In search of the source
The road to Faranah is long and takes us most of the day. The roadside is a graveyard for dozens of cars, trucks and buses that have come to sticky ends in the ditch, a combination of poor maintenance and the manic driving tendencies of Guineans.
Our vehicle is an old Land Cruiser. It’s pretty beaten up and spongy in the suspension department, but it looks like it’ll cope with what’s probably ahead. I’m reassured by the driver, Diallo, who’s quiet, but looks determined and reliable.
We make Faranah by early evening. It’s the first town of any size on the river and the logical base for our attempt to get to the source. By chance we plump for a hotel that turns out to be a field away from the river. We grab cameras and run across the meadow to lay eyes on the object of our mission.
There it is: the Niger. It’s not much to look at at first: brown, languid, serene, not the mighty cataract I’d pictured. But it has a purpose about it, gurgling along, the swirling, eddying surface suggesting it may have some surprises in store for us. We snap off some shots, eager to capture those first moments.
The next morning we head out early. We’re making for the village of Koubikoro, where we hope to find a guide, leave the vehicle and set out on foot for the source. I hope we can get the vehicle that far. If we have to ditch it earlier, we’re in for a long walk and time is not on our side.
About 50km from Faranah, a dirt road branches off to Bambaya, the village before Koubikoro. Here we have to pass through an army and customs check point as we’re nearing the border with Sierra Leone. The first soldier to greet us looks angry and agressive. Here we go, I think. Welcome to the Wild West. But then the commandant arrives, an amiable looking man in impeccable uniform – and black welly boots. We tip him the equivalent of about 50p and he waves us on.
After Bambara the dirt road deteriorates. Soon Diallo is battling with the worst Africa can throw at him: giant potholes, large boulders, ruts, ditches – the works. He takes it all in his stride, impasive to the last. He doesn’t even break a sweat; I’m dripping.
Although the road is bad, the scenery is impressive. The forest is becoming increasingly jungular, and the trees are magnificent. Every few minutes the road passes over a small stream. Is that it? I wonder at each one. Is that the Niger?
The 17km to Koubikoro takes us over an hour. We arrive and instantly find ourselves mobbed by most of the village’s children. We’re brought before the ‘sous prefet’, the local administrator, whose permission it seems we need to continue. He looks at the paper we’ve brought from Conakry, our ‘ordre de mission’ stating what we’re doing in the area.
“This is no good,” he proclaims to our horror. “You need a stamp from the prefet in Faranah in order to proceed. I could let you go on, but I wouldn’t be doing my job.” He doesn’t look like a jobsworth, but this is exactly what he is. We try to argue with him. I even consider trying a bribe. But he’s just delivered his judgement in front of the whole village, so there will be no going back – except for us that is. All the way back to Faranah just to get someone’s signature.
On our way out of the village a young guy wanders up. We ask him if he knows Sori Keita, a local character who features in a book written by the American Mark Jenkins, who with three friends was the first to canoe the Niger’s headwaters. Sori was their guide to the source, and Dan and I had hoped to find him. “He’s my father,” the young man replies. “He’s not here at the moment. He’s in the next town.”
We give him a photocopy we’ve brought of the picture of Sori in Mark Jenkins’ book. “Tell him two white guys are looking for him and need some help getting to the source,” Dan says. Maybe our enforced return to Faranah won’t be such a bad thing after all.
Tags: Travel
djnorwood
November 29th, 2006 at 2:22 am
But you can’t just leave us is suspense like this! What happened next?! COME ON! Next bit of the story, please!!!