Six 6000 three part 1...

As most of you will know I’ve been travelling once again. This time around West Africa. Myself, and two other volunteers, travelled across six countries Ghana obviously, Togo, Benin, Nigeria, Cameroon and Gabon a total of nearly 6000 km in only three weeks. If that sounds like madness to you, all I can say is that when planning the trip we must certainly have been overcome with some form of psychosis because, to be honest, it didn’t look that far on the map.
We set off for the bus station early one Saturday morning at the ungodly hour of 4:30 when even the cockerels were still asleep. Originally we had planned to fly to Lagos but couldn’t get a flight for a reason so ludicrous I can’t bring myself to repeat it. Anyway we arrived at the bus station at 5:00 am in order to leave at 5:30. I imagine that by now you’ve read enough of my scribbling’s to know what’s coming next and you’d probably be right... three hours later we finally left for Togo.
Fortunately we did have a ‘luxury’ bus... unfortunately in our particular case that didn’t necessarily mean one with more or better facilities but rather that it just cost more. The journey to Togo is around 4 hours and, as is fitting of the road which links the capital cities of two neighbouring countries, can only comfortably be negotiated in a tank. But when we did finally arrive at the border that was when the fun really started.
The only people who seem to need to worry about immigration, visas or customs are tourists. Everyone else wanders back and forth with relative impunity. While we, on the other hand, had to undergo the most comprehensive interrogation into our movements, destinations and intentions. It was however good to see that despite the obvious failings in their education, health and legal systems not to mention abysmal transport infrastructure the Ghanaians didn’t shirk away from the astronomical cost of introducing some of the most expensive and ‘state of the art’ immigration technology systems that even the likes Heathrow would envy.
The actual process of crossing the border is essentially this. First you complete an exit card to leave Country A. Your picture is taken and put on ‘the system’. You are questioned and if all is satisfactory you receive an exit stamp. You then progress to customs... more questions after which you pass into ‘no-man’s-land’ that strange area between two countries which belongs to neither.
Now you need to enter Country B. For this you need a visa (in our case just a transit visa) but it still involves an entry card, visa form and a not inconsiderable amount of money for the privilege of driving the hour across Country B to the border of Country C.
So you complete the card and the form... answer more questions... pay the money... get the stamp and proceed to customs... and if you make it through this whole process you find yourself in Country B about 30-40 minutes later.
However the relative simplicity of the process belies the actual experience of the West African Immigration Services. When we entered the barely lit Ghanaian Immigration Office we were confronted with three desks with a couple of immigration officers sat behind each of them. At any one time at least two of these officers will be asleep over their desks depending on whose turn it is to do so.  
It has long been believed that despite being against every international convention many African countries have secretly enacted what has come to be known as the ‘Inverse Laws’.
The BIRT Law (Ballpoint Inverse Red Tape) is a particularly pernicious piece of legislation most evident in many official departments but also in the likes of banks and post offices and which in effect states that the number of pens provided should be inversely proportional to the amount of paperwork any department expects the public to complete.
Hence an establishment where you have to walk out of your way to avoid the containers dispensing writing implements, will have no forms that need to be completed. Whereas in places like the Immigration Service and banks where the level of bureaucracy is monumental the law demands that no ink should have sullied the premises.
It is a worrying development that the all pervasive BIRT law has given rise to the DIRT Law (Desk Inverse Red Tape) which has considerably reduced the number of work surfaces provided on which to complete these cards, as well as the FLIRT Law (Form Length Inverse Red Tape) responsible for reducing the actual space on the form for your answers to the point where there is now only enough room left for your date of birth and inside leg measurement.
Fortunately the law hasn’t extended to removing the floor from these premises so you always have a hard, if not completely flat surface on which to rest. However unless you have your own pen or can buy, borrow or steal one the only alternative is to cut off the tip of your finger and complete the paperwork in your own blood.
Anyway getting back to where we were... a form needs to be collected from one of the ‘awake’ desks, completed as best one can then returned to anyone with their eyes open and a relatively friendly face. You will need to ensure you have chosen a friendly face because this person is responsible for ‘interrogating’ you. Although they will be holding your passport they will still ask where you are from... is this your name... is this your date of birth... have you spelt it correctly? Although you are at the border with Togo they will still check where you are going... or might throw in a couple of trick questions presumably to try and catch you out... will Rooney be fit for the World Cup... do you think the current global recession and specifically economic crisis in Greece will have a damaging effect on the price of jam... what colour socks does the Dali Lama wear ? (yes... no... and any colour except red... I replied).
Once this is finished your form will be stamped and scribbled on before you need to enter another room where someone will eventually put down his paper in order to finally put an exit stamp in your passport.
From Immigration you have to find your way to Customs. Although it’s no more than a few metres away the route is not always obvious. Stationed here will be the officer how drew the short straw that day because he is out in the baking sun sitting at a rickety old desk in a makeshift hut. He will have a towel in one hand to mop away the sweat, a pen in the other to note your leaving in a giant ledger and an automatic rifle propped up against his leg. Although this might be customs no baggage is searched, but a note will be made and maybe the odd question asked... Is this your name... Do you really think the price of jam will be unaffected ?
You have now left Ghana. You cross no-man’s-land, which is full of people selling everything from corn plasters and steering wheels to jam (obviously the Duty Free!) and enter Immigration in Togo. You now need to repeat the whole process again, only this time in French.