Tri Cycling Africa

HomeBack to the homepage. JourneyThe filmmakers cycled a tandem recumbent tricycle over the dusty landscapes of West Africa. Over two months they crossed five countries from Bamako, the capital of Mali, up to the legendary city of Timbuktu on the southern edge of the Sahara Desert, south through Burkina Faso, Ghana, then Togo and Benin. This is the motivation behind the journey. TrailerDownload an extended trailer for the documentary series. Media KitDownload an electronic press kit (includes full synopsis, crew bios, episode breakdowns, director's statement and more), brochure and white paper. PhotosSome images from the trip. BlogsOutside the making of the documentary, this is a series of emails sent home during the trip. They are completely honest accounts from the filmmakers of the highs and lows of travelling in a foreign place. ContactThe series is currently seeking distribution. Click here to contact the producer. CreditsThis project would not have been possible without...

JEFF McLEAN'S BLOG | MARTY POUWELSE'S BLOG

23/11/2002 - Kokrobite (the other side, literally), GHANA

The other side (literally) of Kokrobite is Accra, the capital of Ghana, and here we perch while the passport issue unfolds.

A couple of days ago we spent some time in the rather dodgy Ordokour police station in Accra to file the report and get the paperwork I needed for my passport application. It was a dusty room (like most in Africa) with several officers and unidentified people wondering about. We got hard stares from the inmates hanging out of the bars of the lock-up just behind the counter while a bloke was cuffed before us and led away. However, it took surprisingly little time to acquire our report; about an hour.

I've been waiting for advice from Sanchi at the Australian embassy in Nigeria about what I can do. After getting narry-all response from Canberra (must be busy drinking coffee), she tells me there's a slim chance the British High Commission can help. Yesterday I sent her an email saying that I'll log on later in the arvo for any news. I did this and there was no message from her.

Meanwhile the security at Big Milly's (beach accommodation at Kokrobite where we stayed) have been investigating, and they keep telling me there's a good chance the bag will be recovered; without the money obviously, but possibly with my papers. They think it's the local mafia, and also think they know who actually did it and which village he's from, except that he's now moved from this village possibly because he knows he's being chased. All this information to lead me on and possibly make it look as though they are actually doing something. Whether they are or not is a mystery.

Every villager told me to visit the village chief ASAP after the incident to report it to him. Big Milly's suggested I avoid this as it may scare the boy off. I had to make a decision so I let Big Milly's take care of it. With four days under the bridge and no tangible result, I finally decided to visit the chief. This must be done with an escort who can speak the local language as the chief doesn't speak english. The chief has the power to make an announcement to the entire village about the missing bag and goods. There's a chance that if the bag is found it will be returned to the chief. Hopefully this can be helped with the lure of a reward. Apparently, the announcement is done at night, so there's another day I have to wait for something to happen.

Today we had to get to a bank to withdraw enough US dollars to cover my replacement passport (US$182), as this looked like the only option left. I really don't expect the bag to be recovered. Also, we were spending every day travelling at least an hour via several tro-tros (buses) into Accra to visit embassies and do banking and internetting, so we really had to leave Big Milly's because it was getting very expensive, what with all the meals and fruity rum cocktails. So we got the trike into Accra and spent the next few hours riding around madly looking for, and being systematically rejected by, banks telling us they either don't accept Visa or their lines are down. Jeff just happened to ask where exactly the lines were down, and apparently it was between that bank and the one in High Street, meaning that we could probably withdraw from High Street. Thanks. Why didn't you tell us before? Yeah right.

We raced to High Street, as it was now 2:20pm and the banks close here at 3pm. It was only on the other side of the CBD but the traffic was a mongrel and we made it just before the place closed.

Around 3:30 while Jeff was still organising some cash, I thought I'd better run off and check my email in case Sanchi had replied.

Boy, had she replied.

With an email titled "Good News!!!!!!", she told me the British High Commission had come through. All I had to do was get to the British Embassy by 12:30pm with two passport photos and they could do me a Commonwealth look-a-like Aussie passport on the spot and valid for six months. Great! Except it was now 3:50pm. An email from Maxine from the British Embassy confirmed the news, and obviously having missed the 12:30pm deadline she'd kindly extended it to 2:30pm. Damn.

So, I then had the guy at the internet joint busy on his personal phone trying to contact the British Embassy which was constantly engaged, while I replied to the email and explained why I hadn't been there before the deadline. After my reply was sent (about 10 minutes later - this is an African internet café), and still no luck on the phone, I told the lovely guy not to worry; I'll just go to embassy now and hope that Maxine is still there.

I ran back to the bank where Jeff was waiting and we rode like madmen to the embassy. Front gate security was good and helpful. Reception: hmmm... it took about three nano-seconds to realise she was quite new to this position.

"Sorry, the embassy has closed," she said in a slow nervous 'this is my first time, so be gentle' voice. "This is an urgent passport matter and Mrs Hyde is expecting me. I must see her now," I announced in my best official tone while sweating and smelling like a bastard. "I don't have her phone number. I think she has gone home." "Ok. There must be someone here who has her mobile number. My passport has been stolen and she has arranged a replacement which I must collect today." "Hmmm... ok... um... I'll see if...", and off she went (with a security guard's help) to find someone called the Duty Officer. I finally got to talk to this guy who knew who I was. Finally!

"I'm afraid the embassy has closed. You'll need to come in on Monday morning at 8am."

Great. Thanks for your help.

Well, I guess he was probably busy driving to the pub for Friday night drinks so who can blame him. I'm only stuck in a foreign country with NO WAY OF GETTING HOME!!!

Jeff even managed to get a gurnsey with the bloke, but the heartless prick wouldn't have a bar of it.

So Jeff will leave for Cotonou with the trike on Sunday to easily make it for our flight on Monday night. I will leave my hotel bright and early on Monday morning with all my stuff, visit the embassy at 7:45am as soon as it opens, then race like hell to try and get to Cotonou, two countries away, for the 11:45pm flight.

Monday is going to be a hell of a day.

So now is the calm before the storm. It's Friday night, and this weekend I can do nothing but try and relax and enjoy myself in Accra, in anticipation of the shit fight on Monday.

Maybe it'll just work.

Love,
Marty.

PREVIOUS | NEXT