Day Five. Cape Point to Banjul. 16km
Saturday 12th April. This was our final day walking on the south side of the River Gambia. Today’s journey from Cape Point to Banjul would take us alongside the western portion of the vast Gambia estuary, three miles wide at this point. The water of the River Gambia is salty for 200 kilometres inland, and tidal beyond that as the freshwater is pushed up and down by the ocean tide coursing into the funnel-shaped river mouth.
We took a bush taxi to Bakau, and walked across a sandy football pitch and through a patch of mangrove to Sandplover beach bar. Compared to the crashing waves at Cape Point this bay is relatively sheltered, protected from the open Atlantic by the shape of the land. We dispensed with our shoes (in fact Louise spent almost the whole seven days barefoot) and walked in the shallows, with small waves lapping against our legs. Behind us the posh end of Bakau sat in its picturesque position surrounded by palm trees in a tropical bay; I can see why a number of our diplomats and ex-pats choose to live there. Once again the beach was punctuated with marine debris of various kinds, including the carcass of a huge turtle that had breathed its last on this shore. We crossed a small stream and stopped to admire a long-tailed cormorant and a pair of pied kingfishers.
The mangroves gave way to open sand, and then a lagoon opened up between our beach and the mainland. We saw more birds (making Louise excited again), including a number of long-legged waders such as whimbrels, egrets, herons and plovers. The Gambia boasts a proliferation of birdlife. I was taught as a child that birds ‘fly south for the winter’. But what I was not told is that most of them come here. All the UK birds with the ability and the inclination leave freezing Europe behind, and flap their way down migratory routes that all appear to terminate here in The Gambia.
The road to Banjul runs parallel to the beach, so I was pleased to saunter along this stretch. I have viewed this beach almost daily when travelling on the road, but never before had walked here. The road passes a number of warehouses and small factories, a processing plant for groundnut oil, a hotel, some bars and a couple of garages. From the beach we could see these properties from the rear, and they gave us an indication of how far we still had to travel.
Before long we reached Oyster Creek, where Banjul Island is joined to the mainland by Denton Bridge, and we found ourselves at the end of a spit of sand with water on three sides. To our left was the estuary, in front was the creek, and to our right was the end of the lagoon, joining the creek at this point. The only dry route from here was to retrace our steps back along the sand for three kilometres. Actually this was an obstacle we had anticipated, but had not given any real thought to how we would deal with it. Across the lagoon stood the Gambia Watersports Centre and in front, a red jet ski gleamed invitingly in the sunshine. We stood on the sand and looked needy. It didn’t take long. And by way of payment for our free ride, we rested in the bar and bought drinks. We tried to buy chips too. How long will that take, we enquired? Ten minutes, promised the man before falling asleep with his head on the bar. After forty minutes we woke him. Any sign of our chips, we asked? No, sorry, we don’t have any potatoes today.
We left the Watersports Centre via the road and passed the police station at the bridge. This bridge is the only dry route in and out of Banjul, and is well guarded. A collection of battered cars were heaped at one end of the yard. I regularly witness examples of atrocious driving on (and off) Gambia’s roads, and have seen the aftermath of some fairly grim accidents. We set off across the bridge. The main dual carriageway crosses Oyster Creek on a modern concrete bridge, alongside a much older bridge which is crumbling into the water. Several men were fishing from the old bridge, tourists for pleasure and locals for necessity. Neither category had caught much.
As we reached the far side we saw evidence of a third, even older, bridge. Wooden stakes protruded from the water in a bridge-support-esque way; It seems there was a wooden bridge here before either of the existing bridges were constructed. And before that I suppose people crossed using boats. I can think of only two bridge crossings in The Gambia over significant bits of river. One is here, and the other traverses a wide tributary of The Gambia, near Kerewan on the North Bank. There are no bridges over the River Gambia itself anywhere in the country; all traffic from north to south uses ferries, at various points along the course of the river.
Immediately after Denton Bridge a large peanut-processing plant backs up against the sea. This gave us a problem, as our mission was to walk along the coast, and this does not permit a route on the landward side of factories. At low tide it would be possible to pass this way, but our timing was poor and the water was high. Behind the fence a narrow concrete sea wall offered just sufficient breadth to walk along. On top of this a groove of semi-circular cross-section ran the length of the sea wall, with the rusted remains of an iron pipe still visible. We walked along this wall, and sometimes inside the hole left by the pipe, exposed to sea spray, as we passed the peanut plant.
Another lagoon began and separated the beach from the land. Once again as we walked on the sand, we had water on both sides. In places the lagoons connect to the sea and we had to ford across. One of these crossings was deep and wide and we used a bamboo pole both to judge depth and to hold our position against the current. The water rose up to my chest. Louise is a good deal shorter than me and, well… luckily, as it turns out, she floats.
Just before Banjul two cemeteries are situated the beach, one Muslim and one Christian. These have a habit of periodically disclosing their occupants to the open air, as the sand shifts. Many Gambians of older generations have no record of their birth date; life expectancy is not high in this part of Africa in any case and I suspect that some of the more surprising ages inscribed on the tombstones have been exaggerated. As we explored the cemetery we heard from the highway the tell-tale siren of the President’s convoy, so we went to the roadside to watch. His Excellency Alhagie Dr Yayah AJJ Jammeh swept by. When the President travels his cortege takes over the whole road and all other traffic has to stop and leave the road. He rides in a huge back Hummer, often stood up and waving like the Pope, flanked by any number of police cars and heavily-armed military vehicles. And an ambulance at the rear. I think there are four ambulances in The Gambia, and one permanently accompanies the President.
Next we had a drink in a beach bar, and then called in at the Atlantic Hotel to enjoy a swim in their pool. From here the beach wraps around Banjul town. Some African capitals are cities with large populations, hosting global businesses and boasting museums, hotels, sports stadia, parks and modern transport networks. Banjul has very little of this; it is a sleepy forgotten place with a population of only forty thousand. Other than the docks, government buildings and some warehouses, not much happens here. Banjul was founded in 1816, strategically placed on an island in the river mouth to act as a deterrent to slave ships, after the British Abolition Act of 1807. The colonial capital grew in this isolated spot, but it is a marshy and mosquito-infested place, and these days most modern business is based several kilometres away in the Kombos area where I live, which has over three hundred thousand residents.
We followed the beach past the offices of the West Africa Examinations Council where I was shortly to sit my OU Exam in Development Management, and then the Presidential residence State House, and then past the rear of the Albert Market. Numerous fishing boats were tied in the shallows, with their lethal-looking anchors plunged into the sandy shore. Fishermen were landing their catch, washing out boats, mending nets, and fish were being cleaned and laid out to dry in the sun. Incongruously, a massive cruise liner was tugged away from Banjul into the deep water channel to continue is journey. Cranes were unloading rice from another huge ship onto flat-back lorries on the docks. We walked finally past the small local restaurant on the beach where I sometimes eat rice with work colleagues, and arrived at the terminus for the Barra ferry. We had walked from the Cassamance border to the Gambia River crossing. Now just a relatively short walk remained for us, on the northern side of the river. One more weekend to go.
Read Coast Walk Day 6
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