There is no way of knowing how long a journey will take (From Hereford Times)

Getting there and away

7:50pm Sunday 30th November 2008

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Journeys seldom go according to plan, no matter how much organising and researching goes on beforehand. In the Lonely Planet there is a firm statement that the bus from Koro near to the Malian border to Ouahigouya in Burkina Faso leaves every day at 2pm. In fact they leave as soon as they are full; there is no set time. I arrived at Koro just after midday and was the first person to buy a ticket. The man selling the tickets reckoned that it should fill in three to four hours, so I hoisted my pack and went in search of shade and lunch.

In the middle of the afternoon it was time to find out how ticket sales were going and to find another place to spend the night. I enquired about spending the night and the waiter pointed to row of doors that surrounded the central eating area. The flapping of a pair of flip-flops behind me announced the presence of a girl of about 18. As I looked into the dingy room with its unmade bed and no mosquito net, she asked if I wanted company. I declined her and the room and went in search of another place to stay.

There were 3 women in the minibus and a man lying on a mat in its shade. That made 5 passengers including me, only another 11 to go, but the red dust street was almost deserted, with no one coming near the bus. The ticket man said if I paid for the other tickets it could leave straight away. I got directions to the other hotel. It was not a brothel and the rooms had clean sheets and mosquito nets. I settled down with a large bottle of water. The bus would not go before 5pm and if it wasn’t full by then it would leave at 8 in the morning. By now I was praying that it would be the morning, because it is always a strain to find one’s way about in the dark in a town one has never been to. Especially as the places where the buses stop vary, so that sometimes it stops in an obscure side street and another time one in the middle of the town.

When I returned to the hotel after my 5pm visit to the minibus, the hotel manager introduced me to a French lady. If I was willing to pay for half the fuel to Ouahigouya I was most welcome to join her in a battered 4x4 owned by the hotel owner. I got a refund from the minibus and the next morning as we rattled past it, I saw it was still only half full.

* * * * The last part of the journey to Gorum Gorum was in a bush taxi. This was a small truck where 24 passengers squeezed into the back sitting on top of the luggage. There were stout metal pipes round the back to stop people falling out, but they made the ride even more uncomfortable than it would otherwise have been. They were too hot to hold in the afternoon sun and smacked into shoulder blades or backs as the truck careered along the rutted track that was the only road. After nearly an hour the truck swerved violently before slowly grinding to a halt. The driver’s side front wheel had blown out. Some passengers took the opportunity to pray, go to the loo or wander to a river a short way off while the driver and his mate fought with the wheel nuts. After nearly an hour a new wheel was in place and once everybody was on board, the truck slowly moved off; as it picked up speed those in the back were once again covered in a fine red dust. After about a mile we stopped again. The wheel was loose. There followed a long half hour as the driver sought some nuts that would actually fit the wheel studs. There should have been 5 studs, but one was missing and he reckoned that three would not hold all the way to Gorum Gorum, so he tried each nut. In the end, with the help of a passenger he put one nut on, then using a long lever he forced another on the same stud with brute strength, regardless of the thread. It held and we covered the 65 kms in just over 4hours reaching Gorum in the gathering dusk. I was dropped off just outside the town at what had once been the Campement Rissa, a place recommended by Lonely Planet, but this year’s rains had turned most of the huts into mounds of earth and I spent the night under the stars next to one of the two remaining huts.

* * * * I booked the day before, for the return journey from Gorum Gorum to Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso, knowing that it was one of only two buses per week that covered the route. The following morning, on my way to the animal market, I called in at the ‘gare routiers’ to make certain I had a seat. The bus was an old Mercedes 70 seater with three seats on one side and two on the other. The ancient ticket collector showed me the place he had reserved and another passenger. Despite it being 4 hours before we needed to be at the bus, every seat was reserved with a bag or piece of clothing.

When I arrived at 11.30 most all the seats were occupied except mine, over which the old man hovered. I sat down and introduced myself to the lady sitting next to me, who was the wife of the owner of the ‘gare routiers’. The occasional puff of wind brought some relief as we sweltered waiting for the bus to start, but sacks, bicycles, a motorcycle and other things were still being loaded onto the roof. I noticed that extra supports had been added inside to support the weight of the baggage on the roof. An hour after we were due to start everyone was made to get off the bus, except for myself and Maria, the owner’s wife. Half way through checking everyone’s tickets they decided they had got the count wrong and everyone had to get out as they started the seat allotment again.

Eventually we moved off shortly after 1pm. Not only was every seat full, but the aisle was packed with standing passengers who paid less than those who were lucky enough to have a seat. In all there were well over a hundred passengers on board. At Bani, the first town on the route, the bus was pulled over by the police because of a faulty tyre. Once the spare had been lowered down from the roof, using a series of ropes, it was wheeled away to find another that was in better condition. An hour later the bus boy returned with one showing the wire all the way round where the rubber had been worn away on the outside of the tyre. While he was away the passengers huddled in what shade there was and consumed cold drinks brought round in hand carts. It was after four when we finally got going and a battle ensued between me, who wanted the window open and the person in front who wanted it closed. As soon as it got dark Maria slammed the window shut, then pulled on a thick sweater despite there being hardly any drop in temperature. Up and down the bus arguments broke out as the people standing tried to sit on the arm rests or squeeze on some of the seats. Two or three climbed up to perch on the back of the seats. Jabs with my elbow discouraged anyone taking my arm rest and flinging my head back suddenly kept an insistent chap off the back of my seat. Constant itching on my left shoulder announced the arrival of some unwanted guests.

There was a break at 7pm for prayers and supper from the stalls by the bus stop, then, it was all aboard again as the driver started the engine. Most of the standing passengers got on first, so it was a struggle to get back to one’s seat. Once everyone was on board, the driver decided to have another drink, so we waited in the dark with everyone trying to get as comfortable as they could.

Maria pulled a heavy blanket over her head despite the heat. When we got to the outskirts of Ouagadougou I telephoned a taxi driver I knew to pick me up from the bus station for that particular company. Maria came out from under the blanket and a wave of hot air human wafted over me as she pulled it back over her shoulders. How she had managed to put up with it I could not think. She and a lot of other passengers got off in the older part of the city. It was a long wait as the motorcycle and many sacks were lowered down the side, scratching and banging against the windows.

Finally we wove through the deserted to the main depot. For me there was no taxi driver, I tried ringing on my mobile but there was no answer. I agreed to take a taxi with a driver who assured me he was the other taxi driver’s brother. However once I was in, he got out and, with the help of two other men, eased the taxi out into the road. Then he clambered in and the others pushed us so that he could jump-start. Once we were going it took only a few minutes to get to my hotel just before they locked up at 11pm.