Unusual Journeys 2: The Bus

At the outset let me be clear: this was an unusual journey for me, but it’s perfectly usual for many people here!

The bus from the Gambian border

The closest I could get by boat to my ultimate destination (the Gambia) was Dakar, the capital of neighbouring Senegal (see previous post). I could have hopped on a plane and landed at Banjul airport 25 minutes later. But that was too predictable. Besides, when my Gambian friend M, who works with SIL in Dakar these days, offered to do the journey with me by public land transport, how could I refuse?

He frequently makes the journey back to his home country, so I knew he’d be a reliable guide. I would not have wanted to do it without him! Plus, he’s a friend and good company.

The Gambia consists of the main part of the River Gambia, plus its north and south banks, as it cuts into Senegal (read up on the history elsewhere!). The whole region (Senegal / Gambia / Guinea Bissau / Guinea) consists of lots of different tribes, many of whom have migrated around the area for various reasons over the centuries, and are now quite mixed up geographically. 

One of the main ethnic groups in the Gambia is now the Wolof, who were originally artisans from Senegal (inc. Dakar), so much so that Wolof is now the common language in the primary urban area of the Gambia (where I live). That is just to give some context to what is still the case today - that people move around the area quite a bit. So my journey was going to be unusual for me, but not uncommon for people here. 

Step 1: Taxi from SIL to the “bus stop”

M had said we’d meet at SIL at 8pm, to get to the bus at about 9. (The benefits of doing the journey overnight were that the roads would be a lot emptier and it would be considerably cooler - just about the right side of 30˚.) He decided to re-introduce me to “African time”, arriving with a taxi at 8.50. I needn’t have worried that we’d miss the bus…

We drove across Dakar (a city with 4 times the population of the Gambia) using a motorway, which was one of several things about Dakar which - compared to what I knew of the Gambia - were new and different in an otherwise familiar part of the world. My newness of being back in Africa meant I was initially concerned about the absence of a seatbelt, but my worries were quickly put into perspective by crowded minibuses overtaking us on the motorway with people sitting on the roofs.

We arrived at what looked to me like any other street corner, where we waited by a little food shack and had a “meat pie”. Apparently we were at the meeting point for our international journey.

Step 2: Wait for the bus

It was now 9.15 and, I still being a bit anxious that we might have missed our bus (going on the 9pm estimate), M said there was no need to worry. It would be there “Soon!”

At about 10.45 the bus turned up. I had a precious couple of hours chatting with M and finding out lots more about him, his life, and his ministry. I hadn’t appreciated than when he left accounting to work for GAMFES in the Gambia (part of IFES - international Christian student work), he was embracing a salary cut to 1/5th of what he’d had before. Since then it’s not been easy. He had a very useful year in London, doing the Cornhill Training Course, and is now working with a team on the first translation of Luke’s Gospel into his own Karon language. We rejoiced together at his privilege of being involved. After many months unable to pay for his family to move to Senegal with him, wonderfully they are now back together in Dakar. He testifies to God’s provision and care every step of the way.

As the bus arrived, no one seemed in a hurry to get on. It was going to take some time to pile everyone’s bags on to the roof. (By now I’d already offered up, and would yet say many more, prayers for protection of that bag!) And besides, some of the ticketed seats’ purchasers hadn’t yet arrived and the bus wasn’t going to leave without them. M and I laughed about the contrast to England (which he knew from London), where train doors might close a minute before its precisely scheduled departure time!

We finally stepped up to get on. In a moment of confused and ridiculous English politeness, I declined the offer to go to the loo. (Why?!) Thankfully, I quickly saw my folly, repented and - as they say here - “eased myself”.

Step 3: The bus to the border

This would be the bulk of the journey: south to the border with the Gambia. We left at 11.50pm and arrived at 5.30am. I would have been very interested to see it all in daylight, crossing a large and rural part of the Gambia’s large neighbour, but I can’t imagine doing the journey in temperatures even a smidge higher!

The bus was an actual bus. The other way of doing the journey is in a “sept-place” (= seven places) - a Peugeot estate with 7 seats squeezed in. Boy am I glad we didn’t do that. M stressed that we were taking the more comfortable option in this bus with about 60 seats. When we boarded the bus I thought, “There’s no way it’s got that many seats”. It didn’t at first. Until most people had sat down, and then chairs folded up to fill the corridor down the middle. I chose not to think too much about what would happen if we needed to evacuate for any reason!

Maybe someone back home was praying that God would help me survive the heat. In any case, thankfully, just as we were leaving, M bought a small hand-woven fan from one of the ladies selling them and bananas on the bus. Oh was I glad for that! (I still am during powerless nights.) It had been extremely hot and humid during the day, and must have still been high 20˚s and very humid. After a highly embarrassing amount of wriggling to try and get comfortable in a rather small seat, I managed to find a passable position for my legs. But I said goodbye to the idea of sleep. Instead, I fanned myself, listened to some favourite music (e.g. Sovereign Grace Music / Ryan Adams), and curiously snatched what sights I could of our very dark surroundings.

This whole area is very flat, so you can often see a very long way. Plus, we were quite close to the coast for a while, so you could see right out to sea. You’d think that at night that doesn’t mean much. But on the horizon (thankfully no closer), on several sides, there were dramatic thunderstorms, with thick clouds hugging the horizon and flashes of lightning reflecting all over them. It made for exciting watching.

Step 4: At the border

M had told me that we’d need to go through passport control and then change onto another bus to take us into the Gambia.

We got to the border at about 5.30 and M guided me through the various police offices and immigration checks. It was still totally dark, and I almost jumped out of my skin in front of one official when a giant dragonfly flew into my face.

We stood by the side of the road watching the sun rise, as we prepared to cross the border to my new home. Once more I “raised my Ebenezer” and thanked God for his help thus far and his presence ever with me.

Step 5: Bus to Barra

We were now boarding a Gambian government bus, which would take us 10km to the small town of Barra, on the north bank of the River Gambia opposite the capital, Banjul. Wheels rolled at 7am, and we were in the Gambia! It was my 5th time, and felt good to be back. The sun had only just come up, but life had begun and it all looked very familiar: the small villages lining the road with white painted mosques and basic compounds of accommodation. People walking with huge bundles of wood or piles of fruit on their heads. Children playing with sticks. Goats and chickens wandering around. 

Step 6: Ferry to Banjul

Crossing the River Gambia

Immediately after stepping off the bus we were at the ferry terminal and it looked like we’d catch the first ferry, which had been M’s plan. All in all, an efficient journey! It had been a hot and sweaty night so I was glad of the chance to freshen up under a tap by the side of the road, and we picked up a cool drink and some breakfast (I’d packed 2 cereal bars for the journey) before boarding the ferry.

I’d taken this ferry before, and it can be alarmingly overcrowded. Perhaps the first ferry is a bit quieter, but it was fine and felt great to be crossing over to familiar territory on the South Bank. The river - the heart of the country - greeted us with beautiful calm.

Step 7: Taxi from Banjul to the house!

M had arranged for Pastor S to meet us at Banjul. After stepping through the ferry terminal’s gate at about 9am, there he was! He’d hired a taxi which was somehow hovering in the middle of a busy road, waiting for us. We just about managed to avoid slipping into huge pot-holes full of recent rainwater as we lugged my big heavy bag into the car, and headed on our way.

We’d made it! Such a common journey for so many. But quite an adventure for cushioned old English me. It was such a relief, after 14 days at sea and 13 hours on the road, to be driving along roads that I know well, past familiar places, in the area of the country where I’d been preparing to go for months / in some ways, years.

The house was actually locked when we arrived and the lady with the keys was “on her way”, so S kept us company at the compound of SOW (where I’m working), just across the road, and supplied us with delicious cold water as we waited. The morning’s classes had actually begun so I was straightaway introduced to some of the students I’ll be working with - drenched in sweat and probably not making my finest impression!

And so it began…