Hi,

I'm Saskia, 31, German living in the Netherlands and I am currently on my way from The Hague to Cape Town. As I am typing this, I'm in Limbe, Cameroon. I didn't keep a detailed written blog up to Accra, Ghana, which is why I only post a short summary about the part between The Netherlands and Ghana below.
From Accra onwards, the information gets more detailed, including information about the Nigeria-Cameroon crossing by speedboat.

I hope reading is enjoyable and useful. Let me know if you have suggestions. I am planning to add to this as I go.

Best,
Saskia




The Hague (Netherlands) -> Sukuta (Gambia) [short summary]
In June 2023 I left the Netherlands to ride into Africa with my BMW G650GS. The first leg of my trip led me to The Gambia, via Morocco, Western Sahara, Mauritania, and Senegal. It was an amazing experience.
Originally, I only aimed to ride to Morocco, but had soon developed the ambition to go all the way to Dakar. What an adventure that will be, I thought. My plan was riding to Senegal and back. However, I enjoyed the trip so much, that I decided to go further onwards to Ghana, from where I planned to ship my bike back to Europe.
Fast forward, also this plan was scratched eventually, as I decided I wanted to go all the way to South Africa instead.


Sukuta (Gambia) -> Accra (Ghana) [short summary]
The second leg of my Africa trip was an incredible and memorable experience. Cruising by motorbike through The Gambia, Senegal, Guinea, Sierra Leone, Côte d'Ivoire, and finally Ghana was a blast and privilege.
Border crossings were definitely an experience. Between Senegal and Guinea, we (I rode this section of the trip together with Jack from the UK who was doing the same route as me) had to work through 8 or 9 stops along 60 kilometres until we fully completed the crossing to Guinea: Registration of personal details, health checks, immigration, police checks, customs, and random stops, of which I couldn’t figure out the purpose. The procedure was mostly easy, just very slow. To cross these land borders, one has to let go of any tendency for efficiency or speed. When we sat at the immigration desk in a dark small shed (which is clearly also used as living space) and the officer started a new page in his notebook, we had to patiently watch him pull out his ruler, and slooowly draw columns to set up the new notebook page for minutes, before actually starting to record our details. Better not be in a rush…
Not at every border crossing we were greeted by old men in uniform: At the Sierra Leone post, the immigration officer was a lively, charming, extraverted lady with stylish clothes, golden jewellery and indoor sunglasses. Entering Ghana was a fun experience as well: Never have I heard so much laughter and joking around at an office place. And one particularly enthusiastic Ghanian immigration officer made very sure that we knew how incredibly welcome we are in Africa and in Ghana by repeatedly and enthusiastically yelling it at us while we were waiting for officers kindly filling out our entry forms for us.
The most rural border crossing was in the North of Sierra Leone, where we were initially greeted by a group of goats, and the immigration officer had to be called upon and showed up in jogging pants.
Roads weren’t always as bad and underdeveloped as the video and pictures might suggest. Most countries have paved main connection roads, although sometimes with serious potholes and gravel/sand sections. But if large semi-trucks can make it through those, so can I on my motorbike!
Most of the real off-road on this trip was (more or less) voluntary. In fact, if one would want to cross West Africa by paved road only, the only significant non-avoidable off-road stretch would be the infamous mountain pass between Koundara and Labe in Guinea. This is a 25 kilometre long piste, which I felt very proud of accomplishing with my big adventure bike – until I saw locals with 3 passengers on a bike half my size, as well as 30-year old cars with 2-wheel drive and a ton of luggage on the roof next to me blasting through the sand. Humbling. We took the Northern rural border crossing from Sierra Leone back to Guinea, which involved around 100 kilometers of off-roading. For me as an off-road beginner this was a challenging day, but happy to have made it!
After Guinea and Sierra Leone, crossing into Côte d'Ivoire felt like floating on a cloud: Perfect tarmac roads with stripes and road signs, traffic lights were back, and driving was mostly a relaxed affair. That bubble of comfortable, stress-free riding burst immediately once we crossed into Ghana: Potholes were back and traffic participants were driving like madmen. Of all the countries I have been to by motorcycle (that’s 40 by now), along with Georgia, I would rate Ghana as the worst country to ride in as a motorcyclist from a traffic perspective.
If we ignore the crazy traffic for a second, I have felt perfectly safe at all times. We happened to travel this section with the two of us, but I would have no concern to ride through any of these countries on my own. The people I interacted with are some of the kindest, friendliest and most welcoming I have encountered on all of my trips.
I am more than glad that I got to experience this area of the African continent by road, which is an experience I will never forget.

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Accra (Ghana) -> Cotonou (Benin)

In the course of 2023, I rode from The Netherlands to Ghana, where I parked my bike for one and a half months. As of February 6th 2024, the next part of my Trans Africa trip has finally started. I flew into Accra and reunited with my bike at Yao and Adg’s place The Treehouse B&B, where it has been well looked after in my absence. Originally, I just wanted to spend one day at The Treehouse before moving on towards Togo, but the comfort of the place kept me there for five days instead. To my delight, my bike started immediately and without problems. We cleaned it from the dust it had caught, but after one ride down the dirt track to get gas and some groceries it already looked like I had just come back from a weeklong offroad adventure. During my days at The Treehouse, I also changed my motor oil (I brought new oil with me in the plane), so that my bike was good to go.

On the 6th day after returning to Accra, I finally managed to say goodbye to Yao and his family, and rode to the lagoon town of Keta in the East of Ghana. Coming from the cool hills North of Accra (and previously from the cold Netherlands), the 39 degree Celsius combined with 80% humidity hit me hard that day. Additionally, the place I was staying at is located at the end of a sandy track, that I struggled to get through with my heavily loaded bike. I was worried that I damaged my clutch in this process. So I arrived sweaty and admittedly in a pretty bad mood. But the warm welcome by Antonella and Yao from A&Y Wild Camp turned my mood around quickly. Yao immediately cooked me a nice pasta with locally caught shrimps, and once I was fed, I was all happy again, and started to appreciate this little paradise Antonella and Yao have built next to the beach.

The road to the border on day #7 lead along the water of the lagoon, palm trees and traditional fishing canoes on the shore. The beauty faded quickly, once I arrived at the border to Togo. I chose to use the main border crossing between the two countries, and it was of course crowded with people. The sweltering heat didn’t make it any easier: Just filling out forms without making them unreadable because of sweat dripping from my arms and face was a challenge in itself. Once I was through immigration, I realized that I should have stamped my Carnet de Passage before the border. So they kindly let me back to the Ghana side, so that I could get my paperwork in order. Get a stamp and signature in my Carnet, receive an official looking piece of paper, ride to another building to present my bike and get my official piece of paper stamped. And I was done with customs, and could return to the border – this time crossing successfully.

Once on the Togo side, the usual dance began: First up, money exchange. I parked in front of a row of currency exchange booths and as usual everyone started to run over, yell at me to get my attention, and do anything to try to get me come to their booth. I walked up to the only booth that was maned by a relaxed guy who only sat there and didn’t yell at me, much to the disappointment of all the other guys. He gave me a bad rate (21 cedis / 1.000 CFA, what should have been 19-20 cedis) but because I was warm and exhausted from the border crossing my brain mistakenly told me that he was offering me a better rate than I expected (which wasn’t the case, as I was giving away cedis, and receiving CFA), so I accepted immediately. Absolute rooky mistake.

Next to a close by gas station, I found a small street side shop where I bought a local SIM card with 5GB for the equivalent of 10 Euros. I do not know if this is a good or bad price, but probably bad. It took the seller some minutes to activate the card, but then my internet was ready to go.
Next up, getting my hands on more cash. Finding a working ATM that actually spits out money bills can be a challenge in some places. So I went to a bank recommended by iOverlander, an app that I religiously use for finding the right places in foreign countries, and was able to withdraw sizable amounts without fees (sometimes, even if you can withdraw, only small amounts are allowed).
After getting all the logistics of this done, I was ready to start my main quest of the day: My front fork leaked oil and I needed this fixed. It was no coincidence that I was looking for the suitable workshop in Lome, as it seems to be the best place in West Africa to repair big bikes. Even the local riders of big bikes, for example in Ghana, cross the border to Togo to get their maintenance and repairs done. So I had already picked the workshop and expected to get the job done there. Little did I know that this was only the beginning of another mini-adventure.

To fix my front forks, I had previously contacted the mechanic in Lome who has a good reputation, but it turned out that he works on trucks now and does not fix motorcycles anymore. He had already referred me to another person, someone named Tom who works at the KTM dealership in Lome. Tom was already expecting me when I pulled up to the fabulous looking KTM workshop. The workshop was large, spotlessly clean and seemed to have all tools imaginable, neatly sorted on the wall. I showed him the parts I brought for the repair (seals and front fork oil). However, my enthusiasm dropped when Tom told me that he cannot fix my front forks for me, as my bike is a BMW and he is specialized in KTMs. Instead, Tom told me that he would call another mechanic for help, and asked me to wait. Half an hour later, a guy named Zander showed up on a big BMW GS. I only now understood that my bike would not be fixed in the KTM garage at all. Instead, I was directed to follow Zander, who would take me to another workshop. So I did.
It was a nerve wrecking half hour ride through the city, as Zander made full use of the power of his bike to dash through traffic. It is a mystery to me how he didn’t crash yet. Compared to other West African capitals, I found the traffic in Lome very relaxed, but it was nowhere near relaxed enough to justify taking any extra risk by speeding behind Zander. I had no chance of keeping up with him, but luckily he did always find me again. We arrived at a small workshop, which looked more like a shed, and Zander pushed my motorcycle to the inside. I attempted to ask how long it would take and how much it would cost, but even Google Translate couldn’t get across what I’m trying to ask. Nothing could bridge the language barrier. So I just handed over my parts, sat down next to my motorbike and let it be. This is the African way. You cannot force anything, but it will usually turn out okay!

Fifteen minutes later, someone else showed up, who introduced himself as Denis. It quickly turned out that Denis is the actual mechanic who can and will fix my bike. What followed, was a demonstration of pure professionalism. Denis took out my front forks and started his work on them. No move of his had any hesitation, no move had an inefficiency, and he clearly knows what he is doing. So I started to relax a bit more. Although the workshop was small and dirty, he did a fabulous job of making sure that no delicate part (of the inside of the forks) got any dirt on them. Every part and tool that touched the forks was thoroughly cleaned as well. After a bit more than one hour of work, the job was done, and I was happy with the spotlessly clean front forks on my otherwise very dirty motorbike. When I had entered Togo in the morning, I had no expectation of getting this issue fixed in a matter of a day, so this was an absolute win!

To finish the day, happy with my good front forks, I rode out of Lome towards the East, and looked for a hotel to spend the night. First hotel I picked was only accessible by deep sand tracks, and I was in no mood for that. Second place that I found online, simply didn’t exist. Third place not only existed, but was also accessible by a not too sandy track, so this became my choice.
On day 8, after only one night in Togo, I crossed the border towards Benin. The Togo-Benin border is definitely one of the easy border crossings in West Africa, as all procedures were completed in one building, requiring only short walks from window to window and no moving of the bike from place to place. I think I took less than half an hour to cross, which is lightning fast in the context of other crossings I have done.

In Cotonou, Benin, my first stop was at the Congo embassy, as my Congo tourist visa was the last visa missing from my collection that I needed in my passport to be able to complete the trans Africa crossing. I had picked Cotonou as the place to get my Congo visa, as I repeatedly heard that this is the easiest place to get it (as opposed to the embassies in other West African capitals). And so it was. I was welcomed by an extraordinarily friendly guy, who saw me walking in in my motorcycle gear and immediately proceeded to explain the visa application process. He is clearly used to overlanders like me. I filled in a form, handed in my hotel booking confirmation, passport picture, copy of my passport, and the passport itself, and was told that with the “super express” option I picked I could pick up the passport with the visa later on the same day.
I went to my hotel, Chez Rita B&B, which turned out to be a fantastic place. Extremely friendly hosts, motorcycle parked inside, WiFi, airconditioning, great restaurant… I couldn’t have asked for more. In some countries I have been, there was a structural lack of electricity, running water, and mosquito nets, leading to sleepless nights with mosquitos after having a bucket shower. That is different in this part of West Africa, which I appreciate a lot.

Now that I’m mostly set from a logistical standpoint, I’m looking forward to what comes next.

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Cotonou (Benin) -> Oron (Nigeria)

To get from Benin to Cameroon, I had to cross Nigeria, a much more rough place than I would usually choose to travel in. The crossing started unspectacular, but eventually turned into one of my biggest adventures to date, crossing from Nigeria to Cameroon on an overloaded small speedboat through the ocean.

But this part of my blog starts at the beginning: When I set off in Cotonou, Benin, before heading to Nigeria, I first had to fix minor issues with my bike. The oil filter cap leaked, so I took it off, cleaned the seal, went to a shop to buy new oil to fill up the amount I lost in the leak. My power cable for the GPS stopped working. I had a spare cable hidden deep in my luggage, but for a while I went back to navigating by reading street signs – which was surprisingly easy and enjoyable. Then I was off towards Nigeria. After two hours of border formalities I was finally able to enter. The environment was immediately more chaotic and less predictable compared to Benin. Unlike all other countries I have been to so far, in some parts of Nigeria I found it difficult to make a judgement about my environment and what is safe and what isn’t. For that reason, Nigeria was merely a transit country for me: Get in, drive through, get out. That was the plan.
When I stopped for fuel for the first time, a small crowd of curious young people quickly gathered around me. They were very friendly, gave me a warm welcome to Nigeria, and a lot of pictures were taken.

Then, I had the brilliant idea to cross 150 kilometers of Lagos, Nigeria’s mega-city, and Lekki in the afternoon rush hour. My side bags make my motorcycle too wide to squeeze in between cars like the local bikes, which meant I spent hours being stuck in traffic in sweltering temperatures. The heat reminded me of my summer Sahara crossing in Mauritania. Vendors strolled through the traffic and seem to sell all kinds of things except water! Dehydrated, I finally made it to my hotel in the East of Lekki.

Crossing Nigeria West to East, from Lagos/Lekki to Oron, was uneventful. I rode the 700 kilometre distance in two days, only sticking to major connecting roads and only stopping for fuel and hotels. The security situation in Nigeria is complex, so I didn't want to do any experiments strolling off the beaten track. Only on the first day I had to deviate, as the main road was under construction and I ended up on an involuntary, but nice, sight-seeing tour through a few rural Nigerian villages.
The road blocks were plentiful, but I quickly realized that they mostly stop cars, and ignore motorbikes. If they paid attention to me at all, then it was only to wave enthusiastically, shout ‘Welcome’ with a big smile, or give me thumbs up. Throughout my Nigeria crossing, I was only asked for ‘something’ two or three times and they were never insisting after I said No.

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Oron (Nigeria) -> Limbe (Cameroon) / sea crossing by speedboat

To avoid the dangerous South-West of Cameroon, I had to find an alternative route to cross from Nigeria into Cameroon. One option was the only remaining open and reasonably safe land border crossing at Banyo. However, this would have required serious off-roading, which was too risky, as I am travelling alone and I don’t have good offroad skills – certainly not on my heavily loaded bike. The alternative is to cross via sea, either with a big ferry from Calabar (Nigeria) to Tiko (Cameroon), or with a smaller speedboat from Oron (Nigeria) to Idenau (Cameroon). Given the significant time and hassle that seems to be associated with the big ferry, I chose the speedboat: hop on, and be in Cameroon 3 hours later. An advantage of this method is that there is a person named John in Oron who specializes in bringing foreign tourists (and their motorbikes) across. The price is high (300 EUR in total), so I tried my luck with using an alternative contact I found on iOverlander to organize the crossing. But I didn’t succeed finding anyone who is even close to as reliable as John. Since Nigeria is not the place for experiments, I stuck with the established, but expensive way, using John’s services.
If I would have to do it a second time, with the knowledge I have now, I would attempt to do it without a fixer (or a cheaper one), but for a first time crossing that wasn’t an option for me. For those who seek information about the logistics and prices and potential steps to do it without John, I will what I learned at the bottom of this post.

I believe that close to all tourists crossing by speedboat use John’s services at the moment. John and his assistant Charles separately came by my hotel the night before the crossing to explain the procedure for the next day. When Charles claimed he would pick me up at 7am in the morning at the hotel, I said “You know I’m German, right? That means if you say 7am, I will be on my motorcycle packed up at the gate at 6:59”. He laughed. I laughed. We both knew he wasn’t going to show up at 7. Sure enough, at 7:47am the next day, John, not Charles, ended up picking me up.

We rode to a customs office to get my motorcycle paperwork in order, then we rode to the port, where I got my passport exit stamp and boat ticket. In the meantime, John exchanged some currency for me. They loaded the bike, and subsequently proceeded to put lots of other goods into the small boat, so that my motorcycle ended up buried under stuff. It was a hilarious sight. During all this time, a nice young lady named Jennifer (part of John’s team) waited together with me. John and Charles were there too. The boat was scheduled to depart at 10am, so we left punctually at 11:30.

The ride was interesting, but uncomfortable, as three other passengers and me were crammed tightly between all the goods. I couldn’t move well enough to get myself a cover for my head or arms, so I ended up bruting in the sun for hours. I don’t know what the exact symptoms of a heat stroke are, but I’m pretty sure I got one (I just only realized late at night when I was lying in bed finally). Along the way, there were many water checkpoints. Since the Gulf of Guinea is said to be full of pirates and smugglers, the route the passenger and trade boats take is heavily secured by armed military boats. At every checkpoint, a bribe was paid by my boat’s driver for passage.

A few hours later we arrived at the port in Idenau, Cameroon. It is a much, much bigger place compared to the port in Oron. Chaos prevailed. Suddenly we were in a crowd of dozens of other boats, all looking to get to the shore for unloading. The place felt like the set of a Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Wooden decks, wooden old boats, very rough looking people everywhere. Unfortunately, the place and situation were not the kind where you would take out your phone and snap pictures, so I have no documentation of this. I can only say that it was one of the most unique places I have ever been to.

When people spotted me as the obvious foreigner, they immediately came to me and told me to come with them (walking across the boats) to immigration, so that they can order our boat to get to the shore with priority. But there was no way I was leaving the boat that had my motorcycle and all my stuff on it behind, so I refused. There was a lot of yelling. Another passenger that came with me in my boat argued on my behalf, and she told me to not leave the boat without the bike. There was a lot of shouting and arguing between a lot of people. It wasn’t just me, people from the port repeatedly attempted to remove other goods from the boat already (I assume they are paid for unloading) and my boat driver had to physically pull it back from their hands. Again, a lot of shouting. One package fell in the water in the process and had to be fished out.
Eventually, we were allowed to dock at the shore. An immigration officer attempted to take my passport and have me walk to immigration with him, but I wanted to wait until the bike and all my stuff was unloaded and safely on the shore. He hesitantly let me be for the moment. The unloading itself was impressive. These port guys lifted my 200 kilogram bike off the boat into the shallow water by hand as if it was nothing. After I put my luggage back on the bike, I took it to the immigration office with me. What followed was three hours of formalities, which involved a lot of waiting, as the immigration officers had to call their way through the entire hierarchy to obtain the Okay to give me my passport entry stamp. Finally, at 5:30pm I was allowed to leave the port. I rode one hour to the next major town, on a beautiful road with mountains and green nature, and arrived at my hotel just before dark, completely exhausted. Now I’m in for a rest day or two. The ‘bottleneck’ part of my trip (Nigeria & Nigeria-Cameroon border crossing) are done now and I can hopefully shift to a more relaxed gear.



Additional details/information boat crossing:
I did the crossing using John’s services. The steps for the boat crossing are as follows:

Step 1: Get your vehicle papers in order. John seems to have an arrangement with the local customs officers in Oron, so it is possible to do it there with him (location on iOverlander). However, I’m not sure if it is possible to show up by yourself and get it done. If not, one has to go to Calabar to get the relevant stamp (in Carnet or TIP). This can be done by road or with a boat ride. If you are on a TIP, don’t think about leaving the country without the stamp (which you could theoretically do at a land border crossing), as they check the paperwork of the bike thoroughly when leaving the port (registration & TIP/Carnet).

Step 2: Go to the port (also marked on iOverlander), here you can get your ticket. You might have to pre-arrange a slot the day before already. I’m not completely sure how it works. This is the part where a fixer might be really useful. From the information I gathered from another fixer I contacted, renting an entire boat theoretically might costs up to 350k naira (he started claiming it is 470k naira, and went down after I was suspicious, so I’m not sure if 350k naira is the actual price). My motorbike and I could have been maximally 20% of the boat’s load, so let’s say the boat ride itself costs up to 70k naira (~~50 EUR, heavily depending on exchange rate) for one person and a motorcycle. I’m not sure how accurate this is, but this is my rough estimation if I would have to guess.

Step 3: Get your passport stamped out. This can easily be done directly at the port in Oron. At the port in Oron, they will also check your vehicle documents (Carnet/TIP, and sometimes registration).
Step 4: Enter the boat and ride. Bribes are expected. I don’t know how much, but money was handed over at every checkpoint. I didn’t have to pay anything, but I assume this is only because John had already paid my share of the bribes to the boat driver.

Step 5: When you arrive in Idenau, expect a large and chaotic port with many people. While it seemed daunting when I first arrived, after some hours at the port it felt fine. People were generally friendly and not too pushy or harassing me. At the port, people told me to leave the boat and go to immigration even though the boat was still floating somewhere in the middle of the harbour, so I insisted to stay with the boat and my stuff, and only go to immigration once the bike and my stuff is unloaded. Realistically, I think it would have also been fine to leave the boat without problems, but I wanted to be sure my stuff is on shore and in order before I left towards the customs building (out of sight of the landing spot). Unloading the bike costs 10K XOF. I’m not sure if this amount is fixed via John, but it seemed to be a fixed price.

Step 6: Get immigration and customs done. Immigration will likely take you to their head office at the port and phone people to ask if it is okay to give an entry stamp. This took a couple of hours in my case, and it sounded like they do this for all unusual arrivals (like European tourists). Carnet stamp was easy. People were helpful in pointing to the right office. John had told me that I also have to go to the port authority to pay 10K XOF to be allowed to leave the port with the bike. However, when I went to the port authority they told me that I’m free to leave without paying, since I am a tourist (this was a first: I go somewhere and ask if I can pay, and they said No). I left the port late, so no roadside checkpoints checked my paperwork when leaving. Not sure how it is during the day.

From the information I got about real prices, John is of course making a huge profit (I believe >200 EUR out of the 300 he charges) for bringing a bike and person across. This is not nice for the travellers but he has the monopoly on tourist crossings and us tourists seem to be willing to pay. However, he does provide a smooth process, and the day of crossing is already stressful enough as it is, so what he does definitely provides value. If you are willing to pay the (way too) high price, I would definitely recommend using John to do this crossing. It is as hassle-free as it can be this way. For the future, if major land borders remain closed, I hope that more locals in Oron pick up on this opportunity and create some serious competition.

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Excellent info Habii, thanks for sharing! I look forward to seeing more about your travels.

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Seek, and ye shall find.
------------------------
Inspiring, Informing and Connecting travellers since 1997!
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Loved reading your posts. As someone of German origins I had to chuckle about your comments in regards to punctuality

Limbe (Cameroon) -> Djoum (Cameroon)

After spending some time at the wonderful peaceful Manjuwele Lodge in Limbe, I was ready to continue my journey. I wanted to go South to Kribi and then East towards the Congo border, but this tour involved 150 kilometres of off-road. In my last night in Limbe, a heavy thunderstorm that brought down tremendous amounts of rain made me doubt whether it is wise go for the non-tarmac section.
So when I set off from Limbe in the morning, my plan was to go to the capital Yaounde, as all roads on that route were paved. However, once I made it through Douala, another major city in Cameroon, I absolutely had enough of the city traffic and spontaneously decided to go to Kribi after all. I was done with cities, I wanted back to nature.
The ride to Kribi was tarmac, relatively traffic-less and overall very nice, and Kribi itself was a lovely little town by the sea. When I went landinwards the day after, I quickly realized that the 150 kilometre off-road track I had picked was most wonderful: 99% of it was well maintained dirt-track, and only a handful of short sections were a bit rocky or slippery, where I had to concentrate a bit more. A bit of rain came down, which resulted in a single small water crossing. But nothing difficult. I’m very happy with my decision to take this route, as riding 150 kilometres through the jungle of Cameroon turned out to be one of the (admittedly many) highlights of my trip. The ride was scenic and the bike rolled smoothly at 30-40 kilometres per hour. I saw beautiful nature, tiny villages, and friendly waving locals. When I stopped for a break, I could hear nothing but the peaceful forest sounds.
At the end of the track, I was brought back to the real world by a strange police checkpoint. The policeman looked young and sharp-minded, which is why what followed surprised me.

After checking my documents, he asked me questions about my ‘mission’, the value of my bike, whether my bike registration is ‘international’, my work in my home country (in detail the company name, its purpose, etc.), and much more. He was very suspicious of me from the start. He then had me unpack ALL of my luggage completely, and checked every last corner of every bag I had, all under the curious eyes of some bystanders and a small hoard of schoolchildren that had gathered around me. I was warm, and although I am usually good at being patient, I had to actively tell myself to stay relaxed and just let it happen. The policeman spoke good English too, so there was no way of dodging his requests. I then had to explain to him my exact itinerary in Cameroon and what I am exactly doing as a tourist. He kept asking me whether I went to the ‘authorities in Kribi’. I initially didn’t understand what he wanted. He proceeded to tell me that it is not allowed that I travel alone. According to him, tourists have to be in couples. “Two are okay, one is not okay.” I was confused, but quickly it turned out that being alone is only not okay if you are a woman. He was serious about this. He then told me to seek out the ‘German governor’ in the next town, and have him provide a male companion for me. I’m certain I didn’t misinterpret his words, as his English was good. This is clearly what he ordered me to do. After some confused discussion, I just decided to agree with a smile. Yes Sir, I will of course immediately contact the representatives from my home country in the next rural Cameroonian village to provide me with a man to accompany me on my travels... After I agreed, he finally let me go.
I rode another 230 kilometres that day on perfect new tarmac roads to the small town of Djoum. I was tired when I arrived, so I forgot that you are supposed to negotiate room prices around here. So I ended up staying in an little room in the first hotel I found for a price of 10,000 XOF (~15 EUR) which should probably have been just around half of that. Ah well, I was happy with the day.

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Djoum (Cameroon) -> Dolisie (Congo)

Crossing the border from Cameroon to Congo was officially my easiest and most efficient African border to date. I got my passport, police registration, and Carnet de Passage stamp in five minutes, with similar speeds at the Congo-side of the border. What a pleasant surprise! The ride through Congo was equally pleasant: Perfect tarmac roads with thick jungle on both sides. Being on a motorbike, I was unfortunately missing the sounds and the peacefulness of the forest, but just seeing and smelling it already was a win.
A hundred kilometres before my planned stop at Ouesso, dark clouds emerged and before long it started pouring rain. I didn’t put on my rain gear as it was warm enough and I was glad that my motorcycle clothes got a much needed wash (I swear, when they were dry the next morning they smelled a bit less bad!). Also, I was happy that my motorcycle got cleaned from the red dust from the previous day’s off-road session.

Over the next couple of days I rode towards the South of Congo. On a particular section that is famous for elephant activity, I strained my neck looking left and right for an hour to try to spot elephants. Unfortunately, I only spotted the dung they left on the road, but I guess that is better than nothing. I did see some chimpanzees cross the road though!
On Congo’s major connection roads, it can always happen that the few existing gas stations are out of fuel, so I strapped a bag with extra petrol on top of my bike. In the end, 300 kilometres was the longest stretch without fuel on the day I crossed, so I would not even have needed my fuel bladder. It was my lucky day.

As I headed South, the thick jungle quickly made way for beautiful grassy hills. The environment seemed so bright and friendly here. Maybe it was the lack of air pollution compared to West Africa that allowed the sun to actually shine on the bright green pants, but somehow riding through Congo felt like riding through fairytale land. On the morning after this experience however, the sky was grey and it drizzled, which reminded me of The Netherlands (where I lived). I packed up, but then, hoping for the rain to stop, decided to take some time to clean my chain from the red dust it still had sticking to it from my little off-road tour in Cameroon. Eventually, I left in the refreshing drizzling rain after all.

The temperature in the Southern half of Congo was pleasant for the first time. When I stopped at a hotel in the afternoon, I didn’t have the immediate urge take a cold shower and recover from the heat under a fan or AC.

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Dolisie (Congo) -> Cabinda (Angola)

Congo had the best roads I have seen in sub-Saharan Africa. I don’t remember a single pothole on the first 1,500 kilometres in the country. But when I had to cross Pointe-Noire and head towards the border to the Angolan exclave Cabinda, the roads turned really bad really quickly. I’m not sure if they were really that bad, or if I got spoiled from the last 1,500 kilometres of perfect tarmac. I did more water crossings that day than I had done my entire motorcycle life combined. On the bright side, I was getting some much needed off-road practice.

The border crossing into Angola took around two hours, but was uneventful. On the Angolan side, I was surprised by modern big buildings to get my paperwork done. Getting to wait in an air-conditioned, clean room was probably the most exciting part of the crossing.

Next, I headed to Cabinda, from where I planned to take a ferry to mainland Angola, which would allow me to skip crossing the DRC by land. The tales of organizing a ferry ticket are a subject for the next post.

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Just found this thread and loving it. Thank you for the detailed right ups. Will follow on Instagram for photos as well! Have an awesome journey!

Cabinda (Angola) -> Soyo (Angola) / ferry to mainland Angola

My quest was getting from the Angolan exclave of Cabinda to the mainland of Angola. One possibility was driving the short distance through the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) by land, but due to security issues and difficult road conditions in DRC, I wanted to avoid the direct land route. Fortunately, there is a ferry service running between Cabinda, Angola, and Soyo, Angola. For those who are doing this route and seek detailed information, I added a section on this at the bottom of this post.

When I arrived in the city of Cabinda, the ferry terminal was already closed for the day, so they told me to come back in the next morning. But when I showed up the next morning, they still didn’t know if there would be a ferry today – I should come back later. When I came back, they said they still don’t know, but they could already process some information about my motorbike. Then, they told me to go away again and wait. But the nice lady working there, Lilil (I am probably butchering the spelling), kindly promised me to let me know by Whatsapp as soon as she knows whether a ferry will go.
In the meantime I went to get insurance for my motorcycle, but their systems were down which meant they could not yet process my application - so they told me to come back an hour later. When I showed up an hour later, the systems weren’t up yet, so they told me to come back in another hour. Getting stuff done in Cabinda seems to involve a lot of waiting.

Getting cash was also interesting: All ATMs had huge lines, so I went to the black market to change some USD to Angolan kwanza at a good rate. I only had to stop with my motorcycle in the right spot on the street, and was immediately swarmed by a crowd of people who enthusiastically offered me their kwanza for my valuable USD. The rate here was way better than the Google exchange rate.
Finally, I got myself a SIM card. The shop was filled with a few dozen people who were all waiting. However, when I proceeded to stand in line with everyone else, the staff immediately waved me to the front of the line. I hesitantly walked past all these people who are patiently and quietly waiting their turn, which felt highly uncomfortable. I am often asked if it is difficult to travel through Africa as a Western tourist. It often is the opposite, especially as a woman: I get VIP treatment, and privileges that locals don’t get, wherever I go. Being fast-tracked to the front of the queue in shops, at gas stations and at borders is the norm for me.

At 15:26 in the afternoon came the message from Lilil: “Madam, please come to buy your ticket”. So I got very excited, and immediately went with all my stuff to the ferry terminal, in the hopes of catching a ferry today. After some waiting and some confusion, it became clear that I could buy my ticket today, but the boat wouldn’t leave until tomorrow.

Then I met Miguel, Mark and Pawel, three other solo overlanders on motorcycles, who also showed up at the terminal to purchase their ticket. Unlike me, they had been waiting for the past five days, and were told every day to come back tomorrow. It quickly turned out that our group had a secret weapon: Miguel is Portuguese, the language spoken in Angola, which meant we were able to communicate with the staff properly. What a special feeling. We were told to come back at 4am in the next morning, as the ferry would leave at 5am.
So we showed up at 4am – to a closed up, completely dead terminal. Our Portuguese speaking superpower Miguel woke up the security guards, who told us to go to a different port entrance. So we did, but they told us to go to yet another port entrance. Finally, we seemed to have found the correct one. This one too was all barricaded for the night, but the guards opened up the gate for us. Once we were in the port, we rode to the ferry and of course only found a closed ramp. But after some waiting, they opened up for us and we could actually load our motorcycles. We made it! And on top of this we left relatively punctually at 5:30am.

The ferry ride itself was more than pleasant: Three hours in an airconditioned passenger cabin, with water and coffee, and the possibility to go on deck at the front of the ferry to admire the sunrise. Could not have been any better. When we arrived in Soyo and left the port, we said our Goodbyes and went our separate ways again. I rode to Luanda, Angola’s capital, that day.


+++++Information about the Cabinda/Soyo ferry++++
There is a passenger ferry, but I believe the crane to lift motorcycles in is still broken. Therefore, overlanders with vehicles have to take the cargo ferry. After listening to other peoples experiences, as well as having made my own observations, my conclusion is that this ferry truly does not have any schedule. Some people get to leave one day after their arrival in Cabinda, some wait for five days. I heard of people who took a ferry late in the evening and had to spend the night in the port in Soyo as it was too late to go to a hotel, while I myself took the ferry at 5am in the morning. There is no way to estimate departure days and times until they actually happen.

Here how to buy a ticket: Go to the terminal (location on iOverlander). It is the new fancy looking one, you cannot miss it. You can park on the secured parking lot. When you enter, you see a lot of people queuing in a lot of places. Do not join any queue! The staff was kindly helping me around, but in case you are looking for the right place yourself: There are two relevant offices to go to:
1. Walking into the main entrance from the street), immediately on the right side there is a door to the office behind one of the counters. Here I found Lilil (spelling likely butchered), who speaks English well and can give all information, including her Whatsapp number where she kindly keeps you updated.
2. Walking into the main entrance from the street, immediately on the left side there is another office. Here, the actual processing, payment of ticket, etc. takes place. If in doubt, this is the place to be.
Bring: Copy of passport, copy of vehicle registration, copy of Angola TIP, and sufficient kwanza in cash. ATMs are often either empty or have big lines, so it is best to bring USD or EUR and exchange those on the black market (location on iOverlander).

Here a summary of the costs: The ferry ticket per person is 18,000 kwanza. The costs for the motorcycle vary depending on weight, I paid 89,000 kwanza for a 192kg BMG 650GS. At the port in Soyo, a fee of around 4,500 kwanza has to be paid (also depending on the vehicle weight).
Beware in Soyo: In Soyo, all gas stations had long(!) queues when I was there. However, the next fuel station is only available 160 kilometres later in N’zeto, so it is best to plan accordingly.

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Fantastic write up of your travels. Will be following along. Looking forward to the next part. Love the difference between Western expectation and African reality!

Luanda (Angola)

I stayed at the Kakuakos Lodge in Luanda for several nights. Luis and Juliet, who run the place, are the most welcoming and helpful hosts imaginable.

Next to some rest, I also got my motorcycle serviced. On Luis’ recommendation, I went to RM Servicos who did the maintenance, repaired several small problems, and deep-cleaned the bike. They took care of absolutely everything, and even fixed little things like my torn front fender plastic. As a result, I had one shiny new motorcycle, with zero pending issues. That almost felt surreal. They even had parts like the right air filter and oil filter in stock. Only the spark plugs I supplied myself. The bike left the garage sparkling clean, but unfortunately it rained the next morning which meant I put it through a mud bath immediately. Oh well, it had been clean for about 18 hours, that must count for something.

Once again, I realized how hard cash was to get by around here. It was the end of the month, which meant huge queues in front of every single ATM that had cash in it. And waiting would have been a risk, because it is a gamble which ATMs accept international cards. So I had to fall back to Plan B again and exchange some USD, this time not on the street, but in a small supermarket run by a very friendly English-speaking Eritrean guy.

I then went off into the vast lands of Angola, and my trip in Southern Africa had officially begun.

Having made it into Angola, the first country that I see as ‘Southern Africa’, I consider another leg of the trans-Africa trip done. Here some interesting West and Central African quirks that I observed in my time here:

1. In Europe there are clocks, in Africa there is time. Everything took time, and patience was key to enjoy this continent. For example, my food orders could take five minutes or an hour, I never knew.
2. Wherever I had to wait on something or someone, I was asked to sit down. It seemed unthinkable to the locals that I might prefer standing while waiting for something. But when I stood around to wait, it only seemed to have create confused reactions, so I usually just sit down now.
3. It felt overall very safe. For example, in the beginning I was nervous about leaving my motorcycle with all its stuff on it and walking away for an errand. But going through Africa made me less and less concerned about this. By now, I leave my motorcycle with luggage pretty much anywhere and walk away. No one will touch it. I’m not saying crime isn’t an issue in these countries, but I have personally had a very secure feeling in the places where I have been.
4. Machetes are normal. I remember the first time someone walked up to me with a machete, which made me feel uncomfortable because my brain just automatically associates machetes with weapons. I quickly realized, half of Africa is walking around on the street with machete in hand, especially in more rural areas. It is a tool and very common.
5. People here seem obsessed with orderly parking. No matter how and where I parked my motorcycle and how appropriate I thought my parking position was, someone would immediately walk up to me and ask me to park it at a different spot or different angle.
6. When buying things, I better had the exact amount in cash at hand, as change was rarely available, often even at shops or at hotels.
7. The use of maps seems uncommon. This is not due to technological restrictions, the concept of a map just doesn’t seem to be popular here. I could barely ask locals which roads are good or bad by pointing at a map, I had to use other means to explain what road I’m talking about. Also, my GPS seemed to be the most interesting feature of my motorcycle to the people here.
8. It is a bad place for a vegetarian like me. It is fish or chicken. As my choices were usually limited, I did end up compromising and ate a lot of fish. Once, I even had chicken because the restaurant thought that’s what I tried to order. That was the first meat I ate in eight years (and it was underwhelming).

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Luanda (Angola) -> Chibia (Angola)

I went through Angola in a zick-zack manner. East (land inwards), West (to the coast), and back East, slowly inching my way South. The landscape is stunning and I couldn’t get enough riding around the hills.
One day, I arrived at a hotel early, around noon, and out of a spontaneous feeling decided to call it a day and stay. Good thing I did, because not before long, a tropical storm came through. And I don’t mean a bit of rain, I mean water masses and wind of a scale that made me fear that motorcycle might fall over or get hit by something big. I’m lucky I wasn’t outside without shelter.
The other hotel guests were very curious about me. They obviously haven’t seen many tourists around here, certainly not solo women on motorcycles. While we waited out the storm in the restaurant, they video called their friends and family to show them the blond girl sitting in the bar with them. I’m used to being an attraction more or less, but this was next level enthusiasm. Later that day, when I was in my bungalow and peaked out the window, I saw the same (grown) men enthusiastically taking selfies with my motorcycle.
Accommodation never got boring. Another day I stayed at a ‘Creative Kids Center’ where I was referred to by an English School that also runs a small guest house. Unfortunately, I was there in the weekend, so I didn’t get to meet the kids. It was interesting though to sleep in a school.
Accommodation here is also cheap. I never paid more than 10,000 kwanza (~10 Euro) per night during my time in Angola – and these were all rooms, as I still didn’t get my new tent (which I’m really hoping to get in Windhoek…). Also fuel here is cheap at the equivalent of ~30 Euro-cents per liter.

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Chibia (Angola) -> Ondangwa (Namibia)

Today I would cross into Namibia, one of the countries I have been looking forward to the most, and hopefully one of the countries that I will spend more time in.
When I left my hotel in Chibia on the Angolan side in the morning, first I needed to fill up on petrol. After asking around for ‘gasolina’, it became clear that I had to drive half an hour back to Lubango to fill up. So I ended up setting off South from Chibia at 8am although I had left the hotel at 7am already.
The five hour drive towards the border was nice: Very little potholes, very straight roads. It was one of these rides where I could finally let my mind wander instead of having to concentrate on the road and traffic all the time. Gas stations were scarce. When I needed to fill up half-way, the only petrol station in the area told me they are out of fuel. But they were just rationing, and I knew it. So I made crystal clear that I had no range to get to the next fuel station, and after pleading for a while they let me fill up my tank. They even filled it up completely, which was my luck, as all petrol stations I encountered later closer to the border had horrendous queues.

The border crossing into Namibia was easy going, except for the huge queue at immigration.
When I rolled out of the border, some idiot driver was in my lane and forced me to move to the other side. It just took me about two more seconds to realize that I was the idiot driver, who forgot that in Namibia they drive on the left side of the road. Oops.

I went into the nearby town of Ondangwa and after getting a room for the night, I went straight to the mall to get me a SIM card. I used to travel without any internet, but I got used to constant connection by using an e-SIM throughout most African countries. Now I struggle to go back to no internet.
I also got some more cash. I had exchanged my remaining Angolan kwanza for Namibian dollars at the border, but I drew some extra cash from an ATM – which worked first try! In general, I immediately noticed that Namibia appears to be the most developed country I crossed since Morrocco. I noticed it in the streets, the buildings, the shops, everything. The little motorcycles and tuk-tuks had disappeared from the road and instead I rode among… regular cars.

On that day, I was also once again multiple times mistaken for the famous Dutch motorcycle traveller Noraly / Itchy Boots. As a blond woman on a Dutch-licensed motorcycle, I am very used to the conversation. ‘Yes, I know who you mean. No, I’m not her. No, really not’. But her currently airing episodes take place in Angola, which seems to magnify the awareness significantly. I am getting daily false fame, as people think I am Noraly. Sometimes, even if I assure them repeatedly that we are not the same person, people don’t believe me. They pull up screenshots from Itchy Boots videos and try to compare. I hope Itchy Boots knows that she leaves a trail of enthusiasm in the countries she crosses (which is really great).

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