People are often frightened of Parisians, but an American in Paris will find no harsher critic than another American. - David Sedaris

16 December 2019, Jendema to Zimmi, 45.4km
Royal Guest House 40,000LLE (R58)

We have known since entering Liberia, that we would be facing a dirt road again when we entered Sierra Leone. Comments on the iOverlander map, declared the road between Jendema and Zimmi to be “terrible”, a biker talking of being submerged in a pothole to his handlebars. It is the dry season, so we were not anticipating anything as wet, but I was still a little anxious about what this day would hold for us.
The tar began, albeit in segments only, at about the 28km mark; it took us five hours to reach the tar. In truth, though the road was hard work, it was manageable. Only one segment caused us a brief moment of real trouble, and this was where a truck and a mini-bus had both fallen into a hole, completely blocking the road. Here we had to cross a narrow, briefly steep, watery cutting. The driver of the accident-prone truck helped both Charl and I manoeuvre our bikes round the stuck vehicles, sending us on our way. Another truck was unloading the stuck truck’s cargo, while several vehicles began to pile up on either side of the blocked road.
On the outskirts of Zimmi was a police roadblock where our passport details were recorded by hand in a log book. The town itself is built along dirt roads and looks a little rough. At the main intersection was a restaurant. The owner said she had no food left from lunch, but offered to cook us a chicken dinner for 18:00. We dined on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, it being too hot inside. The food she served was unexpectedly tasty, but we ended the evening there with a distressing incident. She had brought an enormous bowl of noodles to the table, enough to feed four to six people. I had dished more than I needed onto to my plate and had left some there when done. I was reading my Kindle book when she came to clear the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her scoop my leftovers into a small bowl. As she did so, a scrawny arm snaked past me, a claw hand making a grab for the gnawed chicken bones remaining on Charl’s plate. The owner slapped the hand away, reprimanding the boy, but handed him the bowl of leftover noodles. Though I am not to blame for Africa’s ills, this incident resulted in a vague and unspecified feeling of guilt…
Our cheap guest house was comfortable enough, despite the shared bucket bathroom. It was hot in the room, so we slept with the door partially open, using our stretchies to create a barrier at the door, and unwiring the wired-closed windows to open them to the breeze.

For today's route see below photos
For overview route, click on ROUTE tab above…