Dag 54: Man na Nzerekore, Guinea

(English Translation Below)
​
Dag 54: Man na Nzerekore, Guinea
 
Ons bekommer ons oor die Guinea grensoorgang. In Accra al na die Guinea ambassade gegaan om te sê dat ons nie teen die datum wat op die eVisa papier gedruk is, by die grens sal wees nie. Dis een van die onmoontlikhede van die beplanning van só 'n reis. Jy moet voor jy vertrek 'n stuk of fyftien visums kry. In serie. Guinea se visum-rekenaar ken aan jou 'n sperdatum toe op grond van jou datum van aansoek. Jy moet vóór daardie datum by die grens wees. Maar die vrou in die Guinea ambassade in Accra het ons belowe: dit sal nie 'n probleem wees nie. Kan sy vir ons iets op skrif gee om dit te bevestig? Nee, jammer, ongelukkig nie. Volgende?
 
Ons ander bekommernis is die politieke situasie in Guinea. 'n Paar dae gelede het die vorige diktator, en van sy trawante, ontsnap. Hulle is in aanhouding weens 'n menseslagting in 2009. Die regering het die grense gesluit, die man gevang, en gelukkig weer die grense oopgemaak. Maar ons weet: As lande senuweeagtig is, is hulle grense ekstra prikkelbaar.
 
Ons strategie vir die grensoorgang: Nederig en ons beste bekoorlike selwe.
 
Net voor die grens kom 'n Oostenryker van voor af met 'n motorfiets. Hy's oppad Kaap toe. Sê die grens was maklik.
 
Ons kom maklik deur die Ivoorkus-kant. Ry tot by die klein geboutjie langs die Guinea vlag. Stop, klim af, valhelms af. Die amptenaar sit by 'n lessenaar op die stoep, ons staan met ons elmboë op die stoepmuurtjie wat as toonbank dien. 'n Vrou met 'n klein dogtertjie sit agter teen die muur. Die dogtertjie loer vir ons. Ons maak oogkontak. Sy kruip weg. Loer dan weer en lag. 'n Lekker speletjie. Nog drie of vier ander mans sit en staan ook op die stoep. Besef ons kan nie Frans praat nie. 'n Vrou bring vir hulle gesnyde komkommer. Hulle bied eerste vir ons aan. Wat 'n lafenis! Dis reg sê die amptenaar ons kan maar ry. Is ons deur, vra ons verbaas? Wat van die stempel? Nee die stempel kry ons by Immigrasie, 'n entjie verder in die pad af.
 
Ons kom daar aan. Wys weer al ons papiere. Twee mans in uniform. Stug. Ons hou ons asems op. Dan: Jammer maar julle visums het verval. Maar die vrou in Accra... Jammer, kyk hier, kyk die datum, dis verstreke. Ons weet, sê ons tevergeefs, maar die vrou by die Guinea ambassade in Accra... Jammer julle moet terug Abidjan toe en nuwe visums kry. Hulle roep die baas. Hy stap nader, bekyk die visums, loer dan oor sy bril op na ons. Ja, baie jammer, julle sal moet Abidjan toe. Ons verduidelik weer. Hierdie keer luiser hy. Reg, hy sal Conakry (hulle hoofstad) skakel en uitvind. Ons moet wag. Ons wag. Beplan ons volgende skuif. Besluit om heeldag hier te sit, selfs tent op te slaan, totdat hulle ons deurlaat.
 
Dan kom die boodskap: Ons kan deur!
 
Die pad is soms geteer, soms grondpad, maar dit kronkel deur die woud, nou en dan oor 'n bult met 'n uitsig oor golwende groen woude tot op die horison. Ons is in Guinea. Die onbekende wat haarself oomblik vir oomblik aan ons bekendmaak. Dit is mooi.
 
 
Day 54: Man to Nzerekore, Guinea
 
We worry about the Guinea border crossing. In Accra, we went to the Guinea embassy to explain that we wouldn't be at the border by the date printed on the eVisa paper. It's one of the impossibilities of planning a trip like this. Before you leave, you have to get about fifteen visas. In series. Guinea's visa computer assigns you a cut-off date based on your application date. You must be at the border before that date. But the lady at the Guinea embassy in Accra assured us: it won't be a problem. Can she put something in writing to confirm it? No, sorry, unfortunately not. Next?
 
Our other concern is the political situation in Guinea. A few days ago, the former dictator and some of his cronies escaped. They're in custody for a massacre in 2009. The government closed the borders, captured the man, and fortunately reopened the borders. But we know: when countries are jittery, their borders are extra touchy.
 
Our strategy for the border crossing: Humble and charming.
 
Just before the border, we meet an Austrian from ahead on a motorcycle. He's heading to Cape Town. Says the border was easy.
 
We breeze through the Ivory Coast side. Drive up to the small building next to the Guinea flag. Stop, dismount, helmets off. The official sits at a desk on the porch, we stand with our elbows on the porch wall, serving as a counter. A woman with a little girl sits against the wall. The little girl peeks at us. We make eye contact. She hides. Peeks again and laughs. A nice little game. Three or four other men also sit and stand on the porch. Realize we can't speak French. A woman brings them sliced cucumber. They offer it to us first. What a refreshment! The official says we can go. Are we through, we ask in amazement. What about the stamp? No, the stamp we get at Immigration, a little further down the road.
 
We arrive there. Show all our papers again. Two men in uniform. Stern. We hold our breath. Then: Sorry, but your visas have expired. But the lady in Accra... Sorry, look here, look at the date, it's expired. We know, we say in vain, but the lady at the Guinea embassy in Accra... Sorry, you'll have to go back to Abidjan and get new visas. They call the boss. He walks closer, looks at the visas, then peers over his glasses at us. Yes, very sorry, you'll have to go back to Abidjan. We explain again. This time he listens. Right, he'll call Conakry (their capital) and find out. We must wait. We wait. Plan our next move. Decide to sit here all day, even set up the tent until they let us through.
 
Then the message comes: We can go!
 
The road is sometimes paved, sometimes dirt, but it winds through the forest. Now and then over a hill with a view of the undulating green forest to the horizon. We are in Guinea. The unknown revealing herself moment by moment. It is beautiful.

BackaBuddy