Cooling the truck

People on the road

People on the road

People on the road

I slipped Nassirou 5,000 CFA, he paid for dinner, he handed me back 2,500 CFA, and we headed back to the truck. When he didn’t stop the truck at the other side of town I asked Nassirou where exactly we were going. He said “Dosso”. I didn’t know where that was and my maps were in the back of the truck, but he knew I was headed for Cotonou so I wasn’t concerned.

We didn’t talk much. I found out he works for a “patron” who has three trucks, that he isn’t married but has a “copine” and a 7 year old son with an absolutely fabulous name I’m frustrated to have forgotton, that he travels all over West Africa delivering just about anything, and that his next delivery was to Cotonou. We drove all night, through towns that smelled of onions with streets stacked row upon row for hundreds of meters with sacks waiting for transport, through areas that smelled strongly of flowers, and through a countryside I could only hear and smell and feel. My contribution amounted to asking pertinent and engaging questions about once an hour just to be sure he was still awake. “Ca va”? “Oui, ca va”. “Tu veut du l’eau”? “Non”. “Tu dorme dans les hotels pendant une voyage”? “Non, pas des hotels. Sur le camion! C’est Afrique”!

Dosso

Huts

Cows

Sandcastle

People on the road

I mounted one of my big, fat dirt tires on the rear hub, removed the rear fender to make room for it, and then discovered that a minor error in the frame configuration, a crossbar located just 1/2 an inch too close to the rear hub, would never allow this tire to fit on this bike. I needed a welding shop or a smaller tire, I was on a deserted road, and I was a long, long walk from anywhere.

written by  roel krabbendam on February 10, 2007 from Abalak, Niger
from the travel blog: Harmattan
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Birds over Assamakka

Kung fu kids

Overloaded truck

Most foreigners experience nothing but this clamorous assault in their brief passage through this place, and since I couldn’t even find Assamaka with Google Earth, I wasn’t expecting much either. In our two day stay in Assamaka waiting for a guide to accompany us to Arlit (who knew?), we found however the most wonderful people and unexpectedly had a spectacular time.

Hauling bricks

When it was clear the authorities would hold our papers until a guide arrived, Wolf found the nearest bar, started up some Malian blues on the speakers and started a party. Nine young Frenchmen joined us, then all those kids, then even their parents, and it didn’t take long before we were all dancing and jumping around.

Marie and the kids

I keeled from dizziness swinging kids around in circles, Wolf filmed this and that, the bar owner cooked us a nice dinner of rice and mutton, the French contributed wine in honor of a birthday, Ahmed made tea Algerienne, and we finally pitched our tents at the bar and expired.

Hauling water

A gentleman came up to me the next morning to shake my hand and thank me for playing with his kids: the first white guy to ever do so. Then he asked me for a cadeau.

Contraband diesel

The guides the French had arranged arrived, we were not listed on their manifest, the authorities would not release our papers, Ahmed had a little chat with them in private, and we were on our way. It cost him 2 euro per person.

Kite flying

Desert piste outside Assemakka

In fact, the piste is pretty easy to follow, with few diversions and alternatives. We got bogged in the sand only twice, and though adjusting tire pressure to match the circumstances is a time consuming project, we made reasonable time. We stopped once to greet a couple of trucks we had seen leaving Assamaka and now stopped for lunch, but again the crews had rocks in their hands when we approached and we kept the interaction short (!!!!) The two Toyota Land Cruisers with machine guns mounted on the truck beds filled with soldiers we had seen earlier were long gone and no help.

Uranium Tailings at Arlit

The sun set on the surreal mountains of uranium tailings from the mines at Arlit, and we entered the town in darkness. Low, dark, teeming with people, it is impossible to understand or to convey an image from such a drive-through. We asked for the road to Agadez, rolled up to a police post, and were told that we could go no further. Three policemen and five Tuareg had been killed the night before in a gun Battle either on the road or in Ifraouine along the way.

We camped at the police post, I beat Wolf at chess yet again, and we were allowed to proceed early the next morning after paying 200 euro for road usage in Niger. When we discovered the paved road closed for resurfacing, Wolf ignored the diversion sign and continued on the road bed until a Toyota pickup truck with armed guard and some very upset road engineers accosted us and demanded a fine. Again Ahmed intervened, somehow convincing them that though we had indeed sinned, the exorbitant amount we had paid to drive on that road certainly demanded some consideration. After some heated debate we were allowed to proceed, on the dirt side road this time. Just 2 kilometers further the roadwork ended and we were back on pavement.

We stopped to clean the fuel filters and parked unknowingly on someone’s land. A very dignified older gentleman with very thick Mr. Magoo glasses greeted us and graciously allowed us to stay, presenting us fifteen minutes later with a pot full of rice and goat in a delicious jus. In turn Wolf left them kid’s clothes from Germany.

When 50 kilometers later the truck rolled to a stop of it’s own volition, Wolf looked down at the accelerator and we discovered it broken in two. Only by rigging some wires to a lever under the hood were we able to maintain control of the truck. We entered
Agadez that afternoon with Wolf steering, shifting and braking, me pulling the wires for acceleration from the jump seat, and Ahmed sleeping off lunch.

written by  roel krabbendam on February 9, 2007 from Arlit, Niger
from the travel blog: Harmattan
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Mosque

Tourists, too, are just starting to come back. The civil war in Algeria and the Tuareg revolt here in Niger interrupted the travel business for more than 10 years, though there were some foreigners here even then. I met an American family from United States here 33 years translating the bible into Tamachek, and a French couple organizing “little projects”.

Street Vendor

I met a Dutch industrial designer working with a cooperative of 400 basket weavers, developing a product that would sell better in the European market than the baskets they make now. I thought: here perhaps was a project that could really make a difference. Unicef is here, USAID is here…there are German and French projects as well. I am not here long enough to understand everything that is going on.

School

School

Doing some laundry, taking a shower, dinner and a beer in a restaurant, hours in the Cybercafe: these feel like a welcome respite. I am in the Sahel now and the desert is behind me.

Mosque

Foundry Casting Accelerator Component

Thinking about the Sahara leaves me somewhat conflicted: fighting all that sand would have been a grim affair on a bicycle, though I feel that I was pretty well prepared. I miss the towering satisfaction my original plan would have brought, but know I had a much more enjoyable experience by truck and with friends. Wolf Gaudlitz left this morning for Ouagadougou, however, and Ahmed left yesterday for home in Ghardaia. It all feels like a dream already, I've bought a little satchel of powerful gris-gris to hang around my neck, and after a few days of relaxation I am ready to move south.

Campground

Two days later his friends nabbed me on the street to tell me Aboubacar was looking for me, and later that evening he met me at the internet cafe for the promised tune-up. I removed the two functional brake pads, installed them on the rear brake, adjusted as required, and until these pads wear down to the nubs, at least, he can safely stop his bike.

Twin mounds

Late in the first day we encountered a truck mired in sand, a crew of Tuaregs working to clear the tires. Wolf stopped the truck, grabbed his camera and started filming from a distance, but we were quickly discovered. Wolf later said what scared him the most was their eyes: there was no there there.

Truck

The crew came after us with rocks, there was a brief intervention from Ahmed as Wolf, shirtless, stared them down, and we quickly retreated to the truck with the gear. Ahead of them now, we soon realized they had gotten underway, and we spent a tense hour attempting to put some distance between us before finding a campsite well away from the piste. There was no question in our minds that the crew we had encountered with that truck would attack if they ran into us again. We kept our lights off until it seemed impossible that they hadn’t passed on, kept an eye out when later that evening a truck stopped on the piste near us, and finally slept without incident.

Paving Laouni

We reached Laouni the following day. The treacherous Laouni sand flats have ended the trip for hundreds and hundreds of travelers forced to simply abandon their cars to the desert as their engines consumed sand or the sand consumed their tires. Many have died losing the correct piste and driving off into the desert until their gas runs out. I had seen grim pictures and read grim stories and so did not expect to find many of the wrecks removed and a paving crew extending asphalt this far north. Laouni as a significant threat to north-south traffic appears to be no more.

Gas line

Gas line

Rolling gas containers home