Defying the odds: Discover Nigeria’s Osun-Osogbo Sacred Grove

Once upon a time in Yorubaland – the Yoruba peoples’ ancestral territory in south-west Nigeria, Togo and Benin – every city had a sacred grove. That is, a patch of forest in which it was forbidden to hunt, build or cut trees, and where prayers and sacrifices to the orisa were made. The orisa are the gods and spirits of the Yoruba cosmology, a pantheon numbering in the hundreds, with all the depth, intrigue and complexity of Greek myth. They have also spread around the globe, living on across the Atlantic in the syncretic religions of the Afro-Atlantic world: Brazilian Candomblé, Cuban Santería, Haitian Vodou – all have their roots in these forests.

But in recent decades these sacred groves began to disappear. A stigma developed around orisa worship, as Christianity and Islam became increasingly dominant. The rampant, unplanned urbanisation common to Nigeria also took its toll, bringing down trees and taboos together, salami-slicing these oases of the spirits into extinction.

Except one. The Osun-Osogbo Sacred Grove, a 75-hectare refuge set in the heart of Osogbo city (population: circa 820,000). This leafy grove sits astride a lazy bend in the Osun River, which acts as Nigeria’s own Ganges and is named after the orisa Osun, patron of love, beauty and fresh water. Pilgrims come here to drink and bathe in the healing river, though much like the murky Ganges itself, this takes some amount of faith indeed.

Buildings have been restored by craftsmen using traditional materials (Alamy Stock Photo)

(Alamy Stock Photo)

So how did the grove in Osogbo survive when so many others had disappeared? At least in part, it owes a debt of thanks to an Austrian artist by the name of Susanne Wenger. Arriving in Nigeria in 1950, she soon found herself enchanted with Yoruba traditional culture, and the revitalisation and preservation of the then-neglected grove at Osogbo became her life’s work.

Alongside a collective of local artists and traditional priests, she began creating an otherworldly pantheon of monumental sculptures within the grove. The swirling clay-and-concrete creations, some many metres high, look as if they’ve grown from the red earth itself, and they represent dozens of figures from the Yoruba cosmology: there’s Ogun, patron of warriors and blacksmiths; Yemoja, responsible for pregnant women and fishermen; Esu, linked to mischief and travellers; and Elegua, deity of roads and destiny.

Sculptures in the sacred groves of Osun-Osogbo honour the gods of the Yoruba (Alamy Stock Photo)

At the base of many of these statues sits the evidence of sacrifices past: conical sugarloaf hills of cassava flour, runny red streams of palm kernel oil and the telltale rusty stains and mottled feathers left behind by an unlucky chicken or guinea fowl. At the centre of the grove, just alongside the river, sits a shrine and altar-stage where public prayers and performances take place. Here, troupes of dancers, drummers and singers put on performances channelling – and some might even say “becoming” – the orisa themselves. How else to explain the fire eating, razor chewing, skin piercing and other uncanny feats of strength, other than Sango himself – god of thunder, fire and virility – making an appearance?

The grove was recognised as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2005, and while the unlikely Yoruba priestess from the mountains of Austria passed away in 2009, the grove remains today a vital and living site, existing as the symbol of a rich heritage nearly lost, and as a point of pride and identity for Yoruba people everywhere. Everyone at the grove still affectionately recalls “Mama Susanne”, but it’s the orisa who remain lord and master in Osogbo.

Need to know

Places of worship scatter the banks of the river Osun; buildings have been (Alamy Stock Photo)

Location: The Sacred Grove is surrounded by Osogbo city, which sits 210km north-east of Nigeria’s coastal metropolis and former capital, Lagos.

Getting there: British Airwaysruns daily non-stop flights from London Heathrow to Lagos, which take around 6.5 hours.

Getting around: From Lagos, Osogbo-bound buses depart from the Oshodi Bus Terminal. The journey takes about four hours depending on traffic. That said, getting around Nigeria on public transport is not for the faint of heart, so a good tour agency can be a boon. Native Eye and Lupine Travel run scheduled trips, while Absolute Africa Tours arranges custom itineraries.

When to go: The dry season (Nov–Mar) has daytime highs of 30 to 35°C and cooler nights (20°C), but there’s no better time to visit than during August’s two-week Osun-Osogbo festival.

Accommodation: Hotels in Osogbo, range from basic stays (under £20) to jazzier complexes (from £70), often complete with large swimming pools.

Further info: Nigeria (Bradt Travel Guide; 2012) by Lizzie Williams

You may also like:

Dark secrets: Voodoo in Benin

Exploring the ancient ksour of Mauritania

The best cultural UNESCO sites around the world

The 10 best places to see gorillas in the wild

1. Nigeria

Visitor infrastructure: 3/5
Chance of sighting: 1/5


Cross River gorillas are found only in Cross River State, where the government has invested heavily in tourism infrastructure (for example, the spectacular cable car up to the Obudu Cattle Ranch Hotel). However, the chances of seeing gorillas here are still slim. Their total population now consists of 200 to 300 individuals, spread across an area of 3,000 square miles, which includes Afi Mountain, Mbe Mountain, and the Okwangwo Division of the Cross River National Park. For this reason, scientists are cautious about habituating any.

But visiting the habitat does help to conserve it, and two outstanding primate sanctuaries and reintroduction projects – Pandrillus for drill monkeys and chimpanzees, and Cercopan for numerous monkey species – are based in Calabar.

2. Cameroon

Visitor infrastructure: 2/5
Chance of sighting: 3/5 (western lowland gorillas), 1/5 (Cross River gorillas)

Western lowland male gorilla (Shutterstock)


Cross River gorillas live in the English-speaking part of Cameroon bordering Nigeria, in small pockets of forest that are the focus of a conservation project but with no tourism component yet.

Western lowland gorillas live in the French-speaking part of the country. The WWF is developing ecotourism in Campo-Ma’an National Park in the south-west, but it’s early days so gorilla viewing is not guaranteed.

Limbe Wildlife Centre cares for about 15 western lowland gorilla orphans with a long-term goal – funding permitting – of rehabilitation back into the wild.

More rescued western lowland gorillas – orphans of the illegal bushmeat and wild animal trade – can be seen in forest enclosures at Mefou National Park, located close to the capital city of Yaoundé.

3. Equatorial Guinea

Visitor infrastructure: 1/5


The Monte Alen National Park is a spectacular forested park, and its rugged terrain served to protect it from commercial logging. As yet, there are no habituated western lowland gorillas. The tourism infrastructure is in early stages of development, and trained locals have started to conduct guided day treks.

4. Gabon

Visitor infrastructure: 3/5
Chance of sighting: 3/5

Western lowland male gorilla, Gabon (Shutterstock)


Gabon made a bold bid to diversify its economy by creating 13 national parks in 2002, most of them containing gorilla habitat. The western lowland gorilla habituation programme at the Mikongo Conservation Centre in Lopé National Park was terminated in 2010. But although visitors are no longer taken on specific gorilla-spotting treks, visitors can still see them while looking for other wildlife.

Moukalaba-Doudou National Park has some of the highest densities of gorillas, and an ecotourism project has begun there with help from The Gorilla Organization.

Loango National Park offers the rare combination of rainforest and Atlantic beach, where hippos have been seen surfing, whales and dolphins surface offshore and the forests are home to gorillas, chimpanzees and forest elephants.

5. Angola

Visitor infrastructure: 1/5
Chance of sighting: 1/5


Western lowland gorillas are found only in the Cabinda enclave, the part of Angola north of the mouth of the River Congo. There is little in the way of tourism infrastructure, but if it’s adventure you want..!

6. Congo

Visitor infrastructure: 2/5
Chance of sighting: 4/5


Since the loss of the habituated Lossi gorillas to Ebola in 2002, the nearby Odzala National Park now presents one of the best options for seeing western lowland gorillas. It’s currently home to two habituated family groups that can be seen by visitors. They can also be seen from hides as they visit bais (open clearings in the forest).

The most famous bai is Mbeli Bai, in Nouabalé-Ndoki National Park, where about 100 gorillas have been monitored by the Wildlife Conservation Society for a decade; gorilla groups can be seen wading into the marsh to forage for water plants alongside forest elephants, buffalo and antelope such as sitatunga.

Rescued western lowland gorilla orphans are being rehabilitated back into the forest in the Léfini Reserve (two hours’ drive north of Brazzaville), where visitors can view silverbacks on a forested island from a boat.

7. Central African Republic

Visitor infrastructure: 2/5
Chance of sighting: 4/5

Western lowland female gorilla, Central African Republic (Shutterstock)


One of the best places to track western lowland gorillas is Bai-Hokou in the Dzanga-Ndoki National Park. A WWF project has succeeded in habituating a group, and a calm contact is likely, though the dense forest and low light beneath the canopy make photography challenging.

8. Rwanda

Visitor infrastructure: 5/5
Chance of sighting: 5/5

Family of mountain gorillas, Volcanoes National Park, Rwanda (Shutterstock)


Rwanda is about the size of Wales, with good main roads (making it quick to get around) and a relatively well-developed infrastructure.

But it is the work of Dian Fossey, as dramatised in the film Gorillas in the Mist, that really makes Rwanda’s Volcanoes National Park many people’s first choice for a mountain gorilla safari.

Relaxed gorillas and relatively open habitat – montane vegetation, often with stunning views – greatly improve the chances of good gorilla watching.

The professionalism and kindness of the guides – many of whom have spent decades helping visitors cope with steep slopes, stinging nettles and nerves – makes every muddy, gasping step that bit easier. But when it’s sunny, and the gorillas are only a short stroll from the park boundary, people tend to wonder what all the fuss is about!

9. Uganda

Visitor infrastructure: 5/5
Chance of sighting: 5/5

Mountain gorilla, Bwindi, Uganda (Shutterstock)


Second in popularity to Rwanda, the two gorilla parks in the south-west of the country offer different experiences. Mgahinga National Park is part of the tri-national Virunga Conservation Area, and its habituated gorillas often cross into the Democratic Republic of Congo. However, climbing to the top of Mt Sabinio, where Rwanda, Uganda and DRC meet, is an outstanding way to see the whole mountain gorilla kingdom – an island of forest surrounded by a sea of densely populated farmland.

Just to the north, on dramatically winding roads, Bwindi Impenetrable Forest National Park is more biodiverse and at a lower altitude. It has four groups well-habituated for tourism, and two more are being habituated to cope with demand. Some taxonomists regard the Bwindi gorillas as a separate sub-species of eastern gorilla – the lack of hair on their brow easily distinguishes them from their shaggier Virunga cousins.

One of Uganda’s real plus points is the range of other activities on offer: combine your gorilla tracking with the country’s other national parks and adventurous activities, from hiking the glaciers in the Rwenzori Mountains to white-water rafting on the Nile.

10. Democratic Republic of Congo

Visitor infrastructure: 1/5 (western lowland gorillas), 3/5 (eastern lowland gorillas and mountain gorillas)
Chance of sighting (security permitting): 1/5 (western lowland gorillas), 3/5 (eastern lowland gorillas), 5/5 (mountain gorillas)

Silverback eastern lowland gorilla, Democratic Republic of Congo (Shutterstock)


Three of the four sub-species are found in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Gorilla tourism with habituated groups began here in the mid-1970s, in Kahuzi-Biega National Park, a stronghold of eastern lowland gorillas, and this park still offers one of the best gorilla-viewing experiences. Bukavu is the nearest town (with some beautiful lakeside hotels), but check the security situation if entering DRC from Rwanda.

Mountain gorilla tourism in Virunga National Park is also excellent, if security allows. Things have improved since the early 2009 arrest of rebel leader Nkunda, but the area is still unsettled. However, even during the troubles many people visited the gorillas at Djomba on day trips from Kisoro, Uganda, because permits were available in the DRC and sold out in Uganda. Take advice on the spot – it can change from one week to the next.

Some western lowland gorillas survive in the far west of DRC in the beautiful Madiakoko Mountains, Bas-Congo, crossing back and forth from Cabinda (Angola), but you’d be a pioneer tourist here.

More on the world’s gorillas:

Know your gorillas – four species explained

Why Rwanda’s price hike for seeing gorillas is a disaster

Searching for gorillas in Brazzaville, Congo

Kate Humble goes gorilla-watching in the Democratic Republic of Congo

Is eating bush meat while travelling worth the risk?

Generally speaking, if you are vegetarian while travelling, your risk of food-borne infection will be less than that of those who choose to eat meat, fish and seafood because animal-based dishes favour the proliferation of the microbes responsible for gastroenteritis.

Clearly it pays to be careful about any raw foods you choose to eat, especially in areas of dense population where sanitary standards may be questionable. And with profligate use of pesticides in some countries, it is worth washing and peeling the fruit that you eat.

Luckily, there are few foods that are dangerous if hygienically made and freshly cooked. Exceptions include cassava, pitohui birds and fugu fish – all poisonous if poorly prepared.

What’s safe and what’s not

There are a few illnesses that travellers risk from eating wild-caught animals, so it is wise to take local advice on what is and isn’t edible.

Beware, for example, of eating big hairy spiders; make sure their hairs are singed off when cooked as they can cause blindness if they penetrate the eyes. Many insects, including locusts, are tasty to eat, especially if fried. But you should avoid raw crustaceans, tadpoles, snakes, frogs and snails as you might pick up some unwanted parasites.

There are traps even if you avoid lower creatures and eat only birds and mammals. Some unlucky people have contracted leprosy from undercooked armadillo in Mexico.

Be aware that endangered animals may also be on the menu, so if your dish seems very exotic, maybe you shouldn’t order it.

What’s the deal with bush meat?

West Africans love meat, and especially bush meat. The all-time favourite in Nigeria is the grasscutter (or giant cane) rat, which is a bit like a spineless porcupine and can weigh as much as 8kg. They can carry a range of parasites, some of which are transmissible to people.

Many, however, are captive-bred for the meat market, and since they are less likely to have been treated with antibiotics than local chickens, they are perhaps a preferable option for those who want culinary adventures.

In fact, in many resource-poor countries there is such profligate and uncontrolled use of antibiotics in animals bred for the table (especially poultry) that it is a public health issue.

In the West there is tight control of the kinds of antibiotics used in animals, as antibiotic-tainted meat is leading to widespread resistance to antibiotics, and thus treatment failures when they are needed to combat infections in humans.

How does bush meat affect wild animals?

One of the things that shocked me when I visited Nigeria last year was how few creatures of any size could be seen in the wild. I was expecting monkeys and wildfowl at least, but it seemed that – with the exception of agama lizards – most wild birds, mammals and lizards in the areas I visited had been caught or eaten.

Indeed, one suggestion explaining the spread of Ebola virus from chimpanzees to people is by way of villagers collecting dead or dying chimps and eating them – chimp meat is especially prized in West Africa. Then, once the infection reached people, it spread to those handling the bodies of Ebola victims.

Meanwhile, this devastating disease continues to simmer in the DR Congo. In the end, being vegetarian while travelling reduces many food-related health risks, and shunning bush meat contributes to wildlife conservation.

More top health advice for your travels:

Here’s how to stay healthy and safe on safari

Find out about travel dangers you’ve probably never thought of

Are pre-trip rabies immunisations worth investing in? Dr Jane investigates

Just desserts! 13 fabulous puddings from around the world

1: Shuku shuku, Nigeria

Homemade shuku shuku (Dreamstime)

Crunchy on the outside, chewy in the middle, shuku shuku is a delicious treat that’s popular throughout Nigeria. Made from coconut, egg and sugar rolled into balls and coated in flour, they are cooked in the oven and then served at room temperature.

Less sweet than many other desserts, shuku shuku allow the full flavours of coconut to shine through.

2: Pastel tres leches, Mexico

Tres leches dessert with strawberries (Dreamstime)

The secret of a good tres leches cake is in its name. It’s a light, airy sponge cake soaked with a mixture of three milks – evaporated milk, sweetened condensed milk, and cream. Its massive popularity in Mexico has been attributed to the Nestle Corporation, who printed the recipe on cans of condensed and evaporated milk cans in order to increase sales.

3: Prinsesstårta, Sweden

Swedish prinsesstårta (Dreamstime)

Prinsesstårta (princess cake) – is a layer cake from Sweden that’s made from airy sponge, pastry cream and whipped cream, topped with a distinctive layer of green marzipan. Originally called grön tårta (green cake), it became known as princess cake after the three daughters of Prince Carl, Duke of Västergötland, developed a taste for it.

A broadly similar cake is also made in Australia. It goes by a rather less regal moniker: frog cake.

4: Aiyu jelly, Taiwan

Aiyu jelly (Dreamstime)

Aiyu jelly is made from the seeds of a type of fig grown in Taiwan. Often mixed with lemon or lime and served with ice, it is served as a refreshing treat during the country’s humid summers.

5: Rasmalai, India

Rasmalai (Dreamstime)

Originating in Odisha, a state on the east coast of the Bay of Bengal, rasmalai is a pudding made from spongy balls of cottage cheese, which are soaked in thick reduced milk with cardamom and saffron. It is served chilled and garnished with a sprinkling of slivered almonds, ground pistachios or dried fruit.

6: Basbousa, Egypt

Basbousa with almonds (Dreamstime)

Basbousa can be found all over the Middle East in one form or another, but Egypt is its spiritual home. Made from semolina, eggs, butter, and coconut, the cake is baked first and then soaked in a sweet syrup.

More complex versions are soaked in rose or orange blossom water, and garnished with blanched almonds.

7: Brigadeiro, Brazil

Brigadeiro (Dreamstime)

Made from sweetened condensed milk, cocoa powder and butter, and then rolled in chocolate sprinkles, brigadeiros are, essentially, a truffle. But that is not why they are so hugely popular in Brazil. Rather, it’s their association with the dashing Brigadeiro Eduardo Gomes, a handsome politician who funded his campaign for office by selling them to women across the country. Gomes lost the election, but the popularity of brigadeiros endured.

8: Maple taffy, Canada

Maple taffy (Dreamstime)

Authentic maple taffy is a distinctly Canadian – and seasonal – treat, only available from syrup shacks during the wintry ‘sap’ season that runs from February to April.

It is made by boiling freshly-tapped maple syrup which is then poured over fresh snow. As it solidifies, the syrup is rolled on to a wooden stick and then eaten like a lollipop.

9: Melktart, South Africa

Melktart (Dreamstime)

A treat from South Africa with a long and varied history, melktart is a creamy custard tart made from milk, sugar, flour and eggs. First served in the 17th century, when the Dutch first settled at the Cape of Good Hope, a sprinkling of cinnamon was added to the recipe when South Africa began trading with Indonesia.

10: Tangyuan, China

Tangyuan (Dreamstime)

These sweet dumplings are a staple of any special occasion in China – but particularly Chinese New Year. They are a symbol of family unity and are traditionally eaten on the 15th day of New Year to signify the end of the celebrations.

Made from glutinous rice flour, they have an irresistibly chewy texture and are often filled with red bean, black sesame or peanuts to provide a mid-chomp surprise.

11: Syrniki, Russia

Syrniki, served with honey and sour cream (Dreamstime)

These delicious Russian pancakes are made from quark, a fresh dairy product that’s similar to sour cream. Russians love them served with jam, apple sauce, sour cream and/or honey.

12: Gulab jamun, India

Gulab jamun (Dreamstime)

Made with milk powder and fried in ghee (butter), gulab jamun is one of India’s favourite desserts. Essentially doughnut balls dipped in sugary syrup, you’ll see gulab jamun being cooked at street food stalls across South-East Asia.

13: Lamingtons, Australia

Lamingtons (Dreamstime)

Lamingtons are squares of yellow sponge cake coated in chocolate and then topped with coconut flakes. A popular staple of all kinds of charity fund-raising drives, they are one of the few Australian puddings not claimed by the Kiwis as their own.

Savannah Grace: on a mission to visit every country in the world

What made you want to visit every country in the world?

When I was 18, I’d already visited 80 countries because my parents travelled a lot. Now I’ve been to over 100. I just thought of it as a normal way of life because I’d spent my whole teens travelling. Recently, I realised that I’m well on the way to visiting every country in the world. I thought: “That’s an opportunity. Why don’t I just do that.”

When did you start your adventure?​

I didn’t want to travel when I started. When I was 14, my mum decided to just up and leave and travel the world for a year. Then, a year turned into four and I eventually learned to love it because it became my life, travelling with my family.

It was really hard in the beginning because my parents almost got divorced and at the same time one of my brothers was going off to Iraq in the war, which was very stressful. One of my brothers found out he had cancer, so we almost had to cancel the trip, but luckily it didn’t spread and we kept going.

When do you expect to finish?

I’d say in a few years, realistically. Luckily, I have easy chunks left to do because we travelled over land without lots of gaps. I covered almost all of Africa, nearly every country in Europe, all of central Asia, and then Russia, China and Mongolia.

I haven’t touched South-east Asia but those countries are easily accessible. I found Afghanistan, Pakistan and Tajikistan difficult to travel to because they were very out of the way.

Which has been the best place that you’ve been to?

I loved Mongolia because of the people. They are incredibly friendly and I had lots of crazy adventures with the positive, outgoing people there. Nepal is great if you love mountains and trekking.

I loved Peru. The Galapagos islands were fantastic as well. Before we went there, my husband said: “What’s so exciting about a bunch of birds and lizards?” But there’s so much amazing wildlife everywhere, from seals to iguanas. It’s like you’ve stepped onto a different planet. I love the Galapagos islands.

Which country surprised you the most on your travels?

Peru surprised me because I didn’t have much expectation of it. My husband said: “Let’s go to Peru this time.” We always travel on our birthdays. I asked: “What’s in Peru?” But it was really cool with jungles, sand dunes, sea, mountains and lakes. Machu Picchu was incredible, but the jungle in Peru was the best part.

You did a road trip around Africa. What was that like?

It was crazy, intense and extreme. My entire family did West Africa with backpacks. Halfway through, my parents got back together and my dad joined us.

It was difficult because in West Africa people don’t travel from country to country. The people tend to just stay in their village. There’s no train system or bus system, so public transport is out of the question. You get in a station wagon with 15 people on the roof. It’s shaky the whole way, with the exhaust coming in through the back of the trunk and rotting fish at your feet. Sometimes, there’s even a goat in there as well.

In Ghana, we met my now-husband. He had a giant truck and was planning to head through Congo and Nigeria alone. I said: “We’re going in the same direction. We can team up and we’ll go in your truck.” We covered the rest of Africa together and just pulled over on the side of the road at night and camped in the bushes.

Which of the countries that you’ve got left to do are you most excited about?

I’m dying to see the Northern lights and maybe somewhere with volcanoes. I think I’ll try to see the Northern Lights in Scandinavia or maybe head north in Canada. Norway would probably would be a nice trip with the Northern Lights and the ice hotel.

How are you funding your trip?

For the first part, when I was with my family, we were on a really tight budget. There was a lot of sleeping on the side of the road. In Africa, we just put out our tents at night and always ate local food to make it ridiculously cheap. It was cheaper to travel than to live at home. If we’re ever on a road trip we just pack canned tuna and make it cheap, so that we only have to pay for petrol.

Was it difficult travelling on a budget at first?

It was extremely difficult. You’re constantly hungry, tired and hot because you don’t want to pay for air conditioning. You go to places that have freezing cold bucket showers and some nights you don’t even shower because you’re sleeping in the bushes or on a train station platform.

Funnily enough, being ‘budget’ had the more rewarding experiences. We met more locals that way and experienced more of the local culture.

We didn’t get to go to the nice 5-star hotels and hide away from India. We really were actually in India, eating where the locals ate and drinking their water. We didn’t even have bottled water in India because it costs money.

Do you have any advice for other travellers?

The obvious thing is to do your research. Be respectful of the culture, especially with dress codes. I would say “don’t party and spend your money in bars making an ass of yourself”. You’re representing your country badly by behaving like that.

Why go to go to Thailand if you’re just going to drink cheap beer? You’ll go home sooner if you party every night.

Have you found it difficult travelling with your family?

There were some challenging times. Try to imagine being a teenager without a bedroom to slam the door on or hide in, no phone calls to your friends and nobody to talk to outside of your family. That’s enough to drive anyone crazy.

There’s also the upside of being with your family, which is having memories to share for the rest of your life, bonding and becoming stronger through it. Now, we’re inseparable.

How do you think you’ll feel when you’re finished your trips?

There’s still a great deal to see and I don’t think there will ever really be an end. I’ll keep travelling and write more books. I already have six or seven books that I need to write and I’ve got plenty of material.

I think I’ll always be travelling the world. If I visit every single country I can go back when I have kids and show them the places that I know. There’s always something new to see.

Savannah Grace has written two books on her travelling experiences, I Grew My Boobs In China and Backpacks And Bra Straps, and is working on a third, titled Rusty Tracks and Booby Traps. For more, see sihpromatum.com

Main image: Savannah Grace (Savannah Grace)

Know your gorillas!

1. Cross River

The world’s most critically endangered sub-species of gorilla was captured on camera in the wild for the first time in 2012, which isn’t surprising as there are only about 300 left. They look similar to their western lowland cousins, but with smaller and shorter skulls.

Where found: The largest numbers live in Nigeria but they’re also found (and were filmed) in south-west Cameroon. The bad news is the population is divided across human-inhabited areas; the good is that more suitable habitat for them has been found. There’s hope yet.

2. Mountain

Shaggy coats and sideburns: no, not a 70’s throwback – mountain gorillas. The most famous of all the gorillas are the ones you’re mostly likely to see: gorilla tourism is a mainstay of both Uganda’s and Rwanda’s economies. Often called a ‘perfect hour’ by people who’ve met them, visits to habituated groups are well controlled. Apart from poachers (still a big problem), your germs are the greatest threat to the remaining 790 or so animals; steer clear if you have a cold.

Where found: West Uganda, north-west Rwanda, east DR Congo.

3. Eastern lowland

The eastern lowland gorilla is the largest sub-species, and a bit of a smooth operator: they have longer faces, they’re less shaggy and more muscular than the other eastern species (mountain gorilla) thanks to climbing fruit trees. This sub-species also holds the record for the largest gorilla recorded – a silverback measuring 1.94m, which was shot in 1938. There are thought to be around 5,000 left in the wild, but the population plummeted during DRC’s civil war due to bushmeat hunting.

Where found: Eastern DR Congo.

4. Western lowland

Chances are you’ve seen these guys (Gorilla gorilla) if you’ve ever been to the zoo. However, the world’s most widespread gorilla is actually quite tricky to see in the wild. You’ll know these critically endangered creatures by their short, brownish-black coats and ginger crowns. Estimates suggest there are up to 200,000 individuals out there; threats include bushmeat hunting, habitat loss and disease.

Where found: Angola (Cabinda only), Cameroon, Central African Republic, Congo, DR Congo, Equatorial Guinea and Gabon.

Getting scammed – Nigerian style

As we approached Akure, Nigeria, the minibus I’d blithely boarded in Oshogbo pulled over. The driver motioned me out. No one else disembarked. Eh?

He walked to the back of the minibus and opened the hatch, handing me my bag.

“Taxi,” he said, pointing to the patch of dirt across the road where a gaggle of sedan taxis sat.

“Abuja?” I asked, wondering if these taxis were bound for Abuja.

He shook his head, said something I didn’t understand, and motioned wide with his arm, then stopped, and made an arc. Ah. This taxi would take me to the bus for Abuja. I think. Maybe. Perhaps?

Nigerians speak English. I speak English. But we were having a heck of a time understanding each other’s accents. The taxi did take me to the Abuja bus. I was leaving one main public transport route and crossing town to the bus park for a different route. Like coming into Victoria Station and needing to get to Paddington.

I had to fill out a form before the bus left, just as I’d had to in Oshogbo and would later do in Abuja. This included my name, contact details and next-of-kin. Given the terrifyingly fast driving I’d seen over the last 24 hours, this struck me as a good policy. The bus started and drove towards Abuja, passing though green countryside, small towns, and the occasional house with the words “NOT FOR SALE, BEWARE OF 419” painted on the side.

Nigeria is (in)famously the home of the 419 confidence-baiting advance-fee scam. 419 refers to the number of the article of the Nigerian criminal code that is used to prosecute these tricksters. Nigeria is hardly the only place that these email-baiters hail from, but certainly, it is the most well-known. The “not for sale” signs are on properties that were probably used in local confidence scams, the equivalent of putting a “not for sale” sign on a bridge that a trickster has tried to sell at a cut price, in spite of not owning the bridge.

When I’d read online hotel reviews about places to stay in Abuja and Calabar, I’d realised that these 419 con artists had turned their attention to slightly less illegal activities during their down time. The reviews – supposedly written by reviewers based in Ohio and Maryland who’d written only a single review before disappearing – made me laugh.

“Excellent hotel beyond compare with a touch that is unarguably comfortable at all times. Wow!”

and

‎”Waaoh!!! Unbelievably classical and affordable hotel.”

I was aiming to stay in one of these classic and affordable – Waaoh! – hotels tonight. I barely had any money left after doling out my cash in dribs and drabs to soldiers, police, and taxi drivers en route from the border, and my ATM card was firmly sewn into the inside of my trousers, so no more cash would be forthcoming until I could, 1) remove my clothing and 2) get to an ATM. Nigerian hotels are expensive, costing far more than what I had left behind in West Africa. I’d have to slum it for the moment.

We pulled into Abuja a few hours after I’d changed buses – to the entirely wrong end of Abuja from where I wanted to be, which was near the long-distance buses and embassy district.

“You’ll take a taxi to the buses here,” explained the minibus driver. I switched again, trying hard to negotiate the drivers down from a pretty high starting point of about $20 for a taxi ride.

“It’s a long way,” explained one driver, who agreed to take me to the bus terminal for 1200 naira, or $8.

He was right. And he complained about drivers in Abuja. But to me, they drove wonderfully, much better than what I’d seen near Lagos.

The driver dropped me at the ABC Transport bus, where I bought a “sprinter” ticket to head to Calabar in the morning, before getting another taxi to the Waaoh! hotel I’d chosen based on price.

“I need a room,” I explained to the young woman at the front desk. “But I am out of money and so I need your cheapest room. And I need an ATM if I want to eat anything. You have wi-fi right?”

“Yes, but it is broken.”

This happened a lot. The digital world had come so far in the past ten years since I’d done the first MariesWorldTour.com, but frequently, I ended up frustrated by the connection speeds or state of disrepair. Sometimes I wondered if we’d really come all that far from when I’d watched a Zimbabwean read the entire newspaper while waiting for his Hotmail to load up in 2001 in Victoria Falls.

I took the cheapest room, counting out my coins and just making it to the 6500 naira ($41) I needed. I went into my dirty, dark, tiny room in the back corner of the hotel. No toilet seat, ants everywhere, stains on the bedspread – but it was in my price range.

Waaoh indeed.

I dug out my folding scissors and meticulously unstitched the Zip-Loc bag of money and cards from the inside of my black trousers. I was after my ATM card.

One of the hotel security guards walked me to the nearest ATM.

Which was out of service.

“There is another,” he promised. And this helpful, gentle security guard walked me through the hilly, pleasant backstreets of the Abuja embassy neighborhood to another ATM.

That worked. It spat out loads of money. The guard escorted me back to the hotel, and I happily tipped him, before dining on Hobnobs I had in my bag, and crawling in under the stained bedspread. Something nibbled on my calf all night as I slept, and in the morning, I fled to the bus early.

I had a ticket on the “sprinter” service to Calabar, the last town in Nigeria before Cameroon. From there, I’d get the Friday ferry to Limbe, celebrating my birthday by crossing the border.

But first, I had to sit on this sprinter – which is a nice van or maybe you’d call it a jitney – until dusk.

The van wasn’t sold out and still left on time. We had air conditioning and curtains to pull shut when the sun got to be too much. There were only six passengers – a businessman, a younger man, two adult women, a nun, and me.

We spread out, each taking a single seat or row. The bus driver gave us each an orange juice and a packet of Hobnobs. Which was great, even though I was overdosing on Hobnobs. We finished filling out the next-of-kin form so that we could leave – I’d caught on now to put down the US Embassy as a contact person. Hobnobs and paperwork complete, we headed out of Abuja.

“I have a question for the Sister in the back,” announced the driver. He’d begun to drive and was looking back through the rear view mirror.

“Might I ask our Sister to lead us in prayer and bless our journey?”

The nun sighed and looked exaggeratedly put-upon, then smiled and said, “Oh, all right.”

She read a verse from her Bible, the gist of which was to deliver us safely, and then sang a Nigerian hymn. Everyone else in the sprinter knew the song. They all joined in.

I felt like a loser now… not only did I not know the group song, but also, I can’t sing anything like this nun or these other passengers. They all sang beautifully.

Travelling in comfort makes a huge difference, I thought, as we pulled away from the four-lane highways of Abuja and headed out into the countryside. Even after three more hours, I was still delighted with this style of travel. Leg room! Knees not in total agony! And best, regular toilet stops that included time to graze.

OK, the toilet stops weren’t perfect. They featured three-sided concrete blocks without roofs, and you peed downhill into a trough. One of the women from our van went first. She eyeballed the situation, laughed and went ahead. Still, this was adequate compared to the no-toilet-stops I’d been living with for a while.

After a lunch stop for mango, avocado, and sliced white bread (French-speaking Africa has much better bread than English-speaking Africa), we headed out again, on in the direction of Calabar. The driver’s rap CD gave way to a country-style cover of Lay Down Sally. I studied my Coke can, and learned that what I’d long suspected was true – African Coca-Cola still has sugar in it, not high-fructose corn syrup. No wonder I craved it.

The men chattered away up front, while the women kept to themselves. In late afternoon, the road turned horrible, potholed and broken. Our driver steered slowly around and through the gaps.

The businessman’s mobile phone rang and he picked it up.

“Hello? … Yes, are you all right? … How were the elections in Jos? … Hmm. … Yes, I see. … They did what? Burned what? … Threw rocks at you at the polls? … Is everyone okay? … Okay, best wishes to you and your family. Stay safe.”

There had been a great deal of election-related violence in Jos. He fell silent when he hung up the phone, and then started reading the newspaper.

“Hey, listen to this.” He read out loud an article he’d come cross. “President Obama has advised against all non-essential travel to Nigeria. Americans should avoid going to Nigeria at this time.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to look at me.

“Uh… waaoh?” I grinned. Not much I could do about it now.

And five Nigerians laughed along with me.

More like this

The pros and cons of bus travel in Africa | Blogs… More

How to get to Senegal in ten not-so-easy-steps | Blogs… More

Want to travel the world solo? Check out our solo travel guide | Plan a trip… More

Beware the Sacred Forest of Oshogbo

After a marathon day of trying – and failing – to cross to Nigeria, I couldn’t bear to get out of bed again at five. Who knew if the Nigerian border would be open today after it had been unexpectedly closed all day yesterday? I hit “snooze” on my iPhone repeatedly for a whole hour.

The front desk clerk at my Cotonou hotel took a 50 euro note as partial payment for my night’s lodging, so I didn’t have to unsew and untape my ATM and credit cards from the inner calf pocket I’d sewn into my pants using a Zip-Loc bag. My black trousers had seen better days. Namely, Saturday, before I wore them all day in taxis on Sunday. I didn’t want to re-sew my valuables into a different pair of pants, so I was considering wearing the same trousers all the way through Nigeria, just leaving the my valuables taped in until Cameroon, where I could safely use a credit card again.

It was already nine by the time I got the zem motorcycle taxi to the shared taxi park and settled into one where the conductor was yelling “Igolo Igolo.” I gave all my coins to the zem driver (350 CFA) and then paid a reasonable and correct 1,500 CFA to the shared taxi driver for the hour-and-a-half ride to the border. So far, so good.

One good thing had come out of the mess of yesterday. I’d sorted out that if I went through the Igolo border, 30km north of the notorious Krake border, I could totally avoid Lagos and head straight to Oshogbo, where I hoped to see Osun Shrine.

The down side of Igolo is that there’s nowhere near the same amount of public transportation as at Krake. Taxis leave all the time from the main border, but not from this smaller one. So the route I’d chosen was not without risk, though I’d opted for ease and safety over convenience.

This time, when I got out of the taxi at the border and was deluged by people grabbing at my bag, I grabbed it back and walked away. I went to the money-changers, but my changer from yesterday wasn’t there, and neither was my helper.

“Border ferme?” I asked a changer.

“Non, c’est ouvret,” he answered.

I changed all my CFA to Nigerian naira. Again. And approached a crowd of three fixers.

“Ou est Abdoul Rahim?” I wanted yesterday’s guide.

“I haven’t seen him around today,” answered the oldest guy there, who was probably in his 40s.

“Okay, you take me.” I pointed to a teenager. He was about 14 years old, just a kid. The older guy patted him on the back and said something to him in his own language. Probably, “Go get ’em, kid.”

The kid carried my bag and led the way at a scamper. He did the same thing the guys had tried to do yesterday at both borders, which is just breeze across without stopping. He led me right into the arms of an official who caught him in a bear-hug before sending both us into the Benin immigration office.

And there is where two women in uniforms, who were more thorough than the men who’d stamped me into Benin, noticed that my visa had expired on April 6.

I smiled pleasantly and refused to budge until my fine/fee went from 30,000 CFA to 10,000 CFA. And then still refused to go change money and buy a visa. They sent a messenger to do it. I was annoyed that I’d already given a hundred dollars or so to Benin for a six-month visa and had only received three months. And after the last few days, I fancied myself done being a travelling doormat.

And with a firm thwack of a stamp, I was out of Benin. The kid led the way again, and some men caught us again. We were whisked into a Nigerian office this time, where three people laboriously copied down a lot of details and asked me what I was carrying. Mostly, they were excited that my passport showed I was 44 and I didn’t look like what they thought a 44-year-old should look like.

“You have something for us?” They asked at the end. I’d been warned that I’d encounter a lot of bribery in Nigeria. I naively thought I could avoid paying bribes.

“Congratulations on a successful election,” I said cheerily, breezing past them into an office full of men in uniforms.

I waited while two men in the room discussed if I should be given a “tourist” or “transit” visa. One of the bored officers had struck up a conversation with me.

“Where will you go in Nigeria?”

“First to Oshogbo, then to Abuja, then to Calabar, and from there to Cameroon on the ferry.”

“Oshogbo? To the shrine?”

“Yes, to the Sacred Forest.”

He chuckled.

“What will you do if…” He dramatically stretched his arms wide then swept them together. “…the forest catches you?

“Uh…I don’t know…does the forest catch people?”

“Yes, Susanne Wenger. Did you read about her? She came here and the forest caught her for 50 years.”

I had read about her. She was an Austrian artist who’d come to Oshogbo in the 50s and stayed there until her death a few years ago. She’s spearheaded the rebuilding and artistic interpretation of the Yoruba shrines in the Sacred Forest. She’d even become a priestess in the Yoruba religion. She didn’t build these shrines alone, but assisted local artists in planning and creating the shrines. She was one of these rare people who gets involved in a truly local way, not looking for fame or a book contract or patting herself on the back, but for a way to enable local traditions to continue and not be lost.

I heard a stamp, distracting me from my conversation about the Sacred Forest. I was in as a “tourist.” The oldest passport officer slowly copied down details from my passport. The kid looked bored.

Back outside, there was one more stop, where I showed my yellow fever certificate. Again, lots of copying down details. This one asked if I was taking the kid along to Cape Town, and I said “Yes”. The kid looked alarmed while the immigration guy chuckled. Then, again, a request for “something”. Again, a congratulations on a successful election.

And that was it. After about an hour of watching people write stuff down, I was into Nigeria. The kid led me to the final checkpoint, and then I heard:

“WHITE WOMAN!”

Uh, that would be me. I must have missed another official.

I stopped. He checked my passport, and we were off again. The next man who stopped us had a uniform and a gun, and asked for 1,000 naira to let the kid cross over and take me to the taxi.

“OK, I carry my own bag then.”

Of course, finding the taxi is the part where I actually needed the kid. He started to take off my backpack.

“OK, 500 naira.”

I paid my first Nigerian bribe.

The kid led me down a crowded border street to a taxi for Ibadan, three hours away. He put me in it, and made sure I understood the right fare (3,000 naira).

I had to wait an hour for the last seat to sell. We left at one. In the meantime, the other two passengers had tried to get me to buy the last seat.

“We’ve been here four hours,” they said.

Sorry, not this time. 3,000 naira is 20 bucks.

The driver collected my 3,000 when it was time to go. I handed it to him, and then he handed it back with”I said 3,000.”

I looked at the pile of money he gave me. One of the thousands was a hundred.

Did I give him a hundred or did he just pull a fast one? I couldn’t swear I’d given him three thousand – but I was pretty sure I had.

I took back the hundred and gave him the thousand. Now I was feeling a bit irritated. Was the driver a small-time con artist? Had I pulled out the wrong money?

We drove out of town. The couple next to me was nice and Nigeria looked green and pleasant. I was just starting to think how clever I’d been to avoid Lagos because the rest of the country was nothing like that, when we started hitting police checks.

We got through the first and second checks okay. The third time, it was a customs guy. He wanted me to give him money.

“Absolutely not.”

He got kind of nasty. The other people in the car looked at me. They didn’t want to hang around here all day. This wasn’t going to be easy, was it?

“Just give him this,” whispered the driver, taking 300 naira out of my hand. He came back a minute later. “It’s not enough. He wants 500.”

Grrr.

The police stopped us over and over. The worst one hassled the young woman next to me, because she didn’t understand his English.

He looked right at her and said, “How am I knowing you?”

This baffled her. She shook her head. He then kept at her, asking where she came from over and over and confusing her. “The border,” she’d say. “No, I mean before.” She was silent and scared by his strange phrasing.

He made her get out and unzip her suitcase. I got out too and tried to engage him. He had a gun and the situation was tense – maybe I could defuse the situation. I offered him a biscuit.

Eventually, the driver whispered, “Give me 200.” I did, he passed it on, and we were allowed to leave.

Three bribes in my first hour! I was certainly getting a local experience.

On we drove, over a terrible road, hitting the main expressway somewhere west of Lagos, where I was shocked by the wreckless, fast driving. We passed three huge accidents in the next hour.

When we got to Ibadan, the sun was starting to go down. I thought I’d stay there, but the driver offered to take me the last 90 minutes to Oshogbo.

“You give me 7,000. I drive you.”

“No. Take me to the bus.”

“Ah. But it’s late.” He had me there.

“Okay, how much you pay?”

I thought about it. At 3,000 a head, he’d made 12,000 for the three hours ride. So he was asking for 7,000 for a drive of half that. 6,000 was the right rate, but did I really want to pay 40 bucks?

Nigeria isn’t cheap.

“Okay, 5,000.”

“You give me six.” Fine.

We zoomed along, out of the heaving chaos of Ibadan and towards Oshogbo.

“Can I get other people?”

I was tempted to say no, since I’d already paid for the taxi. But then, what’s the harm in letting him make a few more bucks? I took the front seat and he picked up four adults, who asked me a lot of questions. Nigerian’s reactions to me today have been amused or amazed. One policeman gave me his phone number. At least he didn’t ask for a tip.

I had to answer a lot of questions about not being married and not having children. “Don’t you want to enjoy a man while you are young?”

“It’s okay,” I said.

This puzzled them.

“Are you not loving enough?”

I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the turn this conversation had taken.

“No… it’s…” I tried to think of a way to explain it succinctly in language that would make sense.

“Men don’t like me,” I said.

They nodded, sort of understanding but not really. But it made more sense to them a minute later when I added, “Anyway, I can’t cook. So I need a man who can cook.”

“A man wants to taste his wife’s cooking. You should learn to cook.”

I couldn’t win this one and changed the subject to how I could travel on to Calabar where I’d get the ferry to Cameroon.

The same man who had advised me to learn to cook then told me I could easily blast straight through to Calabar in a single day.

“Isn’t it unsafe in the Delta? What about the kidnappings?”

“That doesn’t happen anymore.”

Maybe so. Guidebook info is already a year old by the time the book gets to my hands. But I hadn’t researched this online. What if he was wrong? I’d stick to my plan, heading north to Abuja and then back down to Calabar. The long way.

We arrived at Heritage Hotel and dropped me off.

And while I was getting my bag out of the trunk, the driver, who had gotten FIFTY-EIGHT of my dollars today (more if you include what I was now sure was the sleight-of-hand at the start) for the 4.5 hours of driving, asked me for 2,000 more.

“No. I am out of money.”

“I am hungry.” He motioned at his stomach. He WAS thin.

I sighed and gave him what was left in my pocket – about five bucks, I had to acknowledge that new non-doormat Marie wasn’t having a lot of success at being a non-doormat – and checked in.

The hotel? $25 a night. Including A/C and hot water. Sure, the shower didn’t work and the ceiling fan was broken. But for $25, I wasn’t complaining.

And in the morning, I went to the Sacred Forest. The beautiful sculptures were fascinating and the serenity engaging.

The forest did catch me, even after all the hassle of getting into Nigeria.

More like this

Follow Marie’s journey across Africa and around-the-world | Blogs… More

Outrunning the law in Ghana | Blogs… More

The pros and cons of bus travel in Africa | Blogs… More

How to get to Senegal in ten not-so-easy-steps | Blogs… More

Want to travel the world solo? Check out our solo travel guide | Plan a trip… More

Fancy taking a career break? 7 reasons you CAN take one | Advice… More

The Nigerian border two-step

One does not cross the busy Krake border to Lagos, Nigeria without apprehension. Last week, I’d watched local residents cross between Togo and Benin without showing identification, tossing a few coins into the hands of border guards. No one would dare try that at Krake. This border is considered dangerous and risky. The Africans I’d met all seemed to have individual systems for crossing the Krake border, and had been happy to share their strategies with me. One had been kind enough to write out his instructions in my notebook, and had given me additional information verbally.

“Only two bags max. You must keep your money you need for the day in your pockets. Do not show anyone where your other money is. Do not get into a taxi with people who look like thieves. They will crowd you and feel your pockets. Do not open your bags at the border. Do not speak to anyone who is not wearing a uniform. Change your money the day before. Only travel between 8am and 4pm when it is light. Don’t risk getting caught out when you can’t see your surroundings.”

I got it. The Benin-Nigeria border scared people.

And they, in turn, scared me. I hated not knowing if my paranoia was justified or simply overblown, but I couldn’t risk being wrong that Nigeria’s border couldn’t possibly be as scary as people said.

Nigeria is primarily a cash society, and dire warnings claimed that fraud is near-instantaneous with credit card transactions. Also, ATM information was sketchy. Were there ATMs? Were they safe? Information on independent travel in Nigeria was sketchy, limited mostly to a single Bradt guide that I’d read cover-to-cover before leaving it at home as it had been too heavy and hadn’t been available in PDF or Kindle format.

I sewed my credit cards and emergency cash into the inside of my trousers at five in the morning in my hotel room in Cotonou. Money belts are kind of pointless, I think, as thieves go for them first.

I’d rushed through Ghana, Togo, and Benin just for this moment, so that I could go into Lagos at the crack of dawn on Sunday. As a sometimes-New Yorker and former resident of Cairo, I’m aware that reputations of places are often totally exaggerated. I could laugh at myself later, though. I was in no position to know what was real and what was just the bogeyman. Sunday morning, I reasoned, would be the quietest time of the week in Lagos.

The plan was this: Cross Krake border, get to a Lagos taxi park and connect straight out to Oshogbo, or to Ibadan then to Oshogbo. Oshogbo has a sacred grove of Yoruba god sculptures and a good budget hotel called Heritage. I could stay there, then it would be about five to six hours to Abuja tomorrow.

I was a little worried about getting a room in Abuja as the Nigerian presidential election was happening. But I couldn’t find reliable information on the safety of the southern route, though Nigerians later told me it was fine now, that the days of kidnappings were over. But tourists weren’t taking this route and talking about it, so I was reluctant to be the guinea pig.

A long bus ride would take me from Abuja to Calabar on Tuesday, and I’d have Wednesday and Thursday to get my Cameroon visa at the consulate there, before taking the ferry out on Friday. That was my birthday, and my planned gift to myself was to splurge on the nicest hotel in a Cameroon seaside resort town.

I left my room and hailed a zem to get to the motor park.

A zem is the same thing as a scooter or moped. The drivers wear yellow numbered jerseys. A ride within Cotonou is 200 CFA, which is about 40 cents. Zems gave me freedom that I don’t have in countries that only offer car-taxis, which are expensive and not always available. And zems are fast as they dodge in and out of traffic.

They’re also incredibly dangerous, of course, as we’re all zipping around without helmets. I tried not to think about that.

I made a series of embarrassing mistakes at the motor park. I changed money and the kid that showed me the money-changer, explained to me that on the other side of the border I could get a taxi straight to Ibadan and didn’t have to go into Lagos at all. He then helped me find the right car. He took my fare and gave it to the driver. 6,000 CFA? Really?

No, not really. The other passengers all paid 1,000 CFA. I looked at my written instructions.

1,000 CFA.

I needed to stop letting people rush me. I thought back to what Martin, a German development worker I’d met in Bamako, had told me.

“Keep your money in your pocket. When someone asks you for money, just don’t put your hand in your pocket.”

The kid saw that I had 4,000 CFA left. I’d tipped him 2,000, which is about 1,500 more than I should have tipped him.

“You can’t use that where you’re going. You should just give it to me.”

He had a point. But I always keep a little because you just never know. It was early, or I wasn’t thinking, or something. I gave it to him. I had only Nigerian naira now. I’m sure I used to be a better traveller. Was it only yesterday I’d blown it so completely at Ganvie? I’d never tell Martin about these few days.

The ride was less than an hour long. At Krake, I got out of the taxi and was immediately deluged by zem drivers offering to shepherd me across the border for 2,000 naira. I said no at first – that’s $12 and I think I know how to walk across a border. But people were yelling at me when I tried and shouting for me to go back, so I negotiated and hired one for 1,500 naira.

He put my bag and myself onto his zem and zoomed off into a back alley. He stopped at a barricade, where some officials with stamp pads were hanging out in a hut.

The driver and the stamp guys had an animated discussion. The officials appeared to be chewing the driver out. I wasn’t sure what was going on yet. Then one of the stamp-pad men led me into an office up the hill, where a passport officer could speak English.

“The border is closed.”

“What?”

“They won’t let you through. The Nigerians won’t. It’s closed. You have your visa, I know, but it is impossible. Try again tomorrow.”

Elections. Nigeria had closed the border for security. My original plan had been to skate through before the elections, but ironically, getting the Nigeria visa itself back in Mali is what had thrown me off my schedule. That and the days it took for the Ghana visa.

“Come back tomorrow.”

The zem guy apologetically took me back to the Cotonou taxis. I thought I’d head from there to a tourist town three hours north. The border up there would enable me to avoid Lagos, though it has fewer public transportation options. I’d been thinking of going that way anyway. Now the decision had been made for me. I thought for a second about my written instructions: Do NOT go through a different border.

Nonsense, I thought.

I had to change enough money at the border to get myself back to Cotonou and also to pay the zem driver. I gave him 2,000 CFA for trying, which is $4. A bit here, a bit there, all adding up.

As I sat in my taxi waiting for it to fill up, a friend of the zem guy ran up to my window.

“You can go to the other border at Igolo! It is open for sure. You will get through.”

He took me out of the Cotonou taxi and installed me in a Porto Novo taxi. Another tip to him – my lowest denomination was 1,000 CFA. Ugh. Then 700 more to Porto Novo.

The taxi driver then put me on a zem in Porto Novo, issued strict instructions to the driver, and we were off. Where to? Who knows? The plan was in action, and I wasn’t in charge of it.

He left me at another taxi stand. 200 CFA. The taxi took me 20km up the border to the Igolo border post. 1,000 more. I think. I can barely remember. But I clearly recall that there were four adult women in the back seat, one in the front and then the driver, and there was a total of six children. In a sedan.

A freelance border fixer approached me at the new border. He started at 1,500 naira, but he didn’t have a motorbike.

“Border no ferme?”

“For sure you get through. Change your last 5,000 CFA.”

“What if I don’t get through?”

“You will get through.”

The local money-changers, who were sitting on three wooden benches, all agreed.

“Of course you will get through. There are ways.”

“Okay, but if I don’t get through, you give me back my CFA.”

Deal.

“Sit here.”

I sat with the money-changers. One of them spoke English and explained to me what was going on.

“He must go talk to the passport man, to get him to not stamp you out of Benin, in case you can’t get into Nigeria. Otherwise you are stuck.”

That seemed reasonable.

The fixer disappeared down a dirt road, the same one the border-crossers were using. At both borders, I’d been taken the back way. The not-so-closed way. Lots of local people were walking across these supposedly closed borders.

The fixer was gone a long time, and when he came back, he had a middle-aged, pudgy guy in a white tank top alongside him.

“This is the passport man.”

The passport man showed me his ID and sat down.

“The problem is that the border on the Nigeria side is very tight right now. You will not get through.”

“I would get through,” chimed in the money-changer. “But the problem is… you are… white. You stand out. Someone will notice.”

“I advise you to exercise patience,” said the passport man. “Come back tomorrow. The border will be open at six. We have a hotel here. You can rest there and try again in the morning.”

500 more to the fixer for his efforts.

The money-changer gave me my 5,000 CFA back.

I caught a taxi back to Cotonou. I got the last seat, and was squashed into the gap in the front seat between passenger and driver. There was no back on the seat. This hurt. When we got to Porto Novo, I thought, “Just get out. Go to a hotel here. Try again tomorrow.”

But I wanted to end up three hours closer to Abuja tomorrow.

The ride back to Cotonou was painful, stuck in that gap. 1,500 this time.

I needed to get an Abomey taxi, to head north. I was hungry and tired and hot and sweaty, but a money-changer helped me into the right car.

About an hour into this taxi ride, we passed Ouidah.

Uh-oh.

That’s not the right road.

I looked at my map. Maybe we turned at the next town?

We didn’t. The driver pulled over for a second to pick up a new fare. I turned to the other passengers.

“Are we going to Lome?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Abomey. Lome. I’d mispronounced my destination – totally my own fault – and the money-changer had heard only the ending of the word, then put me in the wrong taxi. Over an hour into the wrong taxi. What a day.

“Where are you going?”

“Abomey.”

The other passengers all looked confused.

One of them looked at me and in clear English said, “You are lost.”

“Yes. I am lost.”

I got out. The driver looked disgusted. I gave him 2,000 CFA, cursing at myself. A zem driver was there, and he took me to a Cotonou taxi. 200 more.

The Cotonou taxi cost another 1,000, and partway into the trip, the rain started. I had already given up on Abomey but had thought I’d go back to Porto Novo and spend the night, but now it was getting dark and raining. I guess I wouldn’t do that after all.

On arrival in Cotonou, I cowered under an awning with some taxi drivers while the skies opened up. Eventually, I pulled out my backpack cover – which still had orange dirt on it from the last time I used it in Uganda in 2005 – and my plastic coat, hailed a zem, and found my way through the spray of the streets, back to my Hotel Riviera Benin, squish-squishing my way into my same room from the last few days.

Where I unstitched my credit cards, so that I could pay for my room.

I hoped Nigeria would be open for business tomorrow.

More like this

Follow Marie’s journey across Africa and around-the-world | Blogs… More

Outrunning the law in Ghana | Blogs… More

The pros and cons of bus travel in Africa | Blogs… More

How to get to Senegal in ten not-so-easy-steps | Blogs… More

Want to travel the world solo? Check out our solo travel guide | Plan a trip… More

Fancy taking a career break? 7 reasons you CAN take one | Advice… More

Ghana to Nigeria: Taking the good with the bad

“How do I get to Ganvie?”

I was addressing the day clerk at my Cotonou hotel, the Hotel Riviera Benin. Or at least the morning clerk. It was morning, after all, and I’d already availed myself of the free breakfast, as usual gnawing on bread with accompanying Nescafé. This hotel also included tiny croissants, cheese, and deli meat, so I had no reason to complain.

“You should call this man. He is reliable.”

The clerk handed me a flyer. The guidebook had described the stilt village of Ganvie as heavily commercialised. The only person I knew who has been there wasn’t too impressed with it, and she’d so far had reliable instincts. I was trying to keep my expectations low, but I still wanted to see this stilt village on Lake Nokoue.

Ganvie isn’t the only stilt village in Ghana. I’d read of at least two others, but they were tougher or more expensive to get to. Ganvie may be commercialised, but I reckoned I could go there-and-back and still get to the voodoo village of Ouidah today, then head to Nigeria tomorrow morning.

I could just wing it, of course. I could get a taxi to Abomey-Calavi, then go to the pier and hire a boat. But this was reputedly a zoo, where you are accosted from all sides with offers.

I studied the flyer in front of me.

“Okay, can you call this man from the flyer?”

“Bonjour. I have a tourist here who is coming to Ganvie…”

I was a little confused. Would I really have a tough time if I showed up at the pier and winged it?

“Just take a taxi, only 500 CFA. Call Christopher at this number when you get there. He will meet you at the pier in Calavi. He will take you to Ganvie.”

The hotel security guard took me outside and waved down a zem, one of the thousands of motorbike taxis that buzz around Cotonou. He told the driver to take me to a taxi park for 300 CFA, and once there, I got into a shared taxi for Abomey-Calavi. The trip was 500 CFA (a dollar) and less than an hour.

The driver left me at the Abomey-Calavi dusty transit hub, with return taxis across the street and zems located where he dropped me.

“Take her to the pier for Ganvie,” said the taxi driver to a motorbike driver. I checked my phone, tried to make the call to Christopher.

And… No credit on my phone.

I hadn’t anticipated that. I thought back…where had I been a few days ago where the data connection had worked unexpectedly? Ghana? That must have run out all my credit. I couldn’t make a phone call and could only refill my balance online. Well, there would be a way to call at the pier. I’d just head down there.

I hopped on the back of the motorcycle taxi, and the driver took off. We zipped right, down a dipping roller coaster of a dirt road…

…and deposited me at a pier, or rather, at a shack next to a dirt patch by a couple of boats in an inlet.

‘This is IT?” I couldn’t contain my surprise. Where was the zoo? The touts? The aggressive boat-drivers?

A man came running over and unlocked a padlock on a shack. He went inside and collected some paperwork. He brought it out and presented a price list and tickets to me.

8,500 CFA for a trip to Ganvie and back. All very official-looking. I’d read that there were firm rates, and that they weren’t cheap. But I wasn’t supposed to just hop in a random boat. I’d booked already.

“No, no,” I said. “I need this man on the telephone, Christopher. Telephone. I need to call. No credit. Where is phone? Or internet?” If I could get online, I could add credit to my phone.

The zem driver and the ticket seller paused, stared, and discussed me in French. The ticket seller put away his papers and padlocked them again. The zem driver motioned me back onto the motorbike and we drove back up the dirt road.

This time, we took a right before reaching the main road, snaking through a small village. We stopped outside a shop, where the zem driver beeped his horn until a bald man in a long-sleeved striped shirt came out. This guy spoke English, and asked me where I was trying to go.

“I need a phone to call this man, Christopher.” I waved the paper with the number at him. “I have booked with him to go to Ganvie.”

“We will take you there,” he said.

Which sounded reasonable enough. Except it wasn’t.

We all went back to the pier, where the ticket seller again unlocked his shack. I paid the zem driver and let him go.

“8,500 CFA. We will take you in the boat,” said the bald man.

“No, no.” I tried again. “This man… Christopher… he said he was coming for me.”

They both stared at me.

I knew by now that something was wrong. No, everything was wrong. I was also in the unfortunate position of having no idea what to do about it. I sighed and paid the fare.

A boatman had materialised, a tall man in traditional dress, and he started up the engine on a small motorboat.

My heart sunk. I’d been counting on the boat from the flyer, which had shade. I wasn’t wearing sunblock.

The bald man got in the boat along with the boatman and me. We motored slowly along an inlet, out into the open lake.

I have to admit, it was beautiful. I was worried about getting burned, both by the sun and by whatever was going on that I didn’t understand. But both were out of my control.

We motored on for about ten minutes, and then there was Christopher, in the boat from the flyer, hurtling up alongside us.

He looked pissed.

He started chewing out the bald man and the boatman, and instructed me to change boats. Now I was even more worried… I’d paid these men to take me, and now I was switching boats. That meant paying again, and I knew it. But I’d booked with Christopher and he’d used fuel to come to fetch me. Ganvie is a few kilometers offshore.

I was backed into a corner. I wasn’t getting out of today for cheap.

“Come here,” said Christopher.

“What about the money I paid them?”

“How much did you pay them?”

“8,500 CFA.” That’s about $17.

“For a ten-minute boat ride?”

He looked disgusted and spoke to them sharply. They went silent. I changed boats and they drifted away.

“Now I am worried,” I explained to Christopher. “I’ve paid once. Now I will have to pay again.”

“I cannot ask you to do that,” he said. “If you enjoy it, pay what you wish.”

I wish I didn’t have to pay one more cent. I wish I hadn’t booked in advance and had just turned up. I wish I hadn’t made a mess of this situation. I wish I’d stayed at the hotel. None of this wishing has any relevance on the current situation.

“Where did they pick you up?”

“The pier.”

“No. That is the pier.” Christopher waved back at a bustling area on the shore, an area that featured buildings and vendors.

I’d been had. Had by a cooperative venture between the zem driver and the “ticket seller?” Had by the boatman, the bald man, and the zem driver? Turns out that there are set standards and regulations for the boats that carry tourists. There is a regulatory board. The little dirt area I’d been taking to was operating outside the law.

Should I have continued to insist the zem driver take me to a pay phone? Yes, of course. That was the right response to things being obviously not-quite-right. I remember being five months into the original MariesWorldTour in 2001, and taking lip from no one. I’d brazenly tangled with taxi drivers and touts, but I wasn’t proud of this. The intervening years had made me soft, because in hindsight, I’d forgotten about the rough patches and thought only of all the kind, helpful people, and assumed that somehow, I could avoid the tricksters and just deal with entrepreneurs who weren’t trying to take advantage of my ignorance of local infrastructure. I’d assumed that I’d been in the wrong to argue with people in 2001.

That wasn’t the case. When you’re travelling alone, you have only yourself for back-up. I was going to have to try a little harder. Worry less about being cooperative and more about watching my finances and my own agenda.

Christopher was still steaming, and I was confused about the situation I’d stumbled into. Why was I going to his lodge on the lake anyway since I wasn’t even staying overnight? Were the other guys just trying to make a buck outside the law? If so, why weren’t they cheaper than the official boats? By agreeing to this pre-booked thing, I’d agreed to do something that wasn’t yet clear… I wasn’t making it to Ouidah today. That was certain. And how stuck was I… in a boat. In a lake. In Benin. There was no politely backing out.

I took photos and tried to enjoy the scenery.

When we arrived at Ganvie, it was exactly as described. A village built on stilts, a few kilometers off-shore. Children learn to row the way we learn to ride bikes. Lore has it that the village was built so that its occupants could be protected from slavers.

Christopher took me to his homegrown lodge before escorting me around the stilt village in his motorboat. We headed back across the lake.

“Where will you go next?”

“Nigeria. I will go tomorrow.”

Christopher nodded.

“I just did this a few weeks ago. I got into a share-taxi at the border and men got in on either side of me. They started feeling my pockets, looking for money. It was scary. You must go through, and talk to no one that does not have a uniform. Give money to no one. And when you get to the taxis, try to select one that doesn’t have thieves in it.”

I wasn’t sure exactly how one determined who was and wasn’t a thief.

“What if I go north, through a different border?”

“Do NOT go through a different border.” He didn’t explain why. “Here, I will write you instructions.”

He took the little notebook I carry around and wrote me a page of instructions on going to Nigeria. Meanwhile, his boatman – who was really just a boat-kid – had been motoring us to the the official pier, where Christopher lodged a complaint about the usurpers. The official said he had no control over those people but asked for a copy of my ticket. Christopher hired a zem driver and asked him to take us up to the taxis. We both got on the tiny moped, me sandwiched in the middle between the driver and Christopher. He was going to make the photocopy while I was getting in a share taxi back to Cotonou.

Christopher had been helpful and was an honest guy. The situation I was in wasn’t his fault, but surely there must have been a better way for me to deal with it. I hadn’t been on my toes. I was going to have to up my game, but in the meantime, there was one last formality I had to get through.

From the taxi, I handed back 7,000 CFA through the window. Another $14 gone. What else could I do?

The taxi filled up and we raced back to Cotonou in the late afternoon.

More like this

Follow Marie’s journey across Africa and around-the-world | Blogs… More

Outrunning the law in Ghana | Blogs… More

The pros and cons of bus travel in Africa | Blogs… More

How to get to Senegal in ten not-so-easy-steps | Blogs… More

Want to travel the world solo? Check out our solo travel guide | Plan a trip… More

Fancy taking a career break? 7 reasons you CAN take one | Advice… More