Guinea-Bissau: the 4-day detour

Our plan was to drive south from Bissau to a small border crossing to Guinea.

We drove south as per our mission, from the capital Bissau to small town Buba. The road does a massive loop as it needs to avoid the complex, feather-shaped river delta and mangroves, so the short ‘as the crow flies’ distance is misleading.

After a long drive (the Maps Me calculation is laughable), we arrived in Buba about 4pm. As we approached a roundabout in town, about 1km from the lodge we’d booked, we were stopped by a young police officer saying we couldn’t pass until after 6pm.

There was a festival of youth, a national talent competition taking place around the roundabout, so we enjoyed watching the spectacle for a couple of hours.

We stayed the night in a pink round hut in a rural spot and left at first light the next morning for the drive to the small border crossing.

We had a long drive along a dusty red track, which seemed an unlikely route to a national border, but we had become accustomed to expecting the unexpected.

Then the route got narrower still and we had to pass through tiny hamlets. We asked a lady who sold us some bananas if this was the route to the border and she confirmed it was, so we continued slowly on, though we both kept saying “this can’t be right”.

Then we came across a rope barrier suspended by some wooden posts which were so loosely fitted into the hard ground that we accidentally knocked one post over. We got out to have a look and four guys who were sitting nearby immediately leapt up and started saying that “sorry” was not enough. We offered a small payment which they were content with and then the youngest guy with a raggedy uniform and a small Guinea-Bissau flag 🇬🇼 on his chest asked to see our passports (“this can’t be right” sprang to mind again).

He looked at our passports, stamped them and then asked Rob to get out as he had something important to show him.

The other three joined Rob and the border guard as they walked off down the narrow, overgrown track and I wondered if I’d ever see Rob again.

I didn’t have time to ponder this as all the village children surrounded the car telling me their names & ages & would I share the bananas we’d just bought.

Luckily Rob did eventually return and explained that the track ahead involved some low-hanging cashew trees which we’d damage with the height of Lenny and the villagers were asking us to consider some “small small” compensation.

Rob was suspicious that the alternative track had been deliberately blocked to create this situation, however we agreed a small payment and nervously bumped on down the track as it became a narrower and more overgrown tropical woodland walk.

Rob was heroically driving and I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of a pair of lime green, unripe cashew nuts lingering on the windscreen as Rob lurched Lenny slowly forward over the uneven terrain. Unfortunately we were far too stressed at this point to even think about taking photos, but something like this:

Rob drove on through the deeply rutted track, smashing through cashew trees in about 2 kms of ‘no man’s land’ until we reached a small clearing, a solitary guy in a scruffy uniform appeared, stamped us into Guinea and lifted the barrier for us. He then indicated that the ferry we needed to get was not working and we would have problems getting across the wide Kogon river.

However, we were happy to have made it to Guinea and drove on through what we prayed was the right route until we drove right into the centre of a village, almost knocking into an overhead wire, attracting a small crowd.

A tall, thin, well-dressed young man, only about 16, but with an impressive amount of authority approached us and with immaculate French admonished us for driving into the centre of the village. We tried our best to apologise and explain that we were unsure of the correct route to the ferry. He then softened a little and confirmed what the border guard had said, that the ferry was broken and the alternative route was “tres complique”.

Despite the heat I broke out in a cold sweat thinking we were now stuck in this tiny village in Guinea, with no clear route south and probably blocked from going back via Guinea Bissau as our visas were single entry.

I thanked the young diplomat for his advice and asked his name “Ismael Diallo”, he took my name and number.

Rob & I conferred briefly and decided our least worst option was to try to return to Guinea Bissau, much as neither of us fancied the woodland pass again.

Thankfully both the Guinea and the Guinea Bissau officers did let us pass back through and we returned to Buba where we’d set off from about 5 hours earlier to lick our wounds.

We now faced a 4-day detour heading north and then east and then south to the bigger border between the two Guineas to reach the Guinean capital Conakry.

We passed through some beautiful landscapes with impressive long plateaus and giant trees.

A 20 minute stop for a doughnut using Lenny as a table attracted attention from a passer by.

A well deserved rest in Koundara hostel after a gruelling days driving.

The worst section by far was the Koundara to Boke route, only 170kms, but sheer bone-jiggling rock all the way for 8 hours. The emergency driver did the bulk of this and massive respect for keeping his cool, especially as he’d only just passed his test in December.

Lenny had had a tough few days, here he is in the hotel courtyard after the epic drive to Boke, covered in fine red dust.