Cote d’War

We scramble frantically through the Liberian jungle. Time is short. The forest grows ever more sinister now, the atmosphere becomes tense. An eerie quiet pervades the wilderness as mist sets upon our path. The jungle is thick and brooding. We pass small villages and refugee camps. Along the dusty roadside, villagers stare at us as we pass, baffled by our presence. There is only one place in the world you could be going…. Cote d’Ivoire. We arrive at the border of the minutes before it closes, every inch of us covered in red dust. We are the only people around.

An estimated 165,000 Ivorians fled their country since the turmoil, with most escaping to Liberia. Although Gbagbo has just been captured, people have been killed in the country the day before we arrived. It seems however, the humanitarian crisis has clearly been deflated. The wooden bridge that separates the two countries no longer hosts a torrent of desperate souls. The time we arrived, it only knew the footsteps on two wandering Irishmen, dawning sombreros and a our pet Monrovian chicken – Captain ‘Francais’ Cluck. Forgot to mention, we bought a pet chicken in Liberia. He became an honorary cluckineer for the trip! (great at disarming corrupt officials and border guards btw!)

Anyway, back to the border. A group of Ivorian soldiers beckon us as we cross no man’s land. They take our passports. After a lot of investigating it started. “Donne 10,000 CFA! ($20)” It wasn’t happening. He dropped the bribe to 1000. We were in no mood. It took a lot of persistence to get out passports back without handing over cash. Unfortunately the guy at immigration was even more stubborn. He refused to give us an entry stamp without paying 1000 CFA. We bite our tongues and forked it over. The sun was starting to set and the rains were on their way. We needed to get to the next town before the dark. We hoped on a moto and started our journey into the Ivorian jungle. We knew we would face problems…

Although the distance to the town was short, there was no road. We snaked through the bush on a bumpy mud track, taking us through large stretches of stagnant water and makeshift wooden bridges. Only a kilometer down the trail, our first checkpoint. Bribe. Another few kilometers, same story. Bribe again. It was getting dark. Traveling the path at night was unwise at best, reckless at worst. It was not safe.

After one hour, the other driver’s tire burst. Nightmare! We were not going anywhere. The driver attempted a repair and time wore on. The horizon grew dim and darkness swept across the land. Then, a little drizzle persisted. I had not felt rain on my skin in several weeks and I welcomed each drop. Lightning ignited the sky. The jungle was roaring with life; a open air concert of cacophonous inserts, birds and strange sounding creatures. In the darkness, I became mystified as the air became alight with fire flies dancing to the fiery sky.  A spectacle seen be few. But this was no magic moment…

We soon realised the other bike’s inner tube was destroyed beyond repair. Dumped in the middle of nowhere, stranded in the Ivorian jungle in a lawless place. Blood still ran down the many small rivers we passed. It was a dangerous excursion. Faced with little choice – we all (Captain Cluck included) climbed on my moto. We began the slow trek through the African wilderness, lightning at our back and darkness in our path.

It was almost inevitable that only a few kilometers later, we should run out of gas…