The Road to Bintumani

  

We were on our way! Four of us crammed into the back seat of a taxi we were headed out to Kabalah, a large town in Northern Sierra Leone. Some of the Sierra Leonean volunteers working with us on the Africa Mercy, Mercy Ship’s flag ship, had helped us get onto the right Taxi. They left us hidden in the Landrover until the price had been agreed on so that our white faces did not encourage the driver to push it up. The intention was to catch a taxi to Kabalah, a 6 hour drive away, and then the following day take motor bikes to the base of Mount Bintumani. We would then spend three days climbing the highest peak in Sierra Leone and West Africa before heading back to the ship in Freetown.

Ryan, Ingrid, Nathan and Reka, on the way to Kabalah

“What you must be crazy! That is way too much! Are you trying to get rich off of us?” This is why we wait in the Landover and leave the bartering to the locals. The motor bike chairman was asking for an extortional price to take us to and from the mountain. Eventually we organise a 4x4 for the price we are willing to pay. The remaining 70km to the mountain are all on dirt track that can only be navigated on a bike or a 4x4. Feeling thoroughly ripped off and irritated at how long it took we head off into the mountains. We pass through through villages, rice paddies, streams and thick bush covered hills.

Riding in the 4x4 we past through many villages

The scenery is beautiful, but the road is terrible. After four hours into the trip we find out the road is impassable, even for a 4x4. Four trenches for culverts have been dug across the road and we had no way of bridging the gap. It was still too far to walk and with heavy hearts we turned around and headed back to Kabalah. The fun was not over though and the four of us jumped onto the roof racks of the vehicle and enjoyed the ride. It was quite funny seeing the surprised faces of the locals as they saw the 4x4 driving past with it’s roof loaded with white people instead of sacks of rice.

The road was so bad, we had to turn around, so we drove back on the roof. 

The following day we headed out to Lake Sonfon. This time we managed to arrange bikes for an acceptable price and we headed out with the local motorbike chairman escorting us. As we raced along the dirt roads, the dirt from the bikes in front blinded those behind. I managed to make a mask out of a plastic coke bottle and grass. The others decided they would laugh at me and eat dirt rather than join me. Each to his own I suppose.

Protective glasses made from a plastic Coke bottle. 

What we thought was going to be a pristine lake with animals grazing on the edges and small villages scattered around on the hills turned out to be prime gold mining property. There was a large village of mud huts with palm thatched roofs. Around us were rolling bushveld covered hills. Below us the lake stretched into the distance, a green mat of thick elephant grass. From the hillside it looked more like a meadow than a lake. To our right a huge brown scar was ripped into the hillside where the gold mining took place.

The ramshackle mud huts provided shelter for the gold miners

We met with the headman of the village who walked with us along the edge of the lake, telling us stories of buffalo hunters, Chinese gold miners, and a shipwrecked ferry. He told us how a wounded buffalo would run into the lake and die, but no man would follow it because of the parasites in the water. The old man took us to a small stream where there were some men digging for gold. They showed us how it was done and showed us the small flakes which were nowhere near the size of the nuggets in movies.

After a lunch in the shade of a tree we headed back to the larger mine at the village. The main excavation had been flooded and the commercial mining had stopped. This did not stop the villagers mining though. Along the edges men, women and children waded and dug and sprayed and rinsed, trying to eek out a few flakes of gold.

Gold Miners on Lake Sonfons edge

Cooling down in a riverside waterfall.

After saying our goodbyes we headed back. The scenery reminded me a lot of the Kwazulu-Natal. The grassy hills were perfect for stock farming and the forested valleys were a cool respite from the hot sun. In one such valley we stopped at a waterfall and took a dip/shower. It was great.







In one of the villages on the way back we met a guy who tried to scare us with stories of a demonic monster living in the lake that would come up when called and chase us down. One of our drivers who was a devoted Muslim was disgusted that another ‘Muslim’ would believe such stories. It amused me to see that this, professing to be, but not actually believing or living out, was not something unique to Christianity.

Heading up the Waka Waka mountains

For our final day we headed up into the mountains above Kabalah. One of the local guys who befriended us showed us around. It was beautiful. We spent the day exploring and sampling various fruits. It was probably a good thing that we did not get to Mt Bintumani as we realised that we were actually pretty unfit. After a great day we picked up our ruksacks and headed back up into the mountains. A nice gassy spot between some trees, ontop of the mountain overlooking Kabalah was chosen as our campsite and after flattening out the chest high grass, was really comfortable.

While collecting firewood Ingrid found a scorpion. It was quite funny as I had just warned the others about scorpions and they thought I was joking. That night was great, we spent it sitting around a fire, scaring each other in the long grass and watching the lightning storms in the distance.

Sitting around the campfire, getting ready for breakfast.

On the last morning we headed back down to our B&B, had a nice bucket shower and jumped into a taxi and headed home. Striding down Bad Boy lane towards the ship, singing chariots of fire, we all realised how nice it was to have the luxury of the ship to recover on after a fun week end in Africa.