Piggy Bus to Bissau

Bijagos, Goodbye Island Girls
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We passed through Guinean customs and immigration with no problem, other than Lucas had neglected to tell me that he would have to pay entry and exit fees on his ECWOS identity card at every checkpoint in Senegal and Guinea-Bissau. No matter, the bush taxi we took from Sao Domigos had a very large hole in the floor, through which I could admire the surprisingly well metalled road, as good as those in Senegal. The roads in the Gambia mostly comprise of small rings of tarmac, surrounding large craters. I’d been jostled so much on the road out of Brikama that my torch had slipped out of my pocket and spiritually joined itself with my Jamaican wristband. The road ended at a ferry crossing the Rio Cacheu, where I was greeted by the remarkable sight of buses with roof racks crammed with live pigs and goats, making an almighty din. In fact, one of the tell tale signs that you are indeed in Guinea-Bissau are the number of domestic pigs crossing the well maintained roads, you know you are now in a Christian country. Lucas had started taking delight in pointing out the number of Catholic and Evangelical churches to be seen and just the occasional mosque. He’d really like to move back here!

Fish & Rice, Bissau Market
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A piggy bus took us to the outskirts of Bissau, here we took a local taxi to the hotel Lucas had been recommended by an official from the consulate office in Fajara. I thought this could be expensive but the taxi ride cost me dearly; the driver insisted that I needn’t put my rucksack in the boot but sit it next to me, despite him picking up other passengers. While wrestling the bag out of the narrow back door I caught my left wrist on the door trim, slicing my watch in half, sending the winder into the gutter. I was speechless and a tear came to my eye as my long term travelling companion and a very direct link to my dad, who had died in 2000AD, went into terminal decline. I managed later to tape it back together, it still worked but with no means to wind it, I just had to wait for it to slowly die.

Piggy Bus
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The Hotel Ta-Mar did indeed turn out to be quite expensive; we were the only guests and had the choice of the four rooms. The prices ranged from CFA25,000 to 30,000 to 35,000, all with air-conditioning, fridge and TV which only worked intermittently due to power cuts and power cables too short to reach working sockets. Lucas had the nerve to ask me which room shall we get; to which I had to point out that we were on a tight budget and that he shouldn’t have to ask. I was more than a little touchy at this point, still mourning my ruined watch. The only difference between the rooms was that the cheapest room had its own toilet but it was in the corridor, with its own key. This was hardly much of an inconvenience, more so was the fact that the ensuite shower was electrically powered, so due to the power cut we had to use buckets in the very small space. A room like this in the Gambia would be quarter the price; things were not looking too great for the Gambia to Guinea-Bissau excursion business.

Having changed into yet another evening ensemble, Lucas was ready to hit the town but first he wanted to find out the times of the boat over to Bubaque, the main island of the Arquipelegos dos Bijagos. Having read that it took four to six hors to get there, I didn’t think we had enough time for the trip and visit Cassalol village but Lucas said we shouldn’t miss it. It turned out that the only ship leaving for the islands, that weekend, was about to embark in an hour. Lucas rushed back to the hotel to try and get a refund on the night’s accommodation, like a Jonah I repeated that there was no chance. I was right, as the only guests in the hotel there was no way we could have our money back and I wasn’t prepared to lose CFA25,000. I helpfully suggested they keep the money and we re-occupy the room on the Sunday night, when the boat was due to return, the management’s reply was, “No chance!” but in Portuguese. Lucas had to watch the boat go; it was his turn to be tearful. I found out, from some soldiers that evening, that the island girls were supposed to be the hottest women in West Africa and that Lucas had been hoping to sample their delights. Lucas wasn’t deterred and assured me that we find a canoe to take us over in the morning. If it took four to six hours on the steamer, I didn’t want to imagine the trip by paddle power and a strong libido. 

Bissau is very, very expensive, we found the main hotel charged from CFA100,000 per night and the cities tourist restaurants match those prices. We settled for fish and rice in the local market, some imported Sagres dark beer washed down with a lot of the very cheap local drink, kana, distilled from cashew nuts and very strong. After lots more to drink I helped guide Lucas back to our hotel, his knowledge of the city was a bit rusty, as he hadn’t been back there since he was ten; he’s now forty-six. It’s hard to know what brings tourists to Bissau, it seems like most Europeans are there on some business, probably something to do with the vast forests to the east of the country. There must be some good business to be had to claim the hotel bills in their expenses.

Saturday morning found no boats leaving for the islands; much to my relief. Despite bring a Christian country everyone was celebrating the Eide holiday at the end of Ramadan. I suggested we go to visit Lucas’s family as we planned to do and forget the island girls. He took one last, wistful look across the sea, blocked his ears to the sirens’ cry and got us a good taxi price to the Cacheau ferry.