Friday, March 24, 2006
The Auction
News in from the Gambia tells us that Dusty Springs raised 48,000 delasi at auction – that’s around £945. Considering we only paid £50 for her, that’s a tidy sum which will go directly to benefit local charities in the Gambia. Dusty’s future is secure as a taxicab – and no doubt in the coming months she will be repainted green and yellow. We left the wooden ergo-ball seat cover with Dusty for her next taxista owner. Uber-styling.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Silence of the Rams
After several days relaxing in Banjul, the Terranauts decided to spend a few days exploring the inner Gambia, or the bush. We’d already witnessed the darker side of the burgeoning Gambian tourism industry, which attracts thousands of European package tourists to the beaches of Banjul every year. Blistering red blobs playing bingo by the swimming pool, Club Wow, and some excellent local cuisine (gravy and soggy chips) to name but a few highlights, it was time to get out of town. Destination: Tendaba – 125 kilometres inland over the worst potholey roads of the whole trip. We didn’t realise that before we set out. A Gambian friend I met last year – Solomon (who this year was awaiting us, mysteriously, at the border) advised us that “the road South is bad, man – you better go North.” Feeling a tad overconfident after cruising over Saharan sandbogs and axle breaking dirt roads in Senegal, we reassured him that Dusty was indomitable and headed South.
5 hours later we were still going up and down over 4 foot dirt crevasses on a road that seemed to have been peppered with minor explosives. Dodging cows and suicidal bush taxis, it was interminable hell on wheels. We were interested to see that at the entrance and exit of each small village there were handpainted signs educating people about HIV/AIDS written in Wolof and then Mandinka as we moved inland. This is part of a national government program. We passed 3 young women on the road wearing HIV/AIDS T-shirts and swung the car around to say hello. They didn’t speak English but we pointed to the YouthAIDs posters on the car grinning and gave them some tags. They looked bewildered and we wondered whether they understood what on earth we were talking about.
We made Tendaba by nightfall, to a Gambian run eco-camp set up by a Swiss sea captain in the early 1970s. There we met our friends, 3 fellow rally teams – the Swiss mix, the BMW boys and Air Freshener. What a location – on the Gambian river, a bird spotter’s paradise, with a little wooden jetty jutting out over the water where we sat supping cold beers and looking at the stars.
The next day we spent Tobaski – the Muslim equivalent of Christmas – in the nearby village, Kwinila,where a local family dressed us in traditional clothes and sat us in the hot sun at a religious ceremony in a nearby field. We returned to the family compound to witness the throat slitting of 2 freshly shampooed rams. Despite the blood and guts, the ensuing stew we shared with the family was a rare honour. All the girls were getting ready for the festivities later in the evening, drawing bucketfuls of water from the well to wash their clothes and hair. Traditional clothes were replaced by tight fitting lycra and crop tops and ceremony turned into a pulsating dance party in the village hall – the only place with a lightbulb in the whole village. Wherever we stood, there was a wall of small children flanking us, staring up with enormous chocolatey eyes. “Minty Toubab, minty toubab” – “Sweetie sweetie white man”. When they started pinching my bottom, I decided they weren’t so sweetie.
Next day we returned to Banjul on an empty tank (no gas stations apparently, or electricity inland) with Dusty’s engine fan making strangled metallic sounds. The bearings were going in the fan motor which meant major league repairs for her new owner to be. We feel a bit guilty for putting Dusty through such brutal final days. It’s hard to describe exactly what the car sounded like but imagine driving a combine harvester over a field of barbed wire, and you’ve just about got it.
5 hours later we were still going up and down over 4 foot dirt crevasses on a road that seemed to have been peppered with minor explosives. Dodging cows and suicidal bush taxis, it was interminable hell on wheels. We were interested to see that at the entrance and exit of each small village there were handpainted signs educating people about HIV/AIDS written in Wolof and then Mandinka as we moved inland. This is part of a national government program. We passed 3 young women on the road wearing HIV/AIDS T-shirts and swung the car around to say hello. They didn’t speak English but we pointed to the YouthAIDs posters on the car grinning and gave them some tags. They looked bewildered and we wondered whether they understood what on earth we were talking about.
We made Tendaba by nightfall, to a Gambian run eco-camp set up by a Swiss sea captain in the early 1970s. There we met our friends, 3 fellow rally teams – the Swiss mix, the BMW boys and Air Freshener. What a location – on the Gambian river, a bird spotter’s paradise, with a little wooden jetty jutting out over the water where we sat supping cold beers and looking at the stars.
The next day we spent Tobaski – the Muslim equivalent of Christmas – in the nearby village, Kwinila,where a local family dressed us in traditional clothes and sat us in the hot sun at a religious ceremony in a nearby field. We returned to the family compound to witness the throat slitting of 2 freshly shampooed rams. Despite the blood and guts, the ensuing stew we shared with the family was a rare honour. All the girls were getting ready for the festivities later in the evening, drawing bucketfuls of water from the well to wash their clothes and hair. Traditional clothes were replaced by tight fitting lycra and crop tops and ceremony turned into a pulsating dance party in the village hall – the only place with a lightbulb in the whole village. Wherever we stood, there was a wall of small children flanking us, staring up with enormous chocolatey eyes. “Minty Toubab, minty toubab” – “Sweetie sweetie white man”. When they started pinching my bottom, I decided they weren’t so sweetie.
Next day we returned to Banjul on an empty tank (no gas stations apparently, or electricity inland) with Dusty’s engine fan making strangled metallic sounds. The bearings were going in the fan motor which meant major league repairs for her new owner to be. We feel a bit guilty for putting Dusty through such brutal final days. It’s hard to describe exactly what the car sounded like but imagine driving a combine harvester over a field of barbed wire, and you’ve just about got it.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Arrival in the Gambia
Another quick update from the road with more news of our desert adventures to come. Dusty and the team made it through Senegal on Friday, driving 10 hours in a convoy of 45 cars along rough roads with the customs police all the way to the Gambian border. When we arrived, we had a warm welcome from two rally volunteers who ushered us through customs and passport control. Also waiting for us were a group of boys Vivi and I met last year. We spent a couple of hours hanging out, taking photos and distributing tags. Two guys asked us for help setting up a youth program on HIV/AIDS awareness. They said they had just started a community project to sensitize young people about the issue but needed help – expertise, ideas, and money.
Word gets out fast and the last few days every young person we meet makes a gesture with their hands around their necks about the tags – there simply aren’t enough to go around!
On the rally front, we were given a state welcome by the government and the Mayoress of Banjul in an official procession through the city yesterday afternoon – including the honour of passing under “Arch 22” through which only the President can drive….Lost of bewildered looks and a few rotten tomatoes from locals who don’t know much about the rally. Nevertheless, we’ve been getting offers for Dusty left right and centre – the petrol station owner, taxi drivers, and a bank manager have been clamoring to buy. She will be auctioned on Saturday to the highest bidder with proceeds going to local charities, as with the rest of the rally cars. After looking quite dusty for the last few weeks, Dusty is gleaming white after a complete scrub down by our rasta friend at the Leybato beach motel. He even cleaned the engine bay with a toothbrush.
Today we drive inland to explore some eco-reserves on the Gambia river delta. Banjul is a big tourist hell – Blackpool meets West Africa. Time to see some back country…
Word gets out fast and the last few days every young person we meet makes a gesture with their hands around their necks about the tags – there simply aren’t enough to go around!
On the rally front, we were given a state welcome by the government and the Mayoress of Banjul in an official procession through the city yesterday afternoon – including the honour of passing under “Arch 22” through which only the President can drive….Lost of bewildered looks and a few rotten tomatoes from locals who don’t know much about the rally. Nevertheless, we’ve been getting offers for Dusty left right and centre – the petrol station owner, taxi drivers, and a bank manager have been clamoring to buy. She will be auctioned on Saturday to the highest bidder with proceeds going to local charities, as with the rest of the rally cars. After looking quite dusty for the last few weeks, Dusty is gleaming white after a complete scrub down by our rasta friend at the Leybato beach motel. He even cleaned the engine bay with a toothbrush.
Today we drive inland to explore some eco-reserves on the Gambia river delta. Banjul is a big tourist hell – Blackpool meets West Africa. Time to see some back country…
Wednesday, January 4, 2006
Out of the desert and onto Senegal
Just a quick update to say we made it out of the desert…in one piece, just. After an astounding 3 days traversing dunes, sliding over sand bogs, chasing camels and driving down beaches in the Sahara, we arrived in Nouakchott the capital of Mauritania. No major breakdowns to report beyond ripped exhausts, broken axels, steaming radiators and burst cylinders. Dusty sailed over the dunes like a boat. We only got stuck in the sand a few times. What a trip.
Yesterday we drove to the Senegalese border where after hours of bargaining with the border guards, all 45 or so cars still in the rally were let into the country for the bargain price of 130 Euros each. A small price to pay to save sleeping in the car all night. The HIV AIDS tags are even more of a hit here in Senegal. We are in St Louis in the north of the country this afternoon where we have been followed around by gangs of hawkers and children all wanting a tag! We insist on everyone understanding the reason behind the tags and asking them what they know about HIV/AIDS before giving them out. This is sometimes easier than other times as unfortunately, the shiny silver necklaces are all some boys and girls can concentrate on…Language is a barrier too of course, hopefully by the time we get to the Gambia our discussions with people about HIV/AIDS will get easier.
More news of our expolits in the desert will follow, as we return now down the river to Zebrabar, a camping ground for travellers run by a Swiss couple where we are having a giant barbeque and party tonight to celebrate getting this far! Almost there now.
Yesterday we drove to the Senegalese border where after hours of bargaining with the border guards, all 45 or so cars still in the rally were let into the country for the bargain price of 130 Euros each. A small price to pay to save sleeping in the car all night. The HIV AIDS tags are even more of a hit here in Senegal. We are in St Louis in the north of the country this afternoon where we have been followed around by gangs of hawkers and children all wanting a tag! We insist on everyone understanding the reason behind the tags and asking them what they know about HIV/AIDS before giving them out. This is sometimes easier than other times as unfortunately, the shiny silver necklaces are all some boys and girls can concentrate on…Language is a barrier too of course, hopefully by the time we get to the Gambia our discussions with people about HIV/AIDS will get easier.
More news of our expolits in the desert will follow, as we return now down the river to Zebrabar, a camping ground for travellers run by a Swiss couple where we are having a giant barbeque and party tonight to celebrate getting this far! Almost there now.
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