidence of bush fire as a result of smoking out bees. The big problem is they cost money - something rural Gambians just don't have. They also require a significant amount of training to manage them successfully. In the past, many different NGO's have travelled around the countryside, handing out hives and bee suits and maybe giving a couple of days classroom style training. Whole village are invited to join so as not to exclude anyone and food and transport are also paid for. The result is that many, many rural Gambians are 'trained bee-keepers' but most honey in the Gambia is imported from surrounding west African countries. When you ask the farmers why, they tell you their hives have been lost in a bush fire so they need new ones, their suits are ripped and no-one knows how to repair them so they need new ones and they need more training!!! I think they've been saying the same thing to a succession of white faces for at least 25 years.

The 'modern' approach is not to promote a dependency culture but rather encourage enterprise. The problem is capital - Gambians just don't have any spare cash to invest. We're trying to come up with novel ways of giving people hives whilst ensuring they realise the full costs themselves over a reasonable time. Its hard to be positive when you see so much wasted aid money and failed projects everywhere you turn. Its said that the Gambia receives more aid per head of the population that any other African country - apart from schools and wells, its very hard to see where it all goes except very large 4x4, large NGO offices in the nicest parts of town and hundreds of deserted buildings all over the Gambia.

Having said all that, we have met some inspirational people who are working really hard to help themselves and their fellow Gambians. If we get the go ahead from the boss, we hope to be working with Mr Fatty (yes that really is his name), and his wife Mam who have been running a bee-keeping association for many years. Its the honeymoon period at the moment, but we shall see.

I'm sitting here just before Friday afternoon prayers in our lovely courtyard watching the sunbirds in the huge mango tree and listening to frantic drumming come from every direction. I think its beach time....bye for now

Leaving Macumbaya



Happy New Year everyone. We hear that we've missed some lovely snow - thanks for all the photos. We've been suffering a bit of a heatwave, even for the Gambia, but we're definitely acclimatised now and there is even the odd evening when the sea breeze is chilly enough for a jumper. We haven't got to the extreme of many Gambia who wear thick pad coats, woolly hats and gloves, even in the middle of the day when the temp. 3o degrees plus - well, it's winter you know!!!

We moved house now to the little town of Bakau. We are still in a compound with loads of children, its just that some of the mums are prostitutes!! We've got a much bigger house now with two bedrooms and even a bathroom - its not the same 'real Africa' but we were finding it so hard to achieve anything from where we were because it took so long to get anywhere.

The day we left Macumbaya was awful though, Safi couldn't stop crying. Just as we were about to drive off, she throw a chicken in the back of the car, a lovely gesture of friendship - but it did shit all over the rucksack. We couldn't bare to kill it when we arrived at our new home so we set it free - we see her every now and then - she's called Safi of course.

The children are going to a new school, they took the whole thing in their stride and they are really enjoying it. It's run by a gangland rap star, or he thinks he is, but luckily their teacher Anna is lovely. Its completely different from the last school - they've got their own 'slates' and loads of resources, even a TV, much to Teo's delight.

They finish school at 1pm and then most days we walk to the nearest beach which is behind the botanical gardens and the french embassy. We didn't know it was there for the first week of living here, even though we had explored the area with Aunty Carol previously. Its a hidden bay of beautiful clean white sand backed by a few large colonial houses and always completely deserted. We've found the problem with the other beaches in the Gambia is all the 'bumsters', young blokes, often rastas, who hassle you the whole time you're there, 'happy family -we're all the same underneath, it's nice to be nice' really gets on your nerves after a while.


Tabaski






















I actually wrote this account on 28th November and it has taken until 20th Jan to post it - sorry...

Tabaski morning! Just before sunrise, the call to prayer breaks through the cicadas song. Then as the sun rises, the almost deafening dawn chorus begins, at first with the wild birds quickly followed by the domesticated animals and then the hum of human activity. Today the new sound of the bleating of the two sacrificial rams tied up to the tree by our house reminds us it's Tabaski.

We can hear Safi brushing the compound so feel compelled to get up and help. Teo always gets up first, usually waking Mimi to get up with him and play outside. Before we've got out of bed, Teo comes running back in so excited with his and Daddy's new clothes fresh from the tailor. It cost about 20 euros to have two lovely outfits made to measure in 3 days and they are beautiful.

All the men are dressed in their finery heading to pray at the mosque, only the ugly women are allowed to accompany them - or that's how Safi explains it!

Now they're back and it's time to kill the rams (one goat which we contributed 500 dalahsi towards the total price of 1300 D, and a sheep which appeared yesterday and we know nothing about). Every family who can afford it has a ram to sacrifice and the rest of the day is spent dealing with it. Yacuba, our landlord, dispatches them with one stroke of a knife, all is very quick, calm and quite. Next all the boys set to with knives to skin and butcher them. Within 20 minutes both beasts are butchers. Safi takes the liver to cook for Yacuba as he's had to fast until the sacrifice is made. Yacuba insists that we take a leg, a shoulder and some unchopped chops to cook for our family. Most of the rest gets given to the steady stream of deserving poor Yacuba has selected over the year.

So now what do we do with it all. With no fridge the only way we can preserve it is to chop it up and then soak it for a few minutes in salt water and then boil in a covered pot until the residue has disappeared. It seems a shame to have to chop up two such nice joints so we decide to roast them. We had a look in the book Stuey gave us 'An Explorer's Handbook', which describes a ground oven and that's what we've done. We've had the chops for lunch and the joints will be ready after the village football match. Hopefully, we can share it with the family although the timing of meal times is quite hard to predict and we will probably get it wrong.

I've already had to wash the children's new outfits, though this being the Gambia, they should be dry by the time the football match starts at 3pm. The kids have disappeared as they usually do - they are probably next door in the 'shop' with all the teenagers. Teo will usually come back with another bag of budake, which is bread crumbs, ground peanut and sugar, and a fascinating nugget of Jola culture. He's just run in now to ask if he can go to Ismaila's compound with him - we thought Ismaila lived here but it turns out that Yacuba had Die-vorced Ismaila's mother and so officially he doesn't live here. There are so many people who seem to hang around here it's hard to know who's who.

It's 5 pm now and still no sign of the football match. Safi says 5.30 now and she's the team manager so she should know. Her team is called Barcelona and Ismaila and Denbo, Yacuba's sons are in it...... It actually kicked off at about 6.30 after a very long argument over whether there would be a 250D wager between the teams. It was almost completely dark by half-time but in the second-half Barcelona scored twice apparently - jubilation all round - I couldn't see a thing. There were no fathers present at all, just all the children and some mums. We're still trying to work out what the men do apart from the once a year sacrificial killing.

We're back now and have just dug up dinner which is absolutely fantastic. Safi had been very worried about our cooking method but now she's tried it and she's actually impressed. Thoroughly stuffed, we're 'relaxing' on our 20cm high stools when Ibrama our neighbour turns up to invite us to eat as his compound. Off we go for a huge plate of boiled goat. As it's now pitch dark, you have no idea what you're eating but luckily there's a lot of dogs and cats around to save embarrassment. We're also served baobab juice made from the strange fruit of the baobab tree which looks like a dead rat hung up by its tail from these incredible prehistoric looking trees. There's a white dry pith inside which they soak for an hour, drain and then add kilos of sugar - its surprisingly good.

Then off home for a few more secret warm beers and bed - who would have thought that a concrete platform covered with a 2 inch foam mattress could be the most comfortable place in a house!



Tuesday 24 November 2009

More photos of the Gambia






Teo and Mia in their new school uniforms







Our neighbours and their donkey

Gambia and not busted!



The next day, we were heading to the Gambia, passing through some pretty horrendous towns, some really beautiful rural

villages and some terrible roads. But we made it. 4pm on the 5th Nov, exactly on schedule. Not even one puncture. I

would like to tell you exactly how many miles we did but from Bilboa onwards, Pinky mileage was always a surprise. On

her worst day she had done 999680 km and yesterday she'd only done 17540. Denbo, our landlord's son had just

washed her so I think she felt good as new. Now she doesn't have the trailer, we haven't found a road she can't cope

with and believe me, we've tried. We live 6km away from the tarmac on a road that's deep sand in place and she great.

Life in the Gambia is so much better than we could ever have imagined. The people are fantastic, the children are so

gorgeous. We spent the first week up on the expat strip in Fajara but it was costing us the same for one night there as a

month where we are now (1000 dalasi which is about 25 euros). We are living in a 'compound' with a large extended

family. We have a little two room house with porch and long-drop out back. There's no electricity in the village but we

have the twin battery system in Pinky and the inverter so we can have all the light and power we need. We've even got

internet here because we bought a special USB stick with a SIM - its only good for emails really hence the tardiness on

the blog! We've got borehole water piped to a tap just outside the compound. I've even start a little garden. The family

we live with are Jola tribe so we're learning a bit of that. Safi, our landlady is a wonderful person, so skilled at everything

she does. She is trying to teach me to cook with the ingredients we can get at the market here in Makumbaya which is

fish, salt fish or smoked fish. She's also teaching me how to perserve food without a fridge. We went to the big market in

Brikama last week so I could find out the real cost of things, not just 'toubab' (whiteman) price.

We also bought fabric to have outfits made for Tabasci, the most important festival in the Muslim calendar here. After

morning prayer on Friday, everyone returns to there compound and slaughters a ram in remberance of when God offered

Abraham a ram to sacrifice rather than his son Ishmail/Isaac. I presume we put on our new outfits after the slaughter bit

but who knows. I think Mick is taking Yacuba, our landlord, to buy the ram on Thursday and we'll stick it in the car. You

never know we might win a ram, everytime you buy petrol or mobile phone credit you're entered into draws to win

Tabasci rams! They're really expensive - the smallest is 50 euros this year.

Teo and Mia have started school here in the local village. The headmistress lives in our compound and she is very nice.

We took them there the first day, but from then on they insisted on going on their own. It's only about 300m but I never

imagined they would feel that comfortable that quickly. The tailor has made them uniforms costing less than 5 euros for

two sets each. As to the quality of the education, well, they have absoluteley nothing. Being a nursery school (where they

stay until 7 years old), they don't even get individual slates and chalk, they just have to go up and write on the

blackboard. The alphabet is painted on the walls and that's it. Cement floor, no glass, no equipment what so ever. Whilst

our kids enjoy it, its fine at least we have choices but these local children have no choice. They say aren't they lucky to

have a school and they are.

Our work with the Beecause charity has it's ups and downs. The politics of who we should work with etc doesn't interest

us and sometimes it is hard to get beyond that. However, having the opportunity to get out there and meet interesting local

people doing worthwhile things is great. Next week we will be going up onto the north bank of the river, the real rural

backwater of the Gambia, to conduct a survey of beekeepers who participated in a training scheme part funded by our

charity earlier in the year. We want to see how they're getting on now they're approaching the first harvest. We've also

been looking at a charity called WYCE, (www.wonderyearsce.co.uk) supporting a village in the south of this region. We

went because we heard they had a good apiary but we found a fantastic example of what people can do when they

concentrate their efforts.

On the road to St Louis .........Mimi fell asleep straight away and Teo was bright as a little button, fascinated by all the birds coming in to roost over the marsh lands we drove through. We had been told of a brilliant campsite 16 km south of St. Louis, about 90 km in total on

a road with the deepest potholes we'd encountered. Now it was nearly dark so all three of us were on pot-hole watch.

We made pretty good progress, all things considered until we were 500m from the camp site. We saw the sign for the

campsite but it was unclear exactly where the road was. We took our best guest but it turned out to be deep sand and we

were stuck. I got out and found a perfectly good hard track just 10m to our right. We tried pushing her back but to no

avail so Mick uncoupled the trailer by which time loads of kids had turned up, all ready to push. This time Pinky flew

back at great speed, straight into the trailer - ahhhh. Luckily she only smashed her tail lights, but poor Pinky, it was like

she'd been subjected to rape and battery. We finally found the campsite, which was amazing and had our first beer for

over a week (a long time for us as you all know) - (my praying mantis is back but this time he's on my little finger making

typing quite difficult.) When we woke the following morning it was hard to believe that Paradise could possible be that

close to Hell.

The campsite was in a nature reserve on the edge of the river which is separated from the Atlantic Ocean at this point by

a long spit of land called the Langue de barbarie. They had canoes with which we could cross the river and walk over to

the sea and then explore the inland waterways full of herons, egrets, hornbills etc. In the campsite they had loads of play

structures including treehouses and tight-ropes. It really was heaven so we stayed three days, just about enough to

recover from our Rosso experience, although having just relived it to write about it, I'm not sure I'll ever fully recover!

Next stop Sali, the french equivalent of the Gambia to the British. All the beach front taken up by big hotels, just alittle

more chic and subdued than the British version. We had to drive right through the town before we found a sign to the

beach. We followed the road which passed through some gates and into a large field scattered with building plots.

However, there was the sea so we parked up to investigate - it was lovely. The security guard appeared and we asked if

we could camp there, no problem came the reply. So there we were right on the beach between huge holiday complexes.











On the road to St Louis .........Mimi fell asleep straight away and Teo was bright as a little button, fascinated by all the birds coming in to roost over the marsh lands we drove through. We had been told of a brilliant campsite 16 km south of St. Louis, about 90 km in total on a road with the deepest potholes we'd encountered. Now it was nearly dark so all three of us were on pot-hole watch.




We made pretty good progress, all things considered until we were 500m from the camp site. We saw the sign for the

campsite but it was unclear exactly where the road was. We took our best guest but it turned out to be deep sand and we

were stuck. I got out and found a perfectly good hard track just 10m to our right. We tried pushing her back but to no

avail so Mick uncoupled the trailer by which time loads of kids had turned up, all ready to push. This time Pinky flew

back at great speed, straight into the trailer - ahhhh. Luckily she only smashed her tail lights, but poor Pinky, it was like

she'd been subjected to rape and battery. We finally found the campsite, which was amazing and had our first beer for

over a week (a long time for us as you all know) - (my praying mantis is back but this time he's on my little finger making

typing quite difficult.) When we woke the following morning it was hard to believe that Paradise could possible be that

close to Hell.

The campsite was in a nature reserve on the edge of the river which is separated from the Atlantic Ocean at this point by

a long spit of land called the Langue de barbarie. They had canoes with which we could cross the river and walk over to

the sea and then explore the inland waterways full of herons, egrets, hornbills etc. In the campsite they had loads of play

structures including treehouses and tight-ropes. It really was heaven so we stayed three days, just about enough to

recover from our Rosso experience, although having just relived it to write about it, I'm not sure I'll ever fully recover!

Next stop Sali, the french equivalent of the Gambia to the British. All the beach front taken up by big hotels, just alittle

more chic and subdued than the British version. We had to drive right through the town before we found a sign to the

beach. We followed the road which passed through some gates and into a large field scattered with building plots.

However, there was the sea so we parked up to investigate - it was lovely. The security guard appeared and we asked if

we could camp there, no problem came the reply. So there we were right on the beach between huge holiday complexes.

Total rant - probably best ignored.



Next stop the border of Senegal. We had been warned by every guide book and fellow traveller that the border at

Rosso into Senegal was one of the most hassly in west Africa. The alternative was to turn west just 300m before the

border post and drive 90km along a dirt track to Diama Barrage. The problem was we were new to off-roading and

didn't know that Pinky Ponk was a 4x4 in disguise. So when people in the town said that the road was too bad after the

rains, we believed them. When we said that we didn't want to go through their border because we had heard that it was

very stressful and full of scammers and conmen, they said no no it's fine, we'll help you -ha, ha.

And so began the worst experience of our trip so far. We were quite calm at first, the river Senegal was quite lovely, the

ferry was there waiting, all looked fine. We just had to visit various offices handing over wads a cash for various stamps,

this was easy, just expensive. The whole time your not sure what's legitamate, even though they hand you all these

preprinted receipts for the money. Eventually we came to the customs which had just shut until 3 pm. We waited patiently

as the temperature rose. There was nowhere to get even a drink of water. We went to the river to paddle but the bottom

was littered with unspeakable things so we just sat there whilst the blokes around us cleaned every orifices of their bodies

in the water. Eventually, the customs man returned and although we were at the front of the queue, he took everyone

documents first before dealing with any of them which put ours on the bottom. By this time the ferry is almost full and

leaving. The car queuing system had worked the same as the customs office - we were at the front of the barrier which

turned out to be unopenable so all the cars behind us were loaded first and we were still there. I finally got our Laisser

Passer stamped but it turned out that it was a different guy who had to write the export details in the passport and he

wasn't there! At last he arrived, this time I was last so I had high hopes, but no - this man was methodical about order!

Eventually he did mine and I was about to run back to the car when I was informed it needed to be stamped. Ok, stamp

it - but that required a third man who wasn't there! The poor kids are in the car, it must have been 40 degrees plus, the

ferries engines were running. The guy finally arrived only to be unable to find the stamp - 30 minutes later the first guy

produced it from the drawer of his desk. I ran to the car and we drove to the ramp. Luckily for us the ferry had

developed engine trouble and was delayed. We found the ferry captain and asked if we could squeeze on the end, there

was plenty of room. He walked backwards and forwards studying the car and then the space and finally said to show him

our ferry ticket. Ah, no ticket for the trailer, this was going to be very expensive. There we were, front wheels on the ferry

when all of a sudden the whole of the port decided to get involved in our discussion. It was chaos - one minute someone

waved Mick on, then 4 or 5 blokes would push on the car to stop it - loads of shouting - god knows who was actually in

charge. In the end I gave one man about 5 euro equivalent and this seem to do the trick for the majority of the mob so the

fought off the nay-sayers and Mick put his foot down and we were on. By this time it was about 4 pm and our trouble

hadn't even begun.

We arrive at the other side and I leave as a foot passenger with the kids and the man who is 'helping' us so that I can do

the 'formalities' ie subject myself to government extortion. We handed in the passports and waited to see Mick - all the

other cars had long passed and still no Pinky Ponk. Eventually Teo spot her being drag around the corner by about 20

Senegalese. She was now straight on the road so the pushed her up to the exit gate where it materialised that the whole

ignition was buggered. The key had broken in the lock whilst Mick was trying to start it on the ferry! It was decided by

the crowd that we should be pushed out of the customs area and into the main street of 'Hell'. I had to clear passport

control, get a Laisser Passer and insurance at the worst border in west Africa with to very hot tired children on my own -

which was definately the cushie number out of the two of us. Poor Mick first had to find the spare keys and see if they

would work but his problem was that as soon as he moved away from the drivers seat, it was filled by at least 10 black

men. He fought his way back in with the key but it was appropriated by one of the guys who managed to break that one

as well - can you believe it. Then, instead of just letting Mick back into his own car to hot-wire as he was quite capable

of doing, they insisted on calling the 'mechanic' and his mate who duly arrived with their full tool kit of two large hammers.

I arrived after completing half of my task to see the car full of blokes, two of which were beating the poor Pinky Ponk as

hard as they could in the steering wheel area. Mick was nowhere to be seen, then I heard him saying, 'if I can just get .....'

it was coming from underneath the huge throng of people outside the drivers door. Eventually he managed to stop the

hammering and hot-wire in his own way. I finally cleared customs and we were ready to leave - but no, we were now

expected to pay every single one of Mick's 'helpers' and they didn't want none of that crappy senegalese CFA, they want

hard currency. Eventually, we agree to pay the mechanic but the rest weren't happy. By this time I'm in tears, telling them

they are all a bunch of evil, insensitive bastards - the whole street was laughing at me. We get in and try to drive off, but

being 'Hell' there are so many lorries coming in the opposite direction that its grid-locked. The crowd are still hassling and

we can't even keep the windows shut because when they pushed the car, they broke all the window catches. We finally

got moving fast enough to loose the crowd. The lorries kept coming and stopped for no-one, we had just been squeezed

into a junction by one when another turned past us and took out the corner of the trailer! Mick leapt out and started

ranting, I leapt out and started crying - and the street laughed! We then checked the damage and saw it was superficial so

in we got back in and got out of 'Hell'.

More mauritanian photoes

This is Mick nearly buying a ram in Nouakchott.









This is me checking for sand (and mines!) in no-man's land between Western Sahara and Mauritanian.