tacugama

What a wonderful experience we had today in visiting the Tacugama Chinpanzee Sanctuary.  This not-for-profit cares for up to eighty chimps at a time, and is involved in education, social change, policy advocacy, veterinary care, and long term housing for severely traumatised chimps.   

The adult chimps are often shot for bushmeat and as part of land clearing programs, leaving orphaned baby chimps to be sold to Sierra Leonians as pets.  Of course, these pets quickly grow to 60+ kilograms and have the strength of five men.  

The Tacugama sanctuary is set in the midst of pristine rainforest and provided a perfect habitat for these animals.  They have access to fifty hectares of forest, and the option to return to an enclosure for food and medication.  

Despite their humanoid features and cuddly appearance, these are very much wild animals. This was brought into stark focus a few years ago when a group of more than twenty escaped from the compound, attacking and murdering a taxi driver enroute down the steep access road.   They had worked out that throwing a metal pole onto the electric fence would short circuit the current, allowing them to climb out of the sanctuary easily.  

One of the vets and several guides gave us a fascinating insight into the complex social structures of these animals and the difficulties that they face in co-existing with their human neighbours. 

interpol

Our ride from Bo to Freetown was fast and uneventful, a delightful pleasure to be back on sealed roads with some nice scenery enroute.

We arrived in Freetown within three hours and set the GPS navigators to a nearby hotel.  Gary's bike was still overheating, so we needed to stop regularly in heavy Freetown traffic to replenish his radiator with water.

On one of these stops a portly gentleman introduced himself to us as an Interpol officer.  We initially laughed off his approach, until he produced ID and became very very serious; instructing us to accompany him to the CID headquarters down the street.  We were not able to get away with just one or two of us going (standard procedure to separate in times of potential trouble).  So, all four riders accompanied this officer and a colleague down the road and inside the high steel gates of the CID compound.

While Ty and Gary stayed with the bikes, James and I were paraded past a bewildering array of officers, repeating our story multiple times.  All of our papers were checked, rechecked, and checked again; presumably looking for any inconsistencies.   At the heart of the problem was the officers reluctance to believe that we were genuinely in Sierra Leone for tourism purposes.

After more than two hours of questioning, the officers eventually determined that we were too much trouble for them to worry about, and asked one of the female clerical staff to give us a 'clearance certificate' for 60,000 SLL per person (about $18) and then release us.  this kicked of another round of farce, as the clerical officer had obviously never heard of this 'clearance certificate'.  It was just something that the Interpol investigator had made up on the spot to give them a little something for their time.  After she had finished explaining that there was no code in the computer for this, and he had finished berating her, she eventually wrote out a form for us longhand, collected 60,000 SLL from each of us, and we were on our way.

Still, we were very amused to note that we actually got off lightly.  On the way to the hotel we observed another poor Sierra Leonian chap having his head vigorously and repeatedly slapped by a female policewoman who was obviously aggrieved by something that he had done.

sayonara Liberia and Gary takes a tumble

Revisiting the SL border post this morning, it was smiles all round from the friendly officials as they stamped us out and wished us well for our onward travels.  These guys had been super helpful trying to resolve the issues with Liberia yesterday, and we genuinely appreciated the assistance.

The SL border commandant called the Liberian side to re-confirm yesterday's agreed course of action - that Liberia would provide a military escort into Monrovia in order for us to continue our journey.

Sadly it seemed that the Liberian Deputy Commandant had had a change of heart overnight, and had now decided that we would need to return to Freetown for some additional visa requirements (a round trip of 700km and three days).  The SL official pleaded our case with him, but there was no budging.  He eventually suggested that he stamp us out and we approach this Dep Commandand directly on the Liberian side to plead our case. 

The 500m stretch across no man's land brought us to the Liberian side where we went through the obligatory Drug Enforcement checks and Ebola cleansing, and then lined up before the barrier to ask to speak with the Deputy Commandant.  

Within a minute, said gentleman strutted up to the barrier in combat fatigues and shouted in our faces "Why have you come, I told you entry was denied".   We attempted to reason with him by explaining our journey and that we were keen to experience Liberia as tourists. This only served to inflame him further, and he literally screamed that if we remained there then he would arrest us.  Faced with the prospect of 350km of hellish roads back into Sierra Leone, this had the potential to escalate quickly as Ty was quite ready to open fire on this deranged mini-Hitler. 

There was no real option other than to give in to Liberia's tourism anti-Christ and turn the bikes around to commence a long long journey back to Freetown.  

We made it as far as Bo before flat tyres, mechanical issues and sheer exhaustion got the better of us and we decided to stop for the night.  A local dude on a motorcycle offered an escort to a good hotel with a restaurant, so we followed him through the maze of streets along with the usual entourage of assorted hangers-on.  

One of these got a bit excited and tried to get too close to Gary's bike, squashing another scooter between his bike and Gary's.  This threw the woman and little girl riding the scooter off onto the roadway, and knocked Gary off into the verge where his helmet bounced off the road with an audible crack.  Luckily he broke his fall with his head, so no real harm done.  The little girl was just bumped and scratched, so we left before the real action kicked off. As we rode away, the mum was already pulling the other scooter rider off his bike and lamming into him as a large crowd assembled.  

We've finally arrived at a secure hotel with a nice restaurant and are looking forward to a big meal and a long sleep.  

welcome to Liberia (almost)

Dawn was just breaking as we rolled out of Kenema this morning in anticipation of 130km of dirt roads before reaching the Liberian border.  A short hour on tarmac thereafter should have had us in Monrovia for lunch.  

After a discrepancy between GPS device directions, we ended up taking a series of wrong turns and becoming hopelessly lost amidst the jungle trails.  Great riding though, with deep jungle on either side and narrow fast trails, log crossings, and all sorts of other fun stuff. 

It's amusing how you know that you can ride a motorcycle in a straight line, but faced with doing so along a rounded log over a drop into a murky river really gets the adrenalin pumping.  Every second that we spent training for this trip has paid off a thousandfold.  

The national highway between these two countries is an absolute disgrace.  Deeply rutted in places, it has eroded into an endless series of muddy undulations that send the bike swooping off the lip with a gut wrenching rush and then powering up the far side until the front wheel dances and skips for traction on the opposite side.  This process is repeated thousands of times along the length of this highway.   It is impossible to build and sort of rhythm to the riding as some of the dips contain dust, some contain water, some deep mud, and some a thin veneer of mud over visciously sharp rocks.  Each dip is deep enough to conceal a small car. 

After a minor sequence of issues (Ty hitting a rock and ripping off his footprint and centre stand, Gaz getting a flat tyre and taking a mud bath) we ended up arriving at the border around 5pm.  

After ten hours continuous riding, we arrived filthy and exhausted at the border post - only to be denied entry into Liberia.  It seems our data about visas on arrival for Liberia was flawed, and we may have needed to return all the way to Freetown along the same road in order to secure Liberian visas.  

The Sierra Leone exit official took pity on us and sought to intervene with the Liberian official, and they argued until 6pm when the Liberian official declared the border closed and went home. 

We have since been informed that there is an option to pay for an immigration escort from the border to the city for a visa, so we will go back again first thing tomorrow to try our luck again.  Any other option involves hundreds of kilometres in detours. 

The options in the border town are simple.  The guest house or our tents.  We have booked into the guest house, but I'm not sure it was the best deal. It does make you appreciate western infrastructure though, when you are taking a ladel shower from a bucket as a kid pumps water furiously from the well outside the window to fill the next bucket.   

nothing to report

It is pleasing to note that absolutely nothing happened today.  An early rise had us on the road by 7:30am and faced with a beautiful ribbon of tarmac all the way to Kenema in eastern Sierra Leone. 

The countryside here is dotted with large palm trees that lightly cover endless rolling green hills.  Whilst the flora is different species, you could easily mistake the region for Borneo, Nicaragua, or any other tropical climate.  Vegetation crowds the roadway closely, and small animals are very much evident.  

Our entry into Kenema was made in grand style after a pleasant chat with the police commandant checking papers on the outskirts of the city.  After a few minutes of pleasantries and posing for photos on the bikes, he decided that we warranted a police escort all the way to our planned hotel, so we raced through the streets unimpeded and in fine style.  

Kenema is a diamond rush city that has sprung up from the rich alluvial soil found in this region.  Diamonds are easily found here, and this has attracted the inevitable mix of big and small players, along with the service industries that accompany any boom town. It has a distinctly Wild West feel about the place along with a reputation for blood diamonds finding their way into the world market.  

 

  

lovely leone

We encountered an interesting issue when preparing to leave Conakry this morning.  All of us needed some additional local currency to carry on, so two of us attended an ATM (one of only three in the city). 

I inserted Gary's card first, but there was no response from the machine.  James then observed alarmingly that the card hole had been butchered, and the card basically just fell into the machine. He placed his eye to the slot and exclaimed "hey, there's someone inside the machine."  

As it turns out, he was inside to repair the machine and quite cranky about a couple of white men raining cards on him.  He was muttering at us as he handed the card back. Surely an 'out of order' sign might have been a good idea, because a Guinean woman did precisely the same thing as we left.  

We eventually did find an ATM, and successfully withdrew two million (yes, two million) francs each.  Of course, our hotel room cost 800,000 and the remainder has gone on fuel and food over the past 24 hours. 

A slow ride along a terrible road surface led us to the Guinea - Sierra Leone border.  What a pleasant surprise this turned out to be, as we were greeted with unrestrained joy by everyone from the customs staff to the border police. The Sierra Leonians are loud, boisterous, mischevious, and fun-loving in the extreme.  We told our travel story a dozen times to a dozen officials throughout the process, each one calling in colleagues and guffawing with laughter.  

One of the gendarmes asked who was the boss, and we replied "no one".  He struggled with this concept, and quizzed each of us regarding our age, marital status and children.  After careful consideration, he declared that Ty should be referred to as the 'chief' because he was the fattest and had the most children.  Yeah, right .... not going to happen.  

Sierra Leone was one of the countries that we had been quite concerned about, given a lengthy civil war, the Ebola virus, and the level of general poverty.  In fact, the town that we are staying in tonight was the epicentre of the Ebola contagion in Sierra Leone (now completely cleared by the World Health Organisation).  

Despite this, the government is now stable, infrastructure spending is going towards roads and other economic multipliers, and the people are upbeat about the country's future. 

It has been interesting to speak with some of the locals (creole English is the norm here) about how the virus has shaped their cultural norms.  Right across Africa, any human encounter opens with a hearty handshake. In SL, in deference to the Ebola virus, they simply punch hands near one another without actually touching. Several people have been apologetic for the lack of handshake, noting that they were extremely pleased to meet us anyway.  

our reward

Today must have been the reward for struggling through yesterday.  Road conditions were absolutely excellent and we raced along on beautiful tarmac all the way from Boke to Conakry. 

Crossing a series of quaint arched metal-paved bridges, we were treated to African life on the river edges below as kids played in the water and women beat washing dry on the rocks.  It looked idyllic. 

Our destination for the night was Conakry, the capital of Guinea.   

As we rode into the city outskirts, Gary's radiator gave up entirely.  It had been leaking for some time and Gary had been stopping every 50km to refill the radiator. Fortunately a roadside mechanic directed us to a radiator doctor who (after three failed attempts) managed to braze a patch over the leaking section. 

Whilst this was underway, Ty entertained the locals with a series of ever more outlandish lies, not realising that many of the group were face-booking his comments live.  As a direct result, nearly three hundred people showed up to meet this superstar in the flesh.  The police attended to quell the mob (literally) and he barely escaped with the clothes on his back. 

James and I had escaped earlier to find a hotel for the night, so Ty and Gary were left to ride together to our nominated coordinates. This should have been an easy activity had the pair not encountered a bolshy taxi driver who ended up clipping Gary's bike deliberately and pitching him into the street.  The taxi bolted quickly, leaving Ty and passers-by to pick up Gaz, dust him off, and put him back on two wheels. 

Despite a minor bingle, this was a lovely day on the bikes and we are looking forward to entering Sierra Leone tomorrow. 

in the company of friends

Yesterday started as a gentle melody and built to a cymbal-crashing crescendo that continued late into the night.  After many years of adventure motorcycling, it was one of the toughest 24 hours we have ever experienced.  

The day started well, with a visit to the very amiable Guinean consul, who filled all the necessary paperwork for our border crossing and had us on our way in short order.   

Similarly, the ride out from Bissau along tarmac that wound its way through stands of fruit trees was one of the most pleasurable of the journey so far. 

Upon reaching Bambadinca in north eastern Guinea Bissau, we turned right and headed down towards the international border via Kitiara.  The road wound its way along a river system that clearly supports a great deal of life in the region.  

A brief roadside stop turned into something of a treat, as we observed a village hut being built using all natural materials. The chap doing the construction was happy to illustrate his technique, and it is amazing that these structures are completely dry and waterproof once completed.  

We have now entered the region where we should start to see some mega-fauna.  Signage illustrates their corridors and we had our eyes open (in vain) hoping for a glimpse of something.  

Several hours later saw us round a bend in the river and be presented with the gorgeous vista of water cascading down rocks, and the squeals of excited children splashing in deep rock pools.  The water tumbled and bubbled its way over a series of small waterfalls before dropping under a bridge and into a broad lake.

We used the opportunity to rest both bikes and riders, washing in the cool clear water and refilling all drinking bottles.  Water is a precious commodity here, and it's important never to miss an opportunity to stock up.   

A passerby indicated that there was a lodge nearby, so Ty loaded the chap on the side of his bike to help with directions and we set off in search of a snack and a place to put our feet up for a while. 

From this point onward though, our day spiralled out of control very quickly.   

The road out to the international border deteriorated into little more than a narrow track that wound its way through denser and denser jungle until branches whipped the bikes viciously, eventually snatching the side pannier of my bike and wrenching me off. No damage to speak of, as the Hepco Becker pannier latches gave way (as designed) and were simple to reattach once the bike was upright again.  More damaging was the ribald teasing and the cost of a round of margaritas owed to the team.  

The international border was nothing more than a hut that looked like any other village dwelling, and we dismounted and discussed our forward travel plans with the commandant. We were very dismayed to hear that the border had been closed two years ago due to ebola and border violence. To reroute would involve a 400+km detour back up to Bambadinca and around.  

After some discussion, the Guinea Bissau commandant stated that he would allow us to proceed into Guinea, but that we would be unable to return if we ran into trouble.  An interesting dilemma.  430km reroute back and around our destination, or 100km forward with a higher degree of uncertainty.  We took option B, and headed into no man's land between the two countries.  

The track very quickly deteriorated into a deeply rutted mess that severely challenged both bike and rider.  Gary tumbled hard down a deep ditch, smashing his windscreen and side mirror with his head.  He speared off the track and into the jungle leaving only the tail of his bike and the tail of his trousers hanging out.  Fortunately, apart from a bit of ketchup on his forehead and leg, there was no significant damage.  Quick repairs and on the track again. 

Twice more Gary tumbled as the track required riding on narrow ridges between deep ruts.  There is a high degree of technical difficulty (and risk) in this type of riding, because a slight wobble means a steep drop off and a heavy fall.   There is no option to put your feet down for balance as deep ruts on either side of the ridge await.  Each fall fatigues the rider, with corresponding aches, pains and loss of confidence.  As a result, one fall often begets another, and another. 

On reaching the Guinea border, we were intercepted by two military guys manning the border post. They were surprised to see four white guys arrive at this location, but this changed to astonishment when we indicated that we were tourists.  Apart from UN and military personnel, no one had crossed this border in years. 

Approximately 30km of rough track led us down to a furnicular river crossing, the cable drawn by a geriatric old diesel engine mounted to one side of the barge.  A slippery rocky slope to enter the barge and a slippery muddy embankment to exit meant fun for all. 

Darkness comes quickly in the jungle, and within minutes we were riding under a watery red moon and still facing 90km of unknown terrain.  The only light comes from the occasional cooking fire and the bikes' powerful spotlamps.   Track conditions were very challenging, and we were rarely able to exceed 20km/hr. 

We were passed from one military checkpoint to another, with each commandant carefully scrutinising all of our paperwork, and one insisting that we completely unload the panniers for inspection.  Fortunately our hiding spots for currency survived the inspection, and the weapons don't even raise an eyebrow in this country.  In fact, the military were initially suspicious, but were eventually very accomodating once they accepted that we really were tourists.  

Anyone who has followed our blog for the past years will know that we spend a lot of time on pre-trip risk management.  Many scenarios are considered before each trip, each with detailed contingency plans.  As a result, we have dealt in the past with accidents, mechanical problems, severe weather conditions, and other challenges quickly and efficiently.  

Occasionally however a perfect storm occurs.  This was the case last night, as we traversed a quarantine area known for civil unrest; along very difficult terrain; at night; whilst already fatigued.   I guess our risk tolerance is reasonably high, but coming across soldiers in the middle of the jungle in near absolute darkness is very frightening, and you realise just how far from the safety of family and loved ones that you have taken yourself.  All four of us had to dig very deep to ride through this and did not arrive in Boke until 1am, after 14 hours of continuous travel. 

number 41 please

how hot?

We were really struggling with the heat in Senegal yesterday - but now we know why.  It was 48 degrees.  

a false start

A quick breakfast this morning had us on the road by 7:30am, and headed as quickly as possible for the Guinea-Bissau border.  The crossing was less than 20km from the hotel, so we anticipated leaving Senegal altogether by 8am. 

It wasn't to be that easy, as we were promptly turned around by the Gendarmerie as we approached, and told to return to Ziguinchor to have visas issued for Guinea-Bissau.  So much for visa-on-arrival amongst the ECOWAS nations.  Visa fees were also supposed to have been abolished altogether effective January this year, but clearly that policy setting has not yet been communicated to the local consul because he cheerfully levied us 20,000 CFA each in order to process the visa applications. 

Then again, that's a better deal than the one generously offered by a gentleman in the courtyard of the Consulate.  He claimed to be able to process our visas for just 50,000 in total, had a sister in Sydney and was super keen to help. Despite his lovely demeanour, a quiet enquiry with people standing outside told us that he is a 'bandit' and would walk in the front door of the Consul then straight out the back door with our 50,000 in his pocket. 

village life

FWhat an awesome ride we have had this afternoon since entering Guinea Bissau. The people here seem genuinely friendly, and within an amazingly short period of time the landscape changed to lush forest of fruit trees, punctuated by regular majestic elm trees that resemble the magic faraway tree. They air is redolent with the scent of the fruit as you ride, and the reddish orange flesh has the texture of a mango but tastes like a fruit cocktail.  Not at all acidic, the fruit is very sweet and contains an incredible amount of juice. 

Our usual practice is to stop the bikes for a rest and rehydration break every 50km or so.  On the last break, we stopped the bikes under a canopy of mopani branches and parked them on the soft carpet of leaves.  Kids are scampering around everywhere picking the fruit, and passing adults stop briefly to smile and shake hands before moving on. 

We were intrigued by some distant African music so decided to investigate.  After dropping a GPS pin to ensure that we could find our way back to the bikes, we set off into the forest on foot. Walking along faint leafy trails under trees, we followed a winding path for perhaps half a kilometre before emerging into a small village where preparations for a wedding ceremony were underway.  The men were all congregated under the largest tree discussing men's business, and the women were busy attending to the bride in an open-sided kraal.  People stared in amazement as we walked out of the forest, but there were cheery grins all round. 

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The city of Bissau is evidently much wealthier than its nearby neighbours.  Construction is to a generally higher standard, and the Portuguese influence is pervasive.  More than just language; it also extends to the architecture, cuisine,  and daily life.

Our welcome to Bissau came in the form of a veritable giant of a man in a policeman said uniform who strenuously waved us to the side of the road.  This gentleman made Ty look like Melody in flat shoes, and had a chest like a Brahmin bull.  He strutted across the road to us, traffic weaving around him in deference to his sheer mass. As soon as we switched off the bike engines, he threw us an almighty parody of a salute, complete with heels  clicked together, and boomed out "hallo boss" in a basso profundo voice that could be heard in the next province.  

We were a bit worried about his intentions, but his smile was as big as his stature. He just wanted to say hello in English, envelop us in a smashing handshake, and then say "allez" (go). 

route so far

again

Oh - and James dumped his bike -again.  The poor old Africa Twin clearly finds this type of adventure travel a bit much, and tends a lie down quite regularly for a rest.  

This one actually occurred as he turned into the hotel driveway.  Soft sand, tired and a bad temper quickly added up to a face plant in the sand.  

The timing was perfect however, as the others were all faced with the prospect of paying for their own drinks that night.  Under our long-standing agreement, each splat required shouting a round of margarita cocktails for the group, so it was a timely tumble.  

unique interior

Arriving in Tambacounda well after dark last night, we had failed to appreciate how unique the surroundings were.  Perhaps being forced to travel around The Gambia has been serendipitous, as we might otherwise have missed seeing the Senegalese interior.  Life here appears to have escaped modernity entirely, with family units housed in traditional kraals consisting of hard packed dirt and mud brick dwellings with thatched roofs. 

Kids scamper about in ragtag or no clothing, and the women cart amazing loads balanced on their heads, walking sedately in that graceful African manner.  Water is drawn by hand from a central village well, and lights out occurs as soon as the sun sets.  

Of course, lights out doesn't mean everyone goes to bed.  Rather, these Senegalese villages really come to life after dark when the sun is no longer blazing overhead and temperatures are less scorching.  

Groups of people mill around roadside, often observed more as rows of bobbing white teeth than any other distinguishable form. 

Greetings are always cheery, either in Wolof or an occasional "bonjour" from someone acknowledging that we are obviously foreigners.  Brief pauses for fuel invariably involve a gaggle of kids competing for attention, and a few shy adults getting a closer look at us. 

Whilst we will be glad to get back to the coastline for some cooler temperatures, it has been a real privilege to see this part of the world.

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What a difference an afternoon and a few hundred kilometres can make.  Our reroute around The Gambia has taken us directly through the Casemance region of Senegal.  

Smarttraveller.gov.au helpfully advises "The security situation in Casamance is unpredictable with the possibility of clashes between separatist rebels and government forces. There are landmines in some parts of the region and armed bandits operate in the area. If you do decide to travel to the Casamance region, you should exercise extreme caution."  

I'm surprised that rebels or bandits can get away with anything at all here.  Entry is via a single road in and out, with grim military personnel everywhere.  Ty was particularly dismayed after his bike backfired loudly in the vicinity of a 50-Calibre machine gun mounted on the back of an armoured vehicle. One round from that sucker would have obliterated the little KLR altogether.  

The friendly Senegalese smiles are completely absent here, and it is clearly a region experiencing some challenges.  People don't generally meet your eye, or if they do, then it is only to stare back in a wide eyed challenge. 

Travelling through this particular region in daylight is tricky, but downright silly at night time, so we have stopped in Zuiginchor for the night.  Our lodgings are basic to say the least, and the first dive into the swimming pool would result in a mouthful of brackish water and a cracked head.  The inhouse dinner menu was refreshingly simply "poisson au poulet" (fish or chicken).  None of us were brave enough to ask for a side salad or dessert.  

We will all be glad to get out of this place tomorrow.  It has the same feel as Downtown LA, Tondo in Manila or Guatemala City.  People stare at you impassively, and there is a general air of menace.  Up at first light and headed towards the border for Guinea-Bissau which is less than 50km away. 

one down

OAfter a quick breakfast, we headed back down the same road as yesterday, retracing our steps on a 700km detour to go around The Gambia. 

It was going to be a long day in the saddle, so we were pressing the bikes a bit harder than usual to make Tambacounda this evening. Unfortunately, we had just come of me the dirt and onto the tarmac when James' front tyre suffered a catastrophic failure, throwing him onto the road surface at more than 100km/hr. 

Bike and rider slid to a stop over several hundred metres, and it was a tossed coin as to which was the sorrier site.  Both have a chunk of cosmetic damage, but closer inspection seems to indicate that both are repairable. 

James has skin off on his hip, buttocks and arm.  This has been treated with the magic antiseptic powder which stings like hell when applied, and a road rash dressing on his hip. 

The bike's tumble has broken the front tyre, handlebars, spotlamps, left pannier and front brake reservoir.  Parts for these bikes are not an option in Africa, so the best that we can hope for us a jury-rigged bike and rider that might allow us to continue.  Otherwise the trip for this year ends in Kaolack, Senegal.

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Well, astonishingly both James and bike have been patched up sufficiently to continue. He's still missing some bark, and the bike looks like a Mad Max prop, but we will be able to try and make Tabacounda later tonight. 

A small village of local mechanics and hangers-on assembled around the bike, and spare parts were either found or manufactured to patch up the Africa Twin. Ingenuity and enthusiasm were plentiful, but actual mechanical aptitude was sorely lacking, so a close supervisory eye was required to ensure that the wheels didn't end up above the handlebars.  Ty turned his back at one point and a helpful soul started dismantling sundry other parts and panels that were not even damaged.  A combination of laughing, snatching tools back from eager hands, and at one point a headlock eventually constrained their help to only that which was absolutely necessary. 

Half a day has been wasted, and it is currently 44 degrees outside, so we have retired to an air conditioned restaurant to escape the early afternoon blazing heat. Hopefully we will then make it into Tabacounda before dark this evening.