Conakry, Guinea

Guinea's capital is a peninsula jam-packed with 2.5 million people and most visitors try and leave as soon as they get there. There just doesn't seem to be that much on offer. But spend some time there and explore you soon find the beauty in the beast as your eyes open to the city's wonders and people.

I had to overcome a mixture of fear and curiosity. It's a mad city -- battered old taxis going here and there at dangerous speeds, with barely a hint of traffic laws. I had to weave through milling crowds of people, some yelling Foté! the Susu word for 'whitey'. Most people seemed to be selling something: T-shirts, cologne, cassette tapes, themselves. Rest assured if you need something in Conakry, you can find it on the streets. I had to keep one eye on the people, because everyone was a potential pickpocket, and one eye on the ever-present obstacles of open sewers and random piles of trash.

The aesthetics of the place leave a lot to be desired. The buildings have seen better days. Most are dilapidated relics from the Sékou Touré era or ruins from pre-1958 colonial days. Passenger cars still wait on the tracks at the old train depot, but the trains no longer run. Instead the once beautiful old building is now a squatters' camp. I passed a funny looking tower block -- funny only in that it had trees growing out of it at various levels. It didn't seem possible that a city could be so run down, so crowded, so hectic, so half-built. I was determined to find something positive among the madness and degradation. There had to be something in this town not broken.

I began to explore the city looking for the charming, the beautiful, or simply anything that set Conakry apart from other cities. I became more and more intrigued by the place. I looked around the old buildings and wild gesticulating Guineans and realized that very few people have done what I was doing. It is quite common to eat French pastries in a Parisian café; but to eat French pastries after a morning shopping in the hectic Marché Niger is an indescribable joy. Relaxing in the air-conditioned café with a sweet pastry melting in my mouth it was almost possible to believe I wasn't living in a sauna.

I went up to Dixinn where Guinea's Agricultural Research and Pedagogy Institute is located. It is in a large park full of giant trees planted by some Frenchman nearly a century ago. It's a miracle escape from the city. Wandering through the trees and gardens the city seemed far away, the din of car horns barely audible amongst the giant trees. I went on a Friday during Ramadan and continuous Arabic chanting from the nearby Grand Mosque of Guinea gave my exploration a spiritual dimension.

I also began to see past the mass of people to see the individuals. The people became more then just hawkers of junk or desperate beggars. I found that a friend was never far away, even though you might have just met. I went to one of thousands of rice shacks for a bit of lunch. Before I knew what was going on I'd spent the afternoon drinking wine and discussing Africa with a guy from the Côte D'Ivoire. I'd never met the guy before but here we were talking and he was buying me wine as if we'd been friends for years.

Simply taking time to greet someone can have its rewards. A friend and I went for ice cream at a Lebanese fast food joint on Conakry's main thoroughfare. I overheard another customer greet the staff in Pulaar, the language of middle Guinea where I was stationed. So I too greeted everyone in Pulaar. The other customer was so impressed that I, a foreigner, could speak his native language that he treated my friend and me to our ice creams. This small gesture of appreciation overshadowed the bad and ugly of Conakry; made it irrelevant. It is a city full of great little places and people who aren't all hell bent on making your life miserable. I no longer felt I had to escape.

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