Leaving Kafountine we headed inland through the Casamance region, firstly to the big town of Ziguinchor which is the gateway / capital of the region. Only three years ago Casamance was in the ‘no go’ list due to a full on bullet flying guerrilla war, although now it has ended and there are no visible signs of the conflict, the area still remains relatively poor and is definitely far from being on the tourist trail.
From what I understand the villages of Casamance have a kind of village council who run affairs, Dakar and the powers that be declared that every village in Senegal must have a chief to run the village and not a council. This was pretty unpopular and so eventually led to conflict, it was not as I initially guessed a simple war for independence, which are quite popular in most parts of the world.
In Ziguinchor we met with an Italian expat who took us to a good cheap restaurant. He was an odd sort of fellow and we couldn’t work out whether he was happy to be in Senegal or not. After lunch we headed out on a terrible road to Kolda, for long chunks of this road it was impossible to get out of 2nd gear and we are constantly bouncing and crunching around on a road that looks more like the surface of the moon. As it gets late we pull over at a small village and ask the locals if its okay to stay. They are more than happy to accommodate us and all come out to watch, after the offers of buying bananas and children (we only accepted the former) we were left to our own devices. It was a nice quiet spot with a beautiful starry sky and was also the first time I have seen firefly’s.
The next morning we continued to drive on the terrible roads. 5 miles down the road we hear a crunch in the gearbox and lose all forward drive. In a desperate attempt to look like we knew something about mechanics, we drained the transmission fluid and removed the inspection panel. Needless to say it was all still in there and nothing fell out, buy this time a couple of bush truck drivers had stopped and begun to help refill the oil. They then towed us to the next village, here they got out and found a local English-speaking friend. He informed us that they would take us to another village with a mechanics for a mere 30,000 CFA (£30)!!! We managed to knock the price down and carried on to the village of Tanaf.
Tanaf is a small town based upon a crossroads, which leads to the very close Guinea – Bissau border. The mechanics were quick to jump underneath and start looking for the problem, on the roadside Bush Mechanic style of course. Eventually no-one could find the problem so the boss man ‘Chris’ got it pushed into the forecort (roadside), and had a good play with it. Eventually he decided that the gearbox and transmission was going to have to come out.
Now there have been many times when I have thought this trip may come to a premature end, but none so much as when a bush mechanic in the middle of nowhere tells you the gearbox is going to come out. We discovered that a shack just across the road was in fact a ‘restaurant’. Here we met an intelligent young lad who spoke good English called Ab-lie (I am spelling names frenetically because haven’t a clue on the true spelling), he made us feel very welcome and the family cooked us a lovely lunch free of charge, Mafi too which is my favourite – peanut sauce with meat, veg and rice.
The number of mechanics varied between 3 and 10 and worked well into the night without stopping, the only light was that of a car brake light attached to our spare battery. During the day work we made good friends with allot of the locals, only a few people pass through the small town each day, and luckily for us one of these people was an English man working for USAid he explained a few things and put us in contact with his local rep who spoke perfect English and offered us a place to stay for the night. Unfortunately for security reasons we opted to sleep on the roadside (in a tent) in front of Camilla – with gear box now on the floor.
The next day after a painful nights sleep on the hard floor the chips were a little down, however the locals helped a great deal to cheer us up, especially young Ab-lie who wandered to school every two hours only to return each time because the lessons had been cancelled. Chris the boss man had found our problem by mid morning, the teeth on the shaft connecting the gearbox to the transmission had completely worn away (planning and mechanics never was our strongpoint). The only apparent option was a new gearbox, with ‘money fear’ being ripe we waited while the mechanics phoned the garages in the nearby cities. There were non-available, Chris however had come upon a hair brain idea to join to shaft and housing back together using a fairly worn bolt and some creative welding. With no other option we left him to it, I certainly couldn’t watch.
One thing myself and Matt have mastered is the art of talking English when surrounded by people and no-one has a clue what your saying. When the word ‘cowboy’ popped up in conversation, I think a few of the mechanics understood where we were coming from and a few chuckles were had. The day carried on with some almost surreal moments including a game of cards where you simply lay down whichever other card you feel like, and a visit to Cesar’s (a local Minibus drivers who I befriended) house with his own personal ‘Babylon’ he showed me his photo collection from during the war, including one with him posing with an RPG. I was very touched when he gave me a photo which obviously meant allot to him, so I will endeavour to have some of these photo’s sent to him.
To wrap things up, after three days and two nights in the village we were ready to hit the road. I have to admit to being amazed when she actually drove! We said some genuine sad farewells to all of our new friends and hit the road once more. The days spent in Tanaf really flicked a switch in my head, I’m not sure what the result of that was/will be, but I was very humbled by everyone’s hospitality.
