Cutting a very long story a little shorter....8th Feb

We now have an Angolan Visa as you can only really get a transit visa anyway unless you are prepared to hang around for at least a week etc but our issue snowballed as now Cameroon didn’t want to issue us a 30 day tourist visa whilst we had 2 escorts (duh! who would?) and only a transit for 4 days with the option of going to the South African High Commission in Yaoundé to explain our situation and ask them for help……it is quite possible that one would not even make it to the capital in this time…….but with much begging and pleading and our escorts now explaining that they were there to assist us in any way, the head of Cameroon luckily had a personal immigration issue to resolve so tit for tat, we got sorted – which resulted in us having an escort back to immigration that afternoon by the Nigerian Officials and the Head of Cameroon embassy with his driver – was becoming loony tunes! But we did share a giggle with our officers who pointed it out.

So back at immigration, for over a week and our “file” has grown to over 25 handwritten pages and is still being passed around from office to office. We were then sat in front of an officer who is a lawyer and we got to write our entire statement being warned that anything could be used against us blah blah but besides wondering if we were going back to square one with a pending court case,  we were relieved that someone, that was at least literate and articulate, had now asked US for our story.

He also said that he understood what we were going through as he had been stuck (as an immigration officer) at another country’s airport without a visa (for a whole 20 mins! before he was sorted) and again we had to make it clear that we had visas!!!! We were then put in front of the Deputy Head, a Dr with a string of academic acronyms behind his name and an office full of awards and accolades, and were told that he ‘was going to give us a soft landing, but we had broken the law by not reporting to immigration and not having visas’. Argh!!

So we showed him the signed proof that we had that Head Office had been consulted prior to us driving to Abuja and that we had visas and with a very puzzled look on his face, as the file had reached him previously in the week, he said that all we needed was an ‘endorsement stamp’…YES, breakthrough!!!!!!!  He clearly at that point could not understand why anyone was wasting his time, and ordered for us to get the blooming “endorsement” stamp, reprimanding his colleagues/subordinates for mismanagement. 8 days of emotional abuse and we were sent to the original office where we started and were out within ½ hr with our silly little stamp! And have collected quite a few business cards for a ‘definite catch up’ in SA someday! So we are now sorted just before the final instruction was to have another escort to the border. Obviously that was clearly unnecessary once the small requirement was clear.

….Definitely the most frustrating 8 days ever.

But all in all, we still need to add that Nigeria was completely different to what we expected. We found the police and locals friendly and welcoming and although we’ve never seen so many guns and everyone in a uniform greets you with a massive rifle slung across their chest, we never felt threatened and all things considered, we thoroughly enjoyed Nigeria.

The Saga continued...2nd Feb

Well it’s not over til the fat lady sings but after spending 9 hours at immigration on Monday (31^st Jan) staring at people doing nothing staring at us doing nothing, without passports and being told to exercise patience, we eventually left (at 6pm) once everyone had gone home (home time being in the air from about 2:30 after having literally done nothing all day and were told to return the next morning.

Without exaggerating, we sat in an office with 11 people and 4 of them did absolutely nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing but either sleep, stare, stare some more or page through the same couple of pages of the paper, the others might have stamped the odd passport, it was actually rather fascinating).

Do not take this route into Nigeria!

Tuesday we arrived armed with snacks and books to read (as we were obviously offered nothing the day before) and again we sat an entire day in waiting rooms waiting for we weren’t sure what, catching a glimpse of our ‘file’ that got bigger and bigger with more and more reports and notes written into it. No questions were allowed and obviously no pressure from us as you just can’t rock the boat. Somewhere, in the lower ranks, there was a MAJOR misunderstanding and with a mixture of complete incompetence, arrogance and broken telephone, our matter had ended up with the Head Controller of the Immigration Services, “Madame” who now wanted to see the file.

By now we had even managed to win some high ranking officers onto our side and having had an apology for the misunderstanding and an acknowledgement that it is not our fault if there are roads on the map that are not patrolled, we were still getting nowhere.

Late Tuesday now, it was agreed by Head of Operations that we would be escorted out of the country by an official (called Controlled Exit) once we had been accompanied to the Angolan and Cameroonian Embassies. So off we went again this morning to Immigrations (which is almost 40km away I might add!) and were preparing ourselves for another day of little progress. But we only waited about an hour and were assigned 2 officers to escort us. Already this is ridiculous as essentially if we were such a risk, we should never have been allowed out of anyone’s sight, but it’s clear that the mistake has been on their side but with all the commotion and senior involvement, there was no backing down and the process needed to seem rather formal.

So off we went to go get 2 visas in the next hour and begin our controlled exit with 2 surly officers treating us as if we were human traffickers by refusing to communicate at all. And guess what, you can’t just crack the whip and get 2 visas for other countries in an hour, surprise surprise!!! And we need to follow the normal process which was apply today for Angola and collect on Monday! So all that’s happened so far is that we have been kept in the country longer than we would have been in the first place. Whilst driving there, I managed to catch a few glimpses of our endless handwritten reports and figured out why the high ranking officer who was eventually on our side was laughing at our report and admitted that we were clearly being used as a punching bag as apparently the South African Embassy is messing with Nigerians at the moment. Still not sure how making an example of us was going to get back to the SA embassy.

Anyway, so the first section of the report specifies which Section of which Act of which Year blah blah we contravened and that we had already been in the country illegally for 3 days – which of course is not true as we had visas. The next section was a specific request “seeking approval for further interruption of journey and final repatriation of the couple” – approved! Ah hah, so go ahead and see how long their patience lasts…..ok, you win, this is a very silly game….The next section had something about how we were misled by Kontagora and that the border was in fact not manned. Thereafter, another report suggesting that officers assist us in getting visas and the last one I managed to read specified who.

View of Mosque from Sheraton Campsite and morning wake-up call

So that’s where we are, 10 days at the Sheraton Camp Grounds instead of 5, and we are sure that they could not be bothered to actually escort us out the country personally. In fact, not long into our travels today with our escorts, when it was clear we were not criminals, we were showing them on the map where we were going, got invited to the one guy’s wedding later this year, were told that immigration was clearly messing in our affairs and we would be given a letter for the border which would also quickly get us through any police stops so that our journey wasn’t interrupted any further – go figure! We didn’t even need to take our escorts back to the office as we offered to pay for a taxi for them and after a call to the office “to confirm finalization of their assignment – sir!”, we went on our way….we even got to the point of familiarity of sharing a bottle of peanuts.

But the fat lady has not yet sung and we have to report back to immigration once visas are complete for our final direction on which border we exit etc.

Big Boo Boo!

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