Journeys in Guinea, Feb to May 2000

by Anne Harkin

"So, what was it like?", is how many people greet me, having just returned from three months in Guinea. 

The answer is not easy to find. Somehow, it seems that describing the aroma of coffee to someone who has never smelled it or colours to a blind person would present a similar challenge. Maybe people who have travelled in India would understand this "reality gap", but for others, I can only do my best. I'll begin with arrival and transport.

The atmosphere of more than slight chaos and anarchy is set immediately on arriving at the airport in the capital of Conakry. Even before you finish the descent from the aircraft, a blanket of heavy, steamy, hot air has encased you, causing you to burst into a sweat, while half a dozen people are shouting at you to hand over your passport. None of them have uniforms or ID badges, but they are big, burly, intent and humourless, and they stand between you and the booth where the official will hopefully stamp your passport. So you reluctantly hand it over, and hoping it won't disappear forever, wait while lots of indecipherable shouting and jostling go on. Eventually your passport comes back to you, and you pass through to where the luggage will arrive. If it seemed chaotic before , this is doubly challenging. While you try to spot it in the melée, several men have already commandeered your baggage and are competing over it while heading off with it offering taxi rides and hotels, and waving fistfuls of grubby brown money in exchange for yours. The air smells like fish sauce and you've already been bitten by 20 (probably malarial) mosquitoes. Welcome to Guinea! 

 Mother and child, Bel Air, Guinea

Outside the airport building, and having reduced all the taxi offers to one, you get an eyeful of what you've chosen to travel in and wonder about the wisdom of your decision. But, the sight can't help but raise a smile of incredulity. There are some modern, "normal" taxis in Guinea, but the vast majority elicit only admiration for the persistence of their owners in making them even go. 

Every panel seems to be beaten in or missing, the windshields and headlights are cracked, door handles, window winders and mirrors are missing, the boot and bonnet held down by rope, wire or rubber, the electrics are dangling free and are triggered by manually connecting exposed wiring. It's not unusual to be asked to help push start the vehicle.  Many of them are quite small Japanese or French sedans taking about twice the number of passengers they were designed to. But no-one seems to mind being squashed or sat on…it's normal! You crawl or fall onto the ancient, springless seat which bottoms out to the chassis. Belching smoke, and back-firing you take off. Without the luxury of shock absorbers, your spine is rammed into every rutted and pot-holed crevice in the road.

Using the doors to brace yourself against jarring is ill-advised as they don't necessarily stay closed, while trying to get a breath of fresh air can be equally useless as the windows don't open. At least not until the driver has handed you the winder which he keeps in the front.  The driver is usually philosophically cheerful and plays a good selection of Guinean reggae, rap, funk and soukous.

To their advantage, taxis are fairly cheap. Along with the mini-vans known as "magbana", they form the backbone of what passes for a public transport system. Fare payments work like this. If the taxi is on a set route, say, airport to city centre, there is a set fare. If it is not a set route, or you want the taxi for your exclusive use, then the fare is negotiable. There are rough averages as to what the fare should be according to distance, traffic jam delays expected, time of day etc, and being white, you can expect to be asked a much higher price than is asked of Africans. But, basically it is up to you to inform yourself of the normal price, then to tough it out in negotiations. There are usually plenty of taxis, so you won't have to wait long for another and start the negotiation process again. 

The magbanas are vans with wooden benches installed along the side and back walls. They take about three times the number of passengers that you would reasonably expect to fit into such a vehicle, and bear such names as "By the Grace of God", or "Will of Allah"!  The side panels have usually had air slots cut into them or been removed entirely. The roof racks take all the biggish luggage - of which there is sometimes so much, including live goats and chickens, that the van can reach twice its original height. They are used to transport absolutely EVERYTHING. Once I saw one pulled into a petrol station with a cow's head sticking out of every window! Their advantage is that they are very cheap…about a tenth the price of a taxi, but they are slow, stopping very frequently. In their quest to maximise income, drivers are notorious, reckless speedsters, dangerously overfilling the vehicles. Magbanas are usually unbearably crowded.  After one trip, my legs had been so jammed against the other passengers that I couldn't walk till the circulation came back to them. Guineans use "Magbana!"  as the term of abuse against any bad driver. 

For a trip out of the capital you can take a "taxi brousse" - usually a Peugeot 500 or some similar sedan. You go to Madina market taxi stand early in the morning and ask among the drivers till you find one heading in your direction. The price is set for each destination, so all you have to do is wait till he has a full load, pile in, then barrel up the highway at full tilt. With two in the front passenger bucket seat and four across the back seat it's cosy!

Kalas Bar, Island of Room, Guinea 
All photography and text Copyright ©2000 Anne Harkin