Today was one to remember.

After a very pleasant stay in the dormitories of the Catholic Church in Beyla I consider my next move. The folks at the dormitory are extremely generous with me, and even have a nice breakfast set up on a beautiful dining table. Coffee, and bread and sardines. They insist that their hosting me is free, but I leave $8 beneath my keys in my room when I leave. Over breakfast I ask one of the priests what tourist attractions exist in this area. It’s still pretty mountainous around here. The plains begin in earnest around Kerouané, which is the next city, about 105 km to the north, along my route back to Kédougou and Senegal. But I was curious what might be worth seeing around here. To my surprise, the priest mentions that tourists come to visit Mount Simandou. Simandou, as you may remember, is the site of the largest reserves of high-quality iron ore in the world. It’s about 30 km southwest of Beyla. It’s definitely been on my mind as I’ve made my way north, but I’ve assumed that it’s not something you can really visit. I saw the signs for a Rio Tinto Camp along the highway yesterday, but I didn’t realize that it’s actually a large and beautiful mountain. The priest tells me that it's near the village of Moribadougou, and that one can check it out from there.

And so, as is so often the case on this trip, I depart this morning, with little information towards a place I am vaguely curious about. This involves backtracking for about 15 km south along the highway to the intersection with the haul road that heads west towards Moribadougou. From this intersection it’s a straight shot to the Moribadougou through some nice, hilly countryside. The people around here are primarily Koniaké, which is a subgroup of the larger Malinké people. Koniaké is further from Jaxanké than the primary dialect of Guinean Malinké.

I see a number of Toyota Land Cruisers on the road, most with a little Rio Tinto logo on the side. Rio Tinto is an Anglo-Australian mining company, and one of the largest in the world. They originally got rights to part of Simandou in the 90s, but their ability to actually begin the development of the mining site has been repeatedly delayed by political instability. They were making progress until 2013 when everything was put on hold by President Condé in order to renegotiate the contracts signed by his predecesor Conté. There is a fantastic 2 part New Yorker article about this Saga. Work restarted just within the last couple months.

This is part one of the New Yorker write-up on the history of the Simandou contract negotiations: https://www.bing.com/ck/a?!&&p=32fe62cb24478942JmltdHM9MTY4NjQ0MTYwMCZpZ3VpZD0yNzhhZTRlZC01M2MyLTZhZmYtMjUzZC1mNjlhNTI4MTZiNzgmaW5zaWQ9NTE5Mw&ptn=3&hsh=3&fclid=278ae4ed-53c2-6aff-253d-f69a52816b78&psq=Simandou+New+Yorker&u=a1aHR0cHM6Ly93d3cubmV3eW9ya2VyLmNvbS9tYWdhemluZS8yMDEzLzA3LzA4L2J1cmllZC1zZWNyZXRz&ntb=1

and this is a timeline of events: https://www.bing.com/ck/a?!&&p=b13dbc3468d4c221JmltdHM9MTY4NjQ0MTYwMCZpZ3VpZD0yNzhhZTRlZC01M2MyLTZhZmYtMjUzZC1mNjlhNTI4MTZiNzgmaW5zaWQ9NTI0MQ&ptn=3&hsh=3&fclid=278ae4ed-53c2-6aff-253d-f69a52816b78&psq=Simandou+New+Yorker&u=a1aHR0cHM6Ly93d3cucmV1dGVycy5jb20vYXJ0aWNsZS91cy1zd2lzcy1zdGVpbm1ldHotdGltZWxpbmUtaWRVU0tCTjI5UjJBQQ&ntb=1

Moribadougou is almost a town, at least a large village, and today is market day. I buy some snacks (bananas and peanuts) and ride through town towards the mountain. At this point I have no expectations, but my default plan is that I’ll do some quick looking around, take some pictures, and get back to the main road to Kerouané by noon or 1, and bust out the 100 or so kilometers hopefully before nightfall.

My thinking begins to change as I begin to realize how large this mountain is. “Simandou” refers to an entire 110 km mountain chain. It’s like a spine, running almost perfectly north-south. Find a good topographic map and check it out. The tallest peak in this range, called “Pic de Fon,” is located within the mining zone and, at 5440 ft, is only 308 feet shorter than Mount Richard-Molard (or Mount Nimba), the tallest mountain in the country that I climbed last week. Simandou is higher than the hightest point in the Futa Jallon as well, Mount Loura, at 5161 ft.

So, what I am looking at from Moribadougou is Pic de Fon, and my instinct to want to climb the highest mountain around kicks in. Even if it wasn’t the world's largest iron ore reserves, I’d want to climb this thing. So, I just start biking up. It’s a classic haul road, but steeper. It has the washboard ruts that so many of these roads gets. How/why do those form? Despite the ruts, the fact that it's a clear road means it's pretty fast riding, compared to a washed-out bush trail. At about 3000 ft the road enters a gated area with a boom gate in my path. A guard comes out, and I greet him in Malinké. We chat for a while, and a couple other guards join. He’s very nice and rather knowledgeable, and as usual, floored by the idea of biking around Guinea. He’s also spent time around people who speak dialects of Malinké other than Koniaké, and so understands more of what I say.

When I finally ask if I can go up the mountain it’s a simple no. This is a mining zone. I ask if I can talk to his boss. A supervisor comes out and tells me the only way to get in would be to go to the Rio Tinto office in Conakry and make friends there (“Faire des relations”). Sometimes I feel like I’m an investigative journalist. But I’m literally just a guy on a bike who likes mountains. I had no expectations, but this feels pretty much like what I should have expected. What might I have seen? Some beautiful views, and maybe some large holes? Equipment? When I’m about to leave one of the guards points north, to the next peaks of the Simandou chain, and tells me there are mountains up there where I can ride my bike.

So, a bit later, taking a break during the descent, I check out the map. I use an app called MapOut as well as Google Maps, which is fantastic. It shows a road diverging, just west of Moribadougou, from the road I’m on, climbing onto the Simandou ridge, and and heading north until it hits the main road, I want to take towards Kerouané. It won’t be the highest point on the ridge, but it gets above 4500 ft. Sounds great.

First, I go back into town and get some lunch. It is market day, and miraculously, despite Ramadan, there is a lady with rice and bean sauce. I refill my water and head west from Moribadougou again, for the second time today, but take a right at a fork a few km from town. Before long I get to another boom gate with a few guards. This area is not fenced in though, and there is no compound with buildings and equipment like at the other boom gate. Just four guards with whome I have a good chat in Malinké. They are able to understand almost everything I say. It’s quite discouraging, sometimes, to speak with a rice lady, for example, or anyone who has never heard anything than their own highly specific and parochial dialect of Malinké/Koniaké, and can’t connect the words I am saying with similar words in their own lexicon. The guards here can, because they have spent time around other Malinké dialects, and it’s very refreshing. We have a lively conversation, and to my own gratification, they are really amazed at my trip and the notion of biking all over Guinea. We talk about my bike setup. They love that I “am Jaxanké,” and crack up when I introduce myself as Ousmane Minté.

Then I ask if I can climb up the mountain here. The first answer is “eeeh you can’t do that on a bike, it's too steep!” I laugh and promise them I can, even if it might be slow and difficult. “You have water?” Yea, plenty. A bit more chatter and joking, then “Vas-y” (go ahead). So, I ride around the boom gate and start chugging. The first section, immediately after the little post, is one of the most outlandishly steep sections of road I’ve ever seen anywhere. I actually spied it from across the valley during the approach and had to double take and check if my perspective wasn’t skewed in some way. Truly absurd. But the Frolicker’s low gear proves up to the task and I chug my way up.

After this, there are more steep sections. I take breaks, and pictures. Several people in land cruisers come by and wave, including a white guy. One car with two Guineans stop and they applaud. As I climb the view of the biggest mountain where I'd been denied access, Pic de Fon, gets better, and the full beauty of this mountain comes in to view. It’s a legitimate natural wonder. I don’t know precisely how or how much the main part of the mountain will be dismantled or destroyed as iron is extracted from its core. I stare at this mountain and try to appreciate all the consumer goods that will be made out of it over the next 100 years. Many dozens of bridges, skyscrapers, and cars in China are sleeping in this mountain. I attempt to fathom what this mountain means.

I ride on, up more steep sections. As I get to the ridgeline I get a view towards the west, my first of the day, and it is amazing, looking out over very sparsely populated country that falls within the prefecture of Macenta, where I passed a week and a half ago. There is a small antenna visible at the top of this peak, and eventually I arrive, huffing and puffing, looking forward to a banana and some more views. I pause at the edge of the flattened summit to snap a picture of the scene and notice two white hard hats. The hard hats are worn by men, who are also in blue guard uniforms. I ride a little closer and they notice me, and approach with a bit of bewilderment. They are not, at all, aggressive or hostile, but they do ask me if I have permission to be here.

“Yea,” I tell them, “I checked in with the guard at the bottom and they gave me the OK. I’m not dumb, I wouldn’t come up here without permission.”

“Who did you talk to?”

“I think his last name was Camera.”

“Oh. Yea. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Security isn’t his job.”

“Well he was there with three other guys, who all seemed like guards, at the ‘barré’ (boom gate). I made sure with them I could enter.”

“They don’t know what they are doing.”

“I’ve not tried to hide anything. I don’t want a problem.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s their fault (gesturing down towards the lower gate).”

“Pretty poor coordination here.”

These guys are really polite and friendly and ask me to wait while they double check with their boss. I tell them I just want to continue through to the road and point out that while there is rain approaching where we are now, to the north, where I’d like to be headed, it is clear. But of course, I’ll stick around. I’m not going to become a fugitive from the largest mining company in the world. I’m pretty easy to spot around here.

While waiting they let me walk around the area and take pictures. It’s absolutely and indescribably beautiful up here. While I’m doing this a series, perhaps even a flurry, of walkie-talkie calls ensue. The information trickles in. These guys’ boss is not aware that I am here. The guys at the bottom fucked up.

“I saw and spoke to several people since the ‘barré’,” I tell them. “I even waved at a white guy in a truck and he waved back!” This, to me, seems like the strongest possible endorsement of the legitimacy of my presence here.

They tell me to keep waiting and that their boss is on his way. This feels a bit ominous. On multiple occasions I hear the guy on the other end of the walkie-talkie ask if I’m still there, as if I am a flight risk. And the guard confirm, yea, he’s here, and he speaks great Malinké! These guards are extremely professional. After I walk around and take pictures I sit in the shade of a little plastic storage shed of some kind, and we chat about my trip and the US, and all the usual topics. I’m feeling a little grumpy about the situation, but they are very calm and friendly.

Eventually a land cruiser rolls up with a Guinean driver, and a tall, bald white guy of about 50. The white guy gets out and with a smile introduces himself as Pavel. He explains in quick, accented French that I cannot be here, and they’ll be driving me down. I feel compelled to defend myself and reiterate that I did not mean to do anything that’s not permitted, that I thought I’d obtained proper permissions from the men down at the gate. He is totally understanding. “I completely understand. We have no problem with you. You did nothing wrong, it’s the guards, who unfortunately did not do their job.” A pang of worry shoots through me. I would absolutely hate it if this incident results in issues or discipline for the very friendly guards I chatted with.

The guards and the driver get my bike onto the roof. They do a decent job. I’m slightly worried about it being up there on this bumpy, steep road, but I can’t do much. I get in and fasten my seatbelt, and we begin the drive down the mountain. This is my first time in a car in Guinea on this trip.

Pavel is friendly and we chat. My first guess is that his accent is Québécois, because he seems to be fully fluent, but it’s a weird accent. I’m way off, he’s Czech, and has been working in Guinea for the last 20 years, bouncing between gold, aluminum, and, whenever Simandou is given the green light, iron mining. There are so many questions I want to ask this man. But I definitely don’t want to come off as a journalist or something. Mostly we talk about my trip. He is, like most people, laudatory. I’m impressed with his knowledge of Guinea. He even knows about Jaxankés.

I ask him about the people I saw uphill of the gate, why they didn’t have an issue when they saw me. He tells me they were probably geologists, unconcerned with security. I gently try to get him to talk about what he sees happening here in the near future. I want to ask how soon we’ll see iron or actually start getting onto ships, considering they still have to build the railroad and the point. I want to ask where the bottleneck is. But I ask a much more open-ended question. The main thing Pavel emphasizes is that he just hopes the terms stay the same going forward. For the entirety of Rio Tinto’s involvement with Simandou the Guinean government has kept renegotiating, and repeatedly halted all work. He does tell me he thinks the railroad can be finished by the end of 2024, as is the official projection. He has faith in the Chinese.

After waiting on top, which was about a half hour, and the rest of the day’s events, its almost 4 pm at this point. Pavel asks me where I’m going to stay tonight. I tell him I’ll get as far as I can towards Kerouané, and find somewhere to stay along the way.

“Why don’t you stay in Moribadougou, we have a room you can stay in.”

Right as he says this it starts raining.

“I want to keep going. Buuutt…. The rain is an issue.”

Before I know it he’s on the phone with someone. Pavel is very direct. “Listen. We found an American on top of the mountain today, he’s going to stay in your spare room tonight ok.” I crack up at the way he phrases this. And so does the driver. Vibes are good in this car.

We pull into Moribadougou, my third time entering town today, and after passing through the dwindling market, drive down a side road to a house towards the western edge of the community. It’s a simple house, but a real house, concrete floors and walls. My bike is unloaded from the top and it is fine. We’re greeted by a guy named Moussa, who is another guard at the mine. Apparently, Moussa is the guy who hosts random guests who can’t stay at the camp where all the high roller employees of Rio Tinto live. Pavel tells me he’s ordering me some food, it will be delivered in an hour or two. I tell him he really doesn’t have to do this, but he is insistent. We say some parting words, and he wants a picture together, which I happily take and get my own.

What an unexpected turn of events today. I’m happy to spend an evening in Moribadougou. It’s a cool little town. My only complaint is that the calls of “toubab” are, for some reason I don’t understand, even more pervasive and endless here than anywhere else I can think of. I am used to lots of people yelling various forms of “gringo” at me. I ignore it. It’s worse here than anywhere else, which is strange because I would have thought that in a mining town like this people would be more accustomed to seeing white people around.

Other than that, very pleasant evening. Bed seems comfortable. I had a shower, took a walk around town, and then received the meal Pavel sent. Might be the best, heartiest meal I’ve had in Guinea. I’m not sure if you could get something this good at any restaurant. Two big chicken kebabs, a bunch of chunks of beef, all well seasoned, and some rice with some kind of tomato sauce. Big portion. There are also 3 large bananas, and, most unexpectedly, a hot dog and some fries. Truly a generous move on his part. This meal leads me to wonder about how Rio Tinto manages to provide European/American quality food to several dozen westerners working as supervisors, geologists, and whatever else, out here in the bush.

I feel strangely lucky to have snuck up that mountain, in so far as that’s what I did. It was epic, and it occurs to me I may be the last non-mining company employee to ever see that view. It also occurs to me that, if I’d known to avoid them, I could have ridden right past the summit, the two guard didn't see me until I approached the communications tower, wouldn't had noticed me if I'd just ridden by. I probably wouldn’t have seen anyone besides a random geologist, the rest of the way down the north slope of the mountain. My presence wouldn’t have mattered to anyone or changed anything in any way. But, as it is, I have a solid place to stay tonight, instead of relying on the luck of the road, and can get an early start tomorrow towards Kerouané.

Another day in Guinea.