January 1996 Bamako, Mali After a short flight from Abidjan, Ivory Coast, I arrived on a balmy evening at the airport in Bamako, Mali. It was sometime after 8:00PM. After deplaning, I picked up my baggage and proceeded to go to the immigration checkpoint. I was little disconcerted to discover that there were no queues - it was sort of a free for all as people were jostling with each other to get to the immigration booth. I guess this is the way they do things in Mali. Finally, after a little pushing and shoving of my own, I got through and cleared immigration.

Walking out into the loading area and the warm desert night, a thick haze blanketed the airport. The atmosphere was surreal. While surveying the scene and pondering my next move, I accidentally let down my guard and put my luggage on the ground. Before I could blink an eye, two young guys snatched my bags and threw them into the trunk of a dilapidated black car. Trying to apprehend these jokers, I was shoved into the back seat and the car sped off. Scared and frightened, I tried to communicate with the driver and his cohorts to no avail as they spoke little or no English. For a moment, I thought was kidnapped. But that apparently wasn’t their game – the driver made an attempt to find out what hotel I wanted to go to. I protested that this wasn’t a licensed taxi and asked to be let out. In actuality, it was a rogue taxi. The driver insisted in broken English that he was going to take me to my hotel, so don’t worry. I was at their mercy - the only other choice I had was to jump out of the car.

About 45 minutes later, the taxi arrived at my hotel which was situated smack dab in the middle of downtown Bamako. After getting out of the car the driver tells me $60USD. I shook my head and told him ‘hell no’. We took the dispute to the hotel front desk. Fortunately, there was someone that understood English. I tell the clerk how I was literally abducted at the airport by this rogue taxi and despite these circumstances, I was willing to pay the driver the normal taxi fare but I refuse to get ripped off (The clerk tells me that the normal fare was about 15USD). After a heated discussion with the driver, the hotel clerk turns around to me and tells me to pay the driver what he wants in order to avoid any further problems. Shaking my head in disbelief, I reluctantly handed the driver the monies and tell him to get lost! Despite the fact that I was abducted and ‘robbed’ by this rogue taxi, arriving at my hotel safe and sound was probably worth the 60USD!

January 1996 Abidjan, Ivory Coast Dining at a restaurant in the Marcory district of Abidjan, I struck up a conversation with the young waitress who happened to speak passable English. I told the waitress whose name was Ann of my plans to go to the crafts market the following morning to buy some fabric and some indigenous crafts. As I was looking for somebody to help me with the shopping and act as a translator, I asked Ann if I could hire her to accompany me. She agreed to take the assignment.

The next morning, I hired a taxi and we went to the crafts market. After finishing my shopping, I wanted to cash some traveler’s checks so I asked Ann if she could take me to a place where I could get a good exchange rate. Nodding her head, Ann said no problem. So we hopped into a taxi, a short while later we arrived at our destination. Pulling up in front on a nondescript office, the taxi was instantly surrounded by at least 30 very animated young men who were jostling for position and chattering in languages that I didn’t understand. Some of them held wads of the local currency in their fists. I guess this was the black market welcoming committee.

To say the least, I was very alarmed and feared for my safety. Casting a nervous glance at Ann, I summoned up all the courage I had and opened the car door, got out and made a beeline for the door to the money exchange office, all the while pretending to ignore the bedlam surrounding me. Once inside the office, I breathed a deep sigh of relief and I proceeded to exchange my traveler’s checks. Funny thing - after leaving the office, the welcoming committee had disappeared. Maybe they found new fish to fry. I hopped into the waiting taxi and returned to my hotel safe and sound. What an adventure!

January 1996 Abidjan, Ivory Coast While having breakfast in the hotel’s dining room, I met this interesting English gentleman named Fred in his mid 50’s. After chatting with this bloke for a while, I find out he’s working in Africa as a civil servant for the British government. Stationed in the Ivory Coast for the last year, Fred had some very colorful stories to tell about his tours of duty all over Africa. Men being men, the conversation eventually drifted to ladies and where to find them. Living in Abidjan for awhile now, Fred seemed to be quite familiar with the turf and asked me if I wanted to accompany him for a night on the town. As I was game for some carousing, I tell Fred I’m good to go. So we make arrangements to go out later that evening

Stepping into a taxi, we headed towards Treichville, a popular tourist district. Shortly into the journey, we unexpectedly hear sirens. Looking into the rear view mirror, I see it’s the local Abidjan police. The taxi pulls over by the curb as the police get out their car and approach the taxi. Fred, sitting in the front seat, rolls down his window and asks the young police officer nonchalantly, what‘s up? For the next 15 minutes or so, Fred and the young cop are engaged in a heated conversation. I hear some mention of passport and papers, but I really don’t understand French. At some point, the cop motions to me sitting in the back seat and Fred says to him in clipped French, my friend is American.

After what seemed like an eternity, the police finally let us go along our merry way. Fred explained to me that the local police wanted to collect some money from him because he didn’t have his passport on his person. Just a couple of cops trying to pick up some spare change. Luckily he was able to bullshit his way out of the jam by telling them about his important assignment in Abidjan. The cops never talked directly with me – while I wasn’t carrying my passport with me, I did have a Xerox copy on my person. Fred and I laughed and continued to one of his favorite watering holes in Treichville. The rest of the night was without incident – downing a couple of Guinness, Fred and I chatted up some Nigerian tarts before returning to our hotel empty-handed.

Factoid: When you’re traveling to a foreign country, I recommend that you make a copy of your passport and carry it with you at all times. Store your passport in the hotel’s safe deposit box.

January 1996 Abidjan, Ivory Coast Walking to my hotel room, I ran into a young African fellow who was staying a couple doors down from me. We exchanged pleasantries - his name was Frank; native of Liberia, Frank was passing through Abidjan on business. As he seemed like a friendly fellow, I told him maybe we could get together for a drink in the next evening or two. He smiled and nodded his head.

The following night, I heard a knock on the door. It was Frank, my neighbor down the hallway. He asked me if I wanted to join him and a friend for a drink in the hotel’s cocktail bar. He hinted that his friend, who was an officer in Nigerian Army, had a little business proposition for me. As I had nothing better to do, I told him – OK, Why not? but a little voice in my head said, “be careful about this business thing”. Following Frank downstairs to the cocktail bar, we were joined shortly by a very stout, husky and dark gentleman dressed in khaki attire. He had a very dangerous and ominous look about him. Putting aside my apprehension about the situation, we sat down at table and ordered a round of Guinness.

We engaged in a little chitchat before the army officer artfully segued into the business proposition. In a hushed voice, he told me that he had a substantial amount of monies in Nigeria that he was trying to get out of the country, and he was looking for someone from the US or Europe to place the monies into their bank account in return for a healthy cut of the action. Sound familiar? While listening to him, the little voice in my head was cautioning me that this guy is up to no good-be careful! Instead of saying NO, I hesitated and said I have to think about it. He asked me if he could call or write me about this matter? Being polite, I gave him my business card. Of course, there was no way I would fall for this scam. I think he knew that I was on to his little Nigerian two-step, as I never heard from him again.

It was in December 2005 that I embarked on a memorable 6-week adventure to West Africa which took me to four different countries – Ghana, Togo, Ivory Coast and Mali. I distinctly remember landing at the airport in Accra, Ghana sometime after midnight - stepping out into the arrival area, I was greeted by a rousing reception of Ghanaians who were stationed behind the chain linked fence, then whisked off to my hotel by my friend. It was the start of a very momentous journey!

Although I had experienced African culture in the Diaspora while traveling extensively in the Caribbean, nothing in my past experience really prepared me for this trip. My eyes (and my mind) were wide open as I traveled to metropolitan cities and out into the African bush (countryside) passing thru colorful marketplaces, artisan villages and dirt poor rural villages. On this journey, I learned a lot more about the history and diversity of cultures in West Africa than I had in my studies at the University. Traveling is definitely the highest form of education - you learn so much about yourself, the world and about different cultures and peoples.

I spent most of my time in GHANA – I stayed in the family home of a friend who lived in Mamprobi, a humble neighborhood located on the outskirts of Accra. While in Ghana, I visited a number of different places - including the Slave forts of the Gold Coast, the tourist mecca of Kumasi (the heart of the Ashanti) and the Upper Volta dam. The rainforest canopy tour at Kakum was very exciting and was the first time that I had taken a tour like this. Of the four countries that I visited, Ghana by far was the friendliest and most westernized and Mali was the most exotic and intriguing. My only regret was lacking sufficient funds (and time) to make it to the legendary Timbuktu in Mali.

I have so many wonderful memories from this trip - of the people that I met and of the many exotic places that I visited - as well as some really astounding stories to share, that it would be some really juicy material for a best selling novel. In this novel, there would be elements of culture shock, political intrigue, extortion, adventure, romance and heartbreak. Stayed tuned….