Nigeria and an unexpected end.

I was leaving Togo with peace of mind as Harriet was ready for the rest of the journey. After getting our passports back with the visa for Gabon, we headed out of Lomé for the last night, and stopped at an informal campsite by the beach. The place was deserted but the owner let us use part of his ground and the open showers.

December 21st, Today’s main event was the Togo-Benin border crossing. Getting into Benin had been really easy, just cruising along, the border crossing was quite straightforward for once, the immigration officer were friendly and curious about the bike and the journey. Benin was the last rest we would have before crossing Nigeria, the country everyone has had many thought and been anxious about. But it was still the safest way to get to Cameroon, the north of Benin was too risky after the recent event of kidnapping of Westerners and Niger was no better.

Grand-Popo, was only a few kilometres past the border, where we’ll be staying tonight, by the beach again. I am going to miss falling asleep with sounds of the waves crashing on the shore on the journey ends.

Traffic in Benin seems slightly more organised, we decided to get to Cotonou to sort the Congo visa before Christmas as this was the last opportunity. On the way to the capital we stopped by Ganvié, the Venice of Africa, a village created back in the 17s century when the people flew from Dahomey warriors who were capturing slaves ; their own people ; for sale to European traders.

It was Monday and our last chance to get the visa for Congo, with the promise of a “while we wait” visa. We applied and within 30 min we had our passports in hand, except for the fact my visa stated I was a German citizen ! Thankfully I realised this straightaway and went through it all again, better finding out now than being refused at the border !

It seems than whenever I am stepping in Jonas’s car we get stopped by the police, he gets genuinely stopped more frequently than I do, I guess they don’t bother that much with motorcycles. On this occasion, as we where crossing traffic light with a flow of two wheels, a policeman stopped us pretending Jonas went through the red light. Politely, we stopped. It was 6:00 pm and they just wanted that extra tip. We adopted our usual strategy, as Benin is a french speaking country, Jonas was going to deal with it and I was not to talk as they usually soon give up when the conversation is leading nowhere. Except on this one occasion ! The policeman was going to fine Jonas for about 30 Euros, and we would have to go to the police station to pay and get Jonas’s paper. But the man offered a deal : the police station would obviously be close by the time we get there so we could give him the money and not waste time going to the station the following morning..how convenient ! As Jonas doesn’t speak a word of French, the policeman halted a young boy who was speaking a bit of English to translate.. After 20 min of debating, the situation was still hopeless.. I decide to jump in, though I couldn’t suddenly start speaking a perfect french ! Both trying not to laugh out loud by my hilarious French with a pretended British accent. We eventually got away free, I think he just had enough of us !

We celebrated Christmas with no fuss but a nice meal and a day relaxing by the beach, it actually felt nice. A couple of other travellers that we met a little earlier decided to join us here and Hans, from Germany, travelling with his bicycle.

There we were - the Nigerian border - the so much awaited country !

That place was already starting to make me stress even before I left England, obtaining the Visa in itself was a challenge, and I was glad when I finally received it, a couple of days before leaving. It is really hard to get it when you are in Africa and so I decided not to bet on it, I had heard of travellers having to turn back. Three months, that’s the time I had to get there and cross the country. When I met Jonas, we didn’t think we would be travelling together for that long, but it was working, so here we were at the border to Nigeria. Jonas didn’t really have a full plan when he left home and so didn’t have a visa, he decided to get it at the border after we had heard of a couple of travellers succeeding, still, it could all go wrong.

We were in, all in all it was fairly smooth ! The deal was for Jonas to drive with an immigration officer in his car and get his visa at Lagos Airport. Lagos is the biggest city in Africa, just about the third of the population of the UK in one town. As always, road from the border was really bad, the traffic really busy, having to ride really slowly, trying to avoid knee deep holes, the edges of the roads equally as dangerous and drivers ready to push you just to pass ahead, trying to follow Jonas and Sebastian who was joining us for the crossing of Nigeria too. The immigration officer throwing the waste of his lunch out the window, plastic container and bottle, banana peel,..turning into a Mario Kart race. After 4 hours we only had travelled 50km, I was suffocating under my riding kit, it was hot too hot, inhaling vehicle gas, pollution. I had no way to escape, we were stuck in a traffic jam. It was getting too much and I needed to breath, seeing a brief opportunity to escape I made a sign to Jonas I was leaving them and that we would meet at the hotel. I have never seen such a chaos on the road, people were turning around on dual carriage ways, creating huge jam, TIA typical. Even Harriet was suffering, I ran out of petrol, this was really topping it off ! I filled the tank with the remaining fuel of my stove, sat by the road, against a wall making the most of the shadow it was offering, I was exhausted, struggling to cool down, I sipped what was left of my water reserve, very low too. After much struggle Harriet started again, I got myself together, there was only a few kilometres left to the hotel. This first day was setting the terms of the next few days..I already couldn’t wait to get out the country. We ventured out that night to get some dinner and discussed the plan, Jonas and Sebastian didn’t manage to get their Cameroon visa and had now no option but to get it either in Abuja or Calabar, I had mine since Dakar. We opted for Calabar, the more we could avoid going north, the better.

We left lagos the following morning, getting again onto a busy road before finally setting on a much clearer highway, cruising to Benin City. The journey was cadenced with the numerous armed checkpoints (just under 200 in total over 3 days !), sometimes difficult to make a difference between military and others..not always wearing uniforms. The road would be blocked with tree trunks and men holding Kalashnikovs. Although the checkpoints were much more intimidating and abundant than the other countries, going through was somehow much more efficient.

After a day riding through Nigerian mad traffic.

People were nice and genuine, after an early start at dawn to beat the sun, we stopped in the morning just after Onitsha to make some coffee by the side of the road, a tree for some shadow, a couple of shops similarly closed. A few minutes later, Mikai, his wife, son and a friend arrived. Mikai is a clothes designer and him and his wife own a little business, his workshop was one of those closed shop. He was proud to show me around his workshop while his wife was curious about our coffee. It was Sunday but they had come after church to work, they were really busy for the end of year celebrations. They gave us fruits, we took some pictures together and left. I like those moments ! Calabar was still 300km away, unfortunately the road was just getting worse, more roadworks, followed with really bad road, more sand and mud. I was dying for a Coca Cola, just out of the last big town, heading on the final leg, I stopped for that much needed break, Harriet got the attention of a few men in the bar, and I was offered the much needed soda. It has been a long day with nearly 450km on the clock, I was exhausted by the time we made it to Calabar.

At least, a visa day, meant a day of rest ! Calabar doesn’t have much sightseeing to offer apart from its carnival that we just missed. Just like the embassy in Dakar, although much less crowded, getting the Cameroon visa sounded like it wasn’t going to be a 5 min affair. For starters, they wanted to know how we would travel there, it was the neighbour country but the current situation around the border region was so bad, they wouldn’t give a visa if you were travelling overland. After much effort and waiting that day, Jonas and Sebastian didn’t manage to get their visas. They would have to come back the following day, December 31st.

We made plan to go back to the embassy early morning and to leave Calabar straight after for the mountains, on our way to the border where we would celebrate New Year’s Eve and rest for maybe a couple of days. The guys left ahead, while I packed up, I met them later. Leaving the hotel, I recall a thought going through my mind, the vivid memory of witnessing accident a couple of days ago, a mad driver, crashing into the car just ahead of me at high speed, rolling over in the ditch.

Visas in hand, we refuelled and set off. The past couple of days of riding had been really tiring, and I wasn’t really looking forward to that last leg in Nigeria. Anyway, we would soon be out the country and past that border !

The morning hasn’t been that bad after all, we were making good progress. Passing by one of the villages we ran through a procession, men in colourful traditional costume, painted faces, brandishing machete, fire arms or swords, marching on the sounds of percussions. I stopped to take a couple of pictures when I saw one outstanding man walking towards me, he was wearing a black dress and his face was covered with mask, as if impersonating the death. A smaller man was walking by his side. They stopped by me, the small man asked for some money, just for the gesture and indicate to throw it on the floor, the man in black ; the wizard ; danced over it, like if he was throwing a curse at me.

I was cruising along, Jonas and Sebastian ahead, Coldplay was playing, all was good.

I checked my mirror, and in that fraction of a second, a small motorcycle heavily loaded with a container of diesel appeared in front of me, there was no way I could avoid it. In the second it took, It felt has if time stood still - I grasped the breaks as hard as I could, the man sitting at the back of the bike looked at me, we collide at good speed - the next second are blacked out - I am on floor, rolling on the side of the road - something else hit me violently, it’s Harriet, another vehicle had crashed into my bike which hit me in the process, I slide further on the road - all is blur in my head, I am there somehow sitting on the road, trying to wave at Jonas, except my hand wasn’t where it should be, my arm was up and my hand hanging down, I couldn’t move, the pain was starting to kick in. I was suddenly surrounded by a dozen people looking at me, I kept asking “why did you do that ? Why ? Why did you cut my way”I was really angry someone else put an end to my journey. One ask me for money to repair his motorbike while he was the one who caused the accident, another one for money to pay for hospital fees as another women had supposedly broken her leg, which I had nothing to do with either. A local led us to the closest medical centre, 10km away. My pelvis and lower back were really hurting, any move was accompanied with a very sharp nerve pain. Lying on a desk, the doctor made a split out of cardboard while 3 nurses looked at me taking pictures and giggling.

I was 3 hours away from any hospital, this meant going back to Calabar via that crazy bumpy holy road. Eventually we found a taxi that would drive all the way there, I was lying on the back seats of the car holding myself as much as I could, a saline solution bag tied up to the grab handle linked to a catheter in my hand to keep me hydrated, which one would frequently disconnect, because the road was so bad, to only pour itself on my face.

We made it to the hospital in Calabar in the evening, Jonas was accompanying me. The next challenge would be to get me out of the car, the corridors of the hospital were so small that a stretcher would be difficult to get through any doors.

Well that was definitely going to be a New year’s Eve to remember ! I eventually received the first painkillers, and my broken arm was cast in some funny shape, surgery was needed within 72 hours. At least it should have..but then what do you do ? At first, I thought, well I have not other choice really.. my back is hurting, I can’t feel a lot in my left leg, I cannot sit or move.

January 1st, Happy New Year they say ! I recall calling my parents at the usual time not showing any sign that something was not going as planned . Really enthusiastic to have me on the phone, my mum doesn’t let me speak. Wishing me a happy new year and a good health…I remember picking up “Well..as you are going on the subject, I already gave thought to the matter..!”

Jonas had already been in touch with a few people we met on the way, that made recommendations about an hospital and who contacted a few peoples. Gabe, from the Governor’s office, was one of them. Really generous and enthusiastic person, he helped a lot pushing things at the hospital and in the organisation of the evacuation, and was just really looking after us. His wife made a lots of delicious food that they delivered for us.

I eventually managed to get some X Rays at the end of the day after Gabe had a talk with the doctor. The room was covered from wall to ceiling with plywood, smelling of humidity, dimmed light ambiance. The radiograph equipments were, safe to say, a few decades old. They stood me up somehow against a plank in order to radiograph my pelvis, still wondering how I manage to stand up 2 min, I felt sick of pain, on the edge of passing out, grabbing the plank as much as I could to alleviate the pain, but not easy with a left arm in a heavy cast and a right hand broken too. 2 min later the radiographer came back, “It’s good, nothing broken” me thinking well that was quick to analyse..

The first night hadn’t been that bad considering the state I was in. Managing and organising the medical evacuation wasn’t easy. I wasn’t in the safest country and some companies would not accept to fly here. The hospital wouldn’t provide a medical report which was key for the insurance to make a decision. Time was running out, my arm needed to be looked at. It took a few days to prove that I needed to travel stretched out, and that meant involving a private air ambulance, which I thankfully had insurance for (Medevac). My motorcycle insurance on the other hand, had decided to let me in Nigeria until I was good to travel, regardless of the surgery required and future consequences.

The nurses, Annie and Steph were looking well after me, we started to develop a good friendship over the 10 days I ended up staying in that bed. I also had a little companion, a rat was coming up every night although he seemed more interest in any biscuit I had left that making conversation. I could hear everything that was going on in the hospital, from people in deep pain to women giving birth. From early morning prayer choir to the diesel generator supplying electricity a few hours a day.

There was no electricity most of the time, a broken generator was running a few hours a day, just enough to make the ceiling fan working at slow pace. I was using Jonas drone batteries to charge my phone after we successfully managed to blow the fuses of the whole hospital !

On Monday 6th, I was informed the evacuation was planned for the following Thursday, It felt like forever, I wouldn’t rest until I’d be on the plane. The orthopaedic surgeon set about stretching my arm and prepare a lighter cast. In order to proceed, he introduced me to the anaesthetist, it didn’t occur to me that they would drug me with Ketamine. OH my…! That made my day ! Only to wake up with a cast that would still need to be open up before going on the plane.

I was finally evacuated on January 9th, from Port Harcourt, a 5 hours drive from Calabar. Gabe had sent us his private driver and guard to escort the ambulance. I felt relieve at the view of the Austrian medical crew. On the plane, I was connected to a lot of equipment that suddenly felt like coming from another world. The doctor looked at my X Rays, and I recall him saying “ I am sorry, but your pelvis is definitely fractured” I felt relieved, at least I knew what was going on now. We took off and with the help of a relaxer I felt asleep only to wake up in Tamanrasset where we refuelled before setting on the final leg home. A 3 months journey, resumed in the space of 9 hours. An ambulance was ready to pick me up from Birmingham airport runway, and I was admitted at the Major Trauma ward of Coventry University Hospital late in the evening.

Final examinations, revealed a double fracture of the left arm, fracture of the right index metacarpal, six pelvis fractures and other soft tissue injuries. I was taken in surgery on January 10th, well after the 72 hours recommendation. I still think I made the best decision.

Eleven months later and I was finally told this week that all bones are healed after having undergone another surgery in July.

They say, the adventure starts when challenges arise. I had eventually managed to throw myself out of my comfort zone. I somehow came across what I was expecting of that journey, through the event of my accident and the months that followed. I was mentally ready for everything the journey would throw at me, everything but that.

At the hospital in Calabar, the day before flying to England.