Forty Winks at the Wheels

Titi Laoye, Kelechi Amadi-Obi and moi- Ebun Olatoye.



So I sort of bit of more than I could chew when I promised to blog everyday. My reports have been going out and you can read them under the news section of our website www.fadeafrica.org/greendesert. But the more informal details have been far more difficult to manage with me driving during the day and writing news articles at night.

We’ve been on the road for two weeks now and have been through Benin Republic, Togo, Ghana, Burkina Fasso, Mali and now in Dakar, Senegal.

Whilst I knew that this wasn’t a Safari, my modest projections for the excitement, enlightenment and the hardship ahead did not quite prepare me for this intensity of this trip.

Much as I love driving who knew for instance that I would be flipping coins a week later to determine ‘who would drive today’. Kidding.

It’s not that bad, but seriously, the bulk of my driving experience has been in Lagos on mostly port-holed roads, with lawless fellow road users, (self inclusive), negotiating jaywalking pedestrians and buzzing okadas. Be alert at the wheel or die, in Lagos.

I got my last taste of it in Okokomaiko where the final stronghold from Lagos traffic held us at its grip and then finally spewed us onto the finer roads of Benin Republic.

From then on, save for a few patches, the roads snaked hitchlessly throughout the sub region from Benin- Togo- Ghana, which had by far the most impressive roads, to Burkina Fasso, up to Mali.

Fine as these roads are, I no longer have a reason to be alert. There are no okadas to amuse me, no blaring horns to entertain me, no pedestrians to infuriate me, what reason did I have to stay alert and more importantly, awake.

Driving now requires heightened alertness which I have no experience of.

With good roads come sleep and I find myself nodding off, not to Angelique Kidjo, who by now is at top volume in her futile effort to keep me conscious, but my acquiescence to sweet slumber.

My posse- Titi and Kelechi notice that my nods are not in sync with Anglelique’s rhythm and thankfully, spare all our lives and take the wheel.

We march onwards to the Sahara.