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Coles An African Adventure: The Diary Behind the Journey (Part 1: 1996) at Village Green Shopping Centre in Vernon, BC
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This is the journal of an African overland adventure undertaken in what can only be described as a stubborn old German army MAN truck. It lumbered out of London on 15th October 1996 and, against all odds (and several mechanical sulks), eventually dragged itself into Nairobi on 26th March 1997.
The route was anything but straightforward. We meandered through Europe, dipped into the northeastern corner of Africa, and promptly discovered that "shortcut" often translates to "desert minefield" (thanks, Mali). From there, we rattled south along the coast, cut inland through Burkina Faso, and then dropped into Ghana to reacquaint ourselves with the ocean. After that, we did the only sensible thing: turned west and ploughed through central Africa until Nairobi finally appeared like a mirage that, for once, was real.
What you're about to read is an expanded version of the diary I scrawled along the way. Nearly three decades later, the ink may have faded, but the memories haven't-though the diary does occasionally reveal that my younger self had a talent for understatement.
Our expedition was a curious cocktail of about 20 people, united by a shared thirst for adventure, a questionable sense of humour, and an apparent allergy to comfort. There was fun in abundance, but also a fair serving of frustration, confusion, fleeting intimacy, and the sort of misunderstandings that could power an entire season of bad reality television. Out of kindness (to them and myself), I've spared you the soap opera and stuck to the journey: the landscapes, the people, and the slightly ridiculous adventure that was Africa.
This is the journal of an African overland adventure undertaken in what can only be described as a stubborn old German army MAN truck. It lumbered out of London on 15th October 1996 and, against all odds (and several mechanical sulks), eventually dragged itself into Nairobi on 26th March 1997.
The route was anything but straightforward. We meandered through Europe, dipped into the northeastern corner of Africa, and promptly discovered that "shortcut" often translates to "desert minefield" (thanks, Mali). From there, we rattled south along the coast, cut inland through Burkina Faso, and then dropped into Ghana to reacquaint ourselves with the ocean. After that, we did the only sensible thing: turned west and ploughed through central Africa until Nairobi finally appeared like a mirage that, for once, was real.
What you're about to read is an expanded version of the diary I scrawled along the way. Nearly three decades later, the ink may have faded, but the memories haven't-though the diary does occasionally reveal that my younger self had a talent for understatement.
Our expedition was a curious cocktail of about 20 people, united by a shared thirst for adventure, a questionable sense of humour, and an apparent allergy to comfort. There was fun in abundance, but also a fair serving of frustration, confusion, fleeting intimacy, and the sort of misunderstandings that could power an entire season of bad reality television. Out of kindness (to them and myself), I've spared you the soap opera and stuck to the journey: the landscapes, the people, and the slightly ridiculous adventure that was Africa.
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