SENEGAL: Falémé's Inferno

Prologue

West Africa — somehow an unfamiliar territory for me, yet one that exerts a pull I can’t quite explain. After having hunted twice in Southern Africa, I was looking for a new adventure.

In the southeast of Senegal, along the border with Mali and Guinea and east of Senegal’s national park, lies the ZIC Falémé hunting reserve. ZIC stands for Zone d’Intérêt Cynégétique, and Falémé is the main river in the area. In the past, the reserve covered nearly 2 million hectares — roughly 10% of Senegal. Today it is about 1 million hectares. Unlike many other reserves in Senegal, the ZIC is a mixed zone consisting of human settlements, agricultural operations and, unfortunately, an increasing amount of mining activity. It is therefore not an exclusive wildlife area. I was aware that the region is undergoing growing development and human expansion, causing wildlife numbers to decline — a trend seen across much of Africa. Large game is now found mainly within the protected national park, with only occasional sightings of lions and buffalo outside its boundaries. In the far southeast of the ZIC, there are still reports of the extremely rare Western Lord Derby’s eland.

I came across this area quite by accident after falling down an internet rabbit hole while extensively researching hunting opportunities in West Africa. A few years earlier, I had contacted the owner of Le Dioulaba after stumbling upon the company’s website and Facebook page. At the time, other priorities took precedence, but I mentally filed it away as a future possibility. I had a good feeling from the start that it was a legitimate outfit. Authentic photos and their annual presence at France’s largest hunting fair, Game Fair, confirmed that impression.

After my successful hunt in Namibia at the end of 2024 (see: Hunting Report Namibia), it was time for something new and unknown. Early in 2025, I reached out again about possibilities for 2026 and quickly settled on a date in mid-April. This is towards the end of the season, when conditions are at their driest and hottest, water sources are very limited, and the chances of success are highest. My priority would be the roan antelope, specifically the western subspecies known locally as koba. Buffalo are occasionally hunted in the area, but this is rare. Not wanting to miss any opportunity, I consulted with the owner and decided to bring my own rifle — a Zastava in .375 H&H. This would be the first trip on which I would not rely on a loaned weapon.

The rest of the year revolved around permits — permits and more permits. The annual renewal of my hunting licence in runs from January to March. I needed several different permits, and because I was flying from a foreign airport, the process became even more complicated. I won’t bore you with the details, but it was a nightmare. It soon became clear that if I flew in April, I wouldn’t receive the necessary permits in time, as the current hunting licence only runs until 31 March. No new permits are issued until the renewal is processed. In the end, I decided to bring the trip forward to mid-March. The cost of rebooking was a few hundred euros extra. That wasn’t the biggest shock, however. Brussels Airlines (part of the Lufthansa Group) is far from cheap when flying with your own firearms. The cost of transporting my rifle was exactly the same as the plane ticket itself — an additional €600. Senegal allows two firearms: the first weapon listed on the permit must be a shotgun, while the second may be a rifle. By the end of January, all formalities — including those with the airline — were finally sorted, and all that remained was the departure on the 14th March to Senegal’s capital, Dakar.

Day of Departure

14/03/2026

I got up early to head to Brussels Airport. For those of you who are curious about the gear list, here’s what I brought with me:

My rifle case is a Nuprol XXL. The shotgun is my trusty workhorse, the Baikal in 12 gauge. My rifle is the Zastava in .375 H&H I mentioned earlier, fitted with a Karl Kaps variable scope (2-8x). I also packed two pairs of shoes: my reliable Timberlands and a lower-profile Adidas Terrex hiking shoe. For optics, I brought my Karl Kaps 8x42 binoculars. Vaccinations had all been taken care of well in advance — the yellow fever jab is strongly recommended, and this is a high-risk malaria area. I also carried my Havalon knife with replaceable surgical blades, plus two Android trackers: one for the rifle case and one for the ammunition case.



Departures are always a mix of emotions — healthy excitement and anticipation for a new adventure, combined with the sadness of leaving my family behind. My wonderful wife, who supports all these wild trips, and my beautiful children, who will miss their dad just as much as I’ll miss them. After a light breakfast, it was time for goodbyes: big hugs all around, and then into the car for the drive to the airport.

I arrived in good time and went straight to the check-in desk, where there was no queue. I was helped quickly. The police were called, and I was taken to a side room for inspection. The friendly officers gave the all-clear, then escorted me to the oversized baggage belt where I handed over my firearms and ammunition.

I checked that the trackers were working — they were — and then went for a second breakfast and a coffee while waiting for boarding. It was raining heavily, but just before boarding the weather cleared up. The weather gods seemed to be on my side.



The flight itself was relatively short. I was luckily able to switch seats because the legroom was terrible. The in-flight entertainment and meal were decent.

The landing was smooth, and customs was reasonably quick — about a thirty-minute wait. As soon as I exited customs, Mody, an employee of the outfitter responsible for meeting hunters and handling all the firearm formalities, was already waiting for me. He guided me through the weapons control process. Everything was perfectly organised — nothing to complain about. While I waited for my luggage, Mody soon appeared with my rifle case and ammunition.
After a final quick check with the customs officer, I was handed my temporary Senegalese firearm permit.

My French is far from adequate, so with the help of a local translator (who naturally charged a hefty fee), I took a taxi to my accommodation for the night. I had booked a room near the Boabab Soleil guesthouse — a very pleasant place run by a French owner, with a lovely garden and swimming pool. My driver for today and tomorrow to the hunting camp is a young guy named Djebba. He’ll be taking me across Senegal in his Citroën hatchback. We agreed to leave early the next morning at 6 o’clock.



The room was fine. I had dinner at the guesthouse restaurant — a delicious fillet of zebu washed down with a cold local Gazelle beer. After that, it was time for a shower and some sleep ahead of the long drive tomorrow.

Journey to the Hunting Camp

15/03/26

I woke up early, quickly packed the last remaining items, and headed to breakfast. The French owner came over to tell me that Djebba had called — his car had broken down. He wouldn’t be there until 10 o’clock at the earliest. He asked if I wanted to have breakfast or rest a bit longer. I decided to go back to bed and had breakfast around 9.



I enjoyed a proper French breakfast, followed by a coffee, and settled down with a book. This is Africa. In my head, I had already prepared myself for the possibility that he might not arrive until around midday. I passed the time strolling through the garden, and the owner kindly offered me a beer. At noon I messaged the outfitter, who confirmed that Djebba was on his way. He finally pulled up around 12:30, full of apologies. He had a broken bolt in his pocket — something had given way, though I’m not sure what exactly, and to be honest, I wasn’t that interested. We had a long drive ahead. I reassured him not to worry; these things happen.



The drive to the hunting camp was an adventure in itself. At a roundabout we stopped for snacks and water, and suddenly we were surrounded by people rushing towards the car — women and children offering water, food, and all sorts of goods. It was quite overwhelming but also a fascinating experience.

Along the way I saw an incredible amount of activity. The people were wonderfully friendly, but the poverty was striking, as was the plastic pollution that seemed to be everywhere. Gradually, the small concrete houses gave way to traditional round huts with thatched roofs. My driver, who was exempt from fasting during Ramadan due to stomach issues, was eating freely. We snacked on little ginger sweets — spicy but very tasty. We got on well despite the language barrier. He had mounted a screen on the dashboard, and hip-hop blasted from the speakers. Since the only Senegalese artist I know is Akon, I asked if he had any of his music. Of course he did, and for the next few hours Akon played nonstop.

We weren’t going to reach the camp before dark. Djebba suggested stopping at his mother’s house in Tambacounde for dinner.

By the time we arrived in Tambacounde, the sun was slowly setting. I was served a meal fit for a king. I can eat a lot, but even this was too much for me. I did my best but couldn’t finish it all. The iftar had begun and everyone was eating together. From the mosque, we could hear the imam. I met Djebba’s mother, his sisters, and his second wife. One of his sisters spoke good English. They were warm, welcoming people. Djebba and I ate inside the house while the rest of the family shared the iftar meal in a circle, listening to the imam on the radio. His second wife is pregnant, and they are expecting a son. I congratulated them both on the upcoming arrival.

A bit of background: Senegal is a country where 97% of the population is Muslim, nearly all Sunni. However, Islam in Senegal is strongly influenced by Sufism. The people are generally flexible and tolerant. Many imams serve as spiritual leaders of their local communities.

We left after a strong cup of coffee. We still had another three and a half hours to Kedougou. At one point, a brave little goat picked a fight with an oncoming truck and headbutted the driver’s door — hilarious. Livestock was everywhere: along the road, on the road, in vehicles, and even on rooftops.We drove through the national park, which, unfortunately, was just as littered with plastic as the rest of the route. This area still holds significant numbers of buffalo, a good population of lions, hyenas, some elephants, and the usual plains game.

Just under three hours later we arrived in a sweltering Kedougou. This after driving for almost ten hours since starting next Dakar. The heat was still intense. Africa never sleeps, and the town was buzzing with activity. We reached the camp, where I had a quick introduction to the staff, including barman Babacar, who speaks English, and a few French hunters who had already been in camp for several weeks. I declined a beer and opted for a large glass of water instead — dehydration comes quickly here.



The sleeping quarters are very basic, though there is a beautiful swimming pool and proper lounge area.




I met my professional hunter, Sina. We’re heading out early tomorrow morning at 4:30 in search of big game. Time for bed.

Thank you for writing up this report. What a fascinating place and congratulations on taking on such an adventure.

LivingTheDream said:

Thank you for writing up this report. What a fascinating place and congratulations on taking on such an adventure.

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Thanks for the kind words, it is my pleasure, the adventure was and still is so impactful I just live differently after it. I'm less online and also not into planning too much for the future. I know it sounds corny but the is just how it is.

More in the present so to speak so I'm sorry it took me so long to write this report. Actually still have a lot to write The start is here.

Fantastic, just keep it coming

Day 1 of the hunt

16/03/26

"Abandon all hope ye who enter here."

Up at four o’clock after only a few hours of sleep (I think I finally nodded off around midnight). The early morning started with coffee and a light French breakfast. We left camp and I felt slightly nervous — I was sitting in a car with people whose language I couldn’t understand at all. Along the way we picked up another man who turned out to be a village tracker. Several of these local “trackers” would appear in the story. It quickly became clear that the term is something of a euphemism for local "hunters". WINK WINK.

We missed a turn, turned around, and the others laughed. I was still a bit on edge and paranoid — probably due to the short night. We turned off at a small village and followed a local track deeper into the ZIC, further away from civilisation. The air was thick with smoke and in the distance the sky glowed red — the bush was on fire. We continued driving.

About an hour after turning off the main track (around 6 a.m.), we stopped and got out. It was still pitch dark and the starry sky was spectacular. Our driver, Ali-ou, took out his prayer mat and performed his morning prayer. Sina and the village tracker, Fa-Gai, motioned to rest a little longer. I lay on my back gazing at the stars. My heart rate slowly dropped and I gradually calmed down.

The sunrise was beautiful. Sina lay beside me — a big, strong man who clearly knew what he was doing.



We weren’t the only ones in the bush, however. The tracks are also used by the local population, and there is apparently a lot of illegal mining in the area.The government is trying to regain control with extra roadblocks and checks, and a moratorium on mining activities in the ZIC Falémé has been issued. But as is often the case in Africa, things are fluid.

Around half past seven there was enough light to start walking. Fa-Gai took the lead — it was his neighbourhood, so to speak. We soon found fresh tracks of a bushbuck, followed by some warthog spoor, but nothing recent. The bush felt impenetrable: tall grass, thick vegetation and dry leaves everywhere. The temperature rose quickly and visibility was very limited. This was going to be tough — really tough. I was sweating heavily within minutes.

We walked for over two hours without seeing anything except birds. Then suddenly there was movement — three mongooses. Fa-Gai decided to improve visibility by starting a few small fires. The flames spread quickly but didn’t run out of control. We found some duiker tracks, but again they were old. Dead leaves covered the ground; I was convinced that if the animals were at home, they would have heard me coming from a mile away. Stalking quietly seemed almost impossible.

Around 10 a.m. Sina stopped. I wasn’t sure what the plan was. He indicated that we were done for the morning. It felt a bit early to me, but I went along with it. He’s the expert. The sun was already scorching. The lack of fresh spoor and wildlife activity, combined with the heat and dense vegetation, made it clear this was going to be a serious challenge.

Back at camp I took a nap, followed by an excellent lunch prepared by the cook Job and his colleague Diakite. In the evening we went out again for big game. The French hunters told me they had seen nothing in 14 days — not even a warthog. They only had one and a half days left. They advised me to take it easy in the evenings and go after small game instead, as it was simply too hot for big game, especially with the long distances involved. Against my better judgement, I decided to try anyway.

We started walking around 4:30 p.m. Here it’s not spot-and-stalk but drop-off and walk-and-stalk. By around 7 p.m., after a lot of walking, my body told me I’d had enough. I was overheating and couldn’t cool down, even though I had drunk enough. The combination of the long journey, little sleep and the stubborn virus I had been fighting for weeks before the trip had clearly taken its toll on my fitness. I told Sina I couldn’t continue and suggested we head back to the pickup and return to camp. I took some ORS and decided to rest.

We had seen some tracks, but nothing worth following, and a few francolins — but I had my rifle with me, not the shotgun

.Back in camp I was treated to another superb three-course meal. Job’s training in French cuisine is clearly evident — the lunches and dinners have been the best I’ve had anywhere in Africa. The French hunters had gone out for small game and had more success. Their advice about switching to small game in the evenings made sense: the areas are closer and the hour before sunset is ideal without being so exhausting.

Still, I’m not yet convinced I want to turn the evening sessions into small game hunts. Big game hunting here is very difficult and success rates are low according to the other hunters. A buffalo would be the lottery, but you have to try. I’m motivated and we’re going to give it our best shot, regardless of what anyone says.

In the evening I studied the area using satellite images and will discuss it with Sina tomorrow. I have a plan and I hope he can guide me — he knows the terrain. Given the toll this is taking on my body, I’ve decided not to push too hard and to give myself time to acclimatise. Tomorrow I’ll sleep in and then make a proper plan.

Oooh a different country than usual! This’ll be interesting!

Why’d you choose Senegal?

Certus said:

Oooh a different country than usual! This’ll be interesting!

Why’d you choose Senegal?

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Much closer to Europe, off the beaten path, different people and landscapes. I love to hunt different places and West Africa was just something I wanted to do.

The pictures I forget in the previous installment. Last picture is when we started some fires.

Amazing writeup. Sad to see all the trash.

Cool... looking forward to the rest of the story! Always heard there was only bird hunting and maybe an odd warthog or three in Senegal.

DJ,

Thank you so much for posting. I am following this thread very intently as I am fascinated with West Africa as a hunting destination. It seems like Benin, Burkina, and Ghana are not in play these days for any number of reasons so it is nice to hear that Senegal is open, especially to big game (grande chasse) hunting.

Have also heard that Le Gambie (Gambia) is another opportunity. Imagine it would be quite similar to your experience since it is completely surrounded by Senegal. Curious to know: Were hippo and croc available in the concession you hunted?

Keep them coming enjoying the adventure and the read.

pinotguy said:

DJ,

Thank you so much for posting. I am following this thread very intently as I am fascinated with West Africa as a hunting destination. It seems like Benin, Burkina, and Ghana are not in play these days for any number of reasons so it is nice to hear that Senegal is open, especially to big game (grande chasse) hunting.

Have also heard that Le Gambie (Gambia) is another opportunity. Imagine it would be quite similar to your experience since it is completely surrounded by Senegal. Curious to know: Were hippo and croc available in the concession you hunted?

Click to expand...

Hi DJ, you are correct. No Senegal does not have any huntable populations of Hippo and croc. Since the massive expansion of (illegal( mining the pollution killed almost the entire population of Hippo in the area. The species available on a big game license in the ZIC areas are; buffalo, Roan, bushbuck, oribi, red-flanked duiker, hartebeest. Warthog are considered small game. With an extra fee you are allowed to shoot, I think it was, up to 5 Guinee baboons.

Gambia also offers limited opportunities for big game. There you can hunt in very limited quantities hippo and croc. The croc are not Nile crocodiles although they sometimes advertise that, but it is the much smaller West African crocodile.

Day 2

Limbo

17/03/26

I slept wonderfully and woke up well-rested. I had dreamed a lot about the game still to be hunted — plenty of buffalo and koba featured in my dreams. Now it’s time to turn those dreams into reality.

At breakfast I was joined by my PH Sina and the lodge manager Mamadou, nephew of the owner in France. Mamadou speaks several languages and can therefore translate between Sina and me. I also downloaded Google Translate (French -Dutch) and vice versa— a real must-have in the bush. Not everyone likes reading translations, so the spoken function is pure gold and has already helped me many times during conversations.

I asked Sina about his youth. He has been a hunter since boyhood. When he was young there was still abundant big game; he used to hunt buffalo with bow and arrow and knows the area extremely well. However, the region is so vast that he also relies heavily on the village trackers. He told me wildlife numbers have dropped significantly since the gold mining boom began.

We discussed the possibility that the remaining game has moved far from the villages, to areas with clean water and good cover. Sina mentioned there is still relatively plenty of water. I showed him the satellite images of the riverbeds, and he confirmed this aligns with his own plan. The only drawback is that these are long trips from camp, sometimes up to three hours of driving. Mornings are much better suited for this; travelling and walking in the afternoons at temperatures of 42°C and higher is extremely demanding.

Priority number one is the Koba — the magnificent Western roan. It is highly sought after, with an average of only three shot per season. None have been taken yet this year, but success usually starts picking up from late March until the end of the season. Mission Koba. Sina enthusiastically accepted the challenge. I was also issued my hunting permit, which I must carry with me at all times.

By now, half of the French hunters had returned from their morning session. A group of four friends who have their final hunting day tomorrow. They reported seeing no big game so far — not even a warthog. Communication is difficult but we manage. Five years of French in secondary school only gets me as far as ordering drinks and saying I don’t speak the language. I can understand a little, though.

This afternoon I decided to head out anyway in search of big game. After all, I’m here to hunt. We left at 3 p.m. with the temperature at 42°C. Hopefully we would at least spot some wildlife to boost morale.


Pictured is my first course, starter during lunch

Just before we left, the other two French hunters returned to camp with success: a smaller male warthog and an enormous specimen. In terms of size, they resemble adult male European wild boars (keilers) more than the warthogs I’ve seen and hunted in Southern Africa. The big one must have weighed around 100 kg. It was a great morale boost. The photo doesn’t do justice to the true size of that “keiler”.

On the way we drove through the village of Diakaba, Sina’s home village. The children all shouted something at me, which I didn’t understand at first. When I asked, the driver explained it was because of my skin colour. Later I learned they were shouting “white man”. It’s not meant negatively; it simply means the “white man” brings prosperity (i.e. money or gifts). When the car stopped, some of the bolder children came up to shake my hand.

Once in the hunting area the heat was oppressive — 42°C with fairly high humidity. This is not the dry heat of the Kalahari. After a solid hour of walking we found the tracks of a large male koba. According to Sina the spoor was about three hours old. Following it at half past four in the afternoon wasn’t ideal, but we tracked it for a while anyway and also found spoor of a female with two calves. At quarter past six we suddenly found ourselves back at the vehicle. I asked what the plan was, as it still seemed quite early.




In a conversation that was difficult to follow, it turned out Sina had assumed — because I had stopped early yesterday — that I would want to do the same today. I made it clear that I planned to hunt until last light. Since it no longer made sense to head back out on foot, we got in the vehicle and tried spotting game from the roads. Sina apologised. On the way back we spotted a warthog. I didn’t see it, but we went after it. The vegetation was extremely thick. We found fresh tracks but after half an hour of walking in circles we gave up.

Back in camp I had a drink with the French hunters and enjoyed another fantastic meal. The food really is outstanding. I agreed with Sina that we will focus on big game in the mornings (also following the advice of the French hunters). If I choose to hunt in the evenings, it will be for small game. Sina is on board. Tomorrow we leave early so we can be in the field before first light and hunt until around 11 a.m.

Day 3 of hunting

18/03/26

Up early again for a light breakfast and a proper cup of strong coffee. Every morning I already saw the cooks awake and chilling are the lounge area, but it was only a few days later that I discovered they also make omelettes when one of the French hunters (whom I’ll introduce later) orders one. A fried egg always goes down well.

It’s a long drive south. At one point we were only about ten kilometres as the crow flies from the border with Guinea. In addition to Sina, Kemoro joined us (I’m probably butchering all these names). He is another professional hunter working for the outfitter. On the way we actually spotted an African hare, but — of course — the shotgun had been left behind in camp. We were far beyond civilisation; there was no mobile signal anymore.

We were already on foot before sunrise. We saw plenty of warthog tracks but no animals. Kemoro took the lead today. His tracking style strongly reminded me of my Black PH in Namibia, Tangini. It felt familiar and comforting.

This is a beautiful area with open woodland plateaus and gallery forests — the perfect habitat for koba. You’d think you would bump into them here. Instead, all we found were some old droppings from the previous day and large troops of baboons. Nothing else. We paused in a mostly dry riverbed with a tiny puddle of water. It would have been a perfect hiding spot for game, but unfortunately not today. By ten o’clock the heat had become extreme, so we called it a morning and began the long drive back to camp.




Back at camp I took an outdoor shower and swam a few lengths in the pool. It was wonderfully refreshing. After lunch I had a nap and we agreed to head out at half past four for an evening small-game session.


Babacar, the barman, had already asked me a few times to have a look at his collection of souvenirs — African masks and wood carvings. He immediately warned me not to buy from the neighbour next to him. I love that healthy competition. Haggling is part of the game, and I was happy to support him. I probably paid too much, but that was intentional on my part. I bought two African masks from him. During the trip we had grown closer, and I got the feeling afterwards that he thought he had asked too much, because he gave me some bracelets as a gift. A genuinely kind and hospitable man who does everything he can to make the hunters’ stay pleasant — a real asset to the outfit.

The evening session was unsuccessful, and that was entirely my own fault. I only shot one francolin and one turtle dove, but it should easily have been ten times that. I just wasn’t on form with the shotgun.


A Francolin and a Turtle Dove

Back in camp there was another vendor, named Charles. I nicknamed him “The Hustler.” It was clear he was there to sell, but he was respectful about it. I bought some gold-plated jewellery (even though he insisted it was 9 carat). I got something for my daughter, and the next day he gave me a free bracelet for myself. The wealth we live in is all relative. What is a lot for them is little for us, and they can really use the money. The price was the same as it would have been at home anyway, so no harm done.

Later, cook Job prepared my francolin to perfection. It was the culinary highlight of the trip so far. Kudos to both chefs.I had a few more drinks with the barman and then went to bed early. We’re leaving at 5 a.m. tomorrow — practically a lie-in compared to the earlier departure times.

DieJager said:

Day 3 of hunting

18/03/26

Up early again for a light breakfast and a proper cup of strong coffee. Every morning I already saw the cooks awake and chilling are the lounge area, but it was only a few days later that I discovered they also make omelettes when one of the French hunters (whom I’ll introduce later) orders one. A fried egg always goes down well.

It’s a long drive south. At one point we were only about ten kilometres as the crow flies from the border with Guinea. In addition to Sina, Kemoro joined us (I’m probably butchering all these names). He is another professional hunter working for the outfitter. On the way we actually spotted an African hare, but — of course — the shotgun had been left behind in camp. We were far beyond civilisation; there was no mobile signal anymore.

We were already on foot before sunrise. We saw plenty of warthog tracks but no animals. Kemoro took the lead today. His tracking style strongly reminded me of my Black PH in Namibia, Tangini. It felt familiar and comforting.

View attachment 766751This is a beautiful area with open woodland plateaus and gallery forests — the perfect habitat for koba. You’d think you would bump into them here. Instead, all we found were some old droppings from the previous day and large troops of baboons. Nothing else. We paused in a mostly dry riverbed with a tiny puddle of water. It would have been a perfect hiding spot for game, but unfortunately not today. By ten o’clock the heat had become extreme, so we called it a morning and began the long drive back to camp.

View attachment 766752
View attachment 766754
View attachment 766755
Back at camp I took an outdoor shower and swam a few lengths in the pool. It was wonderfully refreshing. After lunch I had a nap and we agreed to head out at half past four for an evening small-game session.


Babacar, the barman, had already asked me a few times to have a look at his collection of souvenirs — African masks and wood carvings. He immediately warned me not to buy from the neighbour next to him. I love that healthy competition. Haggling is part of the game, and I was happy to support him. I probably paid too much, but that was intentional on my part. I bought two African masks from him. During the trip we had grown closer, and I got the feeling afterwards that he thought he had asked too much, because he gave me some bracelets as a gift. A genuinely kind and hospitable man who does everything he can to make the hunters’ stay pleasant — a real asset to the outfit.

The evening session was unsuccessful, and that was entirely my own fault. I only shot one francolin and one turtle dove, but it should easily have been ten times that. I just wasn’t on form with the shotgun.

View attachment 766756
A Francolin and a Turtle Dove

Back in camp there was another vendor, named Charles. I nicknamed him “The Hustler.” It was clear he was there to sell, but he was respectful about it. I bought some gold-plated jewellery (even though he insisted it was 9 carat). I got something for my daughter, and the next day he gave me a free bracelet for myself. The wealth we live in is all relative. What is a lot for them is little for us, and they can really use the money. The price was the same as it would have been at home anyway, so no harm done.

Later, cook Job prepared my francolin to perfection. It was the culinary highlight of the trip so far. Kudos to both chefs.I had a few more drinks with the barman and then went to bed early. We’re leaving at 5 a.m. tomorrow — practically a lie-in compared to the earlier departure times.

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Love the Adenium!

This threads a tease, hitting refresh throughout the day waiting for the next instalment!

@DieJager
I am reading with interest, about this so rarely visited country!
You are opening a completely new window for me!
Thank you for sharing!

Next installment please......