That Sunday I set off for the border with Mali - a ride that was going to take me about 3 days. As usual, Sunday turned out to be a good day to leave on, as the traffic was a lot lighter, although it had the disadvantage that school was out, meaning that there were a lot of boys around on bicycles.
One poor lad, as usual, took up the challenge when I passed him, and immediately sped up, passed me, and then slowed down after doing so, so that I had to pass him again if I wanted to maintain my pace. This was only mildly annoying, but unfortunately, about the 5'th time he did it he mis-timed a high-speed swerve past some other cyclists, and wiped one of them out, along with himself, but luckily missing mee. Feeling sorry for him, as he had been having quite a bit of fun, but rather relieved that they hadn't hit me, I left them to sort it out, and rode off into the distance.
About 70 km further, what should I see in the distance, but three cyclists heading my way. It turned out that they were Dutch - two guys and a girl - and had spent the last 3 weeks biking from Bamako, headed for Ouaga and then Ghana on a 5 week holiday. We had a bit of a chat, and then headed off in our separate directions, after they had told me the name of a good place to stay in the next town I was headed for. Turned out this was a special bonus, because when I got into town and stopped to ask two old guys for directions in my atrocious French they suggested I stay at the Anglican mission, and sent me off with a boy on bike to show me the way.
I'm not sure what they were thinking, as when we got there it turned out to be basically an abandoned compound, with a house with no water, electricity or furniture. If I hadn't known that a better place existed I'd probably have taken it, but as it was I politely declined the offer and set off to find the other place. When I got there it turned out to have a private bathroom and even airconditioning! Talk about a bonus.
Nicely rested, I set off early the next day, knowing that I had a rather long ride to get to the town just before the border. At around lunchtime I stopped to in a small town to have my usual beer or two, not realizing that I was about to get thoroughly frightened. After ordering a beer a couple of guys, one of whom was rather large and stocky, came over, said hello and shook hands. Since they didn't speak any English, and my French was limited, the conversation soon died, and they left shortly thereafter. I then struck up conversation with a local teacher who could speak pretty good English, which was quite nice for a change.
While we were talking, the big stocky guy came back on a scooter, and said something in local dialect to me, which the teacher translated as "He wants to know if you have anything for him". Being quite used to being hit on by now, I said, rather grumpily, "Por Quoi", and then "Non", and bluntly turned back to talk to the teacher. The conversation went on for a while, and then the teacher said matter-of-factly "You see that guy - he was fighting in the Ivory Coast for money". On further quizzing, it turned out he had been a mercenary for the rebels for a couple of years. Great - now I'd gone and been rather rude to an ex-mercenary, who knew where I was going, and could easily catch me on his scooter on the rather lonely roads! The teacher then asked me "how I can find the money to travel for such a long time", and then a bit later whether I carried a gun or anything to protect myself. Feeling distinctly paranoid at this point, the only thing I could think of was to explain that I didn't need a gun, showing him me necklace (which I'd bought a couple of years back in Vietnam), and explaining that I'd had a witch-doctor put some juju on it "for protection" when I was in Ghana, making some comments about the secret society with the bull-roarers that I'd learnt about from Prof. Poppi to try and lend my story some credibility.
He seemed to accept this pretty matter of factly, and shortly afterwards I made my excuses, got on my bike, and rode as fast as possible for the next town, Ouahigouya, all the time checking in my rear-view mirror to see if I was being followed by anybody on a scooter. I did the 25 km in just over an hour, which turned out to be the fastest average speed I ever managed in Africa.
Needless to say, nothing happened, and thinking about it, there was probably very little to be worried about. The fact that the ex-mercenary was in his home village, where everybody knew him, and where he would be the first suspect if there was any trouble, and also the fact that he was out of the context of the conflict, without other soldiers to egg each other on probably meant that I was worrying unduly about nothing.
In retrospect, when you're alone and in an unfamiliar environment sometimes the significance of small events can be magnified out of proportion. I've often found myself fuming at some small slight, when in hindsight it really isn't that much of a big deal. I was pretty glad to get to Ouahigouya though!
Ouahigouya Hotels
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