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We do #art #beauty en masse ; #followfriday on @artntwit ; #muenchen #berlin wir sehen #kunst anders
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China 2007, Shanghai

2007 SHANGHAI 

 

 

Visiting the Bund  and Ren Ming Guang Chang
on a sunny morning represents the highlight of any Shanghai

trip.

 

The breathtaking view of the Bund (breathtaking view), with its imposing background the Dong Feng Ming Zhu (Shanghai TV tower) the impressive silhouette of adjacent high rising buildings, Nanjing Lu.  

Shanghai is always worth a visit, see the changes of time come real, visit the '30 s and indulge in the past in the Paramount Club, enjoy the Eateries in Yunnan Lu, see the modern crowds in People's Square.

 

 

Hengshang Lu,     Chenghuang Miao 

Enjoy Shanghai and its many delights... 

Medjugorje in Bosnia Herzegovina.

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 Rui shows some extraordinary Fotos. Here the Hofburg in Vienna.

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Heroes'Square-Statue of Prince Eugen and New Hofburg； Main entrance to weapon and musical instruments

Tags: Military, "J.J.Rawlings", takeover, "June 4th movement", A.F.R.C.", "Armed Forces Revolutionary Council", "Flight Lieutenant J.J. Rawlings"

..The trial..

In the following two weeks more Party functionaries are arrested, one by one, some are caught in remote parts of the country, in their 'hometowns' as the natives call their villages. The past years have proved to be the fatter ones of their lives, amassing wealth from kickbacks on governmental contracts.

From the lips of a close friend, director of Corporate Banking of a large, foreign owned Bank comes this statement :"Whenever these contractors (those fortunate enough to have a close ally - family member - in the government), are receiving paychecks amounting to hundreds of millions, the same day huge amounts are withdrawn in cash and carried away of to unknown destinations by car." Everyone knows the reason for this : to make the agreed payments to the officials who awarded the contracts.

The patience of people and those who are left out, have worn thin, they want to see punishment and 'their' justice done. But there is dissent in the ruling army ranks, for now the lower charges are ruling, Lance Corporals, Sergeant Majors, and they have a grudge against the officers who enjoyed all the privileges in the past. It is not uncommon that officers up to Major ranks are beaten, brutalized, and outright shot in attacks of frenzy, sometimes in public. The madness of the common soldiers has no limit, the revenge has just started to set in.

---------------------------------------------------------

On Sunday the day following the takeover I venture out to see my friend who I have not heard since. It is drizzling, the roads are in bad shape, potholes everywhere, filled with rainwater. Against all warnings I drive my car to another part of town. I stop in front of the gate and blow the horn, not having any reaction. Within minutes of me standing in the rain, in front of the house gate, I see a group of camouflaged soldiers approaching from the end of the alley in the residential area. I see them pointing at me and increasing pace, their distance is approx. 300 m, When I make a move towards my car, they raise their guns towards me. I know from my military training, a bullet from a FAL 7.62 can travel far more than the 300 m. I stop, wait till they arrive, regretting my venture, now only trying to safe my back.

In less than a minute the group of seven soldiers are gathering around me, guns raised, looking stern. First question, I knew would come : your nationality ; One has to know the background of the events to understand the reason for this. The soldiers have orders to hunt down all Indian and Lebanese nationals, who form the majority of businessmen, those are considered to be the evil of society. Answering as calm as possible I give them the details they want to know. Looting and rampaging soldiers have robbed numerous civilians and I realize that the senior member of the troop is intoxicated, a dangerous situation can erupt at any time if luck is not on my side. The following question I know is coming, what am I doing here. Being a European trying to get into a Lebanese National's home ? After explaining the reason for my coming here, they want to see my house.

The drunken soldier takes the vehicle drivers 's seat and we all move in, 7 soldiers including me. In somewhat cramped condition we run into a ditch, not far off. The driver never drove a car before. I find the courage to tell them that I will drive and take them to my house. I have established a kind of unspoken, relaxed atmosphere between us, my experience tells me how to perform this act. And it pays off. Still alive while others aren't. Any outburst, animosity, ill feeling, wrong wording can end in quick reaction, without a judge to pass sentence.

We reach my residence, food ready in the kitchen, everybody looks shocked, seeing 7 soldiers storming into the house, with me in their midst. Jokingly I ask my housemaid to bring the Champagne from the store room, some food for the poor soldiers, the gesture does not fail its intended reaction. The soldiers ease up, eat, and we all are by now in a friendly mood. The question comes to the house staff, if I am nice with the maids, which is replied with convincing smiles. Of course, many treat their servants bad, I am firm, but just.

The soldiers faces turn to a jovial grin, we sit and converse and I ask them about the events of the past days. When I tell them of my service in the Armed Forces, they find me as their pal. All ice has been broken, and I even grab one of the FAL rifles and remove a clip, and see their embarrassed faces, for the clip contains no bullets! They ran out of bullets long ago. I laugh and they too laugh with me, everything has turned out so well. After I give them some of the Champagne, and drop them back to the main road. We are friends now, and should I need their help in the future, they will be there. We say good bye and wishing each other good luck, the fate of my friend almost forgotten.

I drive back in deep thoughts, contemplating the events and the seriousness of it, it could have ended up in tragedy. When I leave the car, I notice the largest bottle of 'Hermes' perfume I ever came across at, in the hat rack of my car. The soldiers had left it. Forgotten, a reminder of other people 's loss - another man 's gain. Never could I find the owners of the perfume, some Lebanese or Indians presumably who are not as lucky, for all males are rounded up and sent to Military camps for detention....

Next : the Military 's tribunals

..

Tags: Cyprus, Middle East, UNFICYP, Larnaca, Pyla, Anatolia, Turkey, Turkish Forces, Court Martial, COMCEN

Alarm on Pyla plateau, Pyla, Cyprus

The following nights, days we keep to our routines, 6 hours duty 6 hours readiness and sleep. If there is no problem we can rest within the six hours, though community service is still asked of everyone, and that includes scrubbing floors, kitchen, bathrooms, etc. Although not much physical activity is required, one begins to feel exhausted, mentally, the close space living together with others creates tensions.

On the other side all is quiet, the Turkish forces have been told of my presence and their commander sends an official letter to the command demanding to meet with me. Even here in the far away plains where my superiors post me in order to reduce my contacts with the Turkish force command, word of mouth travels fast. I am able to post an uncensored letter by field post to the Turkish force commander to inform him I am on the Pyla plateau, much to the dislike of my superiors, the local commander prefers my company to theirs, being accustomed to language and well conversant with the customs of the Turkish people in general.

It is of no surprise to me that my superior is informed in no uncertain terms that the Turkish command would like to see me returned to the main village. This , however this request is turned down, and becomes a political message. On a field visit I am personally informed by my company commander to refrain from contacting the Turkish forces, be it on social, or official meetings. I am outraged, and I can see the typical 'narrow minded' mentality in this statement. When asked about my background I gain some valuable points when I mentioned Hauptmann Lukesch, and it saves me from further inconvenience.

I am in charge of radio communications, and as such the portable emergency radio. Mentions worthy, the monotony that sets in, creating boredom and in some, anxieties. When stationed in Pyla one of my colleagues went to a local pub, asked to drink some 'Cyprus Brandy', gets drunk. In the aftermath some local youths snatch his rifle which he stupidly leaves near the entrance to the 'Tavern'. When he discovers the theft, he gets berserk, already charged emotionally, follows the thieves with a Fin dagger drawn, into the nearest homes and frightens the local population. The local police is called in which informs the Military Police and the scenario is perfect. Court martial, repatriated disgracefully, he faces a civil suit back home, his career gone. The thieves later return the rifle, but he remains a victim of the highly charged emotions which gather steam during duty in the demilitarized zone.

Preparing for night duty at 24 HRS, I try to find some sleep around 8 PM and drift off as soon as I lay down, half way dressed, only our boots removed. I am awoken by a shrill whistle blow, amidst shouting 'Alarm, Alarm'. I am up in a second, stumbling to my feet, searching frantically for my boots. I notice the darkness around me, we have no power. Torches beam at us, I hear the Lieutenant's voice, Radio operator reporting to me in 2 minutes. How the heck do you want me to get ready in the darkness I think to myself. Within seconds I stumble with all my gear, clothes pulled over in haste, helmet, rifle slung, running into the command center next door, to grab the radio equipment. The radio is heavy and I struggle with its weight. Darkness all around us, I find the command ditch where our Lieutenant is already waiting for me, his helmet on I notice. I stand the rifle against the ditch, and set up the radio as per regulations, ready to make the initial contact. Comcen (Communications center) in Nicosia will be contacted. The Antenna is a foldable Antenna and needs to be unfolded. While this all happens in pitch darkness, the unthinkable happens and the Antenna is broken. Amidst sinister curses of the Lieutenant, who wants to earn his Laurels above all by staging the Alarm, I nearly burst out in laughter, once I realize what he is up to. He wants to impress his superiors that he is the 'Best' amongst the worst officers. All attempts to repair the Antenna proof fruitless, the call can not be made unless a spare Antenna is fixed.

Amidst the whole chaos he has created, a number of fellow comrades giggle from the other trenches when he announces the end of the practiced Alarm. I receive a scolding but notice that it was him who broke the Antenna and not me. The silence that follows proofs me right and I pack the equipment, rifle and stumble back through the darkness to return the radio gear. After assembling, we are reminded that this was a trial Alarm and we must be faster to get to our posts in the future. By now everyone in the platoon knows who we have as a leader. God forbids his presence in a real Emergency. I return after being dismissed to my bunk and relax the remaining 2 hours till my duty call. On this night, no further appearance by the Lieutenant is recorded, so the Logbook shows....

Next : Larnaca - a Helicopter ride . ..

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Pyla, Plateau, Cyprus

The shift starts 12 midnight exactly, our comrades woke us up at 11.45, and we struggle to our feet, sleep drunk, exhausted. Outside our 'Nissen hut' (Alu built structure, half-round shaped, used for accommodation and command), the wind is howling over the plains, it makes me shudder to think to be on patrol after midnight. In January the icy winds blow from the Anatolian highlands across the Cyprus strait and covers the island with a blanket of cold.

Radio communication is set at every full hour, just as my colleague takes his seat the control call comes in 'Nicosia to all report'. I grab my FAL NATO rifle, full gear, recounting what I wear, for the exterior is chilly , at winds reaching strength 10 at some points, the cold creeps up fast. Cotton undershirt, warm long sleeves undershirt, Cotton over shirt, Army issue, pullover 1, alpine pullover, wind jacket, 7 PCs of clothes protecting me from the freezing wind.

I relieve my colleague from his post, and the sub-zero temperature hits me straight into the face. This must be the coldest night experienced on the plains. I am fully awake by now, and climb up the ladder that leads to the outlook checkpoint. Trying to get accustomed with the darkness I grab the binoculars to survey the area under our scrutiny. Nothing unusual I gather, the wind is pulling on the trusses and supporting steel cables, making it squeak and moan. I can not remember when such a storm has blown here before. In my six months of duty I find the cold has gone worse day after day, and in the H.Q. as here we use Kerosene heaters in our sleeping wards to keep warm. The resulting fumes are still in my nostrils, and I can't help thinking that the fumes are a health hazard. No one cares, as we have no choice, if you don't want to wake up frozen stiff..

In all my life I remember this to be of a unique, moist cold that cuts to the bone and marrow of one's body. I think of my life ending up in these remote parts of Cyprus, what made me enlist in the service. And the wind rattling goes on and its howling is eerie at some stage.

It is 12.30 AM past midnight, a loud voice cuts through the storm, the shadow below I recognize to be that of the Lieutenant. He asks me to come from the observation post at once. I follow his order, take up position and salute 'report no incidents, Sir'. The unbelievable happens, here, at 12.30 AM, in the middle of nowhere, he asks me to quote the 'duty paragraph's, including specific rules. Thinking to myself the man has tilted over, I nevertheless stumble all the points he refers to, leaving out some. He lectures me for 30 minutes giving me the focus of his  career, how he intends to bring sanity in this platoon. A moron I think to myself, what a moron. He wants to make a point, so let him. After he finishes, he abruptly turns back, asking me to return to my post, and vanishes.

As he came he disappears. Now I am left with the wind and still can't make sense of all that happened a while ago, figuring out what was wrong with this guy who happened to be our commanding officer. At exactly one hour into the morning we exchange posts, my colleague who remained inside on readiness  will now take post up in the cold. I tell him of the incident and he is puzzled, too.

Once inside, the warmth is overwhelming. I stand near the oven, rubbing my hands and generally feel better within minutes. I switch on the radio and '10 cc blares from the British Forces radio in Nicosia, 'I'm not in love'. They must be playing this song a hundred times a day, I recollect. The night is long, and sometimes you tend to doze off. Overcoming the 'inner Schweinehund' literally the 'pig's dog', as the 'dog within us' is called in our parts of the world. You have to focus and you master self discipline, as I learnt in the Army, compliments of Hauptmann Walter Lukesch, my mentor and company commander, whom I respect.

With every turn the morning is closer, and the thought of the Lieutenant returning is a vague possibility. I take the last turn above the roof of the hut, and watch in disbelieve when the sun's first rays flood over the plains before 6 AM. Our night shift is over, the next six hours will be spent in readiness, but allowed to grab some sleep after breakfast, which we gladly follow. Another night in the plains for the next eight weeks has passed.

Next: The Alarm ....

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A word of thanks, my friends., Binette, Sadio, Macire ...

I wish to thank those who made this perilous journey possible, without the help of Binette, Sadio and Aisha, and last but not least our Lord Jesus Christ, I would not have made it..There were times of frustrations, anxiety, tensions, and fear.

I say thank you to you Binette, Sadio and Macire - may you rest in peace - and all those who helped me during..this dangerous journey

A special tribute goes to Macire, Binette informed me of her fatal car accident in Guinea last year. Without her connections to the Chef d' Protocol in the president's offices we would not have reached our destination, god bless you, Macire, may you rest in peace.

My gratitude will always be with you..

In memory of Macire...

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Tags: guinea, niani, sankarani river, river niger, mandiana, eastern guinea, road to bamako

.I depart from Mandiana customs check point in the afternoon and follow the road towards Niani. Difficult to follow a road without a proper map.

To my astonishment I find it in much better condition than the ones I got used to since entering Guinea.

At 40-50 mph this seems a real highway to me. A few checkpoints on the way, nothing spectacular, the usual 'pay 'n drive' method works well here.

The scenery has changed into complete Savannah now. Grasslands and scrubs, solitary Baobab trees, but no more the dense tropical jungle.

Life in these areas is dreadful, no running water, no electricity, as in dark ages. People though can adapt to any condition that is put upon them.
We reach Niani at night close to 19 hours P.M. and my fuel is close to nil. Of course Niani, the border town must be having fuel, or so I think. What I finally find is not the usual filling station.

After crossing the town, which is not much of a settlement, I am directed to the 'station'. I can not somehow forget this scene, it is another milestone on a long road through Africa.

I find a petroleum lit grass hut, crooked stems serve as poles, a straw covered roof. The fuel is all filled in beer bottles of 0.7 ltrs, lined up in a row on front of the 'gas station'. If it were not for the acute shortage, I would laugh at this, but now I realize I have no choice, for after Niani there is a 100 miles nothing except bush and unknown territory.

So I fill a 50 bottles of 'beer' gas, its price almost double inflated to the normal rate. I do not even want to look for food, for I know I have to continue to Mali tonight. So I leave, with a unforgettable memory in place.
The evening brings some cool air, I sense the mighty river nearby. And when I reach the bonfire that is lit near the main road I recognize the Guinean border guards who camp here.

To describe this would take another chapter, however this is an entry / exit point and I must say the guards are the friendliest I ever found in Guinea. The exit stamp in my passport, i carry on, the dark road passing through the middle of the bush, beside the river.

Driving carefully in the dark, against my mentors advice, I focus my full attention on the rough road ahead of me.

The river Sankarani I cant see, as it is dark, but to me it is more a lake than a river. Floating gently, but mightily. A build up to the mighty dam that feeds three quarters of Mali with electricity, the Barrage de Selingui. A gigantic project as I am to see later on. A premonition overcomes me I can't explain why, but I slow down my vehicle to a mere 10 mph. I cannot see the road ahead of me, and the high beams are not helping much either. I notice the concrete structure that stands in the dark was once a bride crossing a creek beneath. Now, the bridge has been washed away, and I am standing 6 meters over the creek that floats beneath under it. In the darkness I maneuver the car back and find a diversion I passed minutes ago, leading to the creek's bottom. The normal type of vehicle would not be able to drive through this makeshift road, but I manage to cross the waters which aren't deep surprisingly and climb up the other side to continue my journey.

The road turns to the left and leads into pure grassland, with bumps shaking us to the brink. In the distance a see a shimmering light, a line decorated with obsolete plastic carrier bags in all colors indicate a further check point. No one in sight, in the middle of the Savannah. I blow my horn. It is now 20 hours and I still have to make headway, I force myself. After a few minutes a customs guy appears and tells me the border is closed for tonight, from his uniform I can see we have reached the Malian customs.

I beg, a common way of getting things done in these parts, to let me pass, as I have pressing business in Bamako. After consultation for which he disappears back into the dark, he reappears and removes the rope that serves as a barrier. We cross the line and follow him, guiding us to a shelter build from grass, roots and pieces of logs.

The papers I am asked to submit. He disappears into the hut, and I wait. 5 minutes, 10 minutes pass. After 15 minutes I follow him and see three customs officials inspecting my 'international vaccination card'.
I am asked if all my vaccinations are in order, which I confirm. Something they must find, and in my case they ask me for a valid 'Vaccination contre Meningitis' as you guess right the vaccination against Meningitis is what delays my departure. 5000 CFA change their hands and I carry on through the night.

next episode : night in the bush

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Tags: Kankan, Beyla, Cotton Gin, Hotel Bate, Guinea

Tags: Mandiana, Guinea Customs, Niani, Selingui, Mali, Niger

Once dawn breaks I am up again, trying to locate the bathroom facilities of this shabby place.. The couple with the motorcycle episode still on my mind, I find my way to the washroom, and what a washing room it is.

There is flowing water however and I have my shower under the fresh morning sky, the cold water from the well helps me to clear my mind at once.

I have a difficult task ahead of me, and I need lots of luck to get my merchandise out of the customs clutches. So mad the whole story sounds, no one would ever imagine the agonizing moments I go through with these officials. Like leeches they prey on their targets, remorseless their approach to empty your pockets.

The night before I visited the local hawkers and to my astonishment I found quiet palatable food. Without a meal the whole day I longed for a dinner, and I found it in form of a decent Spaghetti Bolognaise, and some 'sauce 'd arachides' a peanut butter based sauce with stewed rice. Amazingly, the dishes were of agreeable taste, and reasonably cheap.

The appointment is set to 08.00 AM and I drive up to the main junction that links the western border Bougoula, with the northern and eastern route, to Kankan and Niani.

The customs building is a simple tin roof thatched house, but the main negotiating room is on its left, and is comprised of a raw concrete floor, some wooden chairs, and a grass covered rooftop, open to all sites, so that the traffic can be observed. Whatever passes through here, is subject to pay road tax, in one way or another. The capital is far and here the officials can act as they see fit.

The night before I drove up to the main junction, the Customs officials on duty sitting near a bonfire in one of the huts erected to control vehicles that pass through here. I was asked to report the next morning, having no choice I will follow the order. Again the officer who we found at the entry point to Mandiana tells me that I do not have valid car papers, and thus adds to my already big problem..

I drive up the yard, and after the initial exchanges of welcoming : 'bienvenue', the officials, three of them, begin their process. All eyes are focused on the big Renault articulator, now parked at the side, under scrutiny of the customs.

They will not let go of this truck till they receive their share The one in charge appears, with the copy of the transit invoice in his hand and tells me the amount involved. The figure is somewhat less than at the Bougoula border,  but it is still beyond my acceptable figure 

When I insist that the value on the invoice is incorrect, the official displays the transit documents, and I realize the blunder made by my own staff. The valuation on the documents contained an error, committed by the Ivorian Customs.

The whole crew of the truck has by now assembled around the vehicle and I request the original invoice issued by our company back in Ghana. Here the amount is a complete different amount, and I produce it as evidence. Seeing an opportunity slip by, the man in beige now tries to be stubborn. I am now in full steam and ask him to physically check the load instead.

Upon his instructions a few bales are released and the weight is being taken. By multiplying the number of packages he derives at the figure on my invoice. This solves the puzzle and he grins. We know the icebreaker worked.

We have all settled into the straw- hut and two officials in a hammock are explaining the procedures, and warning us of the 'brigade', the customs flying squad that seizes all goods that are not properly declared.
All to intimidate us and to find ways to extract more money.

Once the final calculation comes out we are to pay in the region of 3000 US Dollars, still high but of course much less than the previous figure. Now it comes to the finals, the crew is invited to have lunch with the officials, I politely refuse indicating to my stomach.

They withdraw behind the house to  .savor he local specialty 'cailler'. When I see the fermented milk, with thousand flies swarming around it, and the sugar being added in large amounts, I return to the point of the vehicle, finding a place in the shadow under a large Acacia tree and wait for further developments.

I feel the deal is nearly done. With the meal over, the people return to prepare the final release documents.

Without telling anyone in the group I know I have a most important meeting to attend in Europe, after 3 days in Prague to be precise. How I will reach there I don't know.

We are in the middle of the bush, no airport, only rough roads leading into three different directions, one of which is towards the north to Mali, and I know that I will have to take this route. I urge to conclude the deal, already 10 days have passed since the truck has entered Bougoula border (Encounter at dusk, part II).

With a few twitches arriving at the final figure we agree. Now all the attention is on how much money everyone will collect from the deal. 

Smiling faces abound, I realize we are done. I am preparing to depart, handing over the amount to the woman in charge of the consignment, to be paid against an official receipt.

And with the new friends made waving goodbye, I set off towards Niani, the border with Mali. The time is 15.00 PM, and I have to drive approx 300 km through Savannah road to reach the border town, also know to be a smuggler's haven.

Continued : Night in the Mali savannah .

.Encounter at dusk, Odienne border, Ivory Cost part (II).

..The Forest Leopard turns, his tail still twitching, and in a sudden movement towards the edge of the forest, it disappears into the thick.

In the time that follows, everyone in the vehicle is silent, deep sunk in his or her own thoughts, figuring out what could have or could not have been, was it not for some greater power protecting them.

The night drags along, with no one moving out of the vehicle, in fear of being eaten by the large cat.

When morning breaks they dare leaving the vehicle, but the fear will never leave them as long as they stay here.

After three days of no food, their stomachs are empty, their moods are changing fast. Desperately hoping for the return of their comrades, each one hoping for a quick end of their plight, to get out of this dense jungle. After the incident with the predator they have no interest to explore their surroundings any longer, they stay near the cabin.

In the morning of the fourth days they notice a movement over the creek. Noticing the familiar features of their comrades, they sigh in relieve, breaking out into jubilation, in typical African fashion. Immediately they set off to fix the welded radiator tank, so they can make their way further to reach the border.

In an hour the car is moving again, amidst the cheering of everyone. They exchange their experiences, without realizing the dangers that besieged them. Great is their surprise when they arrive at the border post, a mere 1 hour drive from where they had the break down.

The danger is past, the guardian saint derided, full of courage they face the Guinean border guards' viciousness for the first time. Unknown to them, the Guinean Customs unleashes the first attack whilst inspecting the goods. Like a predators prey they are now at their mercy.. Same frowns on their faces, same story all over, same tactics used to extort money from the unwary, calling for an amount of 70 000 000 Guinea Francs, about 33000 U.S. Dollars of Duties and Taxes. Quick to demand and eager to extort, the usual procedures begin. Bargaining is the way to survive here.

After nearly four days without proper food, they search now frantically for something edible. The border has some stalls where food is being sold and they go for it.

The negotiations have started, and they do not end for another three days. Without success the Guineans do not budge away from their demands. They remain stubborn, their leader being the root cause. He wants the biggest cut for himself. For unknown to the people, border posts have their own laws and rules. They will not declare the taxes to the Finance Ministry, they will share it amongst themselves. This fact is known to the government in Conakry yet they have no means to stop these mal practices, corruption reigns in Conakry and spreads throughout the country

continued : The confiscation ..

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Tags: Guinea, Mandiana, Niani, Mining town, diamonds

Mandiana to Niani, Guinea

During the night I feel tense. The devastating effect of the heat radiating from the uncovered Aluminum roof that covers my shabby Hotel room is tantalizing. It leaves me drenched in sweat, a torture; unwanted Sauna in the tropics.

I know my car is parked in the unsecured, open yard of the compound that has one watchman who I can't trust. I have my emergency cash stuffed in a pillow I use to support my back from the steady bumps along the horrible road that crosses Guinea from the south to the north, a thousand kilometers full.

Every now and then I toss myself, restless, from one side to the other, trying to find the best sleeping position, in vain. At 3 AM I glance at my watch, lighting my Communicator which serves as a torch, and word processor. I hear a disturbing noise, I am certain from the car, outside the room, parked at a distance of 6-7 meters away. My mind is fully alert, I notice the strange sounds, like someone attempting to open the locks. At the moment you are paralyzed, thinking of the dangers that accompany any attempt in a lawless place such as this, to challenge an intruder

I struggle to my feet, Nokia in hand, still powered, slowly tapping to the door, unlocking it, and I open it in a sudden move. I glance at my car, nothing unusual. The noise has stopped at this moment.

Puzzled, I move towards the vehicle in the dark, the whole town lies in darkness, no source of electricity powers any part of this mining place.

Suddenly the noise again starts, coming from my left. The LED light of my communicator is not strong and I see a movement, about  meters apart from where I stand. A torchlight is lit and its beam cuts towards me. I hear the voice of a man and a woman speaking in French. When I finally realize I begin to relax.

A man and a woman standing in front of their 'Hotel room', attempting to kick start the motorbike they use. Here in the middle of Mandiana, a couple had rented a room to find some privacy. He apologizes for the noise and soon they continue before I return back to my room, relieved and exhausted.

This particular scene is always in my memory, it shows that even here, in the last corner of civilization, people are basically the same. I try to catch some sleep, the ambient temperature has dropped now with the morning dew settling on the roof, I am finally dozing off.

.............Mandiana Customs Officials, the arrangement ...next episode.  .

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Tags: Workandtravelonfourcontinents, heinz rainer, africa, asia, europe, america, china, tibet, thailand, laos, vietnam, malaysia, ghana, burkina faso, mali, guinea, ivory coast, danger zone, rain forest, jungles of africa

Objectives

This project is more than 5 years of age, it first came as a spontaneous idea, hoping someone could benefit from all my experiences I attempt to blog down here. It may not be everyone's idea to venture out on dangerous journeys, never knowing when you run into trouble, or difficulties.

Thinking back I feel that these moments I experienced in the most tense situations are a reminder how fast things can change; one day you are living in the comfort of your home, yet the next day could leave you with a shocking view.

Not for no reason are most people content with the security they enjoy in their natural surroundings, their habitat, their familiar spectrum. I always feel that one must see this world to appreciate what we take for granted in our daily lives.

In the many nights spent in anxiety, without personal security, with no guarantees, anything could have happen to me. It is by good fortune that I am able to write this stories down, to enable me and my family to understand that life should not be taken for granted. We should always be grateful for what we are receiving on a daily base, life.

In places I visited, this could be a wishful thinking, and many may not wake up the next morning to see the new day.

I was sitting in Charles De Gaulle Airport after a trip to the most dangerous parts, gazing at the people around me, who indifferently went about their usual business, showing their supremacy, everyone acting, and I was wondering about our world, a day before I had been in the rainforest, without power, and here I was sitting, in this artificial world. It was as if my life had changed for ever, never taking things for granted anymore.

My travel will take you into secluded spots, and I will attempt to describe the real conditions that I come across, and the situations I am in. For as long as I am able too, I will travel, this my foremost passion, to see, to feel, the unknown, the unexplored.

This is my world

Heinz Rainer

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Kek Si Lok temple at night :

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Tags: Ivory Coast, rainforest, Guinea, Ghana, Yamoussoukro

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• Articlebase Heinz Rainer

Encounter at dusk, Odienne forest, border Guinea



The Renault truck was loaded to the top with no room left to spare. 30 tons of merchandise consisting of packaging materials and other goods had crossed from Gonokrom, Ghana towards Ivory Coast, Agnibilekrou. On the first night they slept at the border to complete formalities to obtain transit documents, a cumbersome affair.

They had made friends with the border customs officials in order to facilitate the process faster. The wife of the head of the customs border point invited them to dinner, consisting of Fufu (mortar pounded Manioc, plantains and yams), and the delicious peanut butter stew.

The days that followed were in stark contrast to this, the truck transiting Ivory Coast from the north to the south, just 150 km before Abidjan, and then turning right towards Yamoussoukro. It took 3 days before Yamoussoukro was reached, and heavy rain poured down on them in the center of the metropolis built by the former president. Houphet Boigny

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Tags: Africa, Guinea, Ivory Coast, Border

• Heinz Rainer - Articlesbase
• A meeting in no man's land

Gpakbleu, Border with Guinea, The meeting in nowhere's land.

Following morning I am up, as usual before dawn. The captain and his Army command awaits me and assists me inspecting my car. It looks like it has been swallowed by a mud hole, there isn't a single spot that has not got the distinctive, red color of the jungle late rite soil on it. The soldiers must have seen my worried look, and they quickly proceed to fetch some water in the nearby jungle creek.

My biggest concern is the engine, it is covered by mud, the whole of it. I wonder how we made it through last night's carnage.

While the soldiers are giving the car a rinse, we receive a visitor. When I arrived the night before, I hadn't the slightest idea where I was, or how far the border with Guinea would be. Now, I can see through the morning mist, we are just 300 meters from the physical border post that separates the two countries, Ivory Coast and Guinea. I meet the new arrival and I am told he is a Guinean border guard. Nor do I notice the reason for his arrival, thinking it is a social visit.

Finally I thank the Captain of the Ivorian Army for the hospitality shown and press to leave, a long way lays ahead of us. We start our vehicle, and commence our journey once more.

The border is separated by a barrier, and when we arrive a grumpy Gendarme appears, a hostile appearance, we begin to guess what lay ahead of us.In stark contrast to the Ivorians, who showed politeness, hospitality, the Guinea ns show the exact opposite. Realizing that we are in Sekou Toure's country of terror, although now his former security chief runs the affairs, we enter the mouth of the dragon. Never before have I met such a open displayed hostile rejection of human dignity.

We are to produce our papers, passport, licence, permits, the whole lot. The first official is a blue uniformed Policeman and we are being questioned our motives for coming here, everything they want to know. Only when we bring out our last trump card, our connection with the President's office, suddenly their grim asses turn into forced smiles. They are expecting to make a kill from the foreigner. To suck his blood, to drain his resources. Bribes, extortion are the key words here, in spite of regularity in our papers. I have flown to Guinea several times before to the capital Conakry, but now I am on the jungle border, far away from civilization.

It takes one hour before I finally make it out of the Police office, totally exhausted. Tired of the interrogation, tired of the country and people, tired with myself for bringing me into this hellhole in the first place. But, it has not finished yet, as when things start to go wrong, they can all go wrong, and this is my day. Thinking I have completed the formalities, an Entry stamp in my passport, only to be told to visit the other side of the road, and pointed to a run down shack on the hill adjacent to the station. This, as it turns out is the main office of the Gendarmerie Commander of the border Guard.

I wait for half an hour in the office, a meager chair and table in the room, no additional furniture. I wonder, how many before me have been subjected to this degrading, taunting procedure.

The Monsieur Gendarme takes his time before he appears, and I will never forget his grimace as long as I live, so help me god. When he enters the room, the assistant hands over the passport to him and disappears.

Not one word spoken, the colossal stature finally sits down, grabbing the passports and opens them to look at the visa. Still he has not spoken a word. His face is the most horrible, gruesome, Killer looking mask I have ever encountered.

A savage pantomime with a huge, broad nose, and a skull with retracting forehead that I can not but let my mind wander to Charles Darwin's theories, even under the circumstances I am in. For here, in the middle of the rainforest, the law is in his hand, and he knows it and lets us feel his supremacy, with every second, minute that passes.

Finally, after taking 10 minutes to study my visa, and noticing my previous Visas for Guinea, he utters his first words.in French.

It does not sound good, as I expected. He simply put it to me, that I have to return back, through the mud and the hellish road, twelve hours for 40 km's through the forest, and nearly 3000 km to get back home. I shudder at the thought.

The air is tense, my patience is wearing off, but I know this is what he is waiting for. He will take it all from me, my pride, my dignity, my money, the whole lot. Only to wait for a mistake, and he is the King of the jungle.

I force myself to be calm instead, to squeeze out a smile, propose how to get around this obstacle. He is insisting that my Visa is invalid. And who will proof him wrong, here. I take a deep breath, sigh and start to draw all my diplomacy skills I have learned in 20 years plus living in these parts of the world. Explaining the difficulties of getting here, the previous night, the breakdowns.

All have zero effect. He does not move one fraction from his opposition to me continuing my journey. Throughout this tense moments I know, all he is negotiating for, is a bribe, money. But, it was not time yet, the ice had to be broken, you either make it or you break it, depending on your survival skills.

When it comes to my companions, who are natives, they are trying as hard to speak in his dialect, to convince him, to soften him. They don't want me to say much, because he is a racist, and he hates white people, it has become apparent.

We have entered the third hour, and his stance is stubbornly negative, he wants to show this white victim, that he is superior. My companions have not proceeded to flash the last card, the trump up our sleeves. We were warned by the Presidential offices, the seat of the government about such incidents.

They know their kind, they know where they come from. Gendarmes posted in these remote parts normally have a history, a dark secret.

The notorious Torture Camp Boiro in Conakry Camp Boiro was filled with beasts of officers who killed, tortured thousands of people during Sekou Toure reign of terror. Trained by the East Germans, KGB, and Chinese secret services, these individuals had no emotions.

With the dead of Sekou Toure's, the camp was dissolved, and the officers, were transferred, the farther the better. Now, I was facing such a character opposite me. No normal Policeman acts in such a way, with open hostility, all his frustrations and hatred pointed at me because he dos not like me.

In the middle of all this he gets up, speaks no word and disappears, leaving us alone in the office, with no result in sight. It is then I am cautioned not to speak any bad word, and keep my calm. We decide to change our tactics now, as things could get out of hands. A concise ability to evaluate situations is one of my major advantages, and I am now ready to go for it.

By the time he appears again, after thirty minutes, the questions are changing, now directed at my companions, and this will change the outcome finally. My companion's family are well to do citizens in Conakry, with far reaching influence in all social and governmental circles.

A Doctor of Medicine, Madame Bangoura is the head of the governmental AIDS campaign and heads the Medical research, with all its responsibilities. Her offspring sitting near me, never mentioning this fact till the right moment comes.

And this is the ice breaker, the threshold has been reached, his voice has thawed up, he speaks softer now. Because he understands that will not succeed with his original plan. Now, a change of tactics is necessary, and it comes in form of a proposal of how much I am willing to pay for a new Visa.

The 'Visa' costs .25000 C.F.A. Francs , a mere 10 U.S. Dollars. It is not the Visa, it is a bribe. And when we agree to pay we see a transformation that leaves in me an impression never to go away.

His sour face turns to an ape like grin, with his large mouth showing his huge fangs. He begins to talk, as if nothing has happened, nothing ever was wrong, no time has been wasted. He even offers me to visit him in his Bungalow up the hill, from where he forced himself down to see his victims.

I am disgusted, but I manage a smile. And I promise to visit him next time I pass by here. Needless to say that next time will never come.

We leave, tired, confused, and now it is the Customs department that expects us. We finish quickly, pass through we claim we have no money on us, not mentioning my ten thousand Dollars in my back pillow.

So, finally after three and half hours, we are on our way. Getting close to lunch time, I don't feel the urge to eat. I will find some Bananas on the way, a safe way of keeping your bowels intact in such locations. Finally, when we leave we are stopped by some unidentifiable official with the same beige customs outfit, and I am told by my companions to carry on, not to stop. Another attempt to extort money from me.

The road ahead is still long, and leads me to a further unknown destiny, the town of Nzerekore. But before that, we face more difficulties, for there is no safe passage in Guinea.

Next : On the road to Nzerekore,

Excerpts from a journey to the unknown, by Heinz Rainer .

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