bugsonmyboard

While surfing at Bureh Beach on the south end of the Freetown Peninsula  I met a Spaniard named Coco who is building schools in the remote Wara Wara mountains of Sierra Leone. He invited Tony and to come for a visit and we spent two days chasing Coco around on jungle tracks getting to know the country and people of the region.

 

First, we had to get his extra bike running after it had been in hibernation for a few months, so Tony and I set to work checking for fuel, air, and spark.  Soon enough, we had the Honda XL125 roaring back to life and ready to roll.

Well, almost ready to roll anyway. We made a quick stop at the local garage to replace the chain ring carrier rubbers and shock bushings that had disintegrated.  While there we watched the guys in the most primitive of makeshift garages yank the engine out of another XL125, which are ubiquitous in the area, and have it half disassembled in about 20 minutes.  They are fantastic mechanics who can bodge together about anything that you might need from what they have on hand.  The parts we needed were made on the spot from scrap rubber.

The mechanics kids ran around the place and played with their toys.  By toys, I mean greasy engine parts. They can probably already rebuild a carburetor.

Midway through the morning Tony’s rear tire punctured.  After patching the tube, the tire was incredibly difficult to get back onto the rim.  Tires for small dirt bikes like this are usually fairly easy compared to the bigger bikes like my DR650.  After much grunting, sweating, and knuckle bashing, we managed it, only to find that we’d pinched the tube with the irons in our struggle to coax the tire back onto the rim.  We’d fairly mangled the tube so that it wasn’t patchable.  Now we had a problem.

Coco and I set off to the next village 7 miles ahead in the blind hope of finding a tube and left Tony to contend with the heat and incessant flies. The flies were so bad that he lit a fire by the roadside, so that the smoke would keep them at bay.

As small as it was, the next village was actually the capital of the Wara Wara region, called Bafodia. Luck was with us: the single tube available in Bafodia would fit the tire. Everyone in town knew Coco from his work in the area, but they were curious about the other visitor on the big bike.  There are generally no bikes bigger 150cc here, and so the DR650 always gets plenty of attention and praise from the locals.  ‘This moto is strong” they proclaim.  Inevitably followed by the offer, “We trade, ya?”

We returned to rescue Tony from the flies, put his bike back together and we were off again, riding deeper and deeper into the mountains.  We bounced along two tracks winding through the jungle, small stream crossings, and steep rocky hill climbs.  It’s no wonder Coco rides a motorbike everywhere, as crossing this terrain in a 4×4 truck would be terribly arduous.  On a motorbike it’s tiring, but really lots of fun.  In fact, Coco’s ride to work is what most dirt riders in the US or Europe would seek to ride on weekends or longer off-road trips.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is the old school building.

This is the new one.

I met loads of cute kids and make them giggle showing them photos of themselves.

Coco really knows how to work the people of the villages there.  It would be impossible to do this work without a good understanding the culture here and a willingness to adjust plans accordingly.  Everyone knows the man on the little dirt bike and shout ‘Mr. Coco!’  as we ride past and they project incredible warmth towards a visitor like me. Places like this are the heart of ‘Sweet Salone’ as the locals affectionately refer to their country.

In a nearby village, building of the school was still in progress.  Bricks were being formed, timber cut, and walls were coming up.

It takes a special type of person to do this job. Coco’s work reminded me the story portrayed in the bestselling book Three Cups of Tea about an American who runs around building schools in rural Pakistan by sheer force of his own with no resources or experience to begin with. I watched Coco talk with the village councils, keep workers on task, and try to track down some bags of cement that had gone missing.  He bargains for the price of materials like a local and holds everyone to account for what they are meant to deliver and keeps a positive tone throughout struggles. He acts like every dollar wasted is a dollar that the village kids miss out on.  Because it is.

The people here live a simple but difficult existence and are vulnerable to disease and hunger. Some villages don’t have access to clean water. Back in California, I spent most of my working hours helping find solutions to water pollution problems. As important as those problems are, being able to work on them seems like pure luxury in comparison to the very basic need of having clean water to drink which many of these people simply don’t have.

We raced down from the mountains, eager to return to the town of Kabala for some dinner, but our bike problems weren’t finished yet for the day.  Coco’s front sprocket retainer had failed, the sprocket came off and let his chain jump off of the chain ring.  While we probably could have towed Coco’s bike back the 7 miles to Kabala there were a number of steep rocky sections that may have been tricky.  Instead, we pushed his bike to the nearest village and met with the chief, who agreed to let us leave Coco’s bike at his place for the night.

Coco and I rode 2 up on my bike back to Kabala and returned the next morning with a new front sprocket. We repaired Coco’s bike and shot into the mountains for another round for the day.  The days in these Wara Wara have been some of the most memorable of the entire trip so far.