Cooling down, wind in our hair (figuratively speaking in my case)

After several weeks in eastern Senegal, in the constant intense heat, we decided enough was enough and it was time to move on.

We longed for the Ocean and to feel the wind in our hair again (figuratively speaking in my case).

The outline plan was to enter The Gambia from the eastern end of the country and travel westerly until we arrived at the west coast that is the area frequented by the tourist trade.

The Gambia is basically a long tube that is surrounded on all sides by Senegal and the Gambia is around 40km wide at its widest and around 300km long Roughly speaking) with one major (ish) road to the south of the river and the same to the north.

We have been back up river for a couple of days and its mainly scrub land with an odd village here and there sustaining life the best they can.

After the blistering heat of the Senegal jungle, we looked forward to our visit to The Gambia, I envisaged spoiling ourselves by checking into a luxury hotel, lying next to a swimming pool and ordering a large fluorescent cocktail, complete with as many e-numbers you could shake a stick at, umbrellas on cocktail sticks and of course, lots and lots of Ice to beat away the thought of the intense heat we had endured.

Life is never what you expect is it?

We went to the most easterly border of The Gambia to make our entrance.This would have given us a pleasant drive to the coast on either the North or South side of the river of a few hundred kilometers which would have taken a few days to complete.

Unfortunately, Covid once again reared its ugly head and as there was no testing facility in the area to the east of The Gambia and so we were forced to drive parallel to the Gambia heading westward in Senegal until we arrived at the town of Villingara and well on the way towards the coast. Still here no test available so another drive west to a hospital in a town called Kolda were we were shown to a seat and told to wait. After 2 hours I enquired as to when we might be seen and was told the person in charge had gone home and to return at 08.00 hours the next day. Again, the next day we waited 2 hours and then another enquiry to be told that they didn’t do testing at this hospital and we had to drive further west to Ziguinchor almost parallel to the Gambia coast!

Welcome to Africa.

We visited three hospitals but the same experience at each.

Filthy dirty places with no sealed roads, goats, dogs and cats walking around the places, rubbish piled up in corners and an odd scrap car to boot.

It was quite shocking to see.

We had a peak in a bedded ward and the beds were ancient, the windows none existent, just broken shutters to protect against the squalor outside. Filthy floors, staff in filthy clothing.

We were just grateful we only had to endure a swab up the nose.

I have to say, despite the conditions, this part was very well done and we got our results a few hours later and we left Senegal and tried to enter The Gambia.

On arriving at the Gambian border we were grilled as to what our business was and why we wanted to visit?

After much negotiation we had our entry paper work extended from 3 days to 1 week?

They searched our vehicle for drugs and made us feel very guilty of crimes we had not committed.

We are still lost as to why this was the case?

The only saving grace was the temperature dropped to a manageable 35ish degrees by day and as low as 28 at night – Bliss!

Once over the border we headed for the south west corner of The Gambia as it was the most remote and would give us chance to take stock!

That evening we chanced upon a Camperment owned by an English guy, George and his much younger Gambian wife, Anna.

My mind reached a swift conclusion to the marriage arrangement of George and his young wife Anna, but boy, I couldn’t of been more wrong.

George, 74 years old and an ex Falkland’s war veteran. He had been shot twice whilst in service (Navy) and lost a lung to the war effort.

George smoked around 60 cigarettes a day and had his oxygen machine on hand at all times.

He slept on a couch outside or in the bush and often got bitten or stung by something nasty but he said he wasn’t scared as he hadn’t died yet!

Georges wife Anna, was 44 years old. Well educated and looked after George on hand and foot.

This was a relationship that was as solid as a rock and two of the nicest people you could meet.

On the camperment they had a few rooms for travelling locals and any odd tourist that ventured down this way and just enough space to park our truck.

Also living in the area were a small number of expat brits, all living in this remote area for their own reasons but all would admit they left the UK as they no longer fitted in back home.

These guys and girls would congregate at GeorgeAnnas camperment as it was called from late morning until late at night and alcohol featured heavily in these visits.

I tried several times to ascertain how this was funded by the expats but never really got a straight answer?

I asked George how he coped with the constant lure of getting sucked into a drinking culture and his response was instant and heart felt.

He said, I never have a drink early. I wait until 4pm before I start and that keeps me safe?

A more honest answer you could not get anywhere I would suggest.

George is a great character with lots of war stories to tell and tales of a fully lived life and a good guy to boot.

He and Anna had set up a charity to build a maternity room in their local area as death during birth was common for both mother and baby as there was no one with midwife skills and certainly no hospital for many miles.

They were also working to rescue child (sex) slaves being exported to Mauritania. It’s quite common here in the Gambia and also in Senegal. In fact slavery is common place through-out Africa to this day.

George was also well connected with the local police and immigration officers and after a quick chat in an unkempt office of the head of immigration for the south of The Gambia. His uniform must have been 3 sizes too big for this frail gentleman but that didn’t stop the business deal being done and after handing over of a few Dalasi (local currency) we had papers to last us another month thanks to Georges influence.

That’s how it all works here but when the police get paid around 2000 Dalasi a month (around 30 pounds), you soon realise why bribery is a normal part of life.

During our stay with George and Anna we had many interesting and enlightening conversations and they were both that only the Africans can help Africa. A view widely shared amongst educated Africans.

Her take as is the take of many others is that the large charities inform the world press of any disasters that happen in Africa (and they do), the charities lay on aircraft tickets, hotels, cars and food and entertainment (use your imagination) for the journalists and so the journalists can report to the world of these austerities and in turn that raises money that feeds the charities and their ‘management` and so the wheel keeps turning.

We also ascertain from many conversations that many Africans are ashamed of their countrymen trying to get to Europe and the issues this causes back in the villages from where they come.

The fighting and falling out in the villages is rife and only the traffickers are the winners.

Most educated Africans realise the potential of Africa and the wealth it could provide. Its a continent rich in resources and although many have been abused by the mainly European nations in the past, it is now a race between the Africans and the Chinese to realise the full potential of this continent.

My fear is I know who the benefactors will be.

Anna also told us of the many teachers that are employed in outlying areas that can barely read and write and how they teach with few if any aids such as books or pencils. This is not just in The Gambia, it is on the most of the African continent.

School is a luxury and isn’t for everyone.

After several enlightening days with George and Anna we headed north to the more populated and the tourist areas to see how this was and get that cocktail!

I have to say its quite enlightening to speak English again and it makes life much easier for getting a few jobs done on the truck.

The tourist areas are a world away from what we have become used to and are understandably extremely quiet although there are still a few tourists around, mainly of an older age, both male and Female enjoying the company of friends of the opposite sex and half their age?

The people of The Gambia are it has to be said, extremely friendly and we are constantly stopped whilst enquiries are made as to our names and country of origin and during one such exchange, the young man said – British, you are nice people, you are our friends, You colonized us.

I didn’t have an answer for that one?

Although many roads here in the Gambia are sealed, there are still many sand roads as the rest of Africa.

The standard of driving is appalling but the biggest hazard whilst driving is the pollution caused by just about every vehicle blowing out black smoke.

The garage doing some of our repairs tells us he struggles to get work as maintenance is not something the Gambians see as a good investment, especially when it comes to their vehicles.

The usual sequence is the air filter gets blocked by all the sand so they remove it and the sand gets into the engine, wears the pistons and that means black smoke and lots of it.

After a quick blast on the motorbike, a shower is needed before I am allowed back in our truck. Charlotte stands at the entrance with a rolling pin in one hand and a towel and soap in the other.

It’s a filthy place to ride a bike.

The Gambian´s have developed their own spelling and words for various items and my favorite is their term for the conmen that feed off the tourists, using any trick to try and suck a few Dalasi from us. Their term is Bumsters and it’s a term used widely amongst the Gambian population.

Are their many Bumsters in that area, is a common enquiry.

We tourists are referred to as Toubab.

Again whilst walking, driving or riding our Motorcycle we will often hear the shout of ‘Hay, Toubab`.

This is not a derogatory term and is said to stem from the local Gambian children asking the British army officers for Two bob? Anyway, what ever the origin, its actually quite funny and when you look at the person shouting Toubab, you are usually met with a huge white smile that is completely genuine and a real desire to know who you are.

As regards the fluorescent cocktail, it never did happen but as we sit and while away the time whilst repairs are completed, I still wonder if today will be the day I get my Fluorescent cocktail and a sit by the pool.

What ever, we still great every sun down with the African orange hue that appears as the sun drops below the horizon and as the silence falls and the bugs come out, we listen to the strange animal and bird sounds we hear around us and wonder what they are telling each other.

The magic is palpable.

Soon we will be done in The Gambia and we are off south to Guinea Bissau via Senegal which for now is the furthest south we can get due to border closures for you know what.

It is also in late June as I write this and soon the rains will start that make remote travelling impossible as roads get washed out and flash floods are common place which gives us a whole new set of challenges to overcome. We have already started on the Malaria tablets as we have had a few down pours already.

Lets see what happens next on this wonderful journey we are so privileged to be making?

A few African facts.

The African continent could easily house the whole of China and India on its surface area.

The USA would fit easily into the north of Africa.

The population of The Gambia is just 2 million and if you think of London being around 10 million, that puts it into prospective.

Africa has around 1.2 billion people living across the continent against a world population of around 7.7 billion.

Lastly, I am pleased to say Channel 5 have been in touch and are arranging to film us out here for the next series of Million-pound mega motorhomes.

Of everyone featured in the first series, we are the only ones to be in the next series!

No idea what that means, but we will be hiding behind the sofa and squinting over the top to watch ourselves on national TV and asking each other – Does my bum look big in this?

Thank you for reading our blog

David and Charlotte.

Hitting the road in Senegal and turning up the heat.

It took around 10 days to be reunited with our truck and the whole thing was a nightmare. Corrupt officials in Casablanca had made the Morocco side of things a lot more expensive than we had expected but didn’t come near to what we paid in Dakar, Senegal. The system at the port is that you engage with a local agent and they hold your hand around all the departments to get the truck released from customs and the shipping company. It's slightly different to the Dover-Calais route? Before we left the UK, we had invested in a Carnet de passage (we had lodged a sum of money that if we sell either the truck or motorbike we lose the deposit we had lodged. We did this as it's compulsory in some countries to have one and beneficial in others, but obviously, the officials in Dakar didn’t agree. We were ferried around (excuse the pun) by our local agent for 3 days visiting office after office, paying bribe after bribe to get the official stamp from each department for what should have been free of charge. When I complained or questioned the payments, I was met with, ‘It’s up to you’. You pay the bribe or your truck isn’t released? The whole thing was terrible and scary when you are in a foreign country, not speaking the language (should have tried harder at school), but eventually we got our beloved truck returned to us. The 10 days in Dakar, pre truck reuniting was a real eye-opener and thrust us straight back into the hustle and bustle of African life. The traffic much denser, more people and much more happening and a frenetic pace, unlike the more laid back Morocco. We spent our time in Dakar walking the streets and soaking up the atmosphere. We noticed how tall the men were and 6 feet was normal. Beggars were everywhere, street vendors too. The strangest thing we saw being sold was we guess, fake copies of the game of Scrabble? When some guy tried to sell us an ironing board, it seemed almost a mountain to climb to explain we lived in a camping car and had no need of an ironing board? Poverty hit us like a runaway train. Amongst the beggars were a number of children equipped with plastic tubs and begging almost in packs. These children are scholars on the Koran. They are sent to the cities at a young age and housed in terrible conditions and sent out to beg all day and then study the Koran at night. This is not a swipe at Islam, just a fact of life. Once we had the truck, a night in Dakar was enough and we wanted to be out of the city and so we headed north following the small coastal roads stopping off for a couple of nights to rejig the truck after packing it down for shipping. We were heading for St.Louis and as soon as we arrived, we headed for a beachside park up to unwind and lick our wounds after the ordeal of shipping. Goats - A common site everywhere including town centers The fish was collected by many means including the well decorated horse and carts still common place in Senegal. St.Louis is an interesting town and many of the dilapidated buildings looked like a rundown New Orleans with their picket fence balconies now in various states of decay although the old town is a Unesco protected zone. St.Louis is the largest fishing port in Senegal and the Pirogues were brightly coloured and very photogenic. We also strolled the streets perusing the sand filled unmade roads and wondering how a principal town of such importance could function when it appeared that more than 50% of the streets had no hard standing, just the sand that was naturally there for a surface. The Fishing operation was fascinating and as the boats, and so many boats, came in, one after the other, the local women ran into the rubbish infested shallow water to buy their quota to presumably resell on the street corners. This practice was commonplace. We presume many women made their living in this way and the sight of fish displayed on wooden benches, covered in flies, with no refrigeration on most street corners became the norm. When we bought our Fish from premises slightly above this hygiene level, we still thanked our lucky stars every time we survived another meal without being ill. St.Louis also taught us if someone wanted to get your attention, they would bear their teeth and either suck or blow through them to make a hissing sound. It’s not the most attractive sound known to mankind and it took a while to accept that this was normal and was not meant in any way to be offensive. We also learned in St.Louis that the local Baboon society have learnt that humans are usually a good source of easy food. We sat outside the truck for breakfast, the day after my birthday, and I was able to read all the lovely birthday messages I had been sent. At the same time, and I was completely unaware, I was being stalked by a large male Baboon who crept up behind me and took my toast! After the initial shock, we laughed as the toast was coated in Bovril and we said, that will teach him, but as we looked at this large male not 20 meters away, he was licking the Bovril from the bread and disregarding the bread. When he came back for a second round (whoops, another pun), Charlotte stood up and shouted at the Baboon and he all but ignored Charlotte. It took a call from myself to scare him into retreat. He wasn’t scared of the female but was of the male? St Louis is, the last principal town before the Mauritanian border and was to be our last port of call before heading for Mauritania. We had a fixer to hand and all was going well and visas were being arranged although the border to Mauritania heading north is closed. Then the corruption started to raise its head again when the fixer suddenly overnight doubled his fees and we got worried, if we went to Mauritania on a dodgy visa, we are at the complete mercy of our fixer to get us back over the border to Senegal? So, decision made, no visit to Mauritania was about to happen. After a few physical threats towards me and a lot of negation, the fixer and I shook hands on a deal where we paid him for his time to date and all was good. This meant we needed to rethink our plan and move around our itinerary (it's always a loose plan anyway). The decision we came to was to head south again to Dakar to buy provisions. Part of the daily catch being prepared to be boxed and transported for sale. Whilst shopping, we were met with a chancer in the street who gave us the old, “Do you remember me. I am the waiter in your hotel routine” A scam to trick you into being embarrassed as you don’t remember and then you are easy prey to be sold a non-existent tour or, be asked for money to go and see his brother’s shop or whatever. This took us by surprise as we were the only tourists in town as far as we could see. We have encountered this one many times and have our well-rehearsed reply ready and countered the question about remembering him by saying very loudly ‘yes, I remember you’. You are the guy who was kissing your boyfriend in the club last night. I remember you both drinking Johnny Walker Scotch ! That usually sends them on their way in a Muslim country. Provisions bought and stored, we headed south/south east as this is really where many of the treasures we wanted to see in Senegal are located and as it was really the end of the Sahara and the start of the greener lands. Part of our provisioning was to buy 10 footballs and pumps (just what we need in such a compact space). These are being distributed when we see a group of kids in need of such a gift and it gives us great pleasure to see the faces light up when given the gift of a football. We anticipated our journey would take one or two days. It actually took 4 days and long days at that of driving across some pretty undulating terrain and a mix of dirt roads, some good tarmac and mostly, not so good! Along the way, we were stopped at many road side police and military checks and on two such occasions we were asked for money in exchange for not getting a ticket. A ticket for what we asked and challenged them to write us a ticket. We never did give the money and never did get the ticket. This is how the Dice role in this part of the world and we are well aware of some but not all of the tricks of the trade. This was also the start of the Red African dust, synonymous with much of the African continent as well as the Termite mounds most of which have been burnt out to stop the termites destroying the local homes. Our first port of call was the town of Kedougou and again, we parked up outside a hotel wall so we had security and a dinner in the restaurant before heading out in search of the tribes we had come to see. Further down the road, which was a selection of corrugated road surfaces, deep ditches that really tested our vehicle, we found accommodation at a local village that was near one of the tribal villages we wanted to visit. Again, parking up nearby gave us a base and we were able to ask around for help to see our intended tribal villages. The morning after we arrived, we set out early morning to trek for 2 hours up a hill to get to the village of Ibel with the help of a local guy in want of a few CFA (the local currency). Just a lovely photo showing the diversity of the streets. Another image of some of the roads This cheeky guy stole my toast and ate the Bovril before throwing away the bread! The women of the village chant and dance as part of the coming of age ceremony. This was a Bassari village and we knew May was the month the young boys had part of their initiation ceremony. Before I continue, I want to explain about the way the boys of the Bedik tribe transform from boys to men. When they are around 12 years old, they are taken from their parents, taken into the forest with their counterparts, given enough Rice for a few days and a Machete and a large stick. From there, they are alone and have to fend for themselves. They eat what they forage, kill, gut, prepare and cook. They are completely alone for several months before being brought back to the village where they are corralled together and unable to speak with anyone including their mum. They are kept in the village for a couple of days before being taken back to the forest for several more months. Finally, when they come back, they are classed as men and can look for a wife. I wanted to give them a bit of advice but the language barrier got in the way. My Bedik isn’t as good as it could be? On the day of our visit, the boys were back in the village which was quite by chance but an amazing opportunity for us. When entering the village after a gruelling hill climb we were scared by a man dressed completely in leaves with what looked like a hessian sack on his head and waving several large sticks at us. There were actually several of these guys in the village and their function was to ceremonially look after the boys by chasing away anyone and beating anyone that got near with the sticks. We were spared a beating as they were as surprised by us as we were by them. This ritual had developed into a game for some of the young men in the village and as we sat and watched, the tree men managed to trick a few youths into a pincer movement and the punishment was brutal and enough to say the sticks were thin and skin was broken. Whilst all this was happening the women had retreated to the edge of the village for safety and laid around on the ground, feeding babies, plaiting hair and adding more earrings to their multi-pierced ears. The village sustains life mainly by foraging for food, hunting for an odd animal or slaughtering a goat here and there and the only source of water was a well that they had to hand draw water from, situated at one end of the village. Women are there to cook and have babies. Men, to herd goats and forage/hunt for food. Cooking is in a pot on an open fire. Our local guide even said that the food they eat was basic which was rich as we had eaten with him the day before. No electricity, no running water and home was a hut made of mud with a thatched roof. This is Africa at its rawest, life is cheap here and staying alive is the top priority and that’s a tough ask. Medical help is only available from the local traditional medicine and a soft mattress is something they don’t even know what is. Their beds are made of wooden slats cut from the forest. Their beds are usually outside their homes because of the heat. Its 40+ degrees here and it never stops. Life is tough, really tough, but although they see little tourism if any, they remain civil and grateful of the small donation we made to the village for allowing us access. That in itself raises all kinds of ethical questions and questions Charlotte and I still don’t have the answers to? For Charlotte and I with our fancy truck and air conditioning, life is still hard. Our fridge freezer is working so hard to keep everything cool in the intense heat, it’s taking all the power from the batteries and if we turn on the generator to make more power, the batteries can’t take in the extra power as the safety system stops it as the batteries overheat. It’s a battle of first world problems. The only way around it is to get up around 4am when the temperature cools to a manageable 30 degrees and run the generator for a few hours before the heat returns. Even our solar panels are working overtime as well but such is the intensity of the heat, they don’t come anywhere near the power we need. It sounds terrible but we lay awake in the early hours, dreading the next onslaught of heat from the rising sun. We have to ensure we make ice last thing at night or the freezer won’t freeze it in time for our 6 pm sun downer - Can you imagine the hardship? Between village visits, we sat in the communal outdoor area of the local village sheltering from the blistering heat one day. Charlotte had her adult colouring book and gave a local little girl a similar colouring book. We are always a source of interest to the local kids. The three of us sat around a table colouring and typing away. It's surely a lesson in crossing barriers in some way, isn’t it? At least it shows that crossing the boundary between struggling for life and then being transported back to being a little girl again, even if it's for a fleeting moment isn’t hard to do and we have now added colouring books and pencils to our shopping list. A good nights’ sleep is something we dream of or would dream of if we could sleep? My closing gambit on the above is - It's hot, dusty and the heat makes it exhausting and it’s enough to say, we wouldn’t swap what we are doing for the world. A normal street in St.Louis More roads in need of a little TLC Some very exotic hair styles are all part of the tribal traditions. Food cooking under way in this traditional village, synonymous with how most of Senegalise people live. Preparation and dancing - all part of the ceremonies. Our second village was a village called Ethiolo. This was a simple hop, skip and a jump up a mountain a mere 45 minutes hike. Nothing I thought as we reached the village until it was explained to me they had no well in the village and all water was brought up in containers by the women on their heads. I leave that one to sink in a moment. It’s 40+ degrees remember and just sitting under a tree is an effort. The ceremony here was actually the day before the boys were brought back to the village and the women and some men chanted, drummed a beat and danced. When the tree men who looked the same as the other village appeared in the hills above the village, the group turned to face them and sang and danced to them in what we understood to be an incitement to bring them down and into the village to protect the boys who would be brought home the next day. The colours, the sounds and the privilege to be part of something so special will stay with us forever. As the day drew on and the afternoon arrived, large wooden bowls hewn out of a local vegetable/fruit (don’t ask me what) appeared, we understood it was time for the ceremonial drinking of the Millet beer. Again, few if any tourists make it this far and we knew what was coming as the bowls seemed to arrive into my reach at an alarming regular interval and after my first sip, I soon learnt to hold the bowl to my mouth with my lips tightly pursed. Again the experience was beyond our wildest dreams and the colours, the noises and the smells were mesmerising. With so little, they appear to enjoy the simple ceremonies so much. It was an honour to witness this. We headed from the villages back West and towards The Gambia stopping overnight where we attracted a group of kids who wanted desperately to see the inside of the truck. Their faces were a picture and their fascination at having a kitchen sink with a tap that dispensed water was beguiling and brought home the harsh reality of the way in which they live. We hope to enter The Gambia in the next couple of days but as this is now the end of May, we have to look forward and the rainy season starts next month. That means challenging driving conditions, uncertain access to many places and worst of all, Killer Mosquito and Malaria. We have our tablets ready for the start and await our fate of what the next leg will bring us. This is turning out to be a truly humbling and life changing trip. We can’t wait to see more. A few Senegal facts Population 16 million equally divided men and women. Age expectancy 67 Geographic size around 1.2 times the size of the UK Main export - Fish and Ground nuts Average earning per month - £450.00 I hope thats all okay and thank you for reading our story. One of the tree people. As we understood they dress up as trees to protect the boys when they come back to the village. A Bassari elder watching it all happen around her. A little girl coloring a book with Charlotte. Giving her a rest from doing the chores she is normally tasked with and allowing her to be a little girl, just for a short while. A couple of boys back in the village for the ceremony before being taken back to the forest. They are home for a couple of days but not allowed to speak when in the village. Connect 4. A great game to break the language barrier and always a hit as well as a travelers staple. Village life and the very normal way of life in Senegal away from the cities. 

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Moving on, shipping out

So, after 4 months and 12 days, we decided enough is enough and we finally left Morocco.

We had tried to work with a fixer to get us over the Mauritanian border but it wasnt to be and so shipping the truck was our only option.

The reason is, the Moroccon/Mauritanian border is closed over a dispute regarding the sovereignty of Western Sahara- a large area of no mans land between Morocco and Mauritania and a large troop presence has meant the borders closure.

As a result, we will ship to Senegal and, drive north to Mauritania and then head south again from there. Just a slight inconvenience and an additional several hundred miles to drive.

I have attached a small map to demonstrate this.

On our arrival to Casablanca, we checked into an apartment and the truck went to the port.

The customs guys went to town on our beautiful truck and we had 2 sniffer dog inspections, an X-Ray inspection and a physical check. I am glad to say nothing found so we got away with stashing our Drone, as drones are illegal in Morocco. (We hadn’t used it whilst there, but have it for future ventures).

So, as I write this, we are now parted from our truck for the first time in almost a year.

We spent 4 nights in a swanky apartment in Casablanca before flying to Dakar, Senegal where we are now in a not so swanky apartment, awaiting the ship whilst imagining all sorts of tragedies that might blight her arrival.

We call our truck, ‘her’ and we have not followed the tradition amongst other Overlander's who tend to give their vehicles names. We prefer to call our’s home.

The adventure in Senegal and beyond is yet to unfold and will be subject to future Blogs and instead, this is all about a round up of our amazing time in Morocco.

For me, our time in Casablanca allowed my mind to wander back to the days of black and white films and of course Humphrey Bogart “Of all the Gin joints in all of the world” (ask your mum). But, it is nothing like that. Instead, it’s a modern working city and very affluent to boot.

Casa - Blanca, that could be a good pub quiz question couldn’t it? Anyway, the city is actually modern and vibrant with many of the buildings still painted white, I like to think, in honour of the city’s name.

We arrived in Casablanca over a week before we were due to leave Morocco to ensure we had all our Ducks in a line. We couldn’t afford any issues with the truck going one way by boat and us flying another!

Our stay in the truck before we parted company was super easy, as we found a large car park on the sea front and made a deal with the unofficially appointed guard to make this our place of residence and so we could go about our business and prepare for our departure whilst looking out onto palm trees and the Atlantic Ocean without any issues.

Living in a car park isn’t glamorous but it worked on this occasion. Keen to ensure the process happened in a timely manner we even did several trial runs to the airport and the docks as we didn’t want any issues on the day.

The preparations included getting our air tickets, organising the shipping for our truck, getting permission to enter Senegal from the Senegalese Embassy as well as the now obligatory PCN test we have had so many times but we still hate the cotton bud stuck up your nose as you try and act all normal whilst it feels like half of your nose is being remove.

Any way, about Casablanca. It is as I said, athriving city full of contrasts of old and new where slums built from old bits of wood, plastic sheeting and corrugated sheets rub up against newly built, glass clad mega structures and designer shops are everywhere. Horse and carts still ply some of the lesser streets along with the selection of mega cars flying up and down.

It did seem a little strange seeing all this wealth after spending time in the desert and the poverty that runs throughout the country and then we paid for our shipping and it all fell into place - Ouch!

Our stay coincided with the start of Ramadan when eating, drinking, smoking and a ban on any sexual activity during daylight hours is forbidden, for Muslims at least.

The effects of Ramadan became most clear when we went to the airport to fly to Senegal and cleared security in record time and when I asked why it was so simple, the guard explained they needed to close the airport to break their Fast for the evening and as we filed out of the immigration hall, all the guards sat around a table and ate together. That doesn’t happen at Heathrow!

I am guessing it wasn’t Ramadan when Ingrid Bergman walked into Humphrey Bogarts Gin joint in 1941, it wouldn’t quite have the same ring to it, would it?

“Of all the Milk shake parlours in all of the world”

Ramadan also means shortened working hours, shortened tempers, and people even blacking out whilst driving we are told.

Day one we saw at least 7 minor car accidents, people shouting at each other in the street and scuffles breaking out for no apparent reason.Tempers are certainly shortened during this time.

Another incident we encountered whilst doing a beach walk, we were passed by a couple of guys on Quad bikes who passed us before diverting off the walking path and stopped near to a major Coast guard station. As the guys got off their bikes for a stretch of the legs and as we approached we heard a couple of uniformed coast guards shout to the guys in Arabic. The guys shouted back (I don’t think they were saying hello). And then in a flash, the cost guard raised their rifles and we heard them cock their guns ready for shooting. We retreated quickly as did the quad bike guys.

Another incident during Ramadan was after a full day out organising the shipping. We returned to our truck and started to prepare our food when one of the guys, who had spent his day washing cars in the car park for a few dirhams, came over to us and gestured us over to join him and his colleagues for a hearty dinner of Fried Fish and bread served on a rickety table covered by a piece of cardboard of questionable appearance? But we didn’t want to appear rude and so ate the delicious food offered and accepted the hospitality with gratitude.

Isn’t it often the way that those with the least, give the most?

We are told it’s good to experience a Fast as it helps develop your mind apparently and spiritual being, but seeing how it appears to affect the locals, we are out to lunch on that one … so to speak.

Just one strange observation, we passed a drive through McDonalds in Casablanca city and it was open and the cue of traffic was enormous?

All other restaurants and coffee shops are closed during the month of Ramadan.

Our final destination before arriving in Casablanca was the Western Sahara where we encountered 2 sand storms in 3 days. During the start of one of the sand storms we had taken refuge at a camp site for our safety and when the winds started we were the only people on the camp site and we soon had visitors. The local cats came visitingand spent the hours of the storm hunkering down with us until the storm passed.

The cats left with full bellies!

Animals have become a big part of our trip and we always make a habit of feeding anything we come across and we are becoming adept at Tick removal from the dogs and Ear Mite treatments for Cats.

I am pleased to say no food goes to waste (unless it has Chilli on it) and we now have a stock of Cat and Dog food to boot that we restock regularly.

The sand storm experience was quite surreal with high winds blowing the truck in all directions and a total black out (or actually an Orange out). Apparently some of the sand ended up in the UK? Although we were never scared, we did wonder what was going to happen to us.Both storms where quite an experience.

Trying to sum up our time in Morocco is challenging as it has involved so many places people and the most striking landscapes that have changed so drastically on a regular basis.

Green fields followed by the barren landscapes of the Sahara and everything in between. Climbing up through the High Atlas mountains and the snow covered tops, the baking heat in the Sahara and the occasional downpour, which gives the country the much needed rain.

Another striking part of our trip has been the people who always feature heavily in any visit but the kindness of these folk has been legendary. We have waved and smiled at almost everyone we have passed whilst driving. It almost becomes a job, but a nice job.

We have watched farmers plough their fields using Donkeys and a tractor is a rare beast and non-existent almost in the barren south.

Poverty is commonplace and yet not once have we heard anyone complain or question the cards they have been dealt. They just seem happy to be alive and living life no matter how hard it is and these people will always have time to chat or communicate whether they speak Berber, Arabic, French or English and many seek all those languages.

The locals would always smile and often offer us tea or food. That’s a hard one because we don’t want to appear rude or elitist by refusing but we don’t want to take from them when they have so little?

It’s a problem we will wrestle with throughout our journey I am sure.

When to give and to whom is always a dilemma and always has been on our previous travels. When so many need so much, you can only help so far. It does make me at least question the values of the Western world but that’s another question for another day.

As much as we are looking forward to Senegal and the rest of the western African countries, the country we are most looking forward to is our visit to Nigeria and our intended meet with the kind Gentleman that contacted us to tell us we had won the Nigerian lottery.

We can’t believe our luck!

He was so accommodating and so honest to make such a contact with us (he could have claimed the money and kept it himself) and best of all, he only charged us $2000 to act as our agents and we have a fortune to collect!

How good is that!

We hear others may have won similar gains to collect from Nigeria and we are now considering offering a broker service for anyone who needs it to claim their fortunes.

We will charge a similar $2000 fee and our bank details are below if you wish us to act on your behalf?

Did you look …. Really?

As we reflect on our 4+ months in Morocco we are now moving on to what we consider to be a much more edgy part of the continent. A part that offers many more challenges than Morocco and as our time in Dakar, the capital of Senegal starts, it feels like someone turned up the volume. Chaos and colour rule here. We can feel the increased heat, the hustle and bustle, the intense smells (not all good), the vibrant markets, touts shouting about their wares, the look in the eye of the locals much more intense and altogether a lot less organised and we have to be more aware of our personal surroundings although it still feels safe.

This is western Africa at its rawest and we are itching to get going and see what it has to offer