Most Satisfied Street Dogs? Most Edible Jollof Rice? Most Corrupt Officials? These are the Olympic medals that no one asked for, but I will hand them out anyway. Welcome to the first, and only, West African Olympics! Having completed a three-month backpack through this magnificent and unique region, I deem myself eligible to conduct the most meaningless sporting event since the Mauritanian Camel Wrestling Championships of 2015 (it’s a real sport).
Earlier this week, I was delayed in Dakar, after my plane from the mainland decided to take the week off. Now, in the final four days of my voyage, I must endure the most stomach-churning of ferry crossings one could possibly imagine; to some of West Africa’s remotest, and yet most active, isles.
Last week, I clandestinely crept aboard an iron ore train with its destination deep inside the vacuous heart of the great desert. This week, which I have controversially split into two posts, will be my last - as I come full circle with a return to my very first West African metropolis: Dakar.
Last week, I was forced to avoid the volatile hinterlands of the Sahel, soaring from dusty capital to dusty capital in search of refuge. This week, I took a ride on the most uncomfortable, unpunctual and unreachable train in the world (excluding the Arriva Trains Wales service to Pembroke Dock).
Last week, I encountered frolicking hippos and gambolling footballers as I left the Atlantic Coast for the first time - entering the much-maligned desert region of the Sahel. This week, I am forced to fly, as I hop from no-go zones to no-no-go zones, with the no-est of them all on the horizon.
Last week, I visited floating villages and Lagosian art galleries, as well as having my nuts gnawed by some hungry simians. This week, I leave the Atlantic Coast for the first time as I venture north towards a vastly different climate, culture and cattle. Welcome to the Sahel.
Last week, I convalesced with a giant tortoise named Togo before conversing with an enormous baboon named Benin (one of those is untrue). This week, I reached the easternmost point of my voyage, as I arrived in ‘Africa’s capital’ and largest metropolis: Lagos.
Last week, I spluttered and stuttered along the streets of Accra before hearing of the horrors of life inside the slave forts on Ghana’s Gold Coast. This week, I amble further along the shores of the Atlantic, catching crabs on some of West Africa’s finest beaches.
Last week, I completed the first leg of my trip around West Africa by arriving in Accra in some style - on a lime green double-decker with fully functioning fans and footrests (and with a distinct lack of raucous poultry on board). This week, my race was well and truly run…
