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Please get comfortable. With your drink of choice. I am enjoying some rum with bitter lemon.

In 1985, Mamady Kanta sold a parcel of land in the Badalabougou neighborhood of Bamako to Gustave Bongo, son of Omar Bongo, the President of Gabon from 1967 until his death in 2009. Gustave Bongo did not do anything with this new addition to his sprawling portfolio of global assets. He returned to Gabon and Mamady Kanta continued administering the land as if he still owned it.

Kanta rented the land to multiple tenants, including the Moroccan embassy, before a Brit and an Australian turned up and signed a ten-year contract with the intention of turning the property into a hostel plus restaurant plus bar. Of course, Kanta had no right to sign a contract with anyone. He was no longer the landlord. But he greased enough palms at the mayor’s office to keep up appearances. On paper, he was the landlord even though he wasn’t.

Over the next nine years, the Sleeping Camel became a successful business despite a coup d’etat (followed by temporary closure of the hotel), a French military intervention, terrorist attacks in Bamako, and the overall obliteration of the tourism industry in Mali.

Meanwhile, Mamady Kanta passed away without informing his children that he had already sold the parcel of land on which the Sleeping Camel now stood. As far as the children were concerned, they were entitled to the land as part of their inheritance. And, not content to administer the land collectively, Kanta’s children took each other to court in order to determine the rightful owner. Of course, the rightful owner was in Gabon and he almost certainly had no idea that Kanta’s children were spending untold amounts of money and sewing the seeds of their family’s destruction while fighting over a piece of land that he bought in 1985.

The courts designated a neutral brokerage agency to receive the Sleeping Camel rent payments. There was no longer any interaction with the family. As far as we knew, the courts had not yet awarded the property to one of the children. We sat in limbo, having no one to talk to in order to renegotiate the lease that was set to expire in June of next year.

And then a notarized letter arrived out of the blue. The letter said that the land had been purchased in April of this year by a man named Abdoul Aziz Mangane, a Malian business tycoon who has massive land holdings and a bullet factory. The land had been purchased from Gustave Bongo.

We were expecting a letter from the Courts. Or the brokerage agency. Or Kanta’s family. This didn’t make sense. Gustave Bongo? Abdoul Aziz Mangane? Who were these people? How was the land sold with absolutely no warning to the tenants of nearly ten years? Why were we not approached as prospective buyers?

When we called the brokerage agency and informed them of the letter, they were also confused. There must be a mistake. The courts haven’t made a final ruling yet. The brokerage agency told us to sit tight.

As more information came out, including a notarized copy of the sale document and the deed to the land itself, it became clear that the courts were unaware of the 1985 purchase. How were they not aware? Well now that’s a damn good question. This is the part that is extremely maddening, and that must be a serious understatement for the Kanta Kids who have been feuding for nothing.

Mangane, who likely has more resources than the Malian state and the Kanta Kids combined, tracked down Gustave Bongo and made a deal, bypassing the circus in the courts entirely.

At this point, we still didn’t know anything about our future at the property. We got in touch with one of Mangane’s many legal representatives to get a read on the situation. We learned that Mangane was traveling, but we were given an indication that he wasn’t interested in booting us from the property. Unfortunately, that was not accurate.

After many unsuccessful attempts at contacting Mangane, he showed up at the Camel unannounced. The meeting was brief. He wanted us off the property. For one thing, his dad is an imam and his family is on the more conservative side of Islam. Accepting rent money from a hotel serving booze? Not possible. More than that, he had plans to flatten the place and put up multi-story apartments.

After the initial shock wore off, we tried to negotiate. Negotiating quickly turned into pleading. I explained that we have 30 employees. Many of them have been with us since the beginning or close to it. I met my wife at the Camel. It’s Matt’s home. Nevermind all the money and sweat that Matt and Bill put into the place. When the initial contract was signed, the main building was flooded due to a tree that had fallen through the roof. There were no doors. There was no electricity. The property was condemned. They rehabilitated it.

No, Mangane had made up his mind. We were able to negotiate a few extra months. He wanted us out in six months. We stretched it to nine. He also gave us three months rent-free to give us some extra cash for the housing search. Hard to complain considering our original rental agreement was fraudulent. At the end of the day, this was just a business deal for Mangane, one that he’s probably made many times over.

So here we are. The search for a new place has begun. We’ve found at least one spot that we really like, but we are a ways off from coming to terms with the landlord. We have until the end of June 2019 to figure it out.

We are trying not to hang our heads. With all that’s happened in Mali, we have been incredibly fortunate. We are certainly not ready to give up on this project. We have a lot of people ready to go to bat for us. Our clients are loyal, our staff more family than workforce.

And it’s not the first time the rug has been pulled out from under us. This is the land of constant improvisation. A friend in Cote d’Ivoire once told me “anything is possible, but nothing is certain.” He was talking about Cote d’Ivoire, but the sentiment applies to much of the region. We will find a solution. Inshallah.

By the way, have you seen any interesting properties in Bamako recently?


A Few Thoughts from Pre-Election Bamako

A lot of people have asked me if we chose our travel dates in order to avoid Mali’s presidential election scheduled for July 29th. The answer is no. I am not worried about my personal safety nor am I worried about widespread violence, at least not in Bamako.

Some would say that’s naive. A team of TV5 journalists was violently accosted at the airport on Sunday. That same night, unidentified gunmen attacked a delegation belonging to Aliou Diallo, one of the candidates. And over the weekend, the chief opposition party brought forth evidence of serious electoral fraud. 

There are two different electoral rolls, and one of them has a surplus of 1.2 million voters. Some of the voters are duplicates, some are fictitious. There are discrepancies all over the map. Here is a voter born in 1949 who looks like he is about 15 (follow @zirasun for more of these). 

l’Organisation internationale de la Francophonie (OIF), the organization that audited the original – and presumably correct – electoral roll is now rushing a team to Bamako to try and get to the bottom of it. All of the voter cards were printed in France (a subject for another post), and no one seems to know whether the fictitious voter roll or the real one were sent to the print shop. The government is chalking it up to a “technical error,” and they are insisting that the correct cards were printed. All of this a week out from the election. 

I recommend reading Bruce Whitehouse’s latest post. He makes three grim predictions – and that was before the allegations of electoral fraud surfaced! – and I mostly agree with him.

The first prediction is that voter turnout will be atrocious. I agree. Voter turnout has never reached 50% in Mali, and it’s often much lower. In 2013, it hit a high of 45%, when the population overwhelmingly supported IBK. This year, the vote will once again be held in July, when rural populations are tending to their fields. Bruce also rightly points out that the level of violence in the center and north will further depress turnout.

On top of all that, there is no candidate that has mobilized the population like IBK did in 2013. IBK is once again up for election, but he has long squandered his political capital. His flat-footed, visionless and incompetent government has overseen five years of worsening corruption, insecurity and impunity. A new interchange on the Segou highway is not going to help people forget that the state is absent in much of the country, and in places where it is present, it can’t deliver on basic social services. 

Bruce’s second prediction is that IBK will win. IBK doesn’t have the political capital he had in 2013, but he has the biggest war chest, and as Bruce points out, he controls state media and has access to important patronage networks. The chief opposition candidate, Soumaila Cisse, has put together a large coalition, and he has racked up some crucial endorsements, including that of the still influential Ras Bath. But he’s still tied to the old political class and all of the baggage that comes with it. 

If you would have asked me a year ago if IBK would be reelected, I would have said there’s not a chance. But with a fractured, apathetic electorate, and IBK spraying money around, co-opting whoever he can, I don’t know anymore. I don’t think IBK can win in the first round. If it goes to a second round, it will most likely be a repeat of 2013 – IBK vs. Soumaila Cisse. In that case, both candidates will aggressively pursue the votes of the eliminated parties. Money will flow, promises will be made.

I don’t know who will win. I’m not as confident as Bruce, who brought up the possibility of a first round victory. Then again, if IBK is bagging an extra 1.2 million imaginary votes, game over.

I unfortunately agree with Bruce’s third prediction, which is that the election might not matter anyway. I wrote this in 2013, as we were working on the SOS Democracy project. I was seriously optimistic about Mali’s future. Five years later, Mali’s deep systemic problems have only gotten worse. Even more troubling, the normally strong social fabric of Mali – the only thing holding things together in many places – has been absolutely shredded in some parts of the country.

I do find it encouraging that despite the current situation, there are still citizens like Coumba Bah, the founder and relentless leader of SOS Democracy in 2013, who continue to labor for Mali’s future. Their efforts can’t be overstated, but damn, it’s a steep hill to climb and the last five years have only made it more difficult. 

In other news 

Bintou, Andre and I are off to the states tonight. Our friends Kevin and Heike will be running the hostel. Ali will oversee the Postcards from Timbuktu project. Speaking of which, we recently added a new item to the site, custom calligraphy from Boubacar Sadeck, Timbuktu’s last master calligrapher. Here’s a video of him working on an order. If you are interested in getting one for yourself, you can do so here

See you in the states or back in Mali in a few weeks! 


Bintou and Andre do America Round Two

Andre trying that guitar on for size. He’s almost there.

On July 25th, we are off to the states for Andre and Bintou’s second visit. We strategically chose a time of year when there is a very low risk of crossing paths with bomb cyclones or polar vortexes or any other absurdly named arctic weather event. We got lucky with last year’s October visit, but Bintou may have been forever traumatized by that one day of freezing rain right before we left Northeast Ohio. She claims that she still wants to see snow.

Here is our itinerary as we know it:

July 25th – Bamako to New York
July 27th – New York to Cleveland
July 27th to August 19th – Cleveland, with a side trip or two
August 19th – Cleveland to New York
August 21st – New York to Bamako

Andre is looking forward to seeing all his friends and relatives again, or maybe meeting you for the first time!


A Life Update from Bamako

At the beginning of 2017, I put together a list of things I wanted to accomplish for the year. This is how I did:

Introduce my mom to Andre and West Africa. Mission accomplished in February of last year, right before we left for our first jakarta safari.

✓ X Ride a scooter from Dakar to Accra. Made it to Guinea-Conakry before heading back up to Bamako. This was still a huge success. The trip was going very well, but I needed to get back to Bintou and Andre.

✓ Get my Malian passport. Or at least my Malian identity card. I got my Malian identity card, and it saved me a good chunk of change on our jakarta trip. I no longer need a visa for West African countries.

Take the fam to the states. Yes. And it worked out better than expected.

Keep going with Postcards from TimbuktuThe project hit a bit of a wall, but Ali and I have been coming up with ways to revive it. We also reached out to our email list and received heaps of great suggestions, some of which are now in play. We contacted a number of different websites/blogs that will possibly feature the project, inshallah. We have a new birthday card postcard that Ali made with a friend in the dunes near Timbuktu, and Bintou is now selling her handbags made with Dogon fabric on the site as well.

Andre modeling a Dogon handbag that Bintou made. 

X Use the right hemisphere of my brain more often. Not even close on this one.


I should probably be typing this on a wooden keyboard, but I have to say the status quo is pretty damn good. My criteria for that conclusion is simple: 1. I am healthy 2. Bintou and Andre are healthy 3. I wake up every day without anxiety or dread. There is always room for improvement, but it’s hard to find fault with life when these three things are true.

Now if you had to twist my arm, I would still like to use the right hemisphere of my brain more often. Possibly not unrelated to that, it would be fantastic if Andre could go to bed just a leeetle bit earlier. He has never been a big fan of bedtime, but this 18 month sleep regression (something I never knew existed until last week) is almost making me beg for the days of colic. No, that’s not true. Jesus. What am I saying? Let’s go back to that gratitude thing. Thank fuck Andre does not have colic right now.

Here are a few plans and goals for this year:

  • Use the right hemisphere of my brain more often – Maybe if I make it the first thing on the list it will happen. Maybe if I’m also a bit more specific. This year, I’m going to buy a ngoni and learn how to play it.
  • Visit the states again – Andre has grown so much since we were there last year. We are planning for a late July-August visit.
  • More scooter safaris – Our last one of the 2017-2018 season was in February (read about it here). For the 2018-2019 season, all the dates are now up at scootwestafrica.com. We have sold out one trip already at the end of January. We are really looking forward to introducing more people to this under-visited corner of the world.
  • One community project – Between the hotel staff, the postcard project, and our river trips, we have a lot of contact with people that are seriously underserved by the state. While we provide an income to a lot of these people, it wouldn’t be that difficult to also fund a community project that would benefit a larger group. I think the best way to do this is to partner with an existing local association that is already doing effective work.
  • One year memorial for Boukary – This will be a September event in Bamako. After Boukary’s passing, I talked a lot with his friends and followers about continuing his work – or helping others to continue his work – and I’ve mostly done nothing about it. I would like to have an event in a public space to get people together to celebrate Boukary’s work and to look at ways for it to continue.

Now for a few pictures from 2018 thus far:

Bintou is a phenomenal mother. I really can’t say enough about her skills when it comes to raising a human being. Andre probably agrees with me 99.95% of the time. In some cases, like the photo above, he is less impressed.

He doesn’t seem to mind scarves, though.

Or towels.

Andre the nomad

Andre le chef Dogon

A month or so ago Andre started crouching for photos. Sometimes he himself asks for a photo to be taken. He will say “photo” and then crouch. It’s his pose apparently. In fact, it has become really difficult to take a picture of him without him crouching.

See what I mean?

The Malian hot season is merciless, but there are a few positive tradeoffs, like mangoes, avocados, daily sunshine and a reduced mosquito population. It’s also been a good occasion for Andre to become an aquatic baby.

Andre hates his highchair. We have to eat at the coffee table so that he can sit in a regular chair.

Bintou graduated last month. All five of her dress and accessory designs were chosen for the catwalk at her graduation. I am seriously proud of her.

At the Camel we have had a wild first half of 2018. Incredible concerts (the one above is with Bwazan, Sulaiman Hakim and Omar Konate), river trips and reunions with some of our favorite people.

Kevin and Heike are back. We adore them and hope they never leave. They will leave, though. At least for a while. They are running self-guided overland trips in Morocco. You should check them out.

We have had some great trips on the river, including a May Day excursion down to Samaya where we hopped in truck inner-tubes and floated down the river.

Life is good, but all is not well in Mali. Hopefully the rest of 2018 is not like the previous year, or the first half of this one. Unfortunately, it remains hard to be optimistic, especially when it comes to the center and north of the country. There is supposedly an election that will take place in July. We’ll see… J’espere que la vie est belle chez vous.


My last post was a write-up of our first scooter trip with clients. We just wrapped up another one, this time a two week trip that included Guinea-Bissau. We had another great group – the best group as it was all friends of ours – and once again, we had too much fun.

I’m not going to talk much about the first half of the trip. It was similar to our previous safari in November, with a few additions and subtractions. We took out the bush camp and subbed in a night at Le Bazouk du Saloum, which turned out to be a great find by Matt. We also got the tides right for a beach ride near Kafoutine:

Due to security worries in the Casamance, all of which seem to have blown over, we played it safe and stuck to the main roads between Abené, Ziguinchor and Bissau. This didn’t stop us from having a ball in Senegal’s southern province.

But in this post, I want to talk about the second half of the trip. Matt and I were in Bissau a year earlier, but it was a brief visit. This would be another brief visit, but Carnival was on, and we were also going to the islands.

I remain seriously ignorant about the culture and history of Guinea-Bissau. And I certainly haven’t yet wrapped my head around the current political situation and the path that led to it. The country is often described as a poor and dysfunctional basket case. Sometimes people throw in “narco-state” to round out the description.

I do know that Guinea-Bissau is poor by any relevant economic standard. And tiny. The entire country has nearly the same population as Bamako. It desperately needs a working government, not the current stalemate that’s gripped the country since a 2012 coup d’état.

Infrastructure is seriously lacking. The traffic lights didn’t work in Bissau when we were there last year. They still weren’t working a year later. The electricity seems like it’s off more than it’s on. I spoke with one person that attributed the death of two family members to health worker strikes over the past year. And it doesn’t seem like anything much will change as long as the government is in limbo.

But Guinea-Bissau also has a few things going for it that make it one of my favorite places to visit. You can add the following narrative to my initial impressions I posted on this blog about a year ago.

We arrived in Bissau on Sunday. Carnival had started on Friday. We had no idea what traffic would be like, so we started early and hoped for a late afternoon arrival. It is a beautiful ride from Ziguinchor to Bissau. The road charges through dense jungle before opening up onto expansive floodplains. The soaring fromagier trees continue their march south from the Casamance.

For a group of six toubabs on scooters, the border crossing was laughably easy. All the Bissau-Guineans were in good spirits and plenty of “Boa Festa!”‘s (happy holidays) were exchanged. The good vibes continued in São Domingos, where I watched a customs officer crash into his colleague’s car. They both simply laughed about it. Despite the need for extra cash during carnival, we were not excessively taxed by any uniformed officials.

We stopped for lunch at the same bar in Ingoré that Matt and I visited a year earlier, where we drank cold super bocks and made our sandwiches on sacks of cement.

From February 2017 

We arrived in Bula in the early afternoon. As we drove down the shaded road that runs through the town, I saw a boy wearing a clown mask chasing a girl. Both of them were shrieking with laughter. Carnival was on, and Bula was getting ready for a party. In the middle of the main traffic circle, a tower of speakers playing Patche di Rima with enough volume to wake the dead.

Bissau was the next stop. The city was still sleeping when we hit the main boulevard. There was little evidence of Carnival, but we just weren’t familiar with the rhythm yet.

We pulled into Hotel Kalliste. Matt and I stayed here a year earlier, and the place had endeared itself to us despite the fact that it is un peu fatigué. We parked our bikes in the restaurant and immediately ordered a round of mini super bocks. We had just completed the longest day of riding on the trip. It was a good occasion for a cold beer.

A Russian woman had taken over the food service since we were last at Kalliste, and she was seriously unimpressed with all the jakartas that were now parked in her restaurant. She warmed up to us, though, once she realized how many beers and prego sandwiches we would be consuming.

After a few beers, I went for a shower. Matt and I grabbed the rooms that were directly above the first floor nightclub in an attempt to spare our clients from the Angolan dance tracks that rattle the walls until 6AM. My room was flooded and the sink area of the bathroom seemed to be collapsing into the floor. This would be a problem if it did collapse as it would put me in the nightclub. Matt’s air conditioning was blowing hot air and the cleaning lady, Fatima, who we came to love, was repeatedly walking into his room unannounced.

Here’s the thing. The rooms could use some maintenance, a few coats of paint, some plumbing work. That’s true. But it’s also true that budget accommodation is hard to come by in Bissau. Fernando, the proprietor, actually respects his reservations (many others don’t, especially during Carnival), and thanks to the nightclub, the hotel has a generator and 24-hour electricity. Also, the rooms are clean. The real charm of Kalliste, though, is the eccentric cast of characters — both the clients and the staff. Kalliste is like a good friend that can’t get their shit together, but they are always great company, and they are always up for a drink and some mischief.

We eased into the first night of Carnival with an extravagant feast of grilled seafood at Oporto, a Portuguese restaurant around the corner. From there, we migrated to LP, a tiny bar named after the husband and wife owners, Lucille and Peter. LP was serving caipirinhas for 1500 cfa, and we indulged.

A proper caipirinha tropicale (which is the caipirinha most places in Bissau will give you by default) requires serious craftsmanship. At LP, one of the barmen was employed exclusively to make them, and let me say, they found the right man. It took him about 10 minutes to do a round. Each one came out brimming with fresh fruit, crushed ice and enough cana to kill a great dane. Lucille let us take over the sound system, and all of the staff joined us on an improvised dance floor.

The caipirinhas put us on a path. Before long, we were at Discoteca Tabanka and later, Balafon, the nightclub on the first floor of Kalliste. The good thing about ending the night at Balafon is that you can stumble up the stairs and fall into bed. In my case, that hopefully meant not falling through the floor back into the nightclub (sinking bathroom).

It was a heavy night, but we woke up ready to go the next day. We were either caught up in the inertia of Carnival or we still had cana in our bloodstreams.

Breakfast at Kalliste was a joy as usual. The prego sandwich is a revelation. Thinly sliced steak fried with garlic and onions in butter and olive oil, served on a Portuguese roll. Ok, and a super bock to wash it down.

Bissau was slow to rise, but we found an open one-table maquis next to a soccer pitch. This was the soundtrack in the taxi on the way there:

A Bissau-Guinean named Augusto Fidel was sitting at the bar’s only table, and he kindly let us join him. We chatted in our limited Portuguese and drank ice cold super bocks. Augusto ate a prego sandwich and educated us on life in Bissau.

Later in the afternoon, we went back to Kalliste to get ready for the parade. Carnival begins in villages and rural areas weeks before the party in Bissau. Regional winners gradually make their way to the capital to compete on the national stage. We heard rumors of a deflated Carnival atmosphere due to the fact that the government supposedly did not give out the promised prize money for the previous year’s winner. Whether that was true or not, the parade did not fail to impress.

Here are a few pictures from Matt Schinske, who was on the trip with us:

See the foot in the air?

There is this whole rollerblade culture in Bissau. I love it.

The kids were scared.

Matt took many more incredible photos. I suggest following him on instagram here.

While the parade was wrapping up, we dipped over to the obelisk traffic circle. A stiltwalker was already steering terrified children that way. Older kids on rollerblades weaved through the sprinting crowd. The traffic circle had turned into a giant block party with caipirinha stands, women selling fried fish, and everyone from couples and families to groups of teenagers and younger kids, everyone wearing all manner of imaginative outfits.

Had a funny chat with these ladies as they drank their fan milk, and we drank our 1000 CFA caipirinhas.

These caipirinha mixologists were drinking as many as they were making.

The traffic circle block party was everything I love about living and traveling in this part of the world. Food and drink on the street and absolutely no barrier to human interaction. Guinea-Bissau is particularly good at this.

The following day, we left for the Bijagos Islands, an archipelago that the Portuguese struggled to subdue during the colonial period. Most of the islands have societies that are in part matriarchal. In many instances, women choose their husbands, and the husbands have little to no right of refusal. The islands are also known for flora and fauna – salt water hippos, for example – that evolved independently from species on the mainland.

We were booked into Lodge les Dauphins on the main island of Bubaque. Les Dauphins sent a speed boat to Bissau to pick us up, and from the moment we hopped on the boat to the moment we returned to Bissau, Eric and his team took exceptional care of us. I would highly recommend this lodge to anyone looking for mid-range accommodation.

Les Dauphins is primarily a fishing lodge, but the rooms are well appointed and clean, the restaurant is excellent, and I can’t speak highly enough of the staff. Nando, Monsieur Dos and Rose were all incredibly accommodating and helpful. Every day we were given platters of fresh oysters and hunks of seared fish in a delicious olive oil marinade. These were offered to us free of charge.

We spent our first evening in Bubaque drinking a few beers down at the port while watching a group of young boys catch fish after fish with nothing more than a piece of fishing line and a lure. They would throw the line in the water and pull out a fish. While much of the region has seen the total or near collapse of its fisheries (Senegal and Mauritania being an exception, but it’s quickly changing), there are still plenty of fish in the waters here. The entire archipelago has UNESCO biosphere status, but the treacherous currents, sandbars and radical tide changes have probably protected the islands from international trawlers more than anything else.

For our first full day on Bubaque, we rented bicycles – well, some of us did – and rode 18 kilometers to the other side of the island. Finding six functioning bicycles turned out to be a difficult task, so half the group hopped into a Chinese tricycle.

I was on a bicycle that probably had a permanent effect on my fertility. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful ride past palm plantations and family farms. We arrived at a quiet beach camp that was built by a Bissau-Guinean-American champion kickboxer named Adlino Costa. Mr. Costa wisely situated his establishment on a plot of untouched beach allowing for views of both the sunrise and the sunset.

We ate a lunch of calamari and garlic shrimp at a communal table made out of an oversized pirogue. I drank palm wine that was tapped within 100 meters of the beach camp. The barman occasionally brought me shots of cana, which in this case was straight firewater. It was already a great afternoon, and it was only going to get better.

I was not particularly looking forward to riding my dilapidated bicycle eighteen kilometers with a belly full of calamari, palm wine and cana. In fact, I almost vomited after about 200 meters. Matt Christie somehow found the strength to catch up to the Chinese tricycle, which towed him back to town. I felt like I was riding my bicycle underwater. It probably looked that way, too. Fortunately, Matt Schinske was also on the slow train.

There was no way we were going to pedal uninterrupted for eighteen kilometers, so we took a different approach, which was to stop every time we saw someone. The first stop was a small homestead where we indulged in more freshly tapped palm wine.

The next stop was a larger family’s household. They were shucking palm seeds, which would later be used to make palm oil. We bought a liter of cana from them for 1500 cfa, passing the bottle around and talking and joking in our limited Portuguese/Creole.

The mother was the first to be offered and the first to drink a glass of cana. A pair of young boys were doing the dishes and chopping up vegetables for the evening meal (tasks almost always performed by girls elsewhere in West Africa). First-hand evidence – albeit a small sample size – of the supposedly matriarchal culture on the islands.

We could have sat with this family all day, but we still had a long way to go and we were running out of daylight.

We continued to stop every time we crossed paths with someone on the road. We ran into these three women who were coming back from the fields.

We shared a bit of cana and gave them a cup to-go. We couldn’t say more than four or five words to each other, but they were lovely and very funny. We had several more stops before we made it back to town, each one more amusing than the next.

By the time we made it back to the radio tower, it was nearly impossible to keep the bikes upright and stay on the road. At dinner, Mel, a Spanish guy who runs a small restaurant and auberge called Sol de Mar, explained how he long ago swore off cana. According to Mel, cana gets you into trouble while you are drinking it and then devastates you the following day. I could see where he was coming from, but I wouldn’t trade away that afternoon for the world.

By the way, Mel is an incredible cook, and you should definitely arrange to eat there if you are in Bubaque. His restaurant is open from Thursday – Sunday, but if you tell him a day in advance, he may be able to whip something up for you on the other days. There is no menu, and Mel simply makes a meal with what he finds in the market, while drinking wine and regaling you with wild stories from the islands. For more Bubaque tips, Matt has put together an excellent guide here.

We spent our last day on Rubane, Bubaque’s next door neighbor. Ponta Anchaca is the luxury resort on the island, and while it was out of our price range for accommodation, we had no problem throwing down for a beachside lunch there. It was a great way to wrap up our time on the islands.

Tchau for now 

There is a member of the American Embassy in Bamako who is a big cheerleader for Guinea-Bissau tourism. However, he calls the country an “acquired taste” for many western visitors. I can understand that perspective. The ramshackle port of Bubaque and the decaying buildings of Bissau may turn some people off. The potholed roads and power cuts certainly aren’t going to endear themselves to anyone. But spend some time with Bissau-Guineans, and it will all make sense. I look forward to spending a lot more time there.

Speaking of which, we just published our dates for the 2018-2019 season, including our 2019 Carnival trip to Bissau and our New Year’s trip to Casamance for the Abené music festival. You can check them out at scootwestafrica.com. You can also join our email list for all the latest on dates and new trips, along with stories and photos from the road: