more pics

Rahilla's Mom (Moustapha's wife) is an amazing woman. I don't actually know her real name. I just call her Mom! She made banana and coconut sugar cookies for the Sunday school class that she teaches (of course, I was the official taster). And tonight she specially made crepes for me (extraordinarily good ones too)! Just a real joy to be around.





These piles of rocks are lots of fun to play on. I spent all Sunday afternoon jumping and scrambling and climbing - sometimes hauling my bike too!

Finally, some pics!

There are very few trees now. Just these thorn trees with NASTY spikes, up to 2.5 inches very sharp and very strong. I keep a sharp look-out for these, so they don't go through my tire. The branches make for a great "fence", though, keeping all the goats, sheep, cattle, donkeys and camels out of the millet fields!






New mosques are being built around this country every day. There is apparently lots of funding from states like Lybia, Saudia Arabia and others. They usually look really cool.


























Things are definitely dryer in these parts. Check out these rivers!




Writing the Arabic prayers on a tablet of wood, using an ink-dip stylus.


























Love the name of this village. I'm not sure whether they really think their village is a hole, or if Dennis Leary is the mayor!
























When I saw these birds up on the wall, the only thing I could think of was: "So what you want to do, Aye, Aye? I don't know... What you want to do? Oh Don't start that AGAIN!" -The Vultures (The Jungle Book by Disney)



These are some Fulani homes near Niamey. The Fulani are great herders (even the 4-year-olds!) and spread all across West Africa, but this is one of the areas that is considered a "homeland" for them.







The Tuareg are also nomadic herders, but they tend to have cattle and camels more than sheep and goats. In certain areas, like I have been riding through, the two co-exist quite peacefully.



























The Hausa's build there homes a little differently, but they look good, and I'm sure the mud keeps them relatively cool inside. The square/rectangle buildings are the ones they live in and the round ones are where they store their millet (grain).

OK – it’s HOT now

On my way to Zinder, I had been musing to myself about how humid it has been for the past week. I had always imagined Niger as being a giant desert, completely dry and arid. But this has not been the case. I have been surrounded by fields of millet, corn; sorghum and other things all along. Even with fewer trees and dry river beds, the humidity in the air has been significantly higher than one would find in Calgary or Perth.

Then, all of a sudden, I topped a hill, and there I was on top of a plateau with nothing but rocks and scrub brush for as far as I could see. I could almost feel the air drying out. I could definitely feel my clothes drying out. My sweat drenched shirt and shorts were bone dry in minutes. “Well, I guess this is what they call the Sahel!” I said out loud to myself. (Yes, I talk out loud to myself as I ride. Not sure if it is keeping me from going crazy or if it is proof that I already am).

The change was really quite sudden, but welcome. I enjoy the dryness. It doesn’t even feel like I am sweating anymore. This is a little dangerous because I need to keep drinking just as much if not more. I also need to use more sunscreen. I don’t know if there is any scientific basis to this, but I could feel the sun on my skin much stronger than in the previous days.

At noon, I was only 35km from Zinder and there didn’t seem to be any towns or villages that had omelet stands in them, so I decided that since I was going to have a few rest days, it couldn’t hurt to just keep rolling through nap time and get to Zinder in time to do a little internet! This turned out to be a mistake, and I won’t make it again. The hot sun gave me a licking and I went through my water reserves very very quickly.

It was just about this point when I got a flat tire again! This time it was one of those nasty thorns that grow on nearly all the bushes here. It is a wonder that I haven’t had more. Fortunately for me, (Once again, thanks God for providing!) the flat happened near a tree (the only one I had seen in a few km) that was casting enough shade for me to work under it. This patching session went much better than the last one and I was back rolling in only 15 minutes.

By the time I got to Zinder, I was really dehydrated and wiped out. When I took of my helmet, I felt some powder on my face. It was white. I noticed it on my hands and arms too. I was covered in a fine salt that had been left by my rapidly evaporating sweat. Crazy. Several cokes, bottles of water, and Oral Rehydration Solution packets later, I was feeling much better!

Invasion!

In the last 10 minutes of the Bible Study time, there was a sudden inundation of grasshoppers, through the open door of the porch. They swarmed in by the hundreds. I don’t know where they came from, but no one else seemed very surprised. After a few minutes, someone calmly got up and closed the door, but it must have seemed very normal to them ‘cause no one really took much notice. The grasshoppers were bouncing everywhere, committing suicide by jumping and flying into the lights, and half the time being killed or chopped in pieces by the giant overhead fans. Again, I think I was the only one who took much notice -the others just seemed to brush the bugs off and continue right on discussing, in very loud Hausa voices, whether or not miracles happen today. I think the conclusion was that Yes, they do happen and we need to have faith that God can work through us as we are his disciples. But as for the bugs, apparently this was not a plague.

After everything was done, I finally got a reaction. The kids (who had been sitting still listening for the full 45 minutes) suddenly jumped up and ran around screaming, collecting the grasshoppers and popping them in their mouths as a tasty snack. I had heard about people eating grasshoppers but had never done it. When I asked one of the adults about it, they said “Oh, these aren’t good eating grasshoppers, these are just for kids! The good grasshoppers only come right after it rains.”

Back in the family

Upon arrival here in Zinder, I called Rahilla, my student from Ouagadougou and let her know that I had finally arrived. She rushed out to meet me and I followed her moto-taxi back to her family’s house. They knew I was coming, but weren’t sure when. I was given a place to stay with her father and mother in their expansive, but simple home in the original neighborhood of Zinder, where Rahilla grew up.

Immediately, on entry, I recognized a huge photo of Souleman and Nanna, whom I stayed with,in Niamey, up on the wall, then a picture of Rahilla and others that I didn’t recognize. The father, Moustapha, is VERY proud of his 7 children! They have made me feel right at home, like I am part of the family.

After showering and eating (Rahilla’s mother made me a giant omelet!), I enjoyed getting to know Moustapha. He is 65 years old, and worked (very successfully) his whole life as a car mechanic, but always invested his earnings in farming. Hopefully tomorrow I will be able to go out and visit his fields which he continues to work, even though he is retired from the garage that one of his sons now operates.

Later in the evening, I joined about 50 people on the screened-in porch for a mid-week bible study that Moustapha hosts. He has a microphones and everything set up for the weekly event. Everything was in Hausa, but I sat next to a man who translated for me. Afterwards, my translator introduces himself to me as Moustapha’s nephew, Rahilla’s cousin. In fact, the majority of those present seem to be family members of some sort or another. I am reminded of Pooh Bear’s friend Rabbit from who always talked about his many relations. It also reminds me of Acts 16, where it says of the jailer, that, “He and all his house believed”. When I talked with Moustapha about this later, it became apparent, that he is not only extremely active in sharing his faith with his family, but also with his neighbors. He continually shares with those who live around him and he has even mounted loudspeakers on the exterior walls of his courtyard. The singing, prayers and teaching get broadcast for any of the neighbors to listen without fear of being outcast from their families for going to into a Christian home. My first reaction to this was horror. How incredibly imposing – to blare out your prayer time on loudspeakers. Then Moustapha reminded me that this is very culturally appropriate - He says, if Muslims can broadcast their prayers from the mosques, then why not be proud of his faith too?

“Don’t you recognize me?"

He sounded hurt, like I really should know who he was. I was in a little omelette shop having some lunch and trying to seek refuge from the scorching mid-day sun. Another customer there, a 17(ish) year old boy was telling the other customers that we had met before, but I was unconvinced. He insisted it was true, so I asked him where and he said “2 days ago, on the road to Konni, we passed you in a white Toyota pick-up, and you waved at us!”

I started laughing from the bottom of my belly! How could I tell him that I get passed by about 20 white Toyota’s every hour? – Over a hundred a day! And I maybe wave at a third of them, if not to be friendly, then at least to loosen off my shoulders. They pass me going so fast, I can’t recognize anyone inside, but apparently I need to be taking better notice! When I explained, then he brightened up and we spent the next hour chatting until the call for prayer. He went across the street and I rolled out my mat to lay down and read for a while.

An omelet a day...

One of my friends has pointed out that bread with sardines and marmite doesn’t sound very appetizing and she is right, I only use them in real emergencies. However, as the month of fasting continues, food during the day is becoming fairly scarce, even in the bigger towns and cities. I have had to learn what to look for to find something to eat. Usually there is one thing that is available all day and in most towns that are big enough to have a bus-stop, to supply the needs of travelers: an omelet shop! It usually looks like a table with cans of milk and coffee on it, but if you go and ask, they usually have some bread and eggs hidden under the table. And so, omelet has become a staple food in my life – sometimes twice a day. Eggs deep-fried in oil has got to be the safest food around – and it’s pretty tasty too – well, better than sardines and marmite, anyways.

Ps- on Peace Corps

I spent two more days in Maradi, recuperating and resting at the Peace-Corps base there. It was thoroughly enjoyable for me, and very refreshing. I have to say that the team of volunteers in Maradi really impressed me a lot. They were much more diverse in their backgrounds and views than I had imagined, and as I got to know them and the projects that they are working on, I was encouraged by what they are accomplishing for the local populations. The new recruits were equally interesting and full of potential, eager to get to their posts and change the world. It reminds me of me when I first came to Africa! We ate together, played games and discussed books, listened to music, and slept in a giant camp of mosquito nets pitched on the front porch! When I finally left Maradi to come to Zinder, my legs and were fresh and my spirit reinvigorated. Makes riding so much more enjoyable when you are relaxed. Hats off to the Peace Corps for their renewing hospitality!

Ps - on drafting

I forgot to mention that I am not the only one on the roads making use of the drafting principle. It is not uncommon for local cyclists - on their way to or from their fields, or traveling to the next village- to suck in behind me, making use of my meager slip-stream. It is always fun to share the road for a while, and they think it is a hoot to ride with the crazy white guy. Often times their baggage is a bag of rice or something else like that, much heavier than what I am carrying, and their bicycles have fat, wobbly tires, but they have extraordinarily strong legs and reach amazing speeds for short periods of time. Often, just before turning off on their road, they will give a burst of energy and spurt out from behind me to show me up and then wave goodbye, laughing, as they drop off the pavement, onto a little pathway that winds off into the vast fields of millet.

If they stick with me for long enough for me to need another drink from my water bottle (every 3-5km), then I will slow down and pass the bottle over. They are usually grateful because they are doing more work to go that speed than I am. Very rarely, I wind up with someone going a long distance and able to keep up with me, but if so, I will also invite them to join me on my hourly break for a package of “Glucose Biscuits”. Glucose biscuits are what keep me going in between meals. A couple of these little packets have just enough sugar to keep me going for another hour, and at $0.10 each, I always keep my pockets full.

Sometimes, young kids (10-15 years old) will challenge me to a race. This is always lots of fun. They can usually beat me for a ways, but eventually, my skinny tires and the advantage of gears leave them behind. I always shout out encouragement as I catch them: “Allez-allez-allez! Tu vas le faire- poussez, poussez!” (Go, go, go! You can do it – push, push!) It is things like this that make me smile!

Peace Corps Camping...

People had been warning me about the terrible stretch of road from Doutchie to Konni since I got to this country, so I knew it was going to be bad. It is was a stretch of 150km that has a terrible reputation. It is being worked on, but according to the reports I got, the detours and work zones were just as bad if not worse than the way it was.

In order to deal with this menace, I got up at 5am and packed my bike up. I left while it was still dark and bought some breakfast on the side of the road (during Ramadan, muslims are permitted to eat while it is not daylight, so you can find street food before 6am, but not afterwards). I even used my headlamp in the semi-light until 6:30. The first 5km were really ugly - it was as if a giant had taken a big potato-peeler and stabbed the roadway hundreds of times, making it a mangled, mess of holes, puddles, trenches, loose rocks and chunks of pavement, etc.

But after that, it got pretty reasonable. There were lots of potholes, yes, but they were a reasonable distance apart and I was able to ride at a normal speed, going around the potholes as necessary. There were only a few times that I had to slow down to let a truck or a bus go by before I went around. I made good time in this section which was good, because when I finally got to where the road works were redoing the road, I had to slow down considerably. The pot-holes gave way to pot-ravines that stretched the entire width of the road and shoulder area, sometimes forcing me to dismount and walk the bike through. This treachery eventually gave way to a section that had the pavement stripped completely off. This was better, although it wasn't graded very evenly so riding was not very smooth. Then came the detours. These stretches lasted several kms and had varying degrees of ridability, depending on how frequent and sharp the stones were. For much of it, I was impressed to see that I could maintain a speed of around 10km/hr, half my normal speed.

I was praying about my tires (the skinny 10 speed tires, looked no match for the road), but they held up really well and I'm happy to say that the bike performed beautiful during that section. I had been prepared to load the bike on a bus or van if it got too bad, but I never had to even think about it. It was slow and more work than any normal 150km ride, but it ended up fine. The last 30km were on new pavement again, so that was a nice treat to end the day with. Thanks God, for getting me through that!

That night, on the reccomendation of a friend, I stayed in a Peace Corps centre in Konni. I have met lots of Peace Corps volunteers in various places around Africa, and have always been impressed with their dedication to bring change and to live very simply. The 3 volunteers who happened to be in Konni were no exception. I enjoyed hanging out and playing speed scrabble, eating some local street food delicacies that they introduced me to. Halfway throught the scrabble, we had to make a dash as the heavens let loose a mighty storm, and all my stuff was set up outside. The hostel there was very rustic and has a number of rattan bunks set up outside where you can drag a mattress and put up a mosquito net with no trouble. But when the rain surprised us, I had to run take down the net, get the mattress and all my gear (spread out over the next bunk) inside the hanger. After resetting my bed up under the tin roof, I went back to scrabble and won the game.

Thanks to Bec and Trace and other Aussie friends for teaching me TAKE 2 because it came in real handy. I shared some of my remaining cashews and mangos and had a great, evening under a cool African sky. Unfortunately, there is no internet available in Konni. I had been planning on taking a rest-day here. It turns out I had to go an extra 2 days to find internet here in Maradi.

The volunteers in Konni told me that they had another centre in Maradi and that is where I am now. Well, I'm actually in a cybercafé, but I am staying for a couple of nights at the Peace Corps centre here. More games, good fun and interesting people.

The accountant, the pastor and the mechanic

Just before leaving Niamey, a man that I met there gave me the contact details for someone in the next big town, Dosso. I told him that I probably wouldn't stop in Dosso, since I prefer smaller towns or villages, but would take the details just in case. Well, it turns out that I was very late leaving Niamey (9:30am instead of 6:30!) so Dosso wound up being a very good place to stop.

When I contacted this friend of a friend, he turned out to be a young (30), single man who works as an accountant for PLAN Int'l, a big NGO here. I introduced myself and he immediately invited me to stay the night with him. Incredible. He took me to his clean, but humble appartment and made me feel right at home. While I was having a shower, he ran out and bought a big carton of juice (real fruit juice imported from France) and a bottle of Olives to have as a snack before dinner. Zacharie was just really excited to have me, and tried his hardest to spoil me despite my protests that it was really unnceccessary. We had some great chats about development work in Africa and spent some time praying for one another. It was a real enjoyable evening, and the next morning, I felt like I was saying goodbye to an old friend.

The next evening, when evening started to arrive, I was just coming up to a large town again. I didn't have contact details here, and it's also not like a village where you can just sit down and ask to talk to the important people about a place to stay. I decided to ask a young man who could speak French where I might find the local church. He said he didn't know, but pointed me in the direction of 2 men seated a stone's throw away, saying that I should ask them because they are Christians. I walked over and again asked where I could find a church in town. One of the men answered that he was a Pastor and the other said - "Hey! I know you. You were in our church in Niamey last Sunday!" The Pastor instantly invited me home and helped me by finding a professional repair man to work on my punctured tube.

His house is on the same property as the church and they had a Bible Study that night so I went to join them. It was short, but lively and all in the Hausa language. I didn't understand a thing, but enjoyed being a part of a group of Christians who were authentically seeking to know more about their God. I was now squarely in Hausa territory and will continue to be, all across the rest of Niger and Nigeria and into Cameroon. After returning from the church, I ate with the Pastor's family and then he asked me a question that I have not been asked before... "Do you prefer sleeping indoors or outdoors?" Definitely outdoors! "Great!" he said, then proceeded to set up a system whereby he could hang my mosquito net. Then he brought out a mattress for me and I slept up on the porch, in a nice cool breeze all night - Absolutely SUPERB!

When I arrived in Madawa, another large town (decided that they were my best bet now, in order to find French speakers), I thought I would try something different. I went to the office of MSF (Doctors Without Borders) and asked if they might have a place to stay. The important people were in a meeting so I sat and chatted with the guards, and various other personel. We had some great laughs and a good time chating about bicycles and traveling while we waited about an hour and a half for the meeting to finish. One of the guys told me "Look- here's my number. If they can't give you a place to stay here, you are welcome to stay with me at my house on the other side of town." Sure enough, MSF didn't have a room for me, so I called up their employee who gave me directions to his house. It turns out that he is the mechanic for MSF and comes from one of the towns in Niger that I have already passed through.

Adamou is a muslim man, and very devout. He had been fasting all day so in the evening, as soon as it was dark, and the prayers were over, we had a real feast! There were at least " different kinds of drinks that we had, and I think there were ' types of dishes that we ate. The piece de resistance, however, was a giant bowl of freshly made cole-slaw. Made with local cabbage and real mayonaise. Incredible. Just outside Adamou's house was a prayer area, where they had set up their mats facing East. When the mosque speakers were calling out the prayers, all the men from the street walked over, took their shoes off and went in. It was really interesting to watch as they used various postures of prayer (standing, arms outstretched, bent over, kneeling upright, kneeling forhead to the ground, etc). The women came to pray as well, and laid their mats down on the ground behind the men's shelter.

I really admire their dedication and desire to please their God. It is serious business for them and I wonder how much of the Arabic calls they understand. I wonder what would happen if Christians took 15 minutes, 5 times a day to call on God and seek to understand and submit to his will? This has been challenging for me to think about. Too often my prayers do not occupy a place of importance in my life - they happen as I am driving, riding, or briefly before eating, etc. Although it is true that I have a God who is accessible at any time, I am starting to re-evaluate how much respect and honour I give him.

A really intersting site to check out is: 30days.net - it has lots of good information and a guide about how to pray for the people who are seeking Peace over the month of Ramadan.

Don't try this at home!

A few days ago, I got a flat tire (#3 of the trip) that cost me over 2 hours of trouble on the side of the road. It was the rear tire and I patched the tube reasonably quickly despite breaking one of my levers- the tire fits extrordinarily tightly on the rim, and requires a lot of effort to open up. After checking for glass, thorns and wires, I reinserted the tube, but it didn't pump up. I opened it up again and found a second hole. After looking much more carfully, I found a tiny sliver of glass embedded in the rubber. It only became visible when you bend the tire a certain way. I pulled it out, repatched the tube, then put it back. Still no good. I reopened the tire and found another hole. This time the cause was a pinch because the tire was so tight getting back on. It was in a spot that was really hard to fix so I opted for a fresh tube. This time, I tried to be careful with the tire but ended up stabbing the new tube with my tool. I gave up and put on a new tire and a new tube. This worked, but I ended up waisting 2 of the best riding hours of the day to get it accomplished. Now I appreciate the help from

Because of this, I ended up having only a short break for siesta and riding in the sun to make it to the next reasonably sized town. Fortunately for me, I soon came upon a section of road that was brand new and really great to ride on. Super smooth and not a pothole anywhere. Right about then, I got passed by a big truck overloaded with onions and on the next hill, I caught up to it. I tucked in behind and held on as he speeded up. What a rush! All of a sudden, I was flying along at Mach 0.036 (40km/hr).

In order to stay in the draft-zone, I had to put the hammer down and hit 10th gear, then pedal like crazy! It was a lot of fun, cruising along the new road without fear of hitting a pothole or anything. I held on like this for about half an hour and then had to drop off so that I didn't exhaust myself. It was an exhilerating feeling and is very motivating, but it also means that I have to concentrate on the back of the truck, listening for a change in gears or the start of the brakes, etc. I have to keep both hands on the brakes so that if some cows do jump on the road in front of the truck, that I am ready for a quick slowdown. This means that I can't wave to other traffic or to villagers (the activity that normally keeps my arms muscles loose) and I can't reach back and have a drink. I saved a lot of time riding so fast, but in the end I think I lost about half of it due to wearing myself out.

Of course, this was the exception to the rule. Normally the road, even when good, has the ocassional pothole which I am unwilling to ride into blind, going Mach 0.036. Normally, I am quite content to puddle along at my own speed and I expect that this will be the case for the rest of the trip. Also, it is rare to get a truck that is going just the right speed and donkey carts don't make good drafting vehicles!

I did draft some motorcycles once. There were 3 of them all travelling together. Young guys driving, each with an older very nicely, traditionally dressed Fulani man as a passenger. Apparently the old guys didn't want to mess their hair because they wouldn't go over 25km/hr. I pushed hard and caught up to them and rode in the middle of them for about 10 minutes. I felt like I had run away and joined the circus!

Currently Drinking, Currently Reading:

As I said earlier, I have been taking a siesta every day and not riding between the hours of 12 noon and 3pm. This has been very good for me and is working very well.

Usually, I pick a larger village to stop in if I can. The idea being that I can buy some cool water from a fridge and after my rest-time, I can have a coke. Actually, I recently discovered something better than coke. There is a local soft-drink bottler here in Niger called Oriba and they make a really refreshing lemon-ginger drink that I love. It's very invigorating and a great jump-start to the afternoon ride.

Villages with electricity are becoming more and more rare, the further out East I get, but when it works out to stop in one, I jump at the chance. Because this is Ramadan, the month of fasting and prayer, finding food during the day has become harder and harder as well. I have been taking bread and sardines with me every day in case I don't find anything. Also, the little jar of Marmite that the Swiss family in Torodi gave me has come in very handy on more than one occasion.

Where ever it is that I do stop, it is never a problem to find a place to lay my mat. Due to the fasting, most people aren't working very much, and just kind of lay down most of the day under temporary shade hangers that they have put up using thatch. I join them under the mats and they are always inviting, even if they don't speak French (French speakers are also becoming more and more rare, the further East that I go). Sometimes I am able to nap, sometimes the flies bother me too much. Usually, I end up reading a few pages in the book that I brought with me from Ouagadougou.

"The Forgotten Ways" by Alan Hirsch is an interesting and provocative read. Basically, he is saying that the way we do church is outmoded and not useful for the growth or the authenticity of Christianity. He says that "This movement that Jesus initiated was an organic people movement; it was never meant to be an institution." Do I hear an Amen?

Hirsch brings up a lot of ideas that I have felt for a long time, but not been able to articulate. I am not halfway done with the book yet, but it has been challenging and I am curious to see what he is going to propose as solutions to the many problems that he raises. He advocates for seeing each subculture in our societies as a group to reach as part of a cross- cultural effort. What I think is missing from his idea is the necessity of having each group be intentional in reaching out to help others, rather than just receiving the efforts made towards them. I think this is essential to the breaking down of the consumeristic mindset of church. Reminds me of the Priest in France who was given the task of helping street-kids. He succeeded by teaching them to help impoverished slum-children in Brazil.

Anyways, that is what I have been reading and reflecting on during my afternoon siestas, waiting for the air to cool back down to a reasonable temperature and dreaming of my Oriba!

border crossing the easy way

When I was in Niamey, I ran out of time to write some of my experiences, so I will attempt to catch up. The connection speed is really slow right now so I will try and come back later to upload some photos.

As I was nearing the Niger border, I suddenly got very nervous. I have never crossed a border on a bike before, and had no ideas what documents they might ask me for. I had thought ahead a little and made up a bill of sale before I left Ouagadougou, but who knows what kind of trouble they could give me if "they" decide to be ornery. "They" is the police or the army on each side of the border. Four check-points and any one of them could be having a "bad day".

Of course, I shouldn't have worried, at all 4 stops, they asked to see my passport, asked me lots of questions not related to border crossing (like what do I eat when I ride?) and then laughingly send me on my way with huge smiles, waves, and shouts of "Good Luck" or "You're Crazy!".

What I should have worried about was the distance between the posts. The police check on the Burkina side was 41km from the police check on the Niger side! Wow. That is a lot of no-man's land. And it really was no-man's land. No villages, no people, nothing, just a straight, hot road. Fortunately I had filled up my water just before going across and made it through that long lonely stretch with no problems.

About half way in between, the road suddenly turned into gorgeously smooth Tarmac. The road in Burkina was very good, and I was very happy with it, but it was a chipped road-surface. The Niger road was a smooth Asphalt that felt really downright cushy! I excaimed loudly (to myself) "Sweet Mother of Tarmac!" I thought I was floating on the moon.

20km later I came across the Niger police post. I had almost forgotten that I needed to check in. We joked around for a few minutes and they gave me a Niger name "Seydou" (pronounced say-doo). Then, I was off again, speeding zipping along the blacktop towards the next town where I could replenish my water. Soooooo easy. What was I worried about. We'll see what happens at the next border that I will need to cross (Nigeria) when I get there in about 10 days!

G'day from Maradi!

Maradi is the 2nd biggest city in Niger and the first place to have working internet since I left the capital Niamey. I have now covered over 1500km, and am over half way to Cameroon! I arrived here Saturday evening and am staying at a Peace Corps centre with about 16 young Americans, mostly of the "granola" variety, from or having studied somewhere near Seattle.



It has been an enjoyable weekend listening to good music, listening to their stories and playing games. Unfortunately, yesterday the power was off, so after an enjoyable morning in a local church, my internet hopes were dashed!



I am actually a little (250km) further East than shows on the map, but it gives you the right idea. From here, I will have only 2 days' ride to reach Zinder, where my student Rahilla lives. I talked with here the other day by cell phone, and am looking forward to arriving there.seeing her and meeting her family.

Hopefully I will be on the road early tomorrow morning.

STeve

Sundays are for visiting

Yesterday morning, I went to church with Souleman and Nanna. The service was enjoyable – good music with a mix of French, English, Hausa and some other languages. The kids sang, the women sang (the best part ‘cause they used traditional drums), the youth gave a few songs and even the men got up to do a special song. The sermon was short and sweet. And the announcements were only about half the length of the sermon, so all in all, I considered it a highly praiseworthy service for a large African congregation.

After the service, I chatted with various people under the shade of trees in the courtyard. Very enjoyable, except that my stomach was rumbling away. Souleman was helping count the offering and Nanna was talking to all kinds of people, running around, shaking hands and giving hugs to the other women. She is really an extraordinary African woman. At one point she came up to me apologetically explaining why, an hour after church had ended, we were showing no signs of leaving. “Sunday is our day to visit. It’s the only chance we get to see each other”.

A while later, Souleman came, we hopped in the SUV and headed home, or so I thought. When we were obviously going a different direction, I thought, hopefully that maybe we might be going to a restaurant. Alas, we were going to visit Souleman’s uncle. Unfortunately they were not home, after a brief visit with the guard, we hopped back in the truck and headed out again. This time we ended up at a friend of Souleman’s. They discussed some design issues and then (praise the Lord), the friend’s wife brought out some food for us. Sooooo yummy. We actually didn’t stay too long, and then we were off again, but still not to home. The next stop was Nanna’s mother’s house. Souleman explained… “You see, Sunday is our day to visit people – the rest of the week is just too busy.” No problem, except that I had planned to do some visiting of my own, Sunday afternoon, by catching up with my favourite student "Halmassad".

Nanna's mom feeds us too and the jolly old lady has a hoot practicing English with me. She is surprisingly good and it turns out that she lived in Nigeria (one of the few English speaking countries in the region) and has been an English teacher here in Niger for many years.

When we left there, we started for home, and I got them to drop me at an internet cafe where I could catch up on emails and wait for Halmassad to come and meet me. It was great to see him again. My hope had been to go with him to his home area and visit the work he is doing with his people there. However, right now it is almost impossible for white people to visit the region. There has been a lot of tension between government and rebel groups there and recently 2 French journalists went into the area secretly to report on what was going on. Ever since, there has been a serious case of martial law, and white people aren't allowed in. The news from the region was not to bother even trying to come. This was very dissappointing for both Halmassad and for me, but we accepted the news and decided we would have to try again at a more opportune time.

This may be for the best as he is still waiting to hear from his Doctor about how they will be changing his treatments (Halmassad suffers from some rare blood disorder that I don't understand). That is something that I would appreciate prayer for, by the way. We are talking about an incredibly dynamic man making a huge impact on his people, but suffering from illness. Today I spent a long time praying with him and although he is a Muslim man, he was very grateful for the prayers offered in Jesus' name.

I went to the house where he stays when he is in Niamey here. Wow! Was that ever a huge contrast to where I have been staying with Souleman and Nanna. The slum area is only just metres away from the "Boulevard of Embassies", but there is no water system or garbage system. There are no streets, only pathways between buildings. Some buildings are actual brick buildings, others are mud, others are grass-woven huts. Alhassane stays in a tent in front of a small 1 Bedroom side to a duplex made of cement. It is his family and they let him stay for free, but it is not easy living with others in very close quarters. We ate together and spent a long time chatting with his brothers and cousins. I said, at one point: "I should go, leave you guys - its late". Guess what their response was.

Yep. "Its Sunday! Sundays were made for visiting!"

The Belligerent Bull, or “How to play Red Rover Red Rover with livestock”

Ok, so I’m barrelling down the empty highway at Mach 0.020 when all of a sudden a herd of cows walks out onto the road about 50 metres ahead. I put on the brakes and move to the far side of the road, hoping that they will pass by quickly. No such luck. They stop right in the middle, and the bull who is standing right where I had intended to pass, turns to face me and puts his head down. Now the brakes are really on hard - They make a loud squeak which makes the cattle skittish, but not enough to leave the roadway. I start yelling and waving one arm while keeping the brakes on with my left hand. The bull doesn’t budge, but the cow next to him turns away leaving me enough room to squeeze through – as long as the bull doesn’t choose to turn and gore me, or kick me as I roll by – I decide to risk it and in a moment I’m back to open road again.

This kind of thing is becoming more and more frequent, the further East I go. There are more and more nomadic herders here – both the Fulani and the Tuareg are in the region with their herds of sheep, goats, and cattle. Sometimes I see little shepherds of no more than 4 years old tending sheep!

One day a cow came running out of the scrub brush on the side of the road to my right. I decided to let him go in front of me and veered right. At the last second, I saw a blue rope go taught against the animal’s hind leg and a small teenage boy skidding along behind, trying to reign in his bovine charge. Again, the brakes came on loudly and I had to swerve way left to get around without running right into the side of ribs. I don’t like them quite that rare!

A different time, I came up on a slow moving truck and another one trying to pass it. I went around both of them only to discover that there were approximately 300-400 sheep on the roadway! A motorcycle coming the other way with a loud horn managed to clear a small path and I went for it, forcing other oncoming vehicles to wait a little while longer.

The biggest scare, though, came when I heard a rustling to my right and when I looked over my shoulder, there was a big old camel right there on the side of the road. I did a double take for an instant, thinking it was a giraffe and had to look again to make sure I wasn’t seeing things! Definitely nomad territory.

Places to lay my head

I have been so impressed with the hospitality of people here. I have had a variety of places to stay, but never once have I felt like I might not have somewhere to stay. I already wrote about my first night at the “Doctor”s house. Since then, I have stayed in a variety of places including at a policeman’s house, in the mayor’s office, with a Swiss family and with an architect.

The policeman was a giant of a man named Moussa, living in just in a little bachelor’s suite. His stuff was spread everywhere and his bed was a thin piece of foam layed on the floor with a sheet on it. Fortunately, he had a mosquito net up. I went to bed relatively early while Moussa was watching TV. Then, about midnight I got a tap on the shoulder and a deep rumbly voice said “Hey! Roll over! I’m coming to bed now”. Moussa climbed under the mosquito net with me. Fortunately, I was 90% asleep at the time and didn’t take much notice. Guess I can no longer say that I haven’t been bed with the police!

I can also say that I have slept with the town administration because the next night, my host took me to the newly finished (I think that day… the paint was still tacky) Municipal buildings. The mayor’s office had the biggest door and lock in town, so I guess he thought I needed to be secure. I layed my mat out on the floor and used my backpack as a pillow. For a while, I didn’t think that I would be able to sleep, but a tired body lets one sleep just about anywhere. The good thing about a new construction like that? The mice haven’t had time to move in yet!!!

The next night I ended up in a larger town (Torodi) on market day. It was crazy. Nothing could have prepared me for the insanity of entering Torodi on market day. The streets were so crowded there was hardly room for 2 bikes to ride side by side, yet big trucks were pushing and honking their way through and motos were zipping up and down at break-neck (literally, nearly mine) speeds. Someone said there were Americans living in town and when I asked to meet them, they led me to the house of Tonio and Katrin, a Swiss couple with 2 lovely daughters. They immediately invited me to stay for dinner, and then for the night. The homemade bread was to die for and the homemade Settler’s game was tons of fun! It turns out that they work with SIL here in Niger. The next day I planned to leave early, but spent most of the morning and early afternoon discussing literacy with Tonio. He showed me the 1-hectare farm where he was growing all kinds of things. I learned how to plant manioc and how to harvest it. He has learned his farming methods from reading books and applying the knowledge. His successful fields have piqued the interest of the Fulani people that he works with and they have begun asking questions! Awesome. Not only will his work help them improve farming methods, but it serves an example of how reading can change your life. Very powerful stuff.

Arriving here in Niamey, I called a number that had been given me by Rahilla, one of my students. I suggested to the stranger on the other end of the phone that I since it was already late, that we could fix a time to meet the next day. “Nonsense” said Souleman. Stay there. I’ll come get you. A little while later a luxury Toyota 4Runner showed up. Since it would have been awkward to get my bike into the vehicle, I suggested that I might follow him, so we zipped around the streets of Niamey with me pedalling my heart out trying to keep up, and praying that I wouldn’t hit any potholes in the process. It ended well and Souleman and his wife Nanna took wonderful care of me. He is a young, successful architect and his 18-month old house was beautifully done mixing traditional Niger brickwork with nouveau styles from the west. Really cool. I had a separate guestroom with a high-powered ceiling fan and an en-suite. I was invited to watch Satelite TV on the posh leather couch. It was like another world. They treated me like royalty and although it was a big switch, my body adjusted pretty well!

Tomorrow I am back on the road. Who knows where I’ll end up or who may become my host, but that is what makes it an adventure.

The music in my head

"There's a big, A big hard sun

Beating on the big people

In a big hard world"

~Eddie Vedder

Because I need to be listening for big trucks, careening buses, insane motorcylists and screaming cars, I can't really use earphones. For those who know me well, the lack of music on this trip really is killing me. I miss my computer, I miss my ipod. I miss my music.

So what can a guy do? I sing to myself. It started on the first day with songs from the jungle book (An Ape Like Me and The Bare Necessities). Thanks to Sam Hauser to whom I read the children's version just before my depart, these songs were fresh in my head. Since then, I have been known to pass other cyclists or donkey-carts singing at the top of my lungs: "Here comes the rain again" (Eurythmics), "Old MacDonald" (traditional), "Manic Monday" (Bangles), "By the Rivers of Babylon"(Bony M), Tricky (Beastie Boys) "Dirty Deeds"(ACDC) , "Another Saturday Night" (Cat Stevens), "Amazing" (Matt Redman), "The Longest Time" (Billy Joel), and my theme song "Big Hard Sun" by Eddie Vedder.

Slightly modified words often help pass the time too."The Wheels on the Bike go Round and Round" has proved very popular. I have lots of new verses like... "The kids who watch me bike yell give me candy, give me candy, give me candy, All Day Long!" or "The glutes on the seat say LET US REST... All Day Long!"

People look at me funny and sometimes I lower my voice if I'm right next to someone, but most of the time I just sing away. It makes the kms go quickly and keeps me happy!

Speeding through my own Narnia!

Many (like 58) years ago, CS Lewis wrote the Narnia books, describing a fantasy country in an alternate reality. Many (like 17) years ago I also wrote about a fantasy country. Unfortunately I can't remember the name of this country, but it earned me an A- in CALM class. CALM was a class that all grade 11 Albertans had to take in order to graduate and it was intended to help us develop life skills. Terribly boring. Extremely boring. So much so, that I dedicated that class period to seeing just how much mischief I could get away with.

I wasn't shooting spitballs, but I was making stuff up. A lot. In fact, I don't think I completed any assignment based on fact. Everything I wrote, all semester long was just invented. Recently a friend (I found on facebook -see there is at least one redeeming quality) from highschool reminded me about that class and about one assignment in particular. We were asked to research a part of the world where we might want to visit and write a report about that country. I spun the globe and put my finger down. It landed in West Africa. But which country? They are so small, my finger covered 3 different ones. I then decided that surely the teacher couldn't know much about that part of the world, so if I happened to write my report about a country that didn't really exist, she would never know.

So I redrew the map, making my own country by eliminating a tiny country and cutting some land out of a couple of other countries. Fantastic. But what would I say about it? I ended up actually doing quite a bit of research about the countries that were in the region and then proceeded to make up the number of square km, the population, major industry, tourism, the name of the capital city and of the provinces. It was all bunk, and I had a number of friends who contributed to helping create the country, running around the library, throwing out weird and wonderful names that I could publish as the name of the current President, and such.

Anyways... where was I going with all this? Oh yeah. Well, on my to Niamey, I rode through my own fantasy country, whatever it's name was. In reality, it was just Burkina Faso and Niger, but it provided some funny memories as I looked back on that class.

Weird how things work out. I did this as a hoax, knowing that I would never go to that part of the world, and yet only 3 years later I had my first visit to West Africa. I have been back and forth for the last 14 years!!!! As I reflected on the bizare irony, I realized that I was actually riding faster than I had been in previous days.

I started looking at the km markers on the side of the road, and at my watch, and to my suprise, I was actually traveling at Mach 0.020 - a significant increase of 5km/h faster than before. Wow. I don't know if it was the food I was eating, a slight change in direction of the wind, or just fresher legs, but I was definitely moving faster!

You would think that this would mean that I was covering bigger distances, but that has not been the case. I have made a point of taking a siesta break in the middle of the day and not riding between 12noon and 3pm. This has helped a lot as I seem to be able to arrive at my destinations less tired. The riding faster part might have something to do with this too.

So there you have it, on a beautiful Thursday afternoon, speeding (at Mach 0.020) across my own private Narnia. How can it get better than this? Of course, it did get better, when my tire went flat, but that, is another story.

The forest and the gift...

As I was sitting and chatting with some of the locals in a tiny village where I stayed my first night after leaving Ouagadougou, lots of people had questions, like: -Isn't it too hot to ride? What do you eat? How far do you go in a day? Doesn't the rain bother you? Is it really possible to ride ALL the way to Niger? - I had fun telling them about the trip and seeing their eyes get wider and wider.

A couple of times, I heard the question, "Aren't you afraid of crossing the forest?" I brushed it off, laughing: "No, there is nothing to be afraid of." There really is no forest to speak of here. The lush green forest with the huge variety of trees that I saw on my first day out of Banfora is long gone. The climate is so much dryer here, and the ground so much rockier and sandier that not nearly as much grows. Mostly scrub bush with a few giant Boababs towering above. There are little splashes of green, oasis-like scenery where a rainy-season stream passes or where a tiny lake has formed from rainwater trapped in a little basin where there is more clay than sand. But in general, I wouldn't consider anything I have seen to be a forest.

I didn't think anything of all this until the next day, when I was riding along and thinking to myself, "Gee - its been a long time since I saw a village. (More than 20km, which is unusual)". It was then, that I saw a big sign on the side of the road: "Government Forest". It certainly didn't look like a forest, just the same old scrub and Baobabs with the occasional Accacia tree where there is a bit of collected water. This must be what they mean when they say "crossing the forest". - I wonder why they would think this to be dangerous?" Immediately, I started imagining all kinds of bandits hiding in the scrub, but there were none. In fact this was the longest stretch that I had gone so far without seeing anyone. Eventually, I saw a few donkey carts trotting down the road carrying young guys with firewood, but they were very friendly.

Just as I was wondering how far it might be to the next village, "Pppfffffff....." Flat tire. It was about 11am and the sun had just come out from behind a cloud, blazing hot. Dang it. It was my rear tire (much harder to fix than a front tire). I thought I might be able to pump it up enough to limp the bike along to the next village (how ever far that may be), but it wouldn't hold enough air for me to sit on it. After pumping for 2 minutes, I was drenched in sweat (riding, I sweat, but the breeze that I create by going Mach 0.016 is enough to keep me dry). I sat down, discouraged. I was going to have to take the tire off and patch the tube. I really didn't want to do it because the rear tire is an extremely tight fit and it took a lot of doing to get it on in the first place.

Just then I heard voices. I looked up and over the tops of the cornstalks, I could see a little grass-roof poking up. I figured that it would just be women and children who would be home at this time of day, but when I listened again, I heard a mans voice. I "took courage" as we say in French ("pris le courage") and wheeled my bike down the little path that led through a field of corn. I found a little compound consisting of three small huts and fenced of weaved branches. When I called out a greeting, a man came out of one of the huts and smiled a huge grin.

I doubted that he spoke any French, but it turns out that he knew a fair number of words and we were able to communicate with only a few moments of resorting to gestures. I introduced myself and he immediately saw my problem. I asked if I could work in the shade in the compound, but he just said, "Come. We'll fix."

I don't know how old Kouadoma was, but he looked to be about 50. He pulled out his tool box which contained exactly 3 tools, but together with my tools, we were able to quickly patch the leak, and his extraordinarily strong farming hands rolled the tire back onto the rim with very little trouble at all! His second wife (there were 2) brought me a peice of roasted corn which I broke in two and shared with Kouadoma. He was just delighted to be able to help me. I didn't even try to offer him money (an insult), but I told him that God would bless him for his helping of a stranger and I prayed for him and his family.

As I rode away, I thanked God for sending me the gift of Kouadoma. I got my flat right in front of the only house for miles in any direction. He happened to be home, spoke a little french and was an expert tire-fixer! I sang to myself a little song "Jehovah Jireh" which talks about God being the one who provides. That song had just became very real for me.

Hooray!

Made it to Niamey! Had a great trip. No major problems. I arrived Saturday afternoon and have had a great couple of days relaxing in here in Niamey, the capital of Niger. I am now preparing to continue riding East. It will probably be 3 days ride before I can find internet connection again, but you never know.

So, the first thousand kilometres are done (almost). I will write more about the trip in succesive shorter stories instead of one giant blog.

Happy Holidays!

Ramadan started this week. Ramadan is a month-long spiritual journey for Muslim people around the world. They fast from dawn until sunset and focus on praying, reciting the Qur'an and being generous with the poor. During daylight hours, Muslims do not eat or drink and this practice is to help bring them closer to God as they purify themselves through self-restraint and good deeds.

The area I will be traveling through from here on is predominantly Muslim and most of the people that I am amongst will be fasting. "How can you ride your bike 150km without eating and drinking?", you might ask... Good question. Fortunately for me, there are some special clauses which allow pregnant women, children and travelers to put-off their fast until a later date. It will be harder to find food "on the street" during the day, so I will have to carry more with me from now on, but I will be allowed to eat and drink. Phew...! I sincerely respect the desire of these people to come closer to God and will be joining them in fasting on any days that I am not riding my bike.

Ramadan will end on September 30th with the feast of Eid ul-fitr - probably the biggest party of the year. I am hoping to celebrate this with my friends in Maroua, Cameroon.


In between here and there, I am planning on visiting 2 of my students in Niger. "Halmassad" lives in a village half-way between Niamey and Agadez (way up North) and I hope to spend some time seeing how his people live. May decide to trade my bike for a camel at this point! Rahilla lives in Zinder which will my last stop in Niger before dropping down into Nigeria.

Can't wait to get into this next part of the trip!

some more

Life on the Road.




































My shadow keeps me company most of the time. Much appreciated!



















Back to "civilization". I like picture #1 better.



















Ruth is the neice of Pastor Dauda whom I stayed with in Banfora. She is 10, going on 17 with more attitude than any child I have ever met in Africa. A real character- both entertaining and enjoyable.

Some photos...

Ok - I've been having major issues since my canadian AA Duracell batteries ran out near the end of the course.

I can't seem to get any replacements to last longer than 3 photos. You can buy Duracells in certain shops here: I layed out $10 for 4, but I only got 3 photos combined from the 4 batteries!! I tried Energizer brand with the same effect. I guess they are just too old by the time they get sold here, or the humidity sucks the energy out or something.

When I was in Abidjan, I thought I might be able to get newer stuff. No such luck. Now I have resorted to buying the local batteries for $0.25 because they give at least 2 shots.

Anyways, that is why I have fewer photos now. I can't go around shooting from the hip anymore. I have to load my batteries, get the shot I want and turn the camera off.

Enough complaining. The first photo is of Josias and I. Josias works for SIL in Abidjan. We have been friends for many years, ever since I hosted him in my house in Abengourou, back before I was married. On this trip to Abidjan, we ate most of our meals together, and did lots of errand-running together.

One evening, I went with him to Abobo (a poorer suburb of Abidjan) to visit his cousins and I was amazed that the growing rift between rich and poor. The poorer neighborhoods of Abidjan were really suffering from lack of upkeep of the infrastructure and you could tell that buisnesses were not doing well- signs blacked out and doors barred. There was no new construction anywhere, just attempts to keep the old buildings from falling down.

The next photo is of Henri and I. Henri and I worked together in Abengourou, and he is one of my favourite people in the world. He just happened to be come through Abidjan while I was there, flying back to Congo, where he is from. He invited me to come visit him there. It is a bit further from Cameroon, but you never know. I might just take him up on it!














The next 3 photos are from the bus on the way back to Burkina. They are a poor depiction of our plight, waiting for the striking rebels to open the gates at Bouaké.

I knew that if I got caught taking pictures, my camera would be confiscated, so they are not great pictures, but hopefully you can get the idea. In this first one, a guy on
a little moto was carrying more than double his weight in grass (presumably he had animals to feed?), and was trying to push through the crowds to the front of the line. Didn't help much, since he couldn't get through for hours to come!