“Backpacking through the poorest region on earth was difficult, Kim, but these friendly West Africans taught me how to suck it up.”
West Africa is the world’s toughest place to travel. Backpacking cheaply in West Africa is difficult because most countries require a tourist visa, the roads are shitty, transportation options are limited, and head-on collisions and police shake downs are frequent. And, oh yeah, did I mention malaria, Ebola, and war?
But a Kim’s View in every country means, well, every country.
We had a Kim’s View in 84 countries when I arrived in Tangier, Morocco. I had just visited 22 European countries without needing a single visa. That’s easy traveling, Sis. The next Kim’s Views would take a lot more effort; only 4 of the 18 West African countries are visa-free for Yanks.
My plan was simple; start in Morocco, head south toward Nigeria, and get the required visas along the way in neighboring capitals. I’d travel frugally using only public ground transportation because I didn’t have enough money to do it any other way.
I kept asking myself; Why am I doing this? Did I bite off more than I can chew? Am I fucking crazy?
“Overlanding West Africa was a personal challenge, Sis; Whatcha got big boy?”
The red lines in the map above were monster travel days; six border crossings where these friendly West Africans helped me reach my destination.
Babui (Nouakchott to Dakar)
Babui scored a horse-buggy taxi that took us to the river’s edge. This was my first international border crossing by pirogue. The exotic meter was off the chart, Sis.
Morocco felt like Europe and Mauritania was a funky mash up of Arab and black. I felt like I finally arrived in Africa when we crossed the Senegal River. The black Africa I imagined.
Jalu (Gabu to Labe)
In poorest-of-the-poor Guinea-Bissau I met Jalu, the world’s kindest moneychanger.
I asked Jalu, “Isn’t it dangerous to carry so much cash?”
“No, it’s safe. If people catch you stealing here they’ll kill you straight away. No police, no courts.”
Normally on Super Bowl Sunday I’d be drinking beer, feeding my face, and watching the game with family and friends. Super Bowl Sunday 2017 was an 18-hour marathon trip on roads that looked like dry river beds.
Jalu gave me crucial travel advice, for free, on how to get to Labe, Guinea, his hometown. I didn’t have any WiFi—which means no travel research—and my Lonely Planet West Africa guidebook didn’t even have a Guinea chapter because, at the time, the only travelers heading to Guinea were idiots like me. Jalu’s hotel recommendation was spot-on. A life saver.
Judith & Mohammed (Conakry to Freetown)
At a Guinea police checkpoint Judith warned me, “Don’t give them your passport, they took my American boyfriend’s passport and demanded one hundred fifty thousand francs.” I was hip to African passport extortion; I gave a copy of my passport to the policeman. He asked for my real passport. I flashed my pearly-white porcelain crowns and said, “No.”
Mohammed screamed at the police and gunned his engines. Holy shit, Kim, I thought we were going to crash through their barricade! But he miraculously thwarted their extortion attempt and we continued on to Freetown.
“That trouble was all because of you” Judith said.
“But what about them, they’re Americans too” I said pointing to my fellow Yanks in the backseat.
“Yeah, but you’re white.”
Guinea police tried to extort more money from Mohammed because there was a skinny white boy riding shotgun. Moi.
Then Judith pretended to be my girlfriend at Sierra Leone immigration so I wouldn’t delay badass Mohammed’s bush taxi. Again.
Boubakar (Parc W to Fada-Ngourma)
I liked Boubakar from the get-go because he wore a Denver Nuggets jersey. Boubakar was from Mali but he helped me travel through a local strike in Burkina Faso. On the way we met Nigerian Christopher who called his mates to pick us up after our bush taxi broke down. After a fourteen-hour, five-vehicle journey—to travel less than two hundred miles—we finally reached Fada-Ngourma. Our humble dinner and beer tasted heavenly.
Mamadou (Ouagadougou to Teli)
I was too chicken to travel solo in Mali so I boned up for a package tour with locals Papillon Reizen. It took me twelve hours to travel about two hundred miles to meet my Dogon guide Mamadou in Bankass—after Burkinabe Ousmane helped me get through a military checkpoint just before the dusk curfew (thugs with guns controlled the road at night). We arrived in Teli village after dark and I’ll never forget the view at dawn—ancient cliff dwellings where the Dogon people have lived for thousands of years.
Teli village has no running water or electricity, although a few villagers had solar batteries to charge their cell phones. I asked Mamadou if Teli village would be better off with power and plumbing.
“It’s better if the modern world doesn’t come to Teli,” Mamadou said.
My coolest experience in West Africa, Kim, was trekking through Dogon villages with Mamadou; the Dogon warriors proudly showing off their weapons, the women pounding millet, and the children ogling my laptop and arm hair.
Bobo (Tiwai to Robertsport)
My Tiwai Island hiking guide, Bobo—not to be confused with Yogi Bear’s pal Boo Boo—helped me get Kim’s View-Sierra Leone in the mighty Moa River.
“The Moa river is good and bad. Many people die crossing this river, people that doesn’t swim” Bobo said.
Bobo asked me where I was going after Tiwai. “I’m going to Liberia. How can I get to the next city?” “I can take you on my motorcycle,” Bobo said. Hallelujah! There’s one leg of my long trip to Robertsport.
I felt like a saint when I buffed out Bobo with a hundred thousand Leones ($14, three times his infrequent guide fee) for a ride from his village Kambama to Zimmi, where I’d catch my next moto-taxi.
The two-hour ride included a rope-tow ferry across the Moa River and Bobo impressively refused to pay a bribe to police. My triceps got a gnarly workout from holding on to the motorcycles’ rack. If I didn’t keep a death-grip, every time we braked my booster rocket would orbit Bobo’s planet Uranus.
This was the most physically demanding trip in West Africa; taking three different, two-hour moto-taxi rides, balancing 55 pounds of gear on muddy roads, and planting my foot in huge puddles to keep us upright.
After creating a Kim’s View in 17 West African countries—and failing to score a Nigerian visa—I called it a wrap. It was time to visit another part of the world. I kept our Kim’s View train on the tracks for over 12,000 kilometers, 163 days, and 88 rides with no accidents, no malaria, and only one breakdown.
“Was it all worth it? Good question, Kim.”
Travelers will tell you to visit East Africa for the animals and visit West Africa for the people. I agree.
I toughed out a state of emergency with local Gambians and witnessed history. I dug our car out of the sand on a giraffe safari and met local Fulani girls. And by traveling slowly I learned valuable travel intel so I wrote my first travel blog listicle 10 tips for overlanding West Africa and found out that I don’t want to write travel blog listicles.
After backpacking through West Africa on a shoestring budget I have a higher threshold for pain. No more quibbling about flight delays. No more crying about lost luggage. And no more hissy fits about shitty seat assignments.
“A flashback to backpacking West Africa makes any trip seem easy-breezy now, Kim.”
Yes, overlanding West Africa was worth it. I realized how lucky I am to be a bloody Yank and my experience would have been totally different if I flew from capital to capital. I was grateful that I was just passing through. I had memorable experiences, I met beautiful people, and, most importantly, I learned how to travel like a big boy. KV
Brett,
Next week on August 10th is Kim’s 40th Class Reunion. We shall pay our respects to your wonderful sister. I will also make sure everyone knows about your blog.
Where might you be on August 10th? I can share with classmates.
Gods speed, wisdom, adventure and safety to you, Brett! Kim Greenlee Weeks Wayne Class of 1979