Hello again. Now when you left us last time our intrepid travelling idiots were bedded down in no-mans land by the Algerian border post, praying that their clutch would recover from its thrashing. Well, you guessed it, the clutch was buggered! With a resigned sigh Ian unloaded his tools and for the next five hours ably helped by his glamorous assistant Chris, the clutch was changed under the blistering Saharan sun. With Jen back up and purring like a tiger, well maybe grunting and wheezing like a wounded zebra, a rather later start than planned occurred. With the guides directions of 'keep the sun on your right, if it's behind you then you are lost' our hot, thirsty and slightly delirious group struck out across the miles of barren sand towards the border point of Assamakka in Niger.
After the obligatory breakdown (overheating was today's problem) they arrived. Now if I was to tell you that Assamakka was a picturesque desert hamlet populated by friendly and helpful locals it would be a bare faced lie. It was in fact a collection of squalid mud huts, raw sewage and ignorant conmen only interested in trying to separate our travellers from their hard earned money. On arrival the Furballs were met by the very dubious character Abba who was supposedly a local tour guide. Now I'm aware that a previous author covered a lot of the obvious jokes in an update, so I'll try to refrain. Abba directed us to the local Customs and Law Enforcement shack where the local police scratched heads, tickled bums and generally made very little forward progress. Aftaer several hours of faff it was decided that we would have to wait for special clearance from the Military to pass as the region was locked in a bitter civil war. Our furry friends settled themselves down under a makeshift sun shelter and waited, in fact nothing happened for a further twenty four hours. It was with such great relief that when mid afternoon the following day a policeman told us clearance had been granted our adventurers loaded up, said thank you for the music (sorry I couldn't resist) and screeched out onto the barren piste heading for Arlit. Now if they had waited just a moment longer they may have heard the rest of the message that a Military convoy was coming to collect them as it was far too dangerous for anyone to travel on their own. However, ignorance is bliss and ignorance is something the furballs are not lacking, so after driving till dusk they settled themselves down to camp in the area advised by the Foreign Office as 'extremely dangerous' and 'no travel under any circumstances'.
Morning saw a refreshing air of vigour about the team and after a spot of breakfast the team struck out again. What followed was a comedy of errors that all stemmed from an argument. At this point I'd like to take a moment to explain the dynamics of the team. MEL Dad has very set views and if somebody disagrees his general tactic is to pretend he hasn't heard and crack on with the plan, Ian will generally disagree with all Tony's suggestions to wind him up, Chris is incredibly moody first thing in the morning and Craig worries about everything. Arguments are generally short lived and invariably very petty in nature. Anyway back to the story, on the morning in question the argument happened between Ian who was driving and Chris who was navigating. As there were no roads Chris was using M-Tak's GPS and a 1:4 000 000 map for navigation. When a selection of vehicle tracks were spotted by Ian he suggested that maybe they should follow them as there was only one town in the area and it was likely that the tracks headed there. Chris disagreed and insisted that the GPS was pointing the other way, a small altercation ensued before, as the insults started to drift towards personal affronts, Ian relented and followed technology. I mean how could millions of pounds of satellites fail? The GPS failed! With cheerful incompetence that is the hallmark of the trip the team managed to arrive at the Regional Military Headquarters having, it later transpired, driven through a minefield. Seeing no living soul the team headed out of the 'Zone Militaire' straight into the hands of the incredulous vehicle checkpoint. After furnishing them with boiled sweets, pens, batteries and cigarettes they very kindly provided an escort to the nearest police station where they were greeted like long lost lovers by the local Police Chief. After informing him that we had travelled alone from Assamakka, he picked his jaw from the floor and announced we 'were very very lucky.' When we further informed him that we had camped he raised his hand and said 'stop, we'll just leave it as you were very lucky'. He eventually bade us farewell and we headed into Arlit, camping at Mr Moustache's camp site with his monkey chained to the water standpipe.
Starting out in the dark our heroes headed out to the city limits to join the Military convoy, a ragged selection of eighteen battered Land Cruisers with .50 cal and Dshk anti-aircraft weapons strapped to the back. Chris, our resident Infanteer took one look at the Niger Army's finest soldiers fitted out in their flip-flops and announced he'd rather be protected by the OTC. Driving in the convoy turned out to be a slow and tedious journey, the only amusement coming from Craig, who for several months had worried about the danger of Northern Niger, so it was ironic to say the least that he slept through the whole affair. After a long slow day the furballs reached Agadez where they were informed that they must wait for a second convoy the following day. Morale hit a new low.
Convoy number two was a complete waste of time. After suffering a blow out half way through, the police informed them they should drive faster before speeding off into the distance and leaving the team to their fate. A pit stop of such speed as to make an F1 team envious followed and they were quickly on their merry way once more. Chris, the days driver, attempted to catch the convoy. He gunned the engine and screamed through the roads displaying driving skills that would make Michael Schumacher say 'My God, that is quick for a Bedford Rascal' (or more likely 'Mein Gott, das ist snell fur eine Bedford Rascal'). Unfortunately, the misfiring engine and top speed of fifty five was against him and we completed the journey, like so much of our lives, alone and unloved.
Further advances through Africa was now hampered by the lack of Nigerian visas, so after a few phone calls it was arranged to collect visas from the Nigerian Embassy in the Niger capital Niamey. Through the wonders of bloggery we can skip through the tedious drive although it's worth a mention that all advice states don't drive at night and it would be pure idiocy to drive at night in a monsoon, anyway moving on we arrived in Niamey where a very friendly lady furnished our passports with shiny visas before stuffing the fee in her handbag. So fully prepared, possibly for the first time on the trip, our intrepid team struck out for the border. Disaster, MEL Dad turned the wrong way up a one way street closely followed by the M-Tak Micra, cue lots of whistle blasts and a hefty fine from the police. With all formalities completed once again the team struck out for the border arriving in the early afternoon after the now customary daily breakdown.
Now dear reader that time has unfortunately arrived where I must leave you once again as it's a beautiful day and i'm heading for a swim in the sea. It's a hard life.