Thanks for all the well wishes, comments, emails and SMS messages over the last month, they 
kept us smiling while we wrangled with African bureaucracy and our insurance company. Although we can receive SMS messages, we still cannot send, so don’t be troubled when there’s no reply.
We’ve finally decided to sit down and fill in the gaps in our story, the last useful blog entry had us camped in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso and we’ve been a bit sparse with the detail since then. The story of these missing days is probably more useful to us, but we did take some cool pictures, so even if you don’t read the drivel, you can click on the pictures and look at the rest on our Flickr page.
We left Ouaga on the Tuesday and rode north intending to stay in Gorom Gorom for the night, there was a famous market there on Thursdays but we would probably not stick around until then, our visas for Nigeria were running out and we needed to make haste.
The route north runs through Bani, home to some impressive mudbrick mosques, definitely worth a photo stop since we’d previously missed out on the trip to Djenne in Mali, the location of a famous mud mosque. Not that we’ve an obsession with mosques or mud, but the buildings provide a dramatic change to the normal village skylines, of which we’ve seen hundreds. Beyond Bani, we reached Dori, the last place of relative civilisation, the last of the tarmac and the gateway to a couple of destinations on cool (for Dan) or arduous (for Linz) trails.
We stopped to ask directions, took on fuel, water and biscuits, then rode out to the track for Gorom Gorom. It was pretty smooth, a few corrugations, frequent narrow concrete sections to deal with water, but mostly a damn good blast for 50km or so. We all enjoyed ourselves, Linz a bit too much, her suspension had been bottoming, causing some minor damage to chainguard and rear tyre, she promised to control herself on the return journey. Rolling into Gorom Gorom the trail became increasingly sandy, right into the village centre where it briefly got the better of other-Dan but he was soon on his feet. We asked around, rode around and ended up at Auberge Tandikoura (or something like that).
We had a walk out that evening, got some cheap eats and a couple of beers then strolled back to camp and happened upon an interesting little boutique selling mighty cheap booze. Among the treats on offer were a litre bottle of Eperon (tempting, quickly go blind, fall down juice) for under 2 quid, but we opted for the 10p sachets of Festa scotch whiskey, distilled in China, of course to some traditional chemical formula, erm… I mean recipe. None of us had ever drunk whiskey from small plastic bags, but we enjoyed the experience and vowed it wouldn’t be our last.
Next morning we planned to cross the border into Niger, we’d seen a line on the map through the villages of Seytenga, Burkina Faso and Tera, Niger. Our map showed it as a good road, Chris’s map was slightly less optimistic and our GPS maps showed a line near enough to where we figured it should be, that was all the encouragement we needed. We made our way back to Dori, I stopped to fix a puncture about 1km before the tarmac, we took on more fuel, water and food then headed out in search of the road to Seytenga.
We spent a good hour circling Dori and taking various wrong turns before following a bloke on a Yamaha 80 Townmate out to a dusty track. His directions were, go up here and go left and you’ll reach Seytenga in 2 hours. We did our best and the GPS kind of agreed with our choice of route, as long as we squinted really hard at the screen. The left turn took us onto a sandy track that seemed to point in the right direction, but was not accompanied by any indication that it would take us to the Niger border. Linz had reservations about the whole thing, not helped by the presence of sand, her least favourite surface.
After a little persuasion, Linz settled into the idea that we were doing the right thing, or to use her words “resigned herself to her fate”! We rode a short way and, as the sun was doing its best to take the paint off the bikes, decided to find some shade, have a rest and take on some calories for the rest of the day. Tera, our destination in Niger, was around 95km away and we figured on arriving there sometime late afternoon. Early progress was pretty good, the untouched scenery was wonderful, not a soul in sight apart from one or two Chinese mopeds and, thankfully for Linz, there wasn’t much sand.
This definitely wasn’t the beaten track, we passed a few straw-topped-mud-hut villages and the reaction was refreshing. Nobody asked us for gifts or money, they were just amazed to see us and stood close enough to touch us and study intently our ridiculous machinery, clothing and pallid complexions. There was poverty, but happiness too, they had food and shelter but access to medical care would be tricky, as would raising the money to pay for it. It left us with mixed feelings, it’s wonderful to see these remote villages and our Western preconceptions of poverty didn’t fit what we saw.
As we neared Seytenga, the sand patches were getting deeper and more frequent, making life a little difficult for Linz and other-Dan. A few of us ended up on the floor, but bikes and bodies survived and we could see that the border was getting close. Eventually we reached the village of Seytenga and stumbled across the Police Commisariat, the place we needed for yet more stamps in our passports. It was nearly 4 in the afternoon and we were all pretty tired, the policeman told us that the route to Tera, another 50km or so, was very sandy and would take 5 hours. We all agreed to spend the night right there and deal with the rest tomorrow.
In the absence of any formal tourist industry, we took the policeman’s offer of pitching our tents in the village square. This was great fun, we had a large audience that regarded our camp ritual as if we had arrived at their village flying a tamed meteor. Nothing we did seemed normal and it was fun to imagine the folklore that may have preceded us. Once sorted, we were guided to a local drinking hole for a bottle of Guinness Foreign Extra and then it was off to the ‘cafe’ for rice and sauce, typical cheap food in this part of the world.. damn cheap too, the meal was 20p each! They even catered for other-Dan’s vegetarian needs by avoiding the pieces of ‘meat’ in the big pot of sauce when serving his plate!
The village square was fitted with public toilets too, not the kind of place you’d squat with a crossword, but they helped to keep our faces white and allowed us to laugh at each other some more. We could while away our time in the facilities playing “Chase-the-cockroaches-with-your-headtorch”, truly entertaining.
The next morning we were up early and the crowd was gathering before we were out of our tents. The kids were much more forward than the previous day and wandered around the tents, getting into as many photographs as possible and generally ensuring our personal space remained at a normal African level. We saddled up, thanked the policeman, headed around the corner to the customs post to sort out the bike papers and continued on through more sand towards Niger.
Linz had managed to avoid falling the previous day, but soon made up for it. The sand was persistent and deeper, making progress slow for Linz and other-Dan. Those with more off-road experience found it easier, but unfortunately this was of no use or inspiration to those having less fun. Everybody did more than their fair share of lifting fallen bikes throughout the day. More remote villages brought more amazed faces, more beautiful scenery and the occasional camel.
One particular village included a 30m sandpit hidden around a corner that made life interesting, everybody managed to get through and once we reached the other side the population of the village came running, screaming and laughing with arms waving wildly. We stopped to take in the spectacle and await our fate, failing to notice that Chris wasn’t with us. Linz removed her goggles and scarf causing uproar with the women of the village. They jumped up and down, clapping, whooping with laughter and pointing at Linz.. maybe amazed at the possibility that a woman could do such a thing… or that the smallest man of the group looked just like a woman.
It turned out that Chris had fallen a few minutes earlier and in all the commotion we hadn’t noticed. I made a quick run back to find him and we were soon back together again and on our way to Tera. We hadn’t acquired much water whilst in Seytenga and our supplies were running low, but, as luck would have it, our route took us past a brand new well funded by The Islamic Foundation of Niger. The local inhabitants were more than happy to provide us with as much water as we needed. With our spirits lifted by the safety net of clean water, we battled on through the sand and arrived in Tera well before sunset. My favourite part of the day was seeing Chris drop his bike in the deep sand in Tera, deciding to help him and then immediately falling over and learning that Linz was just beyond my line of sight, also on the floor… Chris was in stitches! Other-Dan and Ed kept their gargantuan Africa Twins upright, but we all know that was a fluke… come on big Dan, admit it, you love our toy bikes, just because your bike has Africa in the name.. it means nothing!
At the customs post in Tera we were greeted by a unusual and rather exuberant bloke who performed some strange semi-salute and heel clicking pirouette each time he walked away from us. He took away our passports and paperwork and brought them back unstamped, I soon found a real customs bloke who attended to the task in hand. Mr. Exuberant insisted on escorting us to the local camp ground and shouting orders at various folk along the way. At the entrance to the campsite he performed a half forward roll which he then carried into some vague martial arts hand pointing thing before rising to his feet once more to continue talking loudly. It became clear that he was a few bribes short of an African official and discussions with others later confirmed our suspicions.
We ordered food and Mr Exuberant bought us all a drink before wandering off to shout and spray spittle at some other people. Later he returned with some spicy mutton in a piece of grease proof paper and motioned for us all to tuck in. During his absence his drink had acquired a dead insect, a cigarette end and a bottle cap, the latter was his own doing. He was unperturbed by these extra condiments and continued to drink the concoction whilst smearing his hands and mouth with mutton fat. At one point the nutter reached new heights, spitting a piece of bone at Chris (which is funny because Chris’s surname is Bone) and then helping himself to a swig from Chris’s bottle of Coke, leaving a coating of mutton fat around the bottle neck.
Finally our ordered meal arrived and our deranged host, who had run dry of greasy mutton, was keen to join us. He decided he liked the look of Linz’s food the most, so walked to her side and dug his greasy paws straight into the middle of Linz’s plate before cramming the bounty in his mouth. I could see Linz was ready to go toe-to-toe with the eejit and tried to placate her with the offer of my food, but her appetite was gone and she was best left to sit quietly whilst the rage slowly ebbed away. After a long, hard day battling with the sand she was hungry and the last thing she wanted was the hands of the local idiot stirring her food. Still it makes for a good story and besides a girl needs to stay trim!
The morning brought an extortionate bill and two punctures, one for Linz and one for Ed. We managed to get the bill reduced, though it was still ludicrous, fix both punctures and get out of Tera on a tar road… the first we had seen for 2 days and Linz was smiling all the way. Niger seemed a little more African than previous countries, at least that was the best way we could describe it to each other. It wasn’t something tangible, more a feeling about the terrain, the people, the traffic and the look of the villages. It wasn’t long before we noticed both puncture repairs had failed and we stopped to have a snack and another go at the punctures. I can’t remember when sharing a tin of very warm and therefore runny corned beef and a tin of fruit salad became an acceptable snack, but that’s what it was.
The road was taking us to Niamey, the capital of Niger and a fork in the road gave us the option of a piste or a river crossing followed by more tar. The majority vote was for the ferry and we soon arrived at the banks of the Niger River to await transport. A particularly persistent beggar with a carpet tied to his head provided the entertainment whilst we waited, even the locals sent him packing, clearly frustrated by his beligerence. Before long we were on the ferry and buying penny boiled sweets from a kid carrying a tray full of goodies. Once at the other bank we were rolling on the tar again, getting close to Niamey.. but not before a diversion took us back to the dusty trail again. We briefly stopped to introduce ourselves to Kelly, an American bloke living in Niamey, who caught our eye because he was riding a clean looking Honda Africa Twin!
The diversion took us through some straggling villages and as we passed a school I was riding at the front with Chris, the others just a little way behind. After avoiding a large hole at the side of the track I glanced back to see where Chris was, turning back to the road I saw another hole, previously hidden by the incline in the road… this second hole was less than a metre from my front wheel, so in no time at all I was in it with the bike, thinking about my sore arm!
Chris was immediately at my side, lifting the bike off me, then Linz arrived and helped me out of the hole. A huge crowd had gathered and I was looking up the sleeve of my jacket to see if the broken bones had stayed inside, fortunately they had and although I was shocked, there was a sense of relief about the severity of the injury. Other-Dan offered pain killers, which I took and a car appeared with an offer of a lift to a local clinic.. I’m not sure where the car came from, but it was a welcome sight. Linz gathered paperwork and other stuff, Chris forced money in her hand, other-Dan handed over his entire wallet, Ed recovered the bikes abandoned by Chris and Linz and I sat in the back of this car wondering what the hell had happened.
Once at the clinic I managed to remove my bike jacket without having to cut the sleeve and was ferried around in a wheel chair and crashed into several doors and doorframes, each collision caused me to groan in pain but did nothing to temper the drivers enthusiasm for battering the clinic paintwork. All this caused Linz great amusement and she struggled to stifle her laughter, thanks for the sympathy sweetheart. Within a couple of hours I was enjoying those drugs they give you before general anaesthetic and that night I slept in a haze of codeine and paracetamol. Linz got to spend her first night ever in hospital, although not as a patient!
Linz, Other-Dan, Ed and Chris recovered the bikes the next day and by Sunday Linz was in a hotel ready for my homecoming on Monday.
After numerous phone calls to the insurers and a hotel move we are now resident in a one room bungalow, which is our home until January 21st. We cover our own living expenses, but the insurers are paying for the roof over our head. This situation allows us to wait here in Niamey until my arm is fixed before carrying on south, we are both very happy with the outcome as we came dangerously close to being flown home on more than one occasion.
Moving hotels was fun, Linz rode her bike out of the hotel carpark following me and the luggage in a taxi, only to be stopped 100m up the road by a policeman for the first time in her life! no, really, the first time in her life! This was also the first time she had ridden in Africa without following me, who thinks these two things are related? Fortunately I spotted her being pulled over and returned to produce all the necessary documentation. Linz thinks the policeman was placated by the fact she had a nice responsible man accompanying her.
At the new hotel we dropped off the luggage and set about trying to find a helpful soul that would ferry my bike from the old hotel. A group of old guys sat around outside the hotel, the “official” hotel taxi drivers, suggested various solutions to our predicament. Linz’s favourite was to push the bike up the steep 1 km hill between the hotels, a suggestion that works well with a broken arm. The owner of a Toyota Tercel came up with the idea we had been looking for, a pick up with some blokes in it. The Grand Marche was our destination, you can buy anything there, even genuine Ronex watches. There were three suitable vehicles awaiting hire, a fairly new, shiny red Chinese pick up and two rather sorry looking Peugeot 404 hacks. The cab driver insisted on doing the talking and came back with a cheap Peugeot deal. Our little convoy drove to the old hotel, collected the bike and delivered it to its new home next to Engie (Linz’s bike) and settled down to life in Niger for the next 6 weeks or so.
