12. The Lion Mountains
You Break, you Lose
Small raindrops from the slight drizzle of rain are hitting my skin. The city is already awake and vibrating with cars, bikes, trucks and people that are making their way to the market. I am still in Kindia, the bustling, Guinean mountain-top city where a day prior my broken rear rack had been blatantly copied and built anew for my old one was unfixable. Today it was time to leave the town and continue cycling.
A quick swerve here, avoiding the sun-glass seller, another swerve around an obese 50 year old woman, clothed in wonderful bright wax linen, carrying a stool and a small table on her head and in her hands, two giant bags of what I imagine are vegetables from her village. Casually, I swerve again, out of the way of a giant truck that is rolling backwards down the hill on the crowded main road leading out of town. The truck nearly misses me. Although dangerous, by now, trucks don't scare or intimidate me anymore. If I am afraid of the uncontrollable trucks, I will spend my days on the road in constant fear of the rear-approaching giants where any overtake could turn me into a road-pancake instantly.
So far, trucks have not yet brushed against me. There have been situations where passing trucks have almost brushed my shoulder. A pinky length away from injury or worse. An accident would end my journey immediately and possibly forever.
While a tuck is once again passing me by with only centimeters away from my handlebar, I am sitting on my bike, holding my breath, clenching my butt cheeks, focusing on not moving a millimeter away from the line that I am currently riding. This line is most often the outermost edge of the road. Next to this road, there is often nothing. Well, there are bushes or a field or a drop or something but there is nothing where you could ride. In summary, I am doing everything possible in my power to stay out of the trucks' way. The trucks on the other hand are passing, most commonly, with a generous distance between them and me. That is only if there is no traffic coming the other way of the two lane roads. If there is head on traffic, the truck driver is now also clenching its butt cheeks, trying not to go head on into the oncoming truck while also trying not to push me off into the ditch. Well at least that's what I hope is going on in the minds of the truckers.
To recall, my rasta friend from Gambia who worked as a truck driver for years told me "Man, of course I smoke and drive".... wait no, that was the wrong quote, let me try again: "Driving the truck is a hard job. You work 16 hours a day, often longer and for weeks without break. The trucks are in bad shape. I was driving a truck that had no breaks apart from the hand break." Thinking back at what he told me, I am sure, the truck drivers are overworked and dangerously exhausted. Never on this whole trip have I experienced that somebody braked for me when overtaking, no matter of oncoming traffic or not.
You break, you loose.
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| 1. Close call. Trucks passing me without safety distance |
Roughly 200 meters into my ride, I click my imaginary near death counter, the number ticks up into the hundreds and I focus on leaving this city. The wet tarmac feels smooth. I pass a copy shop where I print my visa for Sierra Leone and I take a short breather when I reach the climax of the city road and start going down hill. Later on, I pass by what seems a military class out for a run. While the cadets in apprenticeship wave at me or just stare with an empty expression, the commander running up front demands me to halt. I stop and ask the clearly well built and sportive 2 meter tall man what he wants. After explaining that this is indeed training for the military, he asks me what I do here. Impressed with my story of cycling from Germany to Togo, he asks me to join the military. Apparently they are short of fit people and he deems me fit enough to lead the morning runs. Kindly and a little sad too, I have to decline the offer as I still need to get to Togo first. He understands and after we exchanged (false) telephone numbers, I head off, no more delays on my rout to Freetown, Sierra Leone. The Lion is waiting for me.
The route I chose to Sierra Leone was one that is roughly 60 kilometers longer but all the way paved to the border. The exhaustion from days of non-stop gravel riding still stuck with me and I was happy to add an additional 60 kilometers to my ride in exchange for a smooth, paved road. Although, generally I am going down hill, I am still making over 1 kilometer of positive elevation every day. For lunch I am passing through a fork in the road turned into a massive traffic jam because a pop-up street market is blocking all cars and trucks passing. In Coyah, a city only 50 kilometers away from Conakry, Guineas capital city, I turn left. Away from the big city and towards a destination that promises me white-sand beaches with endless tranquility. While I make my way through Coyah, having had lunch, I spot an ice cream machine. I am ecstatic. The weather that day was super humid with rain in the morning turning into blazing sun and thus, unbearable humid heat. Finding an ice cream machine in this 35 degree oven comes close to finding a bottle of water in the desert.
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| 2. Soft ice in Coyah |
With ice cream in my belly, I put down my head and pedaled forward, eyes set on Sierra Leone.
On the way I pass villages that are building large 4 story houses for business and families. I also pass the usual shops for welding gates and fences, mending cars, couches and furniture, fruits and vegetable roadside shops and building materials, mainly sand, concrete and steel rods with questionable integrity. These shops are to be seen all over western Africa and provide many families with an income outside the farming industry.
After 134km of humid, hot weather and stressful riding, I arrived in the pretty town of Forecariah. A large mosque, one of the more beautiful ones I have seen, sits right on the edge of a river, lined by a giant cotton tree. Trees this huge are sadly only a seldom sight anymore with deforestation in western Africa being rampant and ill-controlled.
While I make my way into the town in search for a guesthouse or somewhere to sleep, two girls shout "Chinese, Chinese" at me. A little confused as to why, I stop and ask the girls why they call me Chinese. "Because you look Chinese" is the response. How stupid of me to ask, what an obvious answer. After I told them I am not from China but I am from Germany, the two don't seem to understand. "Do you know Germany?" I ask. "Yes, Germany is nice, I want to go there." They respond. "So where is Germany?" they ask. My explanation that it is in Europe doesn't seem to help the two. I show them my phone with a world map and point out Guinea (where we are) and Germany. The two look at me absolutely clueless. Obviously neither had understood a thing I was trying to explain. As I conclude my short geography lesson with the usual "But Germany is really cold, you will not like it", I ask the two for help to find a guest house which they promptly do. At least they know their way around their town and maybe that's enough for them, no need to know your way around a world map.
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| 3. Sunset in Forecariah |
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| 4. One of the more luxurious dinner restaurants. They even have light! |
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| 5. Potato salad and pasta with liver |
Facing the Lion
With the waking of a rooster calling, I get up from the more or less comfortable bed on the second floor of a large hotel established many years back. The hotel, once the pride and joy of the city is now also run down. But for a change, the people try to keep the premise relatively clean. Early in the morning I sit on my bike. I know today I will have to cycle over 150 kilometer to reach Freetown and while the going hasn't been slow, it has also not been fast recently. The cool early morning wind accompanies me all the way to the border of Sierra Leone. Before the border, I sit down to have breakfast. A large portion of rice with a peanut-stew sauce absolutely delicious. Price, roughly 1.00€. A street money exchange haggles with me for a while until I get him down to a reasonable exchange rate. He promises me that this will be the best rate I will find at the border to make me feel good. Yeah right. Strengthened I make my way across the Sierra Leonean border. A large border that has been built with European Union funds and a road so smooth I want to embrace it. Good thing, this road will continue all the way to Freetown in immaculate shape. Rarely any potholes, clear and bright lane markings and even a large shoulder for pedestrians and white boys on a bicycle. Have I arrived in heaven already?
All jokes aside, the process to cross the border was swift, communication with the inhabitants of the English-speaking nation was much easier and my mood was great, off to a good start. With Guinea behind me and Sierra Leone ahead of me, I pedaled onward.
The first stop was at a River crossing where a police checkpoint controlled the passing vehicles. Local vendors use these checkpoints to offer their fruits, snacks and drinks to vehicles. One fruit I hadn't ever seen before caught my eye and I bought 4 of them. The green fruit that reminded me of an apple or a pear didn't look familiar even at closer inspection. The answer to the question what this fruit is was an African name for it that I neither understood, nor remember. Luckily, a military officer was eyeing me curiously. With his camo-outfit and a modern weapon strapped around his shoulder and waist, he held his distance yet looked over. I saw my chance. I approached him and asked him what this is. After he repeated the incomprehensible local name, I decided that I needed to try something else. I asked him how I eat it. He says "Hmmm yeah very very delicious" and laughs with a wide grin. Gesturing to show me how to eat it he says "Okay, you will now go ahead and look at the fruit". I follow his command, I look at the fruit closely. "Now go ahead and smell the fruit." I follow, I smell it. Smells sweet. "And now you go ahead and bite the fruit." I bite the fruit. Yes, indeed, very delicious. I understand that it is a deliciously sweet and pink Guava I am eating. in eager anticipation, the military man eyes me eating the fruit. As I express my satisfaction with it, he is very happy with the result and is about to turn away and divert his attention. Before he can turn away all the way, I say: "Do you like it too?" "Yes, I like it very much" he responds "I trade you my fruits for your gun." I shoot my shot at a joke. Apparently he found it funny. He turns away and lets go a chuckle and goes back to his guard duty.
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| 6. Bushy landscape dotted with palm trees |
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| 7. River crossing at Kambia |
My ride continues as I am looking at another healthy 90 Kilometer before reaching the mountains of Freetown that inspired early European colonists for the name Sierra Leone, the "Lion Mountain" after its appearance of a lying down lion. The wide road is too far away from the trees. No shade is hitting the road and it feels like I am getting slow cooked alive. Not that there would be many trees anyway. Sierra Leone seems to be rather barren. The only trees I can make out are palm trees and the rest of the vegetation seems quite low and bushy. A quick shortcut took me through a forest that inherits extremely steep inclines and tiny villages with top-naked mama-africas sitting in front of their clay huts. A short but exhausting stretch that saved me over 20km of road. From now on, I follow a road very little traveled by cars and bikes. The road goes parallel to an old train track that apparently is still run by a Chinese firm and that transports some ore to the capital of Freetown. One advantage of this means the road is mostly flat. On the other hand, this part of Sierra Leone is already very flat by default. The day dragged on and I find myself racing to the port of Tagrin, on the other side of the Freetown delta, to catch the last ferry to Freetown that day. On the way there, I saw a man carrying a dead monkey to what I can only imagine is his dinner that day. I have seen a lot of bush-meat before and I am not surprised that people eat monkeys. It just is more or less an indication for me of how poor people are and how reliant they are on bush-meat to survive.
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| 8. Shortcut through the forest at Port Loko |
Late that day, I reach the ferry in Tagrin. A mostly chaotic embarking with a soldier carrying a small pet monkey on board, I heave my bike on the side of the vessel where it is not in the way of cars and busses trying to park. The ferry is full to the brim, every last seat on the boat is taken and after 150km of riding, I am exhausted and need to sit. Luckily for a mere 3€, I can buy my way into the "VIP" section of the boat that has some free seats. A price I am happily paying. From here I can drink a celebratory beer and look towards the high, impressive mountains of Freetown that now emerge in the distance. The mountains approach and the sun sets right behind the beautiful mountains. A sigh so beautiful, its not easy to forget. Already now I know I am going to like Freetown.
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| 9. Bicycle parking on the ferry |
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| 10. The ferry is bustling with passengers and vendors |
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| 11. The lion mountains against the setting sun |
It's Fun to Stay at The YMCA
As the last rays of sun vanish behind the Lion mountains of Freetown, the ferry arrives at the port. The hundreds of people squirm to disembark the boat and I have trouble carrying my heavy bike down the narrow stairs of the sidewall-walkway where it was stored "safely" away from the trucks and cars parked on deck. Weary of the 150 kilometer I had already done that day I was not looking forward to navigate the hilly and crowded city roads in the dark. Avoiding riding at nightfall was my number one priority on this trip. It made riding exponentially more dangerous. But I had no choice so I turned my bike lights on and embarked on the roads with a clear goal, the YMCA Freetown.
To my surprise, while looking for a place to stay, I came across an entry that listed the YMCA in Sierra Leone. With a price of 7€ per night, it was relatively affordable and located not far away from the famous Cotton Tree in the city's center. Legend has it that Freetown had been built around this cotton tree. Unfortunately, the tree capsized during a storm in 2021 and all that remains is the broken off tree stump. One can only imagine the massive majestic tree that sat in the middle of a busy roundabout at the foot of the national supreme court and just around the corner of the banking district.
Having grown up, the YMCA song from the Village People being my only touch point to a legitimate and large international association that positively influences the lives of millions of people worldwide, I thought that it was just promoting male hostels in the United States. Even more surprised I was to see that there was a Headquarter of the YMCA in Sierra Leone offering single rooms with breakfast included and shared bathrooms and showers. The deal was right for me and my curiosity to see whats op with these internationally famous YMCA hostels, I decided to stay there.
Making my way into the city center, I was sharing the road with smoking trucks and taxi-vans with ride-promoters hanging half their body out of the passenger window shouting the destination, hordes of three wheeled taxis, most commonly known in Thailand as Tuk-Tuk's, called Keke in Sierra Leone, and lastly speeding motorcycles. Praying that the hordes of vehicles would notice me on my bicycle before running me over, I cycled as fast as my tired legs allowed. I was happy to make it to the YMCA premise despite the fact that while taking a sugar-break, indulging on a canned tamarind drink, somebody stole my sandals from the back of my bag without me noticing.
Tired, I checked into the clearly aged YMCA hostel and exhausted fell into my bed with the loud tunes of a part playing in the background.
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| 12. Freetown at day close to Lumley roundabout |
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| 13. Every evening in Freetown, the bats come out to play |
When I awoke the next day, it was time for me to sort out my visa for Liberia and the Ivory Coast. Squeezed between a voluptuous business woman on one side and a well fed business man on the other side, on the narrow backseat of the Keke bike, I was making my way to the Liberian Embassy. At the embassy, I was then directed into the office of a woman watching a Nigerian romance drama series on her 2000€ Samsung Z Fold with a fake Louis Vuitton case. She was clearly touched by the emotional romance and only could get herself to put the phone one the side of her table, keeping one eye and ear on the show while dealing with my request for a Liberia visa. I was informed that the visa would cost precisely 100€ and would take one week to be completed. If you are in a hurry, you can get an express visa for 150€ that will be ready in a mere 15 minutes. Shame on who thinks that the embassy just tries to squeeze you for an extra 50€. Luckily, I knew how to spend seven days in Sierra Leone - on one of the immensely beautiful and tourist void beaches located close to Freetown.
After also sorting out my Ivory Coast visa (which took 50€ and 15 minutes to complete and also has a cute elephant on the official stamp), it was time for me to pack my bags at the YMCA and depart towards the beautiful beaches close to Freetown. Having spent the evening looking for a pharmacy that sells Insulin (because I was running out) and finally finding it in a renown hospital pharmacy atop the Freetown mountains, with the first rays of sun, I was on my way to Black Johnson beach. At this outright stunningly beautiful beach I would spend the next 6 days laying in the sun on the beach and relaxing my painful bottom an legs and indulging the local beer. Although the beaches are completely empty apart from one or two local fishermen, there is still much to see.
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| 14. Freetown in the distance |
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| 15. Typical and traditional settlers home in a rain storm |
The Face of Child Labor
The "Hotel" I was spending my time was expanding, building more huts for tourists. Hearing about my project of raising funds to support diabetics in Togo, the owner was quick to point out his involvement in humanitarian projects as well. He went on to tell me about the school he built in the nearby town together with German donors. He kept telling me how important the youth is and that he is proud to support the village and children education. Noble, noble.
It was embarrassing for both and him and me when I pointed out that there is a child working on his premise. I did not find it funny that he is employing a child to carry a huge basin of sand on his head from the beach to the building site where it then mixes it with water and concrete powder to form the building materials for the new bungalows. A work extremely laborious, bodily straining and exhausting in the +30 degrees weather.
To make it clear, I was ashamed to observe this happening because I immediately knew that with the money I pay for my room, I am indirectly supporting child labor which I condemn highly. In western Africa, it is extremely hard for me to get around child labor entirely. Whether it is the child plucking fruit and selling it on the roads, children working in the fields, harvesting the food you eat or children "helping out" with their parents' business. As much as I try to refrain from spending my money on children run business and products, you never know if in the whole process of the product, there was a child involved or not.
The owner was quick to point the responsibility away from himself. "The kid wants to help his father, he is not forced to come here. Anyway, I can not tell the father what he can do or not do with his child.". This plain stupid argument drove me crazy. In a silent moment, I took the child aside, asked it where it was from and if it did not go to school. Unsurprisingly, the child told me that all his friends are going to school and that he would like to go to school as well to join them. When I kept asking why he was working here, he told me that his father needs him to work to earn extra money, otherwise the family would not survive. Althoug often not far from the truth, with families all over the still very poor Sierra Leone struggling to support their lives, having the child affected tell you this to your face breaks your heart.
I needed to draw my consequences from such reckless irresponsible behavior of the hotel owner. In my opinion it is shameful, charging tourists almost european prices for the Hotel yet not employing European standards. A child that wants to go to school yet is forced to conduct physically damaging hard labor with the responsible adults claiming to be mother Theresa, shamelessly lying to my face. I was enraged and sad.
The next time I saw the owner of the hotel, I let him know that his attitude is a shameless lie to me and himself. Pretending to care about the kids yet not sending home the child that is working on his premise. I told him that instead of pushing the responsibility on the father, he should cover the child's school tuition from the proceeds he makes overcharging tourists. He should send the child home immediately.
Although I could have stayed another day, I informed the owner that I would be leaving early due to his involvement in child labor.
Promptly I returned to Freetown where I spent another night at the YMCA, collected my Liberia visa and was once more in the saddle, pedaling towards Togo.
Whether my action of confronting the owner was right or wrong, whether I should have kept my nose out of others peoples' business is a hard question. I am certain wherever you go, all hotels in Sierra Leone have been built with the help of children's hands. But I am certain that showing the ones in charge that the involvement in child labor has a direct, negative impact on their money earned might make people understand the importance of their actions.
This shouldn't be the last reminder that although showing many signs of economical and social development, Sierra Leone was still wildly underdeveloped in many aspects. Sad to see that the morals of people are lacking behind in development.
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| 16. Old fishing boat on the beach |
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| 17. Breakfast, white bread, omelette, fried plantain, tea, sugar and mayonnaise (Not enough for me) |
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| 18. Work safety of the muscular workers |
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| 19. Child and father carrying sand in the background |
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| 20. Child mixing up sand and water by hand |
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| 21. Sunset at Black Johnson with villagers washing in the river |
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| 22. Rice with potato leaf sauce |
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| 23. Enjoying my time on the beach |
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| 24. Delicious deep fried cassava root |
Traversing
I was off with strong strokes. I felt refreshed, recovered and the anger in my guts towards the child laboring hotel boss gave me strength. In the next three days I covered 400 Kilometer, catapulting me directly at the border to Liberia.
Traversing Sierra Leone, I rode on smooth roads financed by the EU and built by the Chinese. Roads too far away from any sort of shade, once more testing my ability to endure extreme heat throughout the day. The further I rode away from the capital city of Freetown, the bushier the landscape became. More and more green, turning from cleared fields with small bushes dotted with palm trees into mono-culture farms and eventually into a thick, overgrown, luscious dark green rain forest. The forest close to the Liberian border was so thick, it was impossible to see into it more than 3 meters. Admiring the beauty and chaos of these seemingly untouched nature I completely forgot that the road I was rising on had a heavy toll on the nature by often massively terraforming hills to average out the elevation of the road, cutting a huge swath in the home of a sheer abundance of animals and insects.
When I passed by a special palm tree, that grew from one trunk into five separate tree tops, I sat down and took in the sounds, smells and visuals of the forest that once spanned the entirety of western Africa yet had been systematically reduced to a sad shadow of its former size.
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| 25. Sacred five-headed palm tree |
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| 26. Thick rain-forest left and right close to the border |
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| 27. Emergency stop. No wonder the axis broke |
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| 28. Distant mountains on the way to Liberia |
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| 29. Fresh tarmac with toll gates |
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| 30. Keeping the overgrow at bay the Sierra Leonean way |
The people in Sierra Leone were kind and humorous. Kids waved at me when I passed by, round mothers proudly showing their naked breasts offered me their goods or washed their families' clothes, drying them spread out on the hot, black tarmac.
The road turned into a useful utensil for villagers. Not only did they use it to dry clothes, it was also used to sun-dry rice, cassava and even goat shit. I had to pay attention not to run over the precious goods laid out on the road.
These days, loneliness gripped me. I don't know if it was the often dull landscape before I reached the lush rain forest or the smooth roads that had me pedaling in mindless autopilot for days on end. Maybe it was the fact that I had left my home already 125 days ago and I was coping with the never ending stream of impression of strange and distant cultures, having nobody to share these experiences with that could relate to any of it. All I knew was that what cheered me up was the Sierra Leoneans. Their open kind, big smiles and humorous conversations made it easier.
When I approached the Liberian border at nightfall, two boys helped me to search for some rice and sauce, the dish of the average people. Although I have had a delicious pumpkin sauce in Sierra Leone, usually the sauce served with rice would be cassava leaves or potato leaves. Both sauces are properly spicy. Although it did not necessarily gave the most refined appearance, there was nothing better than a massive plate of rice to still my unsaturatable, constant hunger that burning over 5000 calories daily instilled. Happy to have covered yet another of the 15 countries, I fell onto the stained and worn out feather mattress in the dirty guest house. With the sound of the electricity generator powering the TV and indescribably loud sound system, blasting soccer commentary across the whole town, I fell asleep to wake up again tomorrow. Once more packing my bags, taking a cold bucket shower, crossing yet another border into an unknown country on my way to Togo.
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| 31. Rice with pumpkin sauce - Yummy |
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| 32. Market turmoil in Waterloo |
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| 33. Bo checkpoint |
Tour Update
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