Doucki with Hassan Bah, in the Fouta Djalon of Guinea

Hyena Rock and a vista in Doucki.

The village of Doucki is tucked behind a rocky dirt road, about 45km East of Pita. Katie and I hired motorbikes from Pita for 60,000 franc each. We managed to find an English speaking bike rider, which was music to my non-french-speaking-ears (Osman: +24465484996). We were headed to Hassan Bah’s place in Doucki, where we had heard reports of beautiful hikes and Hassan’s spunk. The bikes wound through a dusty and dry April countryside, spotted with brilliantly yellow flowering trees and bursting with ripe mangos and citrus. We stopped on the way at a village holding a weekly market to buy some mangos and some locally woven blue cloth. The tradesman that I bought the ‘leppe’ from happened to be Hassan’s brother Abdul. Abdul asked us if we were headed to Doucki – evident by our white faces – and then he helped us to send word to Hassan that he had visitors on their way.

As soon as we arrived on Hassan’s grounds in Doucki we were escorted to our very own open air chill area under a low Fulla-style grass roof, complete with hammocks and a host of children to fetch mangos, cool water, hot water and millet for lunch; it was luxury. We hadn’t been relaxing for long when Hassan Bah himself glided (actually) under the low roof. Hassan gave us a warm and spritely welcome, made sure that we were being looked after to his standard, and then provided us with his old visitors’ book which was full of comments and pictures to inform us of the places that we could go. Hassan has been guiding tours of the gorges and cliffs around Doucki for about 10 years now. At the age of 63, he is still going strong. Peace corps volunteers seem to have been very much a part of the setting up of the establishment, and were evidently now also among the regular visitors.

In the cool under a low Fulla roof.

An extra note on Hassan: he grew up in Kabala in the Northern district of Sierra Leone. Since Katie and I live Sierra Leone and can speak (broken) Krio, we connect well on that. Along with his native Fulla, Hassan also speaks English, Spanish and French. If you want to reach Hassan, call +24462457553. When we were in Doucki the accommodation, food, guided tours, everything, cost a flat rate of $25 per person per day; well worth it.

Hassan Bah just chilling in the Indian Jones gorge, wearing blue 'lepe' pants.

We went on two guided tours while in Doucki. On the afternoon of our first day we went to the ‘Indiana Jones’ gorge, which is a narrow opening in the ground in which you descend into a forested wonderland of vines and roots covering sandstone boulders. Hassan nimbly displayed how we could scale rock faces using roots as ropes. There is a small, clear stream that runs through the gorge, often completely enclosed by the sandstone walls, with red-finned and green-finned minnows in it. Hassan led us to a good pool to dip ourselves in, called ‘the Jacuzzi’.

Roots over the rocks.

'the Jacuzzi'

View from the Bob Marley stage that we passed on our way down the cliff face.

 The next morning we went on a longer walk. It is called the ‘Chutes and Ladders’, and comprises of a 14km circuit that took us down a large cliff face, along the valley below, and then back up the large cliff face to the plateau on which Doucki sits. This time we were guided by Hassan’s brother, Abdul. Abdul led us passed Hyena rock, and then down a path that hugs the cliff face. A stream shoots out of the rock at one point, and the path is largely one with the stream until you reach the ‘Bob Marley Stage’ viewpoint (named by some peace corps volunteers). We dined on locally grown potatoes and tomatoes, as well as ubiquitous tinned sardines, next to a stream that was absolutely teaming with red-finned minnows. Monkeys were playing around nearby every now and then as well.

Katie with red-finned minnows. A bit like Escher's Three Worlds print.

Ladders leading up the cleft in the cliff, back to Doucki.

The path back up the cliff face comprised of a series of ladders following a narrow cleft in the cliff face. The ladders were made from young trees tied together with vines. The trimmed branches of the trees and the vines holding everything together served us the rungs of the ladder. The path looked like one that the ancients had used, and possibly even made. The thick shade, damp moss and cobwebs on the ladders added to a certain mystique. Apparently women commute between villages on these ladders carrying bundles on their heads, wearing sandals, which made us feel less hardcore – we were actually overtaken by one such woman on our way down.

There is plenty of water along the route, and at one point we stopped for a drink at a water source that percolates through the sandstone cliff. There is a sawn in half batta to catch the water droplets, which replaced the 80 year old wooden bowl next to it. The water tasted pristine, which the view added to. There were similar water points dotting the entire route. Although it was the dry season, there was no shortage of water in the Fouta Djalon. It sees enough rain here in June-December to be a major feeder of the Niger, Gambia and Senegal rivers in West Africa. Apparently the Fouta Djalon's beauty is at it's height during the rainy season.

We enjoyed ourselves so much in Doucki, and the journey getting there from Freetown was so long, that we decided to extend our stay by a day. We spent half of the third day lounging back in the Indiana Jones gorge, watching the birds and eating locally made honey on baked bread.

Playing around in Doucki.

To the Fouta Djalon by many taxis

The days in which I am still within striking distance of sweet West African places to journey to are ticking away. I am likely to finish up work in Freetown in July. Katie and I made good use of the long Easter weekend though. We journeyed from Freetown in Sierra Leone to the village of Doucki in the Fouta Djalon region of Guinea last weekend, by many taxis. One of the taxis that we rode had two very special features to it: Some butchered meat tied to the windscreen wiper in the front, and a live chicken dangling by its tied feet from the rear wind shield.

Some meat tied to the windscreen wiper by a palm frond.

It struck me how instantly things changed as we crossed the Sierra Leone - Guinea border near Kambia Town. International borders fascinate me; they remind me that countries are indeed real, and that domestic rulers actually do exert a kind of sovereign power over you when you're in their land. Probably the first thing that I noticed across the border, apart from the immediate switch to French, was the (French) immigration officer's beautiful black mustache - hadn't seen one of those in Sierra Leone - and his not allowing Katie to fill in her own form, because he is chivalrous. Along with that, the music changed, the mangoes changed, the people changed, the land become more mountainous and open and the frequency of military checkpoints increased. Our passports and yellow-fever certificates were checked relentlessly by soldiers, which made me notice how sweet Salone only have policeman manning checkpoints; possibly as a reaction to their soldier-rebel 'sobels' in the war. Taxi drivers still paid bribes at the checkpoints though, with the frequency increased only slightly, but it was definitely done with less slight of hand than the drivers in Sierra Leone; broad daylight exchanges took precedent over the cleverly concealed handshake.
 Katie speaks an invaluable bit of French, but it was still tricky navigating the share taxis. We ended up hopping from town to town, changing taxis each time, clawing our way slowly closer to the Fouta Djalon. After a full 15 hours of traveling we stopped for the night in Seboray, a small town just passed Dalaba. By a great stroke of luck, we found a house open to travelers. We had met some Peace Corps volunteers on the long road, and they had given us the contact of Djouma Fleur (+24466116241), a French speaking, honey selling, well known man in Seboray. Djouma met us in the dark, helped us to find food, and then led us to a house. From our broken communication we understood that we had a place to stay.

Katie and Djouma outside of Nadine's beautiful, round house.

Nice ceiling.

The house is owned by a French woman called Nadine. We never met her, and still don't know who she actually is, but she generously allows travelers to stay in her beautiful private home. She asks only for a donation to her NGO that helps the disabled in Guinea, if you feel moved to do so. Nadine's house probably has some of the best interior decorations that I've seen in a West African home. In particular, the ceiling of her dining room is covered in wicker mats and rope.

The butterflies below are hers too - we saw a lot of these butterflies (alive) in Doucki - and her garden is decked out in bougainvillea and dozens offlowering plants, all well labelled with their botanical names. My garden-hearted father would have loved it.

The next day we woke up early and made haste to Doucki, after buying some delicious local honey from Djouma, made by bees living around the pine forests planted around Seboray. Pines are another thing I didn't expect to see. We nailed that bottle of honey that very weekend.

Fouta Djalon is a whole lot cooler and the vegetation is drier than the lower lying parts of West Africa. 'Cool and dry' is a very relative term here though. We were there in the dry April, but apparently the region has an epic rainy season around June-December, and it is known as one of the water points of West Africa. There are some great pictures of the Fouta Djalon on this blog called the candy trail. The pictures were taken in the lush rainy season. Our pictures were a lot more dusty.