So after spending another night in the Park with absolute camping exclusivity, and listening the roar of lions early in the morning, we set off for Kandi in Benin to refill with petrol (we had also given away to the Frenchies of course) and supplies. Hmm, well not quite the size of the dot as implied on the map and 3 petrol stations with not a drop of petrol, and petrol attendants waving us away from their dozes in the slithers of shade.
We did however find the Kandi Auberge and negotiated a camping fee for 2 nights and so spent a day dusting the contents of the car and getting the few supplies we could from the market, like pineapples, tomatos, onions and some random bottles of olives and tinned mushrooms in the sparsely stocked mud hut store.
We set off early the next morning before light for Nigeria, crossing in the North on a road clearly marked on the map as an ‘improved’ road. We asked for the route at the ‘Gendarmerie’ and luckily they happened to be going to the last village, ‘Segbana’ in Benin on the border so we followed them and had our own private police escort! Stamping out was easy as we directed the police on how to sign and stamp our Carnet and passports (so obliging when it’s actually a customs and immigration role!), and set off across the border anticipating a Nigerian immigration office on the other side. After reaching the first village, our GPS indicated that we had definitely crossed the border but there was no official station in sight. We pressed onto the next village and came across a stick boom and a police officer who said that we would need to continue to the next village, and even wrote down the villages we would pass through to our next point on the map, as they had no stamps available....and the ‘bush road’ as it’s called got smaller and smaller ending up with no visible tracks whatsoever, soil eroded motorbike paths and yet another tiny village that directed us onward.
Camels loaded to the gunnels with who knows what, plenty milling Moslem traders with dark sinister looks and sunglasses, although very friendly and no sign of immigration! Things were a little unsettling but we knew we were headed in the right direction.
Hmm, and then a few of our first water crossings, not my best! Sloosh through the first, skid and mud splatter through the next and freak through the next as water sloshed over our bonnet! Not a tree for a winch or a person in sight! Would have all been fine if I didn’t look across and even see that Andrew had misgivings in his expression! Anyway, we plunge on and the road comes to a dead halt with a massive expanse of water in front of us (at Rofia).....yes, we need to wait for the ferry to take us across the Niger Reservoir. I am by now comparing the fun of having a Thai massage on the beach versus the idea of putting Mo on a rickety ferry with a few other over laden trucks, whose engine is broken and therefore has two banana boats pushing it across from either side with a little motor boat engine, and of course, we have NO MONEY! Well, no Naira to pay, and too far a road to go all the way around. Now what?
Overladen truck loading onto ferry
Mo loading onto ferry
We hung around asking whether we could pay with dollars or a tin of beans but no luck! Eventually we asked a well dressed looking chap if he knew where we could exchange money and he literally pulled out his wallet and gave us the money for the ferry and waved us on our way. We wish you well Mr Saviour Nigerian man!
So Mo got loaded up and we put putted across to the other side! Whew! And on we went, still illegally in the country, desperately wanting to find some officials as opposed to holding thumbs we catch them off duty! We were stopped by an immigration hut on the side of the road and clapped our hands with glee which I think completely threw them. We were then asked to take a seat on the side of the road and explained our dilemma.....hmm, well we were supposed to go to Babana to get out stamps on the border (of course we were just supposed to know that) but they understood where we were coming from and directed us onto their offices in Kontagora, so off we went again, now well into the country as stowaways. We found customs as it was dusk, and the friendly officials were sitting outside washing their feet and enjoying Friday eve. Relief, as we had now been driving 12 hours and averaged a whole 22.5km/hr!!!!
After much banter and scrutinising of the map, they generously assisted us in stamping our Carnet for Mo and suggesting a motel to sleep at, suggesting we meet them in the morning to assist us with immigration. During the lengthy wait when you’re not actually too sure what’s going on, I was complimented on the fact that I had covered up (with my beach sarong) and was respectful as ‘those things’ are only for my husband! Andrew then got lectured on how he could possibly let a woman drive, although he thought it admirable and indicative of an independent woman, which we just giggled at as we weren’t too keen on rocking the boat admitting we actually had a right hand drive!
Hotel Safara was safe and clean and we even got to sit on the edge of a Moslem wedding that was held at the hotel, even as the power was unable to cope with all the eventualities and kept cutting! Next morning early, we met our customs officials as agreed and were escorted to the office using a separate car so that there was no thought by the next formality that we had perhaps paid a bribe to customs. What they did however explain to us is that we actually came along the smugglers route and would therefore be considered spies (aaah, so that’s what all the confused but cheerful dark glasses clan was all about!). And if we weren’t African, and American specifically, they would have definitely sent us on our way back to the border! Yay for Africa.
But not so successful, and after a long rehashing of our tale, they had no entry stamps and could only offer us illegal alien stamps for those that announce themselves when already in the country. Looong deliberations and much patience exercised, we were eventually told that we had to go back to the border escorted by an official! Not possible as we had to get to Abuja by Sunday to hit the Angolan embassy by Monday, the drop off day for the visa application.
A lot more hanging around and putting on a helpless quivery lip from myself, another solution was suggested whereby if we could instil enough trust, we would be allowed on our way to Abuja to head office (i.e. he was obliged to escort us to the border and if anything went wrong from us, he would lose his job). A colleague’s friend sent off into the market to buy airtime, a call to head office and we are allowed to go on our way on the promise that we would go to immigration first thing Monday morning in Abuja to meet Mr Kumle.
Our camping possie behind the Sheraton
Whew! So here we are, camping at the back of the Sheraton Hotel between the dump and the staff quarters washing line but all is good and if nothing else, we weren’t hassled once by officials along our unofficial road and have only encountered friendly, enthusiastic police and officials. Apparently the ‘official’ road just past the ‘official’ border has 20 stops within the first 20km all exercising their strategies of declaring right hand drive illegal or requesting papers or just directly asking for money. Perhaps ‘Mandela’ country has also been to our advantage as it’s usually the first question asked of us, and how is Mandela? Send our regards.
So we’re off to see Mr Kumle tomorrow, hold thumbs! If you haven’t heard from us in the next few days, at least you know of our last position! J
And of course the conclusion to anyone heading from Benin to Nigeria, rather go through the border via Nikki!
Our French cooks at the roadside truckers diner, R40 for 2 big beers, some yam, some goat (we think) and some liver wrapped in intestine (we think), some dragon slime (okra), chickpeas, rice and chill tomato sauce, all rather delicious :) and constitutions still strong
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