Nick Hewer: Countdown to Freetown Page #2

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That stool is the sort of complexity.

Yeah, simple and nice.

This is what I want.

Yes, this sort of thing.

I will buy it from him.

How much would you like?

The butcher starts high.

He said, er, 700.

How many?

700, 700, 70 euros.

70 euros is...

Top businessman he may be,

but Nick's forgotten rule one

in Africa - haggling.

60 quid. I'll do it.

Really?

Two, four, six, seven,

and a pound of pork sausages!

Yeah, well, not pork, perhaps.

With the stool added

to his precious cargo,

Nick's joined by a security adviser.

Now what's this drama about plunging

south into the Western Sahara?

There is only one road and

that is your kidnap corridor.

They may not kidnap you,

they may just take your vehicle

and the contents behind it and leave

you on the side of the road.

Problems in West Africa

mean Nick is refused permission

to continue by road.

Well, sadly, this is as far south

as we're going to go in Morocco,

and where did we end up? Agadir -

Morocco's very own Benidorm

where old-age pensioners like me

come on package

tours for their holidays.

So, escaping the danger,

everything is shipped to Dakar

while Nick returns to London.

About to set off

and continue the tough drive south,

when some worrying photos arrive.

What's all these wires

hanging out the front?

I hope we can bloody get there.

Do we know if this vehicle works?

I mean... (BLEEP) ..me off.

'Hello?'

Mike?

'Hiya.'

Yeah, hi, it's Nick.

'Hi, Nick.'

Yeah, hi. Listen,

I've just seen these pictures

that have come in from Dakar

and what I've seen horrifies me.

The rear window's been smashed,

the bonnet is up

and the floor is festooned with

what appear to be ignition cables.

Does this vehicle run at the moment?

What happens if I get down there and

half the bloody engine's missing?

Senegal's capital Dakar.

Nick Hewer returns to Africa

to prove the poorest individual

can become a successful businessman

with the right help.

His half-tonne saw and vehicle

are at the British Embassy,

along with a local guide to help

navigate the treacherous roads

and reconnect with James

when they get to Freetown.

- Mohammed?

- Yes, sir. Nick.

Yeah, Mr Nick.

It's terrible, huh? It's a mess.

Obviously, they broke this

to open the doors,

to take the things.

This is what happened.

I left a bike in there with

clothes and maps and everything.

The bicycle is gone,

two jerry cans for petrol, you know,

this is electrical wiring.

If you want it, I can call the lady

to know if

she keeps something for you.

It's possible,

but I think it's been stolen.

Hello, auntie, hold on.

I pass my boss.

Who is this?

The boss lady.

What's her name? Hello.

'..suitcase.'

A suitcase? You...

You have those?

Ah! She needs to speak to you.

I'm maligning all these people,

thinking they've been stealing

my stuff, and actually, they haven't.

Oh, dear!

Ah, here's my stuff.

Look, my bicycle.

I'm very ashamed.

I like Mohammed.

I think he's an optimist.

Optimists are good,

as long as they're not bullshitters.

Of course I could have sent a cheque!

It's far more fun, I think,

to actually be able to...

..have a little adventure,

and at the end of it, help this kid.

Not just help, but actually

propel him into a new world,

and that's what I'm doing.

Nearly 1,000 miles away in Freetown,

James still has no idea

the giant saw is coming.

He began his life on the streets

like thousands of other kids

when Sierra Leone

descended into a brutal civil war.

To get to Freetown,

Nick is facing some tough driving

through tropical Senegal

and the lush jungles of Guinea

with over 100 miles

of rutted tracks.

Mohammed advises

setting off before sunrise.

Come near to me a little bit.

Take in to me a little bit.

Now what?

Here we are. Quarter to six,

we said six o'clock, so...

It's 5:
45.

Yeah. So we're in good time.

How many hours, do you think?

It will take us maybe ten hours.

How many kilometres is that?

More than 500 miles.

I guess from now until

we hit Freetown in...

I don't know how many days

it's going to take us,

I can learn a bit about West African

business, I guess, small businesses,

how they work, and put it

to good use when we get there,

so that I'm not talking as

some sort of western accountant

but actually as somebody who

understands it a bit better.

Look, here's some woodworking place.

Hold tight.

It's all very well

dragging this thing down to James,

but it would be rather useful if he

knew about the cost of cutting wood

and all that sort of stuff,

so shall we ask these people?

You'll translate for me?

No problem, I will do it.

How do you cut...? He cuts by hand?

With his hand, like this? Yeah?

'This chap can saw wood very quickly,

'which surprised me, so he does

that sort of plank in three minutes

'with no apparent effort,

which is extraordinary,

'so he actually doesn't need a saw,

I think, but how does he charge?'

That's the issue. Because

when James gets hold of that saw,

he needs to know how to charge.

Is it per metre? Is it per minute?

What is it, by type of wood?

I don't know.

As he crosses the border

into Guinea, Nick faces two days

on the rough tracks.

This road is so bad that

we're going to run out of time.

There's a river down there?

Yeah, a big river down there,

Gambia River.

So it comes from the Gambia?

And what about crocodiles?

There are no crocodiles

on this river.

Security concerns on this section

due to Guinea's recent history

of violent military coups

mean Nick must keep moving,

no matter how bad the road.

We're not going to get robbed?

No.

Not in Guinea.

Not in Guinea. Never.

Wow. We shall stop and have a look.

We've sheared a bolt off under here.

One of these has gone.

Well, it's inevitable, really.

What is more dramatic is this...

..so we're beginning to

come adrift here.

No, we just carry on.

The trailer damage

reduces Nick to 15mph,

just making a truck stop in

the next village before dark.

The trailer was set at

the lowest possible level,

it was very stupid - of me,

because I knew all along

it was riding too low,

and like everything else,

it got overlooked

and we're now raising the tow bar,

which means that we won't be

grounding every other minute.

Only by those two holes,

but, you know, every little helps,

as the supermarket keeps telling us.

In return for raising the tow bar

and replacing the shorn bolts,

Nick leaves the diesel

from his generator.

Le gasole, c'est pour vous.

Something about

an African morning, eh?

Yes. Beautiful!

We hear the c*cks crowing,

kids going to school... Whoops.

You ready?

Yeah, I'm ready.

Let's go.

The issue now is, we had to stop here

last night because the road was bad.

Yes.

So we didn't make our planned...

Whoa! Our planned distance.

Now, careful of this one. Whoa!

Even with the trailer raised,

Guinean roads still force

a painfully slow pace.

It's a fine balance between thinking,

"Whoa, this is fun,"

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