Fuad October 16th Day 25 Liberia

There Are No Good Roads Into Liberia

There are no good roads into Liberia — if you’re entering from the east of the country that is.

Our first attempt at entering Liberia led us down 30km of mud to the Ivorian border with Liberia. That didn’t go as planned.

On the second day, we made another attempt at entering Liberia, this time through Guinea.

We stop at a patisserie in Man, grab some baguette and cheese, and hit the road.

10:32 am:
The road looks pretty solid — newly built in fact — for a few kilometres. There are sheep legit chilling, says a lot about the volume of traffic on that road.

It’s less than one hour before we enter bad road territory — more like an under-construction road. A lot of road construction work seemed to be going on in varying degrees; some tarred, some graded. We continue like for a few dozen kilometres.

11:21am:
Our first real road test is in the middle of nowhere. The road is steep and slippery. Mud sucks. But Black rolls up the slope like a champ, at the second attempt.

The sun is high and super hot. On another day, this would suck, but today it means the mud roads are caked and easier to drive on. God bless the heat. There are two wagons behind us carrying plantain strapped to the top of their wagons. It’s Guineans coming into Cote D’Ivoire to buy Plantains and going to sell in their home country. One of them tells us that the road has always been bad. The only difference, she says, is that now there is an ongoing attempt at actual construction.

We leave them in the dust.

11:48am:
We reach the Ivorian border with Guinea. Progress. Tosin is speaking her French with the border officials, while I’m speaking my horrible French with a Guinean trader trying to clear himself and his family into Cote D’Ivoire. By the time we’re leaving about 20 minutes later, two Swiss-French men on touring bikes arrive. They’re heading into the country we’re just leaving.

In all this time, we’re the only people we’ve encountered heading to Liberia. Also, our Guinean friends caught up.

12:38pm:
Since all borders — big or small — consistently hate photos, I’ll describe what the Guinea side of this border looks like:
There are three bungalows on the right side of the mud road. The one in the middle is made with mud bricks. On right side is soldiers, just sitting. Beside the building, two people are playing draughts. One is wearing a camouflage, complete with a red beret. The second is wearing a shirt, and if it was in a more friendly environment, is have taken a photo, the kind you’d use in stories about the power dynamics between the military and civilians.

On the left side of the road, there’s a military tent that’s as big as a small bungalow. The border partition itself is rope, like it’s the entrance to a car park or a street. There’s construction work going on with a sign that says who’s doing what.

This road is part of a bigger construction project that should connect the birthplace of Jollof people, Senegal, with the brightest beacon of Jollof Rice, Nigeria. Most of the cheque signing for this project is being done by the African Development Bank (AFD).

Everyone at Zikoko calls this stretch The Jollof Road.

1:00pm:
All the four country borders we’ve passed to reach here have all the security agencies at a walking distance from the other. This Guinean border is the only one where you have to drive to the next point, the police point.
By the time we leave the military post, we’ve paid 14,000 CFA in “passing fees”.

Passing fees don’t have receipts.

At the police point, everything goes smoothly and they’re courteous. Our passports are stamped.

We then drive another 15 minutes to the Customs point, and one-forty-something-pm, we’re on our way again.

2.01pm:
At Gogota, there’s a junction that leads to three countries; Back to Cote D’Ivoire, Into Liberia, and further into Guinea. There’s also a military checkpoint that gives you stress, because your bus doesn’t have an actual first aid box. It doesn’t matter that you have meds stashed in a bag.

Then there’s a permit, a piece of paper, you have to pay for, because “all vehicles in Guinea have them.”

When the soldier there opens his mouth and spits 100,000, we suffer a mini heart attack.

“100,000 Guinea Francs,” the soldier says again. I’ll tell you how much the Guinea Francs is worth. It’s 20,000 FG to 1,000 CFA to about 590 naira.

Checkpoints are about leverage, whether or not you have all your paperwork. They have time and context that you don’t have.

So, you could google the question they’re asking — oopsy, you don’t have internet because you haven’t found anywhere to buy local SIM cards. Or you could pay them the 5,000 CFA.

2.30pm:
We hit the road again, but it’s less than 20 minutes before road becomes actual mud path that’s just about the width of Black the bus.
There are no goats, very few bikes heading in the opposite direction, one tiny community or two. But mud path still. The only reason we haven’t turned back is because the map and the people we’ve met along the way say to keep going forward.

3.40pm:
We reach what looks like the Guinea Border to Liberia. There’s a small village here, and again, the posts are scattered.
A small procession is heading for a Janazah. In front of them, one of them is carrying a child wrapped in a mat. It’s not hard to tell that the child is no less than four — only one person is carrying the body with little or no physical strain.
Everyone is following quietly to an open grave that I can’t see, but I know is there. That’s when we get to the first checkpoint.

We’re still arguing at the first checkpoint about passing fees when the burial procession comes back. This dude, this millennial soldier, who I’m almost certain enjoys Facebook like most people, is confident that we aren’t going anywhere until we’ve paid him.

He’s right, 2000 CFA right.

4.11pm:
We’re bargaining again, while the clouds are gathering above.
Captain Taiwo’s nervours. “Ah, God rain.”
The roads are treacherous enough when they’re dry. When they’re wet, they’re non-existent.

4.29pm:
6,000 CFA later, we’re done with the police, but the rain has just started with us. Two more checks to go. The next point is the customs office, an actual hut. 1,000 CFA.

5.30pm:
There’s entitlement, then there’s the final checkpoint out of Guinea, a military checkpoint. They are over 5 soldiers, who are convinced that their birthright from us is 15,000 CFA. We settle for 10,000 CFA + 1,400 naira — I basically handed them all the Naira in my wallet.

Checkpoint over, country exited, 39, CFA in total extorted. Thank you Guinea, see you soon.

The topography is slightly different after we exit Liberia. It’s a little stony — which Black will be grateful for — but not without mud.

5.15pm.
“Oluwa oh.”

That’s Captain speaking, and right in front of us is a slippery slope. The tyres of an actual truck are buried on the right side of the path, a cautionary sight.

One man, a Guinean, dismounts from his motorcycle with his wife and little child. He’s coming to help.

“Reverse, climb with 2, and change it to 1,” advising captain about the gear.

Captain goes for it. The bus is bouncing and hopping, it’s quickly halfway done, up the slope it goes, bouncing and bouncing.

Black is a fighter, but Black has no auxiliary gear, so just as it’s about to make the slope, it gets stuck. Captain tries for a few seconds and I begin to smell it — burniniy clutch.

Sleeves are rolled; Kayode, the Guinean and I begin to push. It doesn’t take too much time for Black to get out of the trap, and we’re good to go again.

The next short stretch of road ends at a rope across the road, and a small post.

I can barely hear the English the officer present is speaking, but it’s a relief. We’ve reached the Liberian Border.

6.12pm:
By the time we’re done with explaining why we have a passport that says we’ve stamped in and out of Liberia just the day before, night has fallen. We clear with the officials, the offices beside each other, and when we reach the Customs office, Toma, the officer in charge tells us we might need to do the paper work in Ganta, about 3 hours from where we were, Yekepe, on the road to Monrovia.

A most courteous man, he suggests that heading to Ganta at this time of the day is a bad idea. Then he goes on to recommend a hotel in the community we were at. He leads us there and we get our rooms. He also assures us that someone on his team, Earnest, will lead us to Ganta to avoid getting in trouble with the security forces.

7.02pm:
The hotel has a club of sorts, with a giant mirror, and graffiti that reads words like “Rich Bich.” Two of the attendants are wearing Star Boy shirts, in different designs.

9.00:pm
When we’ve settled in and had dinner, and everyone’s taking a shower, the music starts playing. Joeboy’s Baby is up. Followed by Rudeboy’s Audio Money. It’s 3 Nigerian songs and one other song.

On another night, I’d have heard Toke’s door fly open right beside ours, because she wants to go have a look. Or Kayode grabbing his camera to go check it out.

Tonight, nobody gives a damn.


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