Crossing the Gambian border the differences where immediately very obvious. This is something that has continually surprised us on our trip so far. The Gambia is much poorer than Senegal, and is very odd geographically. It is completely surrounded by Senegal except for a short stretch of coastline, and is the smallest country in Africa. The borders highlight the fairly ridiculous division of the African continent by its European suppressors. The Gambia is based solely upon the Gambia river and is apparently the width that a canon can fire from either side, and an English canon at that.
Initially an English colony the Gambia’s official language is English, but in practice few people speak this outside of the main holiday strip. The country relies strongly on aid from the UK and other countries; the education and healthcare system is poor compared to that of Senegal. Even the plant life appears greatly different from Senegal due to the difference in forestry laws. Despite this the country is nice and the people generally friendly although less laid back than their Senegalese neighbours.
We headed for the German run camping Sukuta, where efficiency is the word of the day. It is a popular stop of for overland travellers, mainly German or Dutch, most of who have driven across the continent numerous times with their eyes closed in brand new Landcruisers or Unimogs. I did feel a tiny bit inadequate with our comparatively tin-pot venture, but everyone was pretty friendly. A German couple proved more than helpful in towing us back to the campsite when we broke down with a grinding crunch literally 300m from the campsite gate.
We are now fairly adept at breaking down and so take it as a new challenge each time. The campsite owners put us in touch with another German friend who came round with a mechanic the next day. They towed ‘Camilla’ to their compound where the more than adept mechanic got to work, he wasn’t a man of many words, but supported England in the football and was a careful hard worker – good lad. He found a trashed wheel bearing which had popped a few other things out of place when it went. The German overlord saw him working well into the night and the next day a new wheel bearing/axle had been found and fitted. The new part was quite sizeable and not cheap, leaving us with a bit of money fear.
Back on the road we were now able to go and view the slightly odd beach resort areas. It felt a bit like a mix between Benidorm and a Thailand for women. Lots of middle aged to fairly overweight women arm in arm with their reggae-boy male friends. It certainly made for good people watching but the next day we decided to head back for Senegal.
We said our goodbyes and hit the road, the local ‘helper’ had made us nice little necklaces with our names on. Which we now wear everyday, the only problem being that Matts reads ‘Max’ so he is now referred to as Max by anyone he meets.
