The car from Kambia to Makeni was long and not too comfortable, but the roads were good. Most of the roads in Sierra Leone are excellent.

In Makeni we stopped at the bus station and were looking for a ride. I found out later we were headed for a town called Kamakwie. We weren’t talking to any of the car drivers. We were talking to the motorbikes. I say talking, I’d learnt quickly that the technique of my travelling companion for getting the best deal was silence.

Its loud in towns like Makeni, we had 15 people on their bikes surrounding us. It isn’t necessarily wise to take a motorbike in Sierra Leone, less so to share a bike with your guide, much less so when your companion is affectionately known widely as ‘Big Wilfred’. Big Wilfred (also known as ‘The Great Mue’) stood stock still as the salesmen pitched their wares.

Eventually he saw a bike he liked and we both hopped on. There was no doubt in my mind that our location had to be a few minutes away. Surely he would not want to share a bike with me for a long journey?

I was new here.

I was what’s called a ‘JC’ – ‘Just Come’. When I’m back in Salone I’m only ever a ‘JCB’ – ‘Just Come Back’. I had no idea what was going on. I had decided when the trip began to just roll with it. So when I took my place at the back of the bike, the rider in front with Big Wilfreds backpack between the handlebars, him keeping balance in the centre of the bike and me holding on for dear life at the back, I took deep breaths and awaited our destination.

Our destination was not forthcoming. I was in agony almost immediately. The Great Mue’s heft was quite remarkable. His size relegated me to the very back of the bike, sitting on my hands on the metal bars at the rear with my backpack – with all my belongings – simply adding to the weight.

Any hand and butt pain was totally overshadowed by the deep hip and groin stretch that I was in sitting far too close and personal behind my new friend. I am not a flexible man, and as soon as I took my place with my knees pointed as far from each other as they could encompassing Big Wilfred’s back, I knew, the pilates class from hell had begun.

On reflection I should have raised concern when we were still in Makeni, as our first stop on the journey was for diesel for the bike, just how far were we going?

Painful though it was, the ride was bearable for the first 20 minutes before we hit the dirt paths. Then it really kicked in. It was the only journey I’ve been on in West Africa where I was grateful for security checkpoints. The more difficult and obstinate the guards, the better it suited me as it gave me longer to stand and try to regain some feeling in my hands and hips. But soon as we were through it began again, worse every time.

30 minutes passed.
An hour.
Another.
Believe me, we were flying. The bike was a rocket, I didn’t even mind. The faster Sierra Leone Evel Kinevel drove, the sooner we’d arrive.

Eventually it became far too much, I yelled for the bike to stop, the rider pulled over. I firmly asked the Great Mue where on earth we were going, how much further it was and most importantly WHY in the name of all that is good he had stoically negotiated a deal to get us ONE BIKE.

He confessed that he had not been to the town we were visiting before and that he thought we were close. The rider agreed.

My hips were destroyed, my hands felt broken. My groin was no longer that of a human being. What’s a hernia? I didn’t know or want to know. But I wasn’t getting on the back of that bike again. Big Wilfred kindly took my backpack and I took my new place in the middle of the bike. Squished inbetween my compatriot and the rider was not an improvement.

Luckily it didn’t last long. We were in Kamakwie 15 minutes later.

The afternoon there was good, I learnt a lot about what I was there to do and I gained some conviction about not ‘going with the flow’. Later we had to get to the next spot. We were all clear about the fact that I was not riding back to Makeni on a 3-man bike. I got my own rider and we flew again. I found out afterwards that we made the trip back in less than half the time it would have taken in a car.

Back in Makeni we opted to push to get to the next town. So The Great Mue stood stock still and waited for the right car to bring us to Kabala. The car was cramped, hot, loud and wonderful. It was one of the greatest car rides of my life. 

It is worth noting that across the board the journeys were beautiful. Sierra Leone is a paradise and I am grateful and hopeful that it will be a part of my life for my whole life and that I will continually be fortunate enough to return. 

Later that night we arrived in Kabala. I was not feeling well. I was angry, that deep-seated anger that just gets in your bones. It had been on every measure a challenging day. In Kabala we had to take another bike to the hotel, the sadness and frustration surfaced again. The journey was short and after climbing an enormous hill we arrived. I dropped my bag in the room and stayed in what is my favourite accommodation in Sierra Leone, highly recommended. It would be morning before I would be fortunate enough to see the beauty of my surroundings.

I sprayed on mosquito repellent and went to the balcony seating area ready for a cold Sierra Leonean icon – Star beer. It was marvellous. 

The kicker however was a kind ex-pat who was sat out reading a book and smoking roll-up Amber Leaf cigarettes. I was 18 again and I felt overjoyed rolling and having a couple. 

It was such a small thing that contributed to an incredible reframing of that whole day for me. It simply reorients the whole day as I view it from that balcony back. It helped turn the day into a ‘what just happened?’ bit of fun.

It didn’t even matter that that night I rolled over on a bug they call ‘Champion’ which carries a chemical called pederin which essentially gave me chemical burns in my armpit and down my side. It was all just part of a grand adventure.

Three cheers for The Great Mue! May I never share a bike with him again!