Benin

"Why should I buy some for you?" I said to the chap who had been shouting at me from across the street as I ate my deep fried dough balls.

"Why....because you are white and i am black and you have lots of money."

This conversation typifies the attitude of many of the Beninese people i have come across my the week here. Until now people have tried to extract my money by more noble means- "I wash your bike/clothes/boots", " i be your guide" or a good old fashioned scam. But here, healthy working men feel no shame in simply asking for money, something i would normally only expect from the elderly, sick, children or the very poor. Yesterday i was walking round town with a pineapple i had bought for my lunch and twice i got asked to give it away.

Nonetheless I've had an interesting time whilst waiting for the Nigerian elections to finish. (I had initially planned on riding straight through this country).

Voodoo originated in Benin and Oiudah, where I spent a day and a night, is reported to be its heartland. Voodoo was then exported to the Caribbean with the slaves that that got channelled through this town. After seeing the main sights of the town and hiring a guide to show me the the old slave road and explain Africa's own part in the slave trade, he took me to a Voodoo dance ceremony.......type thing.

Under a big old mango tree 5 guys banged constantly away on their drums, while for most of the time 5-20 rotund women danced rhythmically around the tree and parading in front of what looked the chiefs. Every so often another woman would enter the circle and lift her skirt to reveal a huge dildo which she would thrust into the 200 strong crowd who encircled the tree. Needless to say the crowd loved this and egged her on to get even more filthy! At another stage a skinny little chap entered the arena with a machete and jerked around the tree in a trance sporadically lunging at the crowd. This, needless to say again, didn't go down quite so well. The random comings and goings of various other characters went on for the 2 hours I was there. Unfortunately there were no monkey sacrifices.

With more time to kill i headed to the north of the country. I wanted to see the Samba country. This remote and fiercely independent tribe had managed to resist raiding slavers and the French colonialists, and until the 1970s walked around bollock naked. They wear clothes now but still hunt with bows and arrows and live in beautiful 2 storey mud huts that look like mini fortresses with thatched towers in each corner.

After riding along many of the tracks that link up these dwellings (feeling very intrusive whilst doing so) I eventually found the place i had planned to sleep that night. It was closed, only lizards occupied the sleeping building and it looked unused for months. To make matters worse, my biking jacket that had been tucked under a strap on the back of the bike had come off. I back tracked to where i had last seen it but it was gone.

My plan was to take a guide from the camp i had hoped to stay at to show me around some of these unique buildings. As my own attempts to communicate with the Samba was not received well, I headed back to town, mission failed and minus the jacket. Back towards the town a crowd of about 50 had gathered around one such house just off the track. Children were shouting from the roof over the sound of the drums (yes always drums). I stopped to take it all in and was surprised to be invited over by one of the few french speakers there and offered some murky brown, still fermenting, home brew. It was a funeral and the party was centered around the dead mans house. After paying the chief a couple of quid i was taken to the roof of the house where i was proudly shown a freshly slaughtered cow. Part of the cow had was being paraded and danced around outside as a sacrifice. I think the rest was to be feasted on later that evening.

This is the beer tent

After another slurp on the home brew i was given a go on one of the drums. I think they were laughing at me rather than with me but it was certainly a crowd pleaser. I handed back control of the drum and bid farewell. I think they wanted me to leave so they could start doing all the really freaky stuff. A few chaps asked for some more money but i settled on giving an old fella lift home. I normally refuse to give lifts as i am worried about my rear suspension which is already carrying a lot of load and bottoms out over rough terrain, but i could hardly refuse on this occasion. Now it squeaks.

The sky was getting darker with thick clouds rode back and i just managed to get back to town and into a bar before the heavens opened, the rain making a deafening din on the corrugated iron roof. The streets were suddenly deserted.

Im back on the south coast again now in Porto Novo. I changed my oil again yesterday for the second time this trip in the hope that it would alleviate the sloppy gear changing/transmission that I have been having. The jury is is still out as whether it worked. I was hoping to wait until Yaounde, Cameroon to do the oil change where I hopefully have a new oil filter waiting in Post Restante. But with some rough roads in Cameroon before i get to Yaounde and with 10,000 miles on clock since London I thought it would be prudent to do it now and just clean the existing oil filter.

I will need to find a new rear tyre in Yaounde if not before. Ive been warned that 17 inch tyres are hard to come by in Africa so who knows what i will end up with.

Change in landscape pic, and beard update for Ollie.

I really enjoyed Ghana. I'm not sure if its the fact that most people speak some form of English, the change in landscape or perhaps the people i met. I could have stayed longer, but as with trips like this one there are always opposing thoughts about the plan. On one hand i'm thinking i may never come here again so should make sure i see everything, on the other I feel this pull south to complete my "mission".

My first full day in Ghana gave me what i had been wanting for the previous three weeks- some rain to clear the air. In much of Mali and Burkina the constant heat haze combined with dust obscured the sky and in the cities this became thick with the addition of diesel fumes from 20 year old trucks and 2 stoke mopeds. The rain, heavy and sudden took me by surprise. My waterproofs, redundant for 6 weeks were deep in my panniers and i got soaked and even felt refreshingly cold for while. The Sahel Landscape gradually gave way to lush tropical rolling hills with quaint colourful villages nestled into the forest. Each village has a clearing for a football pitch with the size depending of the size of the village. The use of timber for building huts houses was noticeable after the north where a lack of trees means mud bricks are the construction material of choice in the rural areas.

A couple of days later i hit the south coast at a place called Cape Coast. This was the former British capital of the region formally known as Cape Coast and a major port for the slave trade. I had lunch here at a beachfront restaurant with a couple of British expats who offered to fix me up with a job. They are working on a port extension project in the east of Ghana and by all accounts loving the expat life style. It was Easter weekend so they were spending their time off on a beach bar crawl down the coast with their driver waiting diligently in the 4x4.

I was going to stay here but when the police turned up, due to a Dutch tourist getting here phone stolen, i decided to move on. And i'm glad I did as I ended up here:

This is one of those gems that could easily hook you in for a week or more. A collection of bungalows, a bar and restaurant on a remote section of pristine beach. Its owned and run by a British couple and due to the Easter break was full- luckily i had my own tent. Most of the people staying here, in fact most of the westerners i met in Ghana, were either volunteers, aid workers or expats. There are as many aid and religious organisations there as anywhere else in the world (according to my guide book).

After a couple of days of lounging, swimming and playing volleyball i reluctantly left. I wanted to get to the capital Accra when the Nigerian Embassy opened on the Tuesday to apply for my Visa.

Christianity is the main religion down here and is noticeable everywhere. Many of the businesses are titled on this theme, so you get things like: "Jesus Shines Mechanical Services" and "God is Love Printing". Or a taxi will have "2 wrongs make no right" emblazoned across the back window.

Here's a work related pic of a train station in Trakadi. As you can see, the tracks make a lovely pathway! Shortly after taking it I was asked by a chap why i was taking the picture. He claimed it was a breach of security, but as I worked "in the industry" it would be OK.

I'm now in Lome, Togo in an internet cafe supplied by a very noisy generator. The power here is so erratic that that the cafe could not operate with out it. Whilst waiting for a machine i cast my eyes around the various screens to see what people were up to and chatted to others waiting. It soon became apparent that most of them were Nigerians busy scouring European web sites for contacts to e-mail with some bullshit story to facilitate some kind of scam.

It was good to get their views/advice on the potential trouble in Nigeria foll elections this weekend and again on the 21st. The feeling seems to be hold tight and wait. I think i will follow their advice.

Go back to Burkina

dWell my attempt to get a Ghana visa on the border failed. The Ghanaian border police said they were just not able to issue me a visa, and it seemed any hints of paying extra was not going to change that. I was going to try the 'we used to own you' line and then thought better of it.
So after getting myself and the bike stamped out of Burkina i had to drive back in, and I thought, get a new visa. Fortunately the immigration guys were sympathetic and just stamped me back in and the customs chaps waved me through. Sweet. That was the silver lining to the cloud of having to turn back and head north. Which i really wasn't happy about.

With time on my hands before the Embassy opened today (yesterday was a national holiday for Mohamed's birthday) i headed up to a national park and spent the following morning watching elephants eat, wash, wallow and pull branches off of trees, all from the small campment with a restaurant and bar.

So back in the capital now, a little hung over after joining in the birthday celebrations yesterday ( yes, surprisingly everyone was out on the beer yesterday) and trying to escape the heat in an internet cafe but the air conditioning is groaning I'm dripping sweat on to the keyboard.

Andy has gone ahead (he had his visa) and i will meet him on a beach in Ghana. We will travel through Nigeria together and see how it goes from there. He to is headed for Cape town.

I have repeatedly been warned about travel in Nigeria, firstly by a Spanish businessman who imports chinese building materials all over the continent except there. Then by someone from the World Food Programme. And then by Nigerians themselves! We will try and blast though in 4 days. I have to start operating on high security mode something that I've not needed since Brixton. Every where so far i've felt very safe, even in the cities at night, and never really worry about the bike.

Tomorrow its pick up my passport and head south. Again.