A day in Rabat

Getting around West Africa is a pain. After my last assignment in Guinea, a colleague had to return to his home in Burkina Faso. Look up Conakry and Ouagadougou on a map – they are not far apart. But to fly from one to the other? The best route available was Conakry (Guinea) – Bamako (Mali) – Abidjan (Ivory Coast) – Lome (Togo) – Niamey (Niger) – Ouagadougou (Burkina). A week later I had to fly from Dakar to Yaoundé in Cameroon. My trip wasn’t as complicated, but I had to choose between an overnight flight to Nairobi, that is from the far west coast of the continent to the far east coast, and from there back to Yaoundé, or an early morning flight to Casablanca, an 11-hour wait and then a night flight arriving at Yaoundé at 04:30 in the morning. I chose the latter, it being slightly cheaper.

This had the advantage however that the 11-hour wait in Casablanca enabled me to leave the airport and get on the train to Rabat, the Moroccan capital. A two-hour train ride away, but well worth it.


Rabat is a wonderful city. I started my whirlwind tour at the oldest part, the Roman ruins at the site of Chellah, where there are also remains of an Islamic minaret and necropolis from many centuries later, all surrounded by a thick, turreted wall. Another attraction there is the collection of white stork nests in the trees and on the tops of the minaret and other ruins.
It is mating season right now, and there was a constant soundtrack of clacking bills of the mating stork couples. I saw them do this whilst in the act of mating, but also noticed that when a stork returned to its partner at the nest, both would throw their heads right back and make this clacking sound.

From Chellah I wandered through the immaculate administrative quarter of the city to Tour Hassan. This is the stump of a minaret – intended to have been the tallest in the world but never finished as Yacoub al-Mansour died in 1199 before completing it. The adjacent mosque was destroyed in the 1755 earthquake but the minaret stump remains, together with a forest of ruined columns and a beautiful marble mausoleum alongside it for Mohammed V.

From there through the old souk, rushing a bit as time was moving on but I had to stop to eat, some delicious fresh sardines with aubergine and tasty bread, followed by some juice and mint tea in a café beside the river, from where I could gaze at the fortifications of the old kasbah. I’d intended to visit the Andalusian gardens and the museum inside the royal palace, but in the end just had time for a quick ten minute walk around the streets of the kasbah, all painted blue and white and immaculately maintained, before rushing back to the train station for the two hour ride back to the airport.


You often hear stories of hassle in Morocco (although I must say I don’t remember much of that from a holiday there 15 years ago) but there was none at all in Rabat. Just smiles and a few officials saying “welcome to Morocco”. I have to hope that this rather inconvenient route is still the cheapest when I go back to Cameroon next year, as want to go back for another day in Rabat.

Street protests

It never felt very likely that the unrest in the Arab countries would spread to sub-Saharan Africa, although I’ve heard many wishing for it. However the authorities are clearly nervous.

There are to be a number of demonstrations here in Dakar tomorrow, one to mark the 11th anniversary of the election of the current president, and others by various opposition groups, but demonstrations are not that unusual here. However, I was surprised to see on TV the other night a broadcast, like an advert, clearly addressing those planning to attend the demonstrations. “Stop violence” it started, with pictures of peaceful demonstrators behind the message. Then it went on to demand respect for the law, protection of the country’s stability and the need to keep the peace, ending finally with a demand to “Say no to violence”. The whole thing lasted for at least two minutes.

It’s true that there are many problems facing people here in addition to the ongoing issues that go with underdevelopment. As in the rest of the world, food prices keep rising - I guess this is the issue hurting people most at present. Unemployment is very high, particularly in the capital. & adding to the frustrations are the power cuts. We are used to having a couple of months with sporadic power cuts during the rainy season, but now we have power only around 50% of the day and this has been going on since last summer. It started with the purchase by the national electricity company of some dodgy fuel which damaged the generating plant, but subsequent audits have revealed delapidated machinery resulting from years of inadequate maintenance, plus a financial structure which means they are losing some $300,000 per day (as the electricity costs more to generate than they are selling it for – and it would not be a good time to put the price up!). No-one really knows when the issues will be resolved.

However, the Senegalese do not suffer from the political and social repression of many Arab countries. There is a free (and very vocal) press here, there is a real democracy, which the next elections due in 2012. & there is free association – people have the right to march, to demonstrate. Unfortunately though when the people are frustrated and angry, as they are now, demonstrations that start off peacefully can turn a bit nasty. We’ve had plenty of tires burnt in previous marches (why do people burn tires?), windows smashed, and even recently a bus was burnt in a protest about the energy situation (why a bus? how does that hurt the electricity company?). The police often get out the tear gas.

So whilst I don’t fear a full-scale revolt a la Libya, I think I may be staying indoors tomorrow.

Update since I drafted this last night: an email from the British Embassy warning us to avoid crowds and demonstrations because of potential violence.

After the five years

I know that some of you are aware that my time out here - the five year contract that seemed like forever - is due to finish in less than six months. So I thought I should let you know that we have just agreed to extend my contract here for a further year. Another year after that might also be possible but seven years is the maximum time they allow in one location.

In the meantime though if colleagues in Panama or Nairobi should decide to move on, I would certainly apply for the vacancy. I have enjoyed living and travelling here, and would miss the region dreadfully if I moved, but at the same time I would like to see some new countries and cultures, so South America or East Africa would be good. & I do have to think of my future - another five year contract would be nice!

But anyway, for now I am due to remain here in Senegal until the end of August 2012, which at least gives me a bit of stability in the short term. More time in which to think about what I am going to do in the longer term. In some ways, a couple of years backpacking sounds very tempting ... but I'm a bit worried about what happens afterwards.

Suggestions/comments on a postcard please!

Reading Graham Greene

I’ve been reading Greene’s “Journey Without Maps” as a companion to my current trip. He travelled from Freetown to Kailahun (in Sierra Leone) and across the border at Foya to Liberia, from there into Guinea and finally back into Liberia and down to the coast. For most of the four-week trip he was trekking through the forest with a retinue of porters.

He writes of the villages and the forest, of the rats and cockroaches in the former and the ants and boredom in the latter. He writes about the "devils" and the secret societies, but above all about the feeling of being a European in Africa. About the fear and the exhilaration that come, at the same time, from the absence of the European culture. Of the feeling I know so well that the heat, the unavoidable presence of the natural world, above all perhaps the rhythms (both in the sense of the natural rhythms of day and night, of sleeping and waking, but also of the rhythm of the drums) somehow bring us back to our origins. Of the supernatural that seems to be everywhere in Africa, the belief in witches and devils and good and bad spirits that you cannot get away from.

& I felt as though I was experiencing so much of the same, some 80 years later. I had travelled from Freetown to the Gola Forest on the borders of Liberia, to trek for three days in the forest, with porters carrying my tent and luggage. After the forest came a journey to Kailahun, and from there across the border at Foya into Liberia, and up into Guinea.


We had passed a masked devil parading through a village as we drove towards the forest, on his way with his attendants towards an initiation ceremony. & as I read about the rats running round at night in Greene's hut, I thought of the rat I discovered in my bedroom in Dakar last month (I turned my bedside light on to see what was making a noise and found myself staring at a rat), and like Greene I had felt somehow safe from it when I tucked my mosquito net in around me. I even found myself, as we drove past a steep-sided rocky hill in Guinea, being told by my guide the same tale that Greene had been told when he visited a high waterfall in Liberia - the tale of how humans used to be sacrificed there until the day when the person being sacrificed, as they were being pushed off the top, grabbed hold of the robe of the chief standing beside them and pulled the chief to his death too.

Of course Greene's situation was very different from mine. He had never been to Africa before yet set off on foot into the heart of a region where there was hardly any hint of European civilisation or culture to be found. I had the benefit of guide books and maps, and did the first part (the time off in the forest) with a well-known local guide and the second part (the journey up-country into Guinea) in a nice 4x4 with a driver from my NGO.

Times have changed too - I did not have to go and give presents to a chief every time we drove through a village. But the feeling of Africa to a European, at least to this one, remains the same. Whether "Heart of Darkness" or "Journey without Maps" it is still to travel to the origins of mankind, to the place where we come closest to our roots in the natural world. It is what I love about Africa.

River No 2 Beach

My colleague got up earlier than the rest of us and walked along the beach to the spot where the fishermen come in. He examined the catch and chose three plump fish which he purchased for our lunch, before he joined us on the little terrace for breakfast: fresh mango, scrambled eggs and toast with coffee.

Then two of us decided to take the boat trip up the river. The boat was moored where the river joins the beach, where it twists and turns through the white sand, watched by herons and flocks of royal terns resting on the sandbars. We stepped gingerly into the boat, and the boatman started to row us upstream, firmly and rhythmically, the paddle first one side of the boat then the other, so we glided smoothly through the water. The white sand quickly gave way to mangroves, and the terns were replaced by blue-cheeked bee-eaters hunting insects over the river.

It didn’t take all that long (not as long as I would have liked) for us to reach the waterfall. Or rather, the jumble of rocks that separates the fresh water river from the salty tidal lower reaches. Only for a few months, during the height of the rainy season, is it a true waterfall.
But we moored the boat and scrambled up the rocks, to the deep, clear pool at the top. A giant monitor lizard that had been sunning itself lumbered off into the forest, and we were keeping our eyes peeled for the monkeys that sometimes go to that area to fish, apparently using their tails as bait. We saw a couple eventually, on the way back, but they were not, unfortunately, fishing.

As soon as I could after we got back to the mouth of the river I was in the water. The tide was going out which meant that the river water was flowing quickly towards the sea. I floated on the surface, with the current pulling me along, around a couple of meanders and into the slightly turbulent bit where the water is so shallow that it bubbles around between the sandy humps on the bottom, turning me 360° before I continued my journey towards the sea. Finally I stood up (the water only up to my knees) and waded out and up the bank so as to go back for another go.

I know I've written about this place before (Beaches and Islands, 8/4/10), but it is good enough to write about twice. There really are not many things in life that beat drifting down River No. 2 in Sierra Leone, between the white sand banks, with the waves breaking onto the beach in one direction and the lush green jungle-covered hills in the other.

A vibrant music scene

One of the attractions of West Africa for me is the music. It is true that many of the best musicians can be seen frequently in London, but still there is something to be said for seeing them perform on their home turf, with a crowd that understands the words and the sentiments behind those words.

In December when I was in Mali I saw Djelimady Tounkara put on a great performance at the French Cultural Centre, but I was particularly looking forward to getting back to Dakar for the Third Global Black Arts Festival. The music part of the schedule looked fantastic with well known black artists from around the world coming to do free shows in Dakar. However it must be said that the organisation (or the schedule writing) left something to be desired as few evenings delivered exactly what they promised.

First I went to see Angelique Kidjo – to be faced with some mediocre band from Martinique. With, bizarrely, Angelique Kidjo dancing at the side of the stage. Perhaps she’d lost her voice? There was no explanation, either from the compère or on the website. After that I’d planned to attend an evening of Gnawa music with Orchestre National de Barbes, until I rechecked the schedule before going and found the latter group had disappeared from it.

I faced a dilemma then with Tiken Jah Fakoly and Salif Keita scheduled for 29 December and King Sunny Ade for the 30th. All big names that I really wanted to see, but they fell in the middle of a two-week period when I had planned to be in the Gambia. Was it worth returning to Dakar for concerts that were just as likely to not happen?

Well I decided to take the chance that at least one of them would play and travelled back to Dakar on the 29th for Tiken Jah Fakoly and Salif Keita.

I got to the square early (twenty minutes before the scheduled 19:00 start) to get a good place at the front. Around 20:15 the compère appeared; “tonight we are going to welcome Youssou N’Dour … and Tiken Jah Fakoly!” he announced. I was disappointed, not just by the absence of Salif Keita but also by the addition of Youssou N’Dour to the bill. I don’t like his voice and had no interest in standing through two hours of him on stage, but worse, I know how popular he is with the Senegalese and feared how many people might turn up as word got out.

Sure enough, more and more people came, and the square got more and more packed in with people. I was being pulled to and fro by the crowd, and could also feel myself being pushed gradually forward towards the railings. I didn’t feel totally safe there, so decided to move further back. Meanwhile the compère appeared again, to remind us that we were waiting for Youssou N’Dour and Tiken Jah Fakoly – and for Salif Keita! Great news!

Finally, at 21:15, Youssou N’Dour came on. The crowd continued to build up as he sang, and I realised I was now a lone female amongst pushing, shoving Senegalese men of mostly six foot plus. I felt less and less comfortable, it was getting hot and hard to breathe, and I’d felt a couple of attempts to grope me. I tried to get out of the crowd but couldn’t push my way through – and the next thing I knew I was being half led and half carried out by someone, having apparently fainted. The kind man behind me who’d caught me as I fell, pushed his way through the crowd for me (getting abuse from some people) and also got me some water when we got out.

I found a place to sit and recover, and bought a chicken sandwich for energy – I realised that having been travelling all the day back from the Gambia I had not eaten since breakfast, no wonder I hadn't had the strength to push through the crowd.

Finally Tiken Jah Fakoly came on, and I went back into the crowd – but only to the edge, just close enough to get a view of the stage. He was superb, made it worth the effort to be there. He finished at 2am (so I’d been on my feet there for seven hours!), and there was no sign of Salif Keita afterwards – and, as with Angelique Kidjo, no explanation from anyone as to why not.

So the next night I gathered my strength – relieved to be assured by people that it was only the presence of Youssou N’Dour who could draw the enormous crowd of the night before.

The compère appeared. “Tonight”, he said, “we will welcome Idrissa Diop, 2 Faces and Vivian N’Dour!”. So no King Sunny Ade, which was very disappointing although hardly a surprise. But I was there, I had a good place at the front, so I decided to stay. Idrissa Diop wasn’t bad, but 2 Faces was awful, although clearly adored by the screaming girls around me. If you can’t sing, just keep shouting “I love you Senegal” and the crowd will be happy, it seems.

But then a big surprise – Salif Keita! I don’t like all of his recorded music but had heard he is great live, and he was. Finally then the highlight for many Senegalese that evening, Vivian N’Dour, who actually put on a superb show although I’m not a great fan of mbalax. But I still couldn’t help wondering whatever had happened to King Sunny Ade.

Christmas Day 2010

I woke shortly before 7am, for an early morning walk when the forest and the birds were just waking up. The mist was clearing from the river and a pair of Verreaux’s eagle owls sat in a baobab tree grunting at the group of tourists admiring them from below.

Finally back to the camp for breakfast, then a lazy morning reading a novel, with the occasional swim in the pool to cool off. In the afternoon the camp owner suggested a fishing trip on the river. Arriving at a suitable spot, we (well, those who knew what they were doing) attached the lures to the fishing rods and we made slow circles around the river, waiting for the fish to bite. They didn’t, but who cared? We enjoyed watching the African harrier hawks hunting over the water, and the red colobus monkeys moving about the trees on the bank.

Finally back to camp for a shower before dinner. The owner had moved the table and chairs out onto the little wooden fishing jetty so that we could dine under the stars, and one of the other four tourists there produced a bottle of champagne for us all to share. It wasn’t exactly a traditional Christmas meal – we had spaghetti bolognese followed by flambed bananas – but it was one of the most enjoyable I have had.

My fellow tourists were contemplating their flights home, hoping that Europe’s snow had begun to clear. I had a long, uncomfortable shared taxi ride back home to Dakar, but with the knowledge that blue skies and warm sunshine would continue for me until the rains come next July.

Oh, where was I? In The Gambia, at the Bird Safari Camp on Jangjangbureh Island, taking a short break. A beautiful place although I’d be giving too one-sided a picture if I didn’t mention the voracious mosquitoes that have left me with dozens of red and itching bites as my souvenir.