The current finally, possibly, kicked in and so did my AC. It was pleasantly chilled at night and in the morning I didn’t wanna get up. But I had to. The bike to Sorobango. Then catching the bus to Abidjan. I lied down beyond 7am.
Around 8am I started calling hotels in Abidjan in order to find a room.
Abidjan isn’t cheap when it comes to accommodation. The Bradt Guide lists one hotel just below 15kcfa range – Location des Arcades. iOverlander lists hotels around 20k per room. Forget the booking engines. Although iOverlander mentions that some people found the prices lower on Expedia. I used to use Expedia to rent cars in South Africa but after I’d run into pricing discrepancies that were quite high (Expedia vs. what I’d been charged) I stopped.
But I did do an Expedia search and I found a hotel that is central and costs 15000cfa per night – Hotel Restaurant du 3éme Pont.
I called Des Arcades but both numbers listed in the guidebook were off. I did internet search and I did find something called Residence des Arcades with the same phone number. I called Troisième Pont and noone answered. I considered doing the booking online but I hoped perhaps directly it would be cheaper.
And Troisième Pont did call back. Whoa. Yes they have rooms, the cheapest is 15k, they will keep one for me. Great. That’s sorted.
I came out of the room after 8am. The caretaker seeing me said that the moto driver he had found for me was here at 7 but because I wasn’t out (!!) he left. !!!!! I asked how about knocking at my door. No monsieur you were sleeping, we didn’t want to wake you up. WTF!!!!! Can we call the driver. No he’s gone to fix his bike and I don’t have his phone number. WTF!!!!!! Not quite believing what just happened I went back to my room. There would be no mud mosque for me. I tried to call Ahmed. His phone was off. 10mins later the caretaker knocked at my door and said he called the moto driver (!!) and he will come soon. I think sometimes it’s better not to understand logic behind things.
I did wait and the driver came back. A young man. Of course the price of 5000cfa wasn’t good for him. I did point that this is what I offered yesterday, didn’t he agree? Oh but he doesn’t have the permission to travel out of the town and there are police cordons and he’d have to pay. How much would he pay police? 1000cfa at each cordon. What the hell? I say okay we go and I’ll pay the police. Ah but maybe I’d be willing to pay 8000cfa police cordons included? I said no, it’s 5000cfa + police. I don’t wanna pay the police but it’s been such a struggle to get this ride and maybe I should just better take what’s on offer and go see the bloody mud mosque. Then it turns out the man doesn’t even know where Sorobango is and how to get there, he’d only been to a village 10kms away from Bondoukou. I show the men – there are already four of them taking part in the discussion – Google Maps, it’s 20kms to Sorobango, road seems straight, I will only take photos of the mosque and we will be going back.
The driver asked for 2000cfa upfront for fuel, he left to get it and after a few minutes returned. We left.
The asphalt ended just as we passed the last buildings. There seems to be some road works going on, possibly to extend the asphalt. Sure enough 500metres on the dirt road we hit the first cordon. And yes, every driver comes up to the police with papers, except mine. He goes up to the police and talks. The police doesn’t pay attention to me. He’s got no papers, soon a policeman comes out and takes the bike off the road.
I go aside and decide to wait. One policeman asks me how I did even take the motorbike if the bike has no insurance. I mean how did I even know what kind of papers the motorbike does not have. I asked many and all of them seemed the same, noone said they don’t have any papers at all. The driver came to me and asked for 1000cfa. And off we went.
Half way through a uniformed man was sitting under a tree. Another 1000cfa, this time the driver didn’t even talk to him, just took money from me. The policeman even thanked me. Fuck you policeman.
The road was getting progressively worse, the soil washed out, we drove on some rocky ground, quite bumpy.
Just before Sorobango third checkpoint, they asked the driver for papers. He did talk to them this time, pointing to someone we met on our way and we were allowed to go for free.
In Sorobango there is quite a large mosque but its brand new concrete. We stopped at a house next to the mosque and I did ask for a mosque and the man answered “you are in front of a mosque”. I said I was looking for the old one and the man showed us the way. He spoke to the driver and we walked among the houses and there it was: small and behind a fence. So much for nice pictures.
Before we even entered a compound the driver talked to some women outside, we shook all hands and the mosque caretaker appeared and he took us in. We were allowed inside the mosque, tiny and cramped inside, no praying mats, a lot of wires hanging loose, barely any painting seen but the caretaker insisted the mosque was a working one. Certainly there was a speaker broadcasting the prayer calls. We went up on the roof. I gave the caretaker 1500cfa for his troubles, took a few pics. Even the driver wanted a photo. And we came back. I bought some fried dough from a woman near the house where we left the bike and we rode back.
If one has to see one mud mosque in Ivory Coast, the one in Kong is more impressive and also easier to reach, it’s right in town and you’re not bothered by the cordons and transport issues, Kong has easy public transport and the mosque is right in town. I hear all kinds of stories about Ghana mud mosques – gifts to village chiefs are expected, the Larabanga youth being unpleasant. In Ivory Coast noone bothers you and it’s a bit of adventure.
Back in Bondoukou I owe 3000cfa to the driver. I give him a note of 5000cfa but of course, pas de la monnaie. And we just stand there, he waiting for I don’t know what, me expecting him to find change. But he doesn’t move. I get this type of behaviour quite often from people here. So I tell the driver to meet me at 11am at the bus station. The bus is supposed to leave for Abidjan at 11:30, they will surely have change. That triggers some action from the driver, he won’t leave me like that. So I go pack my bags and he takes me to the bus station.
The ticket to Abidjan is 6100cfa. The 100cfa is supposedly for some tax stamp. As usual, the ticket window is 10x10cm in size, I give the 10,000cfa not and all I hear from inside is the dramatic il n y a pas de monnaie. What the hell. The female voice from inside tells me to wait. After a few minutes a hand reaches out from the inside and gestures for me to hand over the money. I get my change and I pay the driver.
The ticket says departure 11am and it’s in no way consistent with the timetable displayed. A few minutes a bus enters the compound, it’s in transit, its registration plate not the one that’s on my ticket but it’s my bus, the bag enters the hold in which of course goats are present too, it’s marked Treichville for the station in Abidjan where I want to get out and 11:30 the bus leaves.
It does have 5 seats across, 3+2 but it’s not full and I sit with another man on 3 seats. It does stop however frequently and passenger enter and leave.
But it’s a smooth ride compared to the small minibuses. I’m able to get my earphones on and listen to some music, my first since Morocco. I am able to read a book! It’s also air-conditioned. Ah the comforts.
My phone rings several times and one call is from my hotel. They ask if I’m still coming because they have many enquiries and they ask for hour. Looking at Google Maps I tell the man 6-7pm. Fine.
There is TV in the bus and a movie with Jason Statham is played along with some Ivorian movies. Then at one point a man comes around the bus and hands each passenger two tamarind sweets. I thought it’s a bus service, how nice. But no, the man is gonna sell us stuff. He has a microphone plugged into the bus speaker system and he starts talking. He keeps on going forever before he hands out some herbs that cure I don’t know what. People buy it. Then he brings out toothpaste and toothbrush and people buy it. Then he brings out some other stuff, pills and powders and people buy it. He leaves his phone number on boxes in case people would ever want a refill. He also mentions that this stuff is so exclusive that you can only buy in hypermarkets, not just supermarkets but of course at much higher price.
We reach the first Abidjan bus terminal at around 6pm. I find it quite nice that the bus is going really through town and stops around. They could as well stop at the outskirts, Asian style and make people continue in taxis.
But the traffic is so bad that it takes us another 2 hours to reach Marcory, where I get off. The bus was supposed to take us to Treichville, which is close, but I’d still have to take taxi. But a woman in the bus talks to the apprentice and he lets us off at a junction in Marcory instead. We both walk the same direction.
The hotel was not marked correctly on the maps. I had to call it in order to find it. It’s a house that looks unfinished, you have to ring a bell to be allowed in. It’s right on a busy street Boulevard du Cameroun. I had been to this area some years ago, there is a place called mille maquis that used to be a large outdoor eating and drinking joint. But now new roads and flyovers have been built and the place looks cramped and small.
The area is nevertheless full of street food and drinks. Very lively. The room is nothing special, 15000cfa is not enough to get a toilet seat. I walk out to find food and of course I end up sitting at one of the street tables, roasted fish and onions for 2500cfa, it’s still carp only but what the hell I’m taking it. A fresh salad from a woman next door is 500cfa. Large Guinness, one of the women roasting the fish has to go and buy it for me, 1200cfa. It’s a bit long waiting for the fish but when it’s done it’s nice, fried onions, fresh onions, pepper and mustard. At the end the familiar issue of change comes up but I buy water in one of the shops and a Arab/Somali looking seller sorts me out.
On my way back, it’s not yet very late, I see men with drinks in bottles. Drinks have stuff inside, plants. I ask what it is. They said they distill the drinks from palm wine and they infuse it with plants. Angel calls it koutoukou. A glass of this drink is 100cfa but I don’t have small change. They pour it for me anyway. It tastes OK, not very strong but then I’m Polish, our throats have tasted a lot. They bring out another bottle with a yellowish liquid, same stuff, different infusion. They said it’s for men especially, if gives us power in 10 minutes. Well there is no-one with me to try out my power but I take a glass.
I go back to hotel. It’s before 11pm. I lie down on bed thinking I can go out again. I close my eyes, I wake up at 3am. Power long gone.
Coming back to Maman 