It's ironic that the subject of this comic is getting through police checkpoints and dealing with corrupt, bribe-hungry officials, because I wrote it earlier this week, before the worst trouble hit.
We've been traveling through the Ivory Coast the last few days, and we'd already hit a few snags. Our guide company hadn't arranged our new driver, we'd been vastly misinformed (to the tune of several hours) on the distance of several locations we were traveling to, but overall we were doing all right. We were planning on heading out of the Côte d'Ivoire to Liberia to continue our journey. However, our driver Remus wouldn't be able to come with us since his car only had registration for Ghana and Côte d'Ivoire, not Liberia. Through him, we arranged with a local driver to cram into the back of his Jeep so we could cross the border with him. We had gone barely 10 minutes when the first trouble hit.
We were stopped by a group of police officers who told us the border was closed... unless we could get them a little bit of cash. Without our usual driver (who could talk his way out of these things pretty well) we had no choice but to fork it over or be stymied there. We got to the border with dusk approaching and ominous storm clouds in the distance (complete with forked lightning). And then we just got stopped. The border guys didn't like us. We found out later that they had a particular aversion to Americans because other journalists had apparently published some less-than-flattering stuff about Liberia last time they crossed the border. Anyways, by trying to bargain for a smaller bribe than they wanted (because by this time, our cash was getting low) they ended up red listing our names so there was no way we could cross. It didn't even matter how much we flirted with the border guards, no amount of batting our eyes was going to get us across. (This border was a large stick, propped up so it blocked the road.) Anyways, there we were. It was dark. The way out of the Côte d'Ivoire was now blocked. We had minimal cash and a driver whose loyalty to us was directly linked by that supply. Things were looking a little grim.
Then, we had a miracle! Our driver's cell phone rang. It was Remus, our old driver from Ghana. Rather than head immediately home, he had driven to a neighboring city (which, to the best of our knowledge, was unfortunately pronounced "Gigolo") and gotten worried about us. He decided to make sure we'd made it out. We were able to arrange to stay in a seedy hotel in Gigolo and drive back with Remus to the capital of Abidjan the next day. From there, we arranged a flight to get us out of the Ivory Coast and on our way to Monrovia, Liberia.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, when you read this comic, understand that I meant every word I wrote. Fixers are important– they can mean the difference between life and death. Or at least, between being stuck in or escaping the Côte d'Ivoire.
We've been traveling through the Ivory Coast the last few days, and we'd already hit a few snags. Our guide company hadn't arranged our new driver, we'd been vastly misinformed (to the tune of several hours) on the distance of several locations we were traveling to, but overall we were doing all right. We were planning on heading out of the Côte d'Ivoire to Liberia to continue our journey. However, our driver Remus wouldn't be able to come with us since his car only had registration for Ghana and Côte d'Ivoire, not Liberia. Through him, we arranged with a local driver to cram into the back of his Jeep so we could cross the border with him. We had gone barely 10 minutes when the first trouble hit.
We were stopped by a group of police officers who told us the border was closed... unless we could get them a little bit of cash. Without our usual driver (who could talk his way out of these things pretty well) we had no choice but to fork it over or be stymied there. We got to the border with dusk approaching and ominous storm clouds in the distance (complete with forked lightning). And then we just got stopped. The border guys didn't like us. We found out later that they had a particular aversion to Americans because other journalists had apparently published some less-than-flattering stuff about Liberia last time they crossed the border. Anyways, by trying to bargain for a smaller bribe than they wanted (because by this time, our cash was getting low) they ended up red listing our names so there was no way we could cross. It didn't even matter how much we flirted with the border guards, no amount of batting our eyes was going to get us across. (This border was a large stick, propped up so it blocked the road.) Anyways, there we were. It was dark. The way out of the Côte d'Ivoire was now blocked. We had minimal cash and a driver whose loyalty to us was directly linked by that supply. Things were looking a little grim.
Then, we had a miracle! Our driver's cell phone rang. It was Remus, our old driver from Ghana. Rather than head immediately home, he had driven to a neighboring city (which, to the best of our knowledge, was unfortunately pronounced "Gigolo") and gotten worried about us. He decided to make sure we'd made it out. We were able to arrange to stay in a seedy hotel in Gigolo and drive back with Remus to the capital of Abidjan the next day. From there, we arranged a flight to get us out of the Ivory Coast and on our way to Monrovia, Liberia.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, when you read this comic, understand that I meant every word I wrote. Fixers are important– they can mean the difference between life and death. Or at least, between being stuck in or escaping the Côte d'Ivoire.
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