Welcome to Mali
To continue where I left off, the car is in great condition.
After spending a few days longer than expected in Nouakchott, due to traveller’s tummy problems, we ventured into the Sahara to get to our next destination, Bamako in Mali where I am currently writing from, armed with a fixed car, plenty of water and an opportunist hitchikker that we acquired at a police checkpoint on the outskirts of the big city.
Compared to our other long drives this one went slowly. This was not helped by the fact that I left our passports on the car roof before driving off, leaving them on the roadside. Luckily by the time we got to the next checkpoint we were informed of this by the policeman and instructed to go back. We were also given a car radiator, a civilian, and a soldier to transport back with us. The four of us crammed into the car was a tight fit. Nat was on the soldier’s lap up on the front passengers side begging for a photo of his predicament, I drove and the soldier’s friend was in the back seat where the hitchikker had been.
Having dropped them off at their broken-down car halfway back to the checkpoint to collect our passports, we continued, obtained the passports, signed an ‘official contract’ saying that the policeman at the checkpoint had given us back our passports without asking to be paid, the wording of which was “No money, no problems”, the date, time and our signatures. Now travelling back in the right direction, progress again seemed slow.
The Sahara itself was quite a sight - and very hot too. Barren and empty, a small spattering of trees and shrubs littered the sand dunes as far as the eyes could see. The Mauritanian desert roads were also lined with the carcases of dead animals - a fitting reminder of just exactly how harsh the desert can be.
Having made it past Aleg and fast-approaching Kiffa (Keif a’Halak? - i kid, i kid) a roadside checkpoint slowed us to a halt while a sandstorm brewed just beyond the parade of shops and houses that made up this small - to us, un-named, desert town. Stuck in the storm, we ate, watched Ghana get robbed of their place in the world cup and slept near the car behind the checkpoint that had originally stopped our tracks.
Waking early the next morning and eager to get to Bamako we set off. We had been told that the road from Kiffa to Ayoun el’Atrous was bad because the Touregs of Ayoun had tried to stage a coup d’etat a few years earlier and that the ruling dictator had stopped all work to fix the road as political punishment. The potholes were unavoidable and slowed down all traffic. We punctured a tyre and buckled one of our wheels, changed it and carried on slowly for the next 170km.
At this point the landscape started to change as we left Sahara and entered the Savannah. The sand developed a greeney tinge - as if someone had dropped a bit of green powder in the sand and it had miwed overnight. What were actually an infrequent collection of Acacia trees on the plains accumulated on the horizon to appear as a forest from our perspective. Towering bolders - seemingly magnified pebbles - surrounded the roads. This was driving into a Disney film; any guesses which one?
After replacing our tyre and putting the spare back in its place inside the car we set off once again. Thankfully the roads after Ayoun towards Nioro were much better. On the way we met a cheerful Nigerian ‘businessman’ with “The Lord is My Shepherd” enscribed on the front of his van of European goodies bound for African Markets. By the time we got to the border his expertise at navigating the roads and bureacracy made our newfound friend a very useful one indeed.
Having crossed the border, changed our money and set off for Nioro everything was falling into place for our voyage across Mali - one of the places we have been most excited to experience on our trip. After obtaining Car Insurance that covers all of the countries we are now heading for for only 30 euro we decided to set down for the night in an Auberge in Nioro. (We also could not proceed without getting our car stamped by the customs officials in Nioro who were closed for the night by the time we got there.)
Finding a bed for the night in Nioro involved seeking the advice of some street-side teenage lay-abouts. I hopped on the back of one of their mopeds - probably the best, and most enjoyable, way to travel the mud streets of this, and many of Mali’s towns. We found a pretty cheap, basic room with bed and shower - and that is it. Given that there was a light covered in red paint by the front entrance and quite a few young ladies frequenting the establishment we are pretty sure that we spent the night in the room of a brothel……
The next morning having awoken in our hedonistic pleasure-house, left, paid off the customs guys and the police for a stamp admitting our car transit through Mali, we set off for Bamako. The road was for-the-most-part pleasant. The surrounding trees and mud villages were captivating.
I now write from Bamako. Mali. Where the Party is At
