Basse Santa Su, The Gambia.

In Mali a sept-place takes nine passengers but in Senegal they actually take seven. That was a treat! The road to Velingara was reasonable and there were several overturned trucks abandoned on the roadsides along with a couple of burnt out fuel tankers. The cows didn't take any notice of the taxi driver's horn and took their time crossing the road and chewing their cud. Consequently, we have seen a lot more dead bloated cows, and donkeys on the edge of the edge of the road than we have seen anywhere else.

We had to get two motorbikes to take us from the gare routiere or transport stop to the place where the transport left for the Gambian border. Once again we had to sit under a thatched shelter waiting for a vehicle to fill. The place was pretty dusty and and a hot wind blew the sand over us everytime a truck or taxi came by. The vehicles that were to take us to the Gambian border reminded me of the ones we see waiting to enter the stock car race track for the end of season 'demolition derby'. They were absolute wrecks.

After three and a half hours wait in the heat and dust we finally got fifteen people to squeeze onto the back of this pick up. It had no starter motor and the petrol was stored in a reused plastic 4 litre oil pack under the bonnet. One of the drivers was not happy to have us photograph the vehicles but I reckon that if we are paying to travel in it, and risk our lives, we should at least be able to take a photo of the wreck.

The road to the border was pretty bad as the driver took a short cut rather than travel the better road that was used by the truck drivers. Neither were sealed. We sat on benches along the sides of the back and the tree branches slapped us on the back as he drove close to the trees to avoid the holes.

The pick up dropped us under a tree in no man's land where there was a group of more wrecks waiting to take us into The Gambia. There were no buildings and it was very hot and dusty. The conductor told us he had a couple of seats in the back of the sept-place for us but when we went to get in them they were taken by a pregnant women and one with a baby so we let them have the seats. There were a couple of men from Guinea who were shouting at the driver and conductor as there were not enough seats in the sept-place for the fourteen people who had crossed in the pick-up. We were not able to understand the discussions as they were in Wollof and left them to argue. There was no more room inside the vehicle and we emptied the boot and suggested we sit there but they didn't want that as they would get held up by the police. After much shouting, the Guinea guys hopped onto the roof rack with the luggage and tossed our bags down and then they drove off laughing at us and leaving us behind. We couldn't believe it!

We walked the kilometre to the border control office and the vehicle was still there being processed. One of the immigration officers asked me how I was was and I told him I was hot and angry. I explained to him what had happened and he reassured me that the vehicle would take us into Basse Santa Su. This border had been closed because of the transport problems and we were an example of what had been happening that caused it to close. After more discussions I was curled up in the boot and John was put with four others on the roof rack to got the thirty six kilometres to Basse.

As we walked around Basse looking for some accommodation we bumped into a guy called Jutta. He helped us find a guest house in the main street. It also turned out he worked for police intelligence and worked at the border. When we told him about our crossing he said they were still having meetings about what to do about the transport situation at the border. It seemed easy for us to solve. If a vehicle from Senegal takes fourteen people to the border a vehicle on the other side should also take that number. There were certainly vehicles of that capacity at no man's land.

The guesthouse was pretty run down but the young man running it for his family was very nice. He insisted we call him Rooney after his favourite football player. The electricity to the town is supplied by a diesel generator and at night it is turned off and the fan in the room would be useless. He suggested we take our mattress on the verandah overlooking the street where it would be cooler. We set up our mosquito net and enjoyed the cool breeze coming through the lattice blocks on the verandah.

Jutta took us to a restaurant across town where we had fried chicken and chips. We offered to buy him a meal for his help but he was more interested in money so he could fix his Chinese made motorbike that was having oil leaks.

We rested up for a couple of nights in Basse which was pretty noisy, dusty and had temperatures in the mid forties. Speakers playing a woman singing Quranic verses blarred until midnight and then the muezzin woke us at morning prayer time.

The wind came up and we couldn't see across the street so we stayed in until it lessened. Rooney showed us where we could watch some football games at a video club. It was a huge warehouse where they had tiered seats and three TV sets so they could show more than one match at a time.

Basse sits along a river and we watched the barge take people, trucks and animals across to the farms on the other side.

We met a man who was taking photos of the river and he explained that he was a water engineer and was looking at the feasibility of building a dam for electricity and providing a bridge. He was taking the findings back to the Italian company he worked for. He was originally from Basse but now works in Angola.

We later met a man who worked for a medical research company and he told us it was run by a New Zealand man. This man was also from Basse and had left in 1989. He found his town was much poorer now than when he left it as a youngster.

We gave some bread to a mentally ill man who was begging on the street and Jutta told us that the man had been in Europe and was deported and that is what caused his illness. Rooney also pointed out another mentally ill man and said that he too had been in Europe and came back sick. We have heard this explanation a couple of times and are not sure if it is like traumatic stress disorder, from the culture shock, or as a result of experimenting with drugs during their European stay.

What are these guys dreaming about as they lounge on this wrecked taxi?