Bus to Kumasi

I sat alone in the dark at 5 a.m, gnawing on a baguette that the B&B owner had left out for me (covered in plastic, I mean). He'd also thought to leave a Thermos of hot water and some Nescafe. You know what? This guy rules. Here's his B&B: Case d'Hôtes.

I heard the taxi pull up outside the gate and I was halfway out the door before the security guard could even stand up. On to Ghana!

But first, there was madness at the normally so organized TCV Bus. Several buses were leaving at the same time, so people were everywhere. I watched with interest as all the male customers were patted down, while all the females cruised right onto the bus.

Ouagadougou

"Un billet pour Kumasi pour demain, s'il vous plaît," I said painstakingly to the young woman at the TCV bus ticket counter in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso.

She shook her head. Was I wrong about the schedule? Did I screw up my French? I'd looked it up on Google Translate and written it down.

I showed her my handwritten cheat sheet of the phrase I'd just uttered.

"Finis," she said. She motioned at a roster of names and numbers. At the top? Kumasi. Ah, the bus was sold out.

Shit. This wasn't in my plan.

Bobo

"The war in Ivory Coast has caused problems with the internet," explained the owner of the b&b I was staying in.

That sounded like horseshit to me, but who knows. It certainly didn't affect the internet in the center of Bobo Dioulassou, where I sat for hours on the porch of a nice hotel, using their internet, ordering their food, and finally, chatting with a couple I'd met in the guesthouse.

Nina, Frank, and I talked for hours. Why not? It was the middle of the afternoon on a Friday. There wasn't anything else to do in Bobo, which is relaxed almost to a fault.

Bus to Bobo

Why would I assume my bus ticket would have a time on it? Silly me.

"I think it leaves at six," said Bill. 

I thought the ticket seller had said seven, and that I should be there by 6:30. But I honestly didn't remember. 

I compromised and arrived at the Bittar station in the dark at 5:30 a.m. to catch my 7:00 TCV bus to Burkina Faso. Now I'd get to find out whether I'd weaned myself off coffee enough to not get a massive headache without morning caffeine—I hadn't as it turned out, and will be reduced to morning Coke when coffee isn't available). 

A dozen people slept sprawled out in front of a TV in an open-air waiting area at the Bittar gare. There was no room for me, so I perched on a box nearby and watched the gare slowly come to life. Vendors unlocked their kiosks and passengers visited the Nescafe man.