I just got back to Segou after taking a two week excursion through western Africa. The purpose: WAIST (West African Invitational Softball Tournament). For those of you who have never heard of WAIST, which is basically everybody, it's an event that happens every Presidents Day weekend in Dakar, Senegal. Expatriates from all over West Africa come for a few days of softball, good food, social networking, and possibly to attend a conference. Traditionally, Peace Corps Volunteers from most West African countries participate along with several other groups that are based out of the Dakar area. Most PC countries have so many people show up that they are able to field several softball teams. PC Mali had roughly 90 people attend, with three teams participating in the tournament.
Typically PC Volunteers will remain in Senegal for a few days after WAIST is officially over in order to soak up as much of the ocean air as possible. Plus, the bus ride to Dakar is anything but a pleasant experience, so most people need a decent amount of time to recuperate before heading back home.
I'm breaking this entry up into parts, otherwise it would be enormous. This way you can get through it all in bits.
Friday, March 5, 2010
WAIST (pt 1) - Bamako
The origination point for the majority of PC Mali Volunteers going to WAIST was Bamako. Since we had roughly 90 people going, we had to rent out one entire tour bus and filled half of another. This may not sound like a big deal, but when you have to cover 750 miles of poorly paved roads, cross an international border, and endure a bus without air conditioning or a lavatory, you want things to be as simple as possible. Having a chartered PC-only bus meant we could stop whenever we wanted/needed, and in theory we would get to Dakar faster because we would not be stopping along the way to try an find more passengers.
The buses were scheduled to leave at 6 am, which meant everyone needed to be at the bus station at about 5 am, which meant everyone had to come in the day before and spend the night in Bamako. Some of us decided to go to a restaurant near our new bureau called West African Fried Chicken (hole in the wall KFC of Mali) for dinner and then went around the corner for soft serve ice cream before getting a few hours of sleep. Others decided to just stay up all night, have a few drinks, and then sleep for much of the anticipated 30+ hour bus ride.
When it came time to head to the bus station, we called a taxi at 4:30 am and were on our way. Interestingly, my car got "lost" for a little bit on the way to the station. The bus company we were using was called Sonef. When our taxi came to a stop we found ourselves in front of a gas station called SNF. Needless to say our taxi driver was confused as to why we wanted to go to a gas station at 4:30 in the morning and we were confused as to why our taxi driver brought us to a "bus station" that had no buses. Nonetheless, it was a situation remedied easy enough.
The buses were scheduled to leave at 6 am, which meant everyone needed to be at the bus station at about 5 am, which meant everyone had to come in the day before and spend the night in Bamako. Some of us decided to go to a restaurant near our new bureau called West African Fried Chicken (hole in the wall KFC of Mali) for dinner and then went around the corner for soft serve ice cream before getting a few hours of sleep. Others decided to just stay up all night, have a few drinks, and then sleep for much of the anticipated 30+ hour bus ride.
When it came time to head to the bus station, we called a taxi at 4:30 am and were on our way. Interestingly, my car got "lost" for a little bit on the way to the station. The bus company we were using was called Sonef. When our taxi came to a stop we found ourselves in front of a gas station called SNF. Needless to say our taxi driver was confused as to why we wanted to go to a gas station at 4:30 in the morning and we were confused as to why our taxi driver brought us to a "bus station" that had no buses. Nonetheless, it was a situation remedied easy enough.
WAIST (pt 2) - The Journey to Dakar
I was on the PC only bus. It looked great from the outside, but the inside was not so great for one small reason. The seats had been intended for someone no taller than four feet, weighing no more than fifty-five pounds. Or so it seemed. And the seat backs were positioned at almost a ninety degree angle. Also, there were three seats on one side of the aisle, two on the other. Needless to say this bus was not the shining example of cross-contiental luxury touring. We were crammed in like sardines.
The first leg of our trek went smoothly. We made it to the bus company's station in Kayes in about eight hours. It usually takes over ten. Then our bus broke in Kayes and we had to wait two hours while repairs were being made. Of course, no one at the bus company told us this. They just pulled the bus to the side of the road, opened the hood, and started pulling pieces out.
When moving once again, it took about ninety minutes to reach the Senegal border. First we had to get our passports stamped to leave Mali, and then stamped to enter Senegal. At the border town in Senegal the bus broke down again, which delayed our journey another hour.
At this point it was starting to get dark and people were starting to think about dinner. We drove for another two hours or so before stopping in Tambacounda for food. Everyone was tired, hungry, and a little crabby from being on an uncomfortable bus all day, but still in relatively good spirits. Not for long.
***
Before going any further I should say that when traveling overland in West Africa it is advised to keep your wits about you. Always make sure you know where your valuables are. People get pick-pocketed at bus stops and there are many instances of people having stuff stolen out of their carry-on bags by other passengers after they have fallen asleep on a bus.
***
Since we had the whole bus to ourselves we let our guard down a little. When people got off the bus in Tambacounda they left valuables on the bus in plain sight. Who wouldn't? We all knew eachother. It was safe. Or so we thought.
After having been stopped for about 20 minutes something weird happened. All of a sudden about a dozen Senegalese men started sprinting down a dark alley next to one of boutiques we were stopped in front of and were yelling. Obviously this startled all the Volunteers. We quickly realized that these men were in pursuit of a thief. This could mean trouble as vigilantism is still common here.
A few minutes after the commotion started one of the bus employees started yelling at us (PCVs) while holding two backpacks from our bus. We soon discovered that while people were out using the bathroom and finding food, a thief had gone onto our bus, grabbed a few bags off seats by the door, and then took off. He dropped two bags, but got away with one. The scary part is that there were people sleeping on the bus when this happened.
Obviously this changed the mood of the evening. We had to call the police. File a report. Delay our journey another two hours.
We travelled almost non-stop for the rest of the night and got into the Dakar area the next morning about 9 am. At first the general mood was not good. The edge of Dakar is a dirty, industrial wasteland without much vegetation and a Philip Morris factory. The mood of everyone on the bus was "we spent over an entire day on a bus to come to a place that looks worse than Mali?". We didn't realize that our journey wasn't quite over.
After a few hours in really bad Dakar morning traffic we made it to the ocean side of town. Our opinion quickly changed. Tall buildings. Paved streets. Urban vegetation. Developed oceanside properties. Clean streets. Sidewalks. Piped sewers. It felt like America.
Our journey ended 28 hours after it began, at the front door of the Club Atlantique (American Club) in Dakar, where WAIST is held. We scrambled off the bus, grabbed our bags, grabbed a cold beer, changed into swimming suites, and jumped into the most beautiful pool that has ever existed.
Side note: When I took a little "rinse off shower" before going into the pool the water that swirled down the drain was brown. When it came out of the shower head it had been clear. It gets dusty out there on the open road...
The first leg of our trek went smoothly. We made it to the bus company's station in Kayes in about eight hours. It usually takes over ten. Then our bus broke in Kayes and we had to wait two hours while repairs were being made. Of course, no one at the bus company told us this. They just pulled the bus to the side of the road, opened the hood, and started pulling pieces out.
When moving once again, it took about ninety minutes to reach the Senegal border. First we had to get our passports stamped to leave Mali, and then stamped to enter Senegal. At the border town in Senegal the bus broke down again, which delayed our journey another hour.
At this point it was starting to get dark and people were starting to think about dinner. We drove for another two hours or so before stopping in Tambacounda for food. Everyone was tired, hungry, and a little crabby from being on an uncomfortable bus all day, but still in relatively good spirits. Not for long.
***
Before going any further I should say that when traveling overland in West Africa it is advised to keep your wits about you. Always make sure you know where your valuables are. People get pick-pocketed at bus stops and there are many instances of people having stuff stolen out of their carry-on bags by other passengers after they have fallen asleep on a bus.
***
Since we had the whole bus to ourselves we let our guard down a little. When people got off the bus in Tambacounda they left valuables on the bus in plain sight. Who wouldn't? We all knew eachother. It was safe. Or so we thought.
After having been stopped for about 20 minutes something weird happened. All of a sudden about a dozen Senegalese men started sprinting down a dark alley next to one of boutiques we were stopped in front of and were yelling. Obviously this startled all the Volunteers. We quickly realized that these men were in pursuit of a thief. This could mean trouble as vigilantism is still common here.
A few minutes after the commotion started one of the bus employees started yelling at us (PCVs) while holding two backpacks from our bus. We soon discovered that while people were out using the bathroom and finding food, a thief had gone onto our bus, grabbed a few bags off seats by the door, and then took off. He dropped two bags, but got away with one. The scary part is that there were people sleeping on the bus when this happened.
Obviously this changed the mood of the evening. We had to call the police. File a report. Delay our journey another two hours.
We travelled almost non-stop for the rest of the night and got into the Dakar area the next morning about 9 am. At first the general mood was not good. The edge of Dakar is a dirty, industrial wasteland without much vegetation and a Philip Morris factory. The mood of everyone on the bus was "we spent over an entire day on a bus to come to a place that looks worse than Mali?". We didn't realize that our journey wasn't quite over.
After a few hours in really bad Dakar morning traffic we made it to the ocean side of town. Our opinion quickly changed. Tall buildings. Paved streets. Urban vegetation. Developed oceanside properties. Clean streets. Sidewalks. Piped sewers. It felt like America.
Our journey ended 28 hours after it began, at the front door of the Club Atlantique (American Club) in Dakar, where WAIST is held. We scrambled off the bus, grabbed our bags, grabbed a cold beer, changed into swimming suites, and jumped into the most beautiful pool that has ever existed.
Side note: When I took a little "rinse off shower" before going into the pool the water that swirled down the drain was brown. When it came out of the shower head it had been clear. It gets dusty out there on the open road...
WAIST (pt 3) - Dakar & WAIST
The softball tournament covered three days, had a social and competitive league, and was held on four different fields all located around the Club Atlantique. All the PC teams were in the social league. Why? Because the purpose of WAIST is not only to play softball, but also to to get intoxicated while doing so. At least that's the philosophy of most Volunteers. Everyone involved, including staff at the Club Atlantique, knows this, which means everyone has a good time.
The beer was donated and sold at a reduced price. The profits go to help local non-profits in Dakar. Delicious American food including hot-dogs and Doritos were all the rave. There was even a boy scout troop selling baked goods to raise money.
PC Senegal helps arrange homestays for all the "out-of-town" Volunteers. About half the Volunteers who showed up got to stay at the homes of various expatriates. The other half were put up in two large houses a short walk from the softball fields. This was great because it meant no one had to find a hotel during WAIST.
The PC countries represented at the tournament included Senegal, Mali, and The Gambia. There was also a "refugee" team made up of Volunteers that had been evacuated from Mauritania and Guinea that are now serving in one of the other countries mentioned. A small group from Benin also came to watch.
When we weren't playing softball, people hung out at the pool or went exploring in Dakar. Several people ended up coming to the conclusion that if Dakar were a beer, it would be more like "Africa Lite" than anything else. I felt like I was in the US. Nice stores. Big buildings. Western restaurants. A fancy ice cream shop that would have no problem competing with Cold Stone in the US.
One day I went to Goree Island. It's an old colonial remnant that has a fort that used to be used in the slave trade. Very cool place. If you're ever in Dakar, go there. My last night in Dakar I went to a place called the Almadies for sea food. It's the farthest point in continental Africa. Not super-awesome, but while eating dinner the ocean swells were so large that they were washing up onto the patio of the restaurant I was at and began washing chairs and tables back out to sea. That was interesting.
The was a lot of stuff to like about Dakar. Fresh fruit stands everywhere. Clementines. Mellon. Bananas. Apples. Etc. Better organized boutiques. Decent transportation system and road conditions.
The beer was donated and sold at a reduced price. The profits go to help local non-profits in Dakar. Delicious American food including hot-dogs and Doritos were all the rave. There was even a boy scout troop selling baked goods to raise money.
PC Senegal helps arrange homestays for all the "out-of-town" Volunteers. About half the Volunteers who showed up got to stay at the homes of various expatriates. The other half were put up in two large houses a short walk from the softball fields. This was great because it meant no one had to find a hotel during WAIST.
The PC countries represented at the tournament included Senegal, Mali, and The Gambia. There was also a "refugee" team made up of Volunteers that had been evacuated from Mauritania and Guinea that are now serving in one of the other countries mentioned. A small group from Benin also came to watch.
When we weren't playing softball, people hung out at the pool or went exploring in Dakar. Several people ended up coming to the conclusion that if Dakar were a beer, it would be more like "Africa Lite" than anything else. I felt like I was in the US. Nice stores. Big buildings. Western restaurants. A fancy ice cream shop that would have no problem competing with Cold Stone in the US.
One day I went to Goree Island. It's an old colonial remnant that has a fort that used to be used in the slave trade. Very cool place. If you're ever in Dakar, go there. My last night in Dakar I went to a place called the Almadies for sea food. It's the farthest point in continental Africa. Not super-awesome, but while eating dinner the ocean swells were so large that they were washing up onto the patio of the restaurant I was at and began washing chairs and tables back out to sea. That was interesting.
The was a lot of stuff to like about Dakar. Fresh fruit stands everywhere. Clementines. Mellon. Bananas. Apples. Etc. Better organized boutiques. Decent transportation system and road conditions.
WAIST (pt 4) - The Gambia
While at WAIST I stayed in one of the PC Senegal houses with about 30 other Volunteers, some of which were from The Gambia. When I mentioned that I was thinking about going to The Gambia after WAIST for a few days they mentioned that they had some extra seats open on the bus they had chartered back to Banjul. One thing led to another and a whole bunch of Mali Volunteers ended up in The Gambia for a few days, myself included.
Most Mali Volunteers ended up staying at a PC transit house in Banjul, but I was in a group of four that stayed at a Gambia Volunteer's house. It was great. She took us all over the Banjul area. We went to the beach, fish market, and an old growth forest that has wild monkeys that will come right up to you. We also went to a toga party, ate at a nice restaurant, and cooked for ourselves a few nights.
Some things to note about the Banjul area are as follows. There is one kind of beer in The Gambia: Julbrew. The supermarkets are better than those in Mali, but not as nice as Dakar. One supermarket is actually called "Safeway", but I don't think there is a connection with the US chain. Since it was colonized by the British, everything in The Gambia is in English! I had the best burger yet in West Africa in Banjul. There is a mini-mart in Banjul that the Gambian Volunteers call "Wal-Mart" because it sells all American goods. Ironically they use Wal-Mart bags, but most of the stuff they sell is actually from Aldi. Most of the touristy stuff and everything I have just mentioned are not found in Banjul, but in the area immediately to the west, called Kombo.
One of my favorite things to see was a restaurant we went to that had a balcony overlooking the fish market. It was the definition of kitsch. Not a single inch of wall space was left un-occupied. Fountains. Giant wooden sculptures. Christmas lights. Large mirrors. You could even buy a lot of what was on the walls. It put places like Applebee's to shame. None of it followed any particular theme.
The beaches were fantastic. Lots of clean sand. Warm water. Only problem was the presence of several dozen "bumpsters". These are young men in their late teens, early twenties that are essentially gigolos. They run up and down the beach and solicit the tourist women. Usually they come up and try talking to women, but sometimes they'll just stop near you and start doing push-ups or something masculine...
Our PC Gambia host liked to joke that the Volunteers unofficial motto is "PC Gambia, where change is a problem". This is meant to play off the fact that no one is ever able to make change for purchases. It's also an interesting parody off of Obama's campaign slogan... "Change we can believe in".
Most Mali Volunteers ended up staying at a PC transit house in Banjul, but I was in a group of four that stayed at a Gambia Volunteer's house. It was great. She took us all over the Banjul area. We went to the beach, fish market, and an old growth forest that has wild monkeys that will come right up to you. We also went to a toga party, ate at a nice restaurant, and cooked for ourselves a few nights.
Some things to note about the Banjul area are as follows. There is one kind of beer in The Gambia: Julbrew. The supermarkets are better than those in Mali, but not as nice as Dakar. One supermarket is actually called "Safeway", but I don't think there is a connection with the US chain. Since it was colonized by the British, everything in The Gambia is in English! I had the best burger yet in West Africa in Banjul. There is a mini-mart in Banjul that the Gambian Volunteers call "Wal-Mart" because it sells all American goods. Ironically they use Wal-Mart bags, but most of the stuff they sell is actually from Aldi. Most of the touristy stuff and everything I have just mentioned are not found in Banjul, but in the area immediately to the west, called Kombo.
One of my favorite things to see was a restaurant we went to that had a balcony overlooking the fish market. It was the definition of kitsch. Not a single inch of wall space was left un-occupied. Fountains. Giant wooden sculptures. Christmas lights. Large mirrors. You could even buy a lot of what was on the walls. It put places like Applebee's to shame. None of it followed any particular theme.
The beaches were fantastic. Lots of clean sand. Warm water. Only problem was the presence of several dozen "bumpsters". These are young men in their late teens, early twenties that are essentially gigolos. They run up and down the beach and solicit the tourist women. Usually they come up and try talking to women, but sometimes they'll just stop near you and start doing push-ups or something masculine...
Our PC Gambia host liked to joke that the Volunteers unofficial motto is "PC Gambia, where change is a problem". This is meant to play off the fact that no one is ever able to make change for purchases. It's also an interesting parody off of Obama's campaign slogan... "Change we can believe in".
WAIST (pt 5) - The Return
When it came time to say goodbye to The Gambia I had several days of travel ahead of me. Most of the Volunteers from Mali that went to Banjul chose to retrace their steps through most of Senegal in order to get home. The group of four that I was part of decided to go "up country" through all of The Gambia, then up through the back half of Senegal to Tambacounda where we got back on the main road to Bamako.
We set out from Banjul at 6 am with two Gambia Volunteers who were going back to their sites up country. We got on the ferry in Banjul and crossed to the north side of the Gambia River where we hired a "sept-place" (seven seater station wagon) to take us to Basse, the a main town on the eastern end of the country. We lucked out and got a really nice car. Most sept-places in West Africa have been operating about 10 years longer than is physically possible. They truly are a modern marvel.
We left the north bank relatively quickly and drove up country for about six hours to Basse. Along the way we passed through about twenty police check points, which in my point is utterly ridiculous. About 45 minutes before our final destination we had to cross back to the south bank of the river. Here the river was much narrower and the ferry much less sophisticated. So basic in fact, that we actually had to pull the ferry across the river by hand with a steel cable. The "ferry" was basically a large pontoon that could carry two cars. In Basse we had dinner and stayed the night at a PC transit house.
The next morning we were up at 7 am and in a crappy, old sept-place by 8 am. We drove for about an hour before reaching the Gambia/Senegal border. Here, again, we had to get out passport stamped to leave and enter. All the locals had their bags searched for drugs at the Senegal post. The white people were apparently carrying invisible "we don't need to be searched" cards that we weren't aware of.
(Exhibit A: A typcial sept-place)
Now in Senegal, we had to change sept-places in Velingara. We ran into a bit of trouble when the guy in charge of the car tried to charge us a huge amount of money for each of our bags and wouldn't budge on the price. Then, amazingly, an English speaking Gambian that we had never talked to before (and was in our car) came to our rescue and got in the car drivers face, laid down the law and got us a fair price for our baggage. It was sweet. Our next stop was Tambacounda. You'll remember this is where the bus had been robbed on our way to Dakar.
When we got into town we told our driver we wanted to go to the bus station that would take us to Kayes (in Mali). He didn't know where it was, so he pulled off on the main road next to a taxi and let us out. We told the taxi driver the same thing and negotiated a price. The car started taking us back the way we had come. Then it turned and we started running parallel to where we had been dropped off. Then the car turned again and we came out exactly where we had been picked up. The car went about 200 ft down the road to the exact spot where the bus had previously been robbed. The taxi driver had played us for out-of-towners. What the crap!
We tried shaming the guy by telling all the people at the shops along the road what had happened. They all just kind of shrugged... Apparently they all knew the driver. Also, we had not been dropped off at a bus station, but rather a gas station. This was somewhat troubling, but some guys said they would get a bus for us. This might sound weird, but it happens everywhere in West Africa, so we weren't worried.
The remainder of this section is scripted out, or it would be very confusing...
Us: We want a bus to Kayes.
Guys: Ok. There is a bus to Kayes in an hour or a bus direct to Bamako in five hours.
Us: We want the bus to Kayes. No, Bamako. No Kayes.
Guys: Ok. While you wait, come to our friends house. The taxi will take you there and back and only charge for the return trip.
Us: Sounds shady. No thanks. We'll eat lunch here and wait.
...a bit later.
Us: Where's the bus?
Guys: Down the road a bit. The taxi will take you. The only want one million dollars to take you a few blocks.
Us: Thanks. We'll walk.
Guys: Ok. We'll show you the way.
...walk a little bit. Arrive at someone's house.
Guys: Ok. Have a seat.
Us: Where's the bus. It's supposed to leave in ten minutes.
Guys: The ticket guy is coming. Have a seat.
Us: Where is the mother-f-ing bus?
Ticket Guy: You want tickets?
Us: Yes. But where is the bus. Its supposed to leave in less than five minutes.
Ticket Guy: It's coming. It will be here in four hours.
Us: Four hours? The bus to Kayes? It leaves now.
Ticket Guy: These are tickets for the bus to Bamako. It goes through Kayes though.
Us: We're outa here!
...walk to the main road. Guys follow us.
Guys: Come this way. The buses are over here.
...we follow, quite annoyed. We come to a bus that we had passed on our way to the random dude's house.
Us: Does this bus go to Kayes?
Bus Driver: It goes to the border. We leave in five minutes.
Us: Good enough. We'll get something else there. (We just wanted to leave Tambacounda at this point)
Bus Driver: It's 5000 CFA per person for this bus.
Us: The ticket sign next to you says it's 2500 CFA per person.
Bus Driver: Not for you.
Us: Horse apples! Cows dung! Bull shit it does!
...after much protesting.
Bus Driver: 2500 per person.
Us: That's what we thought!
Luggage Guys: It's 500 CFA per bag
First group of Guys that brought us to the bus: It's 1000 CFA per bag!
Us: It's 500 CFA for all the bags put together!!!! Gaaaah!
When we finally got on the bus we were so furious we could hardly speak. We just wanted to be moving. We kept looking out the windows to make sure our bags had actually been loaded on the bus. We had survived being ripped off by a taxi, a run-around by some dudes who just wanted to hang out with white people for an afternoon, a bus driver who tried to rip us off, luggage handlers who tried to get money out of us, and the malice of the first group of guys who tried to get the baggage price even higher in order to collect a "finders fee" for brining us to the bus in the first place.
Evidently fate had gotten wind of our good fortune from the morning in Velingara and sought to even things out in the afternoon.
We made it to Kayes that night without much more trouble, spent the night in Kayes and made it to Bamako the following evening where more fun was in store.
We set out from Banjul at 6 am with two Gambia Volunteers who were going back to their sites up country. We got on the ferry in Banjul and crossed to the north side of the Gambia River where we hired a "sept-place" (seven seater station wagon) to take us to Basse, the a main town on the eastern end of the country. We lucked out and got a really nice car. Most sept-places in West Africa have been operating about 10 years longer than is physically possible. They truly are a modern marvel.
We left the north bank relatively quickly and drove up country for about six hours to Basse. Along the way we passed through about twenty police check points, which in my point is utterly ridiculous. About 45 minutes before our final destination we had to cross back to the south bank of the river. Here the river was much narrower and the ferry much less sophisticated. So basic in fact, that we actually had to pull the ferry across the river by hand with a steel cable. The "ferry" was basically a large pontoon that could carry two cars. In Basse we had dinner and stayed the night at a PC transit house.
The next morning we were up at 7 am and in a crappy, old sept-place by 8 am. We drove for about an hour before reaching the Gambia/Senegal border. Here, again, we had to get out passport stamped to leave and enter. All the locals had their bags searched for drugs at the Senegal post. The white people were apparently carrying invisible "we don't need to be searched" cards that we weren't aware of.
(Exhibit A: A typcial sept-place)
Now in Senegal, we had to change sept-places in Velingara. We ran into a bit of trouble when the guy in charge of the car tried to charge us a huge amount of money for each of our bags and wouldn't budge on the price. Then, amazingly, an English speaking Gambian that we had never talked to before (and was in our car) came to our rescue and got in the car drivers face, laid down the law and got us a fair price for our baggage. It was sweet. Our next stop was Tambacounda. You'll remember this is where the bus had been robbed on our way to Dakar.
When we got into town we told our driver we wanted to go to the bus station that would take us to Kayes (in Mali). He didn't know where it was, so he pulled off on the main road next to a taxi and let us out. We told the taxi driver the same thing and negotiated a price. The car started taking us back the way we had come. Then it turned and we started running parallel to where we had been dropped off. Then the car turned again and we came out exactly where we had been picked up. The car went about 200 ft down the road to the exact spot where the bus had previously been robbed. The taxi driver had played us for out-of-towners. What the crap!
We tried shaming the guy by telling all the people at the shops along the road what had happened. They all just kind of shrugged... Apparently they all knew the driver. Also, we had not been dropped off at a bus station, but rather a gas station. This was somewhat troubling, but some guys said they would get a bus for us. This might sound weird, but it happens everywhere in West Africa, so we weren't worried.
The remainder of this section is scripted out, or it would be very confusing...
Us: We want a bus to Kayes.
Guys: Ok. There is a bus to Kayes in an hour or a bus direct to Bamako in five hours.
Us: We want the bus to Kayes. No, Bamako. No Kayes.
Guys: Ok. While you wait, come to our friends house. The taxi will take you there and back and only charge for the return trip.
Us: Sounds shady. No thanks. We'll eat lunch here and wait.
...a bit later.
Us: Where's the bus?
Guys: Down the road a bit. The taxi will take you. The only want one million dollars to take you a few blocks.
Us: Thanks. We'll walk.
Guys: Ok. We'll show you the way.
...walk a little bit. Arrive at someone's house.
Guys: Ok. Have a seat.
Us: Where's the bus. It's supposed to leave in ten minutes.
Guys: The ticket guy is coming. Have a seat.
Us: Where is the mother-f-ing bus?
Ticket Guy: You want tickets?
Us: Yes. But where is the bus. Its supposed to leave in less than five minutes.
Ticket Guy: It's coming. It will be here in four hours.
Us: Four hours? The bus to Kayes? It leaves now.
Ticket Guy: These are tickets for the bus to Bamako. It goes through Kayes though.
Us: We're outa here!
...walk to the main road. Guys follow us.
Guys: Come this way. The buses are over here.
...we follow, quite annoyed. We come to a bus that we had passed on our way to the random dude's house.
Us: Does this bus go to Kayes?
Bus Driver: It goes to the border. We leave in five minutes.
Us: Good enough. We'll get something else there. (We just wanted to leave Tambacounda at this point)
Bus Driver: It's 5000 CFA per person for this bus.
Us: The ticket sign next to you says it's 2500 CFA per person.
Bus Driver: Not for you.
Us: Horse apples! Cows dung! Bull shit it does!
...after much protesting.
Bus Driver: 2500 per person.
Us: That's what we thought!
Luggage Guys: It's 500 CFA per bag
First group of Guys that brought us to the bus: It's 1000 CFA per bag!
Us: It's 500 CFA for all the bags put together!!!! Gaaaah!
When we finally got on the bus we were so furious we could hardly speak. We just wanted to be moving. We kept looking out the windows to make sure our bags had actually been loaded on the bus. We had survived being ripped off by a taxi, a run-around by some dudes who just wanted to hang out with white people for an afternoon, a bus driver who tried to rip us off, luggage handlers who tried to get money out of us, and the malice of the first group of guys who tried to get the baggage price even higher in order to collect a "finders fee" for brining us to the bus in the first place.
Evidently fate had gotten wind of our good fortune from the morning in Velingara and sought to even things out in the afternoon.
We made it to Kayes that night without much more trouble, spent the night in Kayes and made it to Bamako the following evening where more fun was in store.
WAIST (pt 6) - Back in Bamako
When making it down the home stretch to Bamako someone called us and said there was trouble in the city and that we should be careful when we arrived. Apparently that afternoon a sotrama (bus) driver was shot and killed at a gendarme checkpoint in the city when his vehicle was stopped and he tried to flee. This upset the other taxi and sotrama drivers in the city and they started to strike. The reason we were called is that apparently a Volunteer had been in a taxi that was stopped and he was removed from the taxi by angry demonstrators. (He was fine.) We ended up having a PC car come get us at the bus station to avoid any potential problems because it was dark when we got into town. We stayed at the PC transit house in Bamako that night.
The next morning I tried to get back to Segou with a few other people. We couldn't find taxis hardly anywhere, and the ones that did stop for us would not cross the river to the other side of town where all the bus stations to Segou are located. We went to the PC bureau to see what was going on and got some not-so-good news. We were told that no taxis were crossing the river. Most taxis and sotramas were striking to demonstrate "solidarity" for the driver that was killed. Some taxis that were striking were preventing large buses from leaving the city by blocking the roads at the edge of town. Some PC staff members had seen people throwing rocks and police using tear gas. I personally had seen a truck full of police in full riot gear with face masks, body armor, and shields the night before.
Since a decent amount of people wanted to leave the city, our safety and security officer got a PC van to take a handful of people, including myself, to the edge of town to try to find a bus leaving the city. No luck. In fact, it ended up becoming a rescue mission of sorts. Several PCVs had been near the bus stations that morning and got on buses that were eventually stopped at the edge of town by the protesters. They were stranded out there with no way to get back in town. We went and got them. One of the guys said people had stopped his bus by running alongside it, opening the luggage bays, and pulling out baggage. They almost started throwing rocks at the bus. He said he could also see char marks on the pavement where people had previously been burning things in the street. Obviously not the best situation ever.
So, we concluded that we would just have to wait out the strike in Bamako. No one knew when it would be over. I might only last a day. Might be a few. Who knew... The worst part is that it meant that we could go to the American Club, have burgers and cold sodas, go swimming, and watch movies. We were roughing it for sure. The strike ended that night and I was in Segou the next day by lunch time.
At this point I better clear up a few things for all the mothers out there who are by now pulling their hair out. Yes, there was a strike. Yes, someone died. Yes, there was civil unrest for about 36 hours. However, the incident was limited to only a few areas in Bamako and only concerned public transportation. People in private vehicles were left alone. Probably the biggest problem was that since no one was able to leave the city via public transport (what most Malians use), all the hotels filled up, so the city had a little less elbow room than usual. The areas where people were causing trouble were well known and easily avoided, so Volunteers were not in danger and the PC staff did what it could to ensure Volunteer safety. When I was in the PC car that day I went through most of the city and didn't see problems anywhere I went, but I did see a lot of extra police out, which indicated that the local government was taking steps to handle the situation. Everything is now back to normal.
The next morning I tried to get back to Segou with a few other people. We couldn't find taxis hardly anywhere, and the ones that did stop for us would not cross the river to the other side of town where all the bus stations to Segou are located. We went to the PC bureau to see what was going on and got some not-so-good news. We were told that no taxis were crossing the river. Most taxis and sotramas were striking to demonstrate "solidarity" for the driver that was killed. Some taxis that were striking were preventing large buses from leaving the city by blocking the roads at the edge of town. Some PC staff members had seen people throwing rocks and police using tear gas. I personally had seen a truck full of police in full riot gear with face masks, body armor, and shields the night before.
Since a decent amount of people wanted to leave the city, our safety and security officer got a PC van to take a handful of people, including myself, to the edge of town to try to find a bus leaving the city. No luck. In fact, it ended up becoming a rescue mission of sorts. Several PCVs had been near the bus stations that morning and got on buses that were eventually stopped at the edge of town by the protesters. They were stranded out there with no way to get back in town. We went and got them. One of the guys said people had stopped his bus by running alongside it, opening the luggage bays, and pulling out baggage. They almost started throwing rocks at the bus. He said he could also see char marks on the pavement where people had previously been burning things in the street. Obviously not the best situation ever.
So, we concluded that we would just have to wait out the strike in Bamako. No one knew when it would be over. I might only last a day. Might be a few. Who knew... The worst part is that it meant that we could go to the American Club, have burgers and cold sodas, go swimming, and watch movies. We were roughing it for sure. The strike ended that night and I was in Segou the next day by lunch time.
At this point I better clear up a few things for all the mothers out there who are by now pulling their hair out. Yes, there was a strike. Yes, someone died. Yes, there was civil unrest for about 36 hours. However, the incident was limited to only a few areas in Bamako and only concerned public transportation. People in private vehicles were left alone. Probably the biggest problem was that since no one was able to leave the city via public transport (what most Malians use), all the hotels filled up, so the city had a little less elbow room than usual. The areas where people were causing trouble were well known and easily avoided, so Volunteers were not in danger and the PC staff did what it could to ensure Volunteer safety. When I was in the PC car that day I went through most of the city and didn't see problems anywhere I went, but I did see a lot of extra police out, which indicated that the local government was taking steps to handle the situation. Everything is now back to normal.
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