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Out of bed at 8.30am. Coffee. Toast. Shower. Go to Africa.

That’s the plan today. So how do I feel?

Nervous?

Excited?

I can’t really say. I haven’t really thought enough about it to sufficiently gauge how I feel. That’s not to say that I’m indifferent about the journey, it’s just very difficult to say how you feel about something until you’ve experienced it. In truth, the trip largely remains an abstract notion; something confined to telephone conversations, emails and bank transfers. The most tangible evidence I have of the forthcoming trip are a few injections, a newly purchased head torch, and a sorry excuse for a bank balance.

While don’t know how I feel about the trip, I am, at least, as physically and materially prepared as I can be. Of course, this is through no merit of my own: Davy and Giles have organised everything for me, from the car to the route to the visas. They’ve told me what injections to take and what personal documents I need. I, for my part, have followed instructions dutifully, as well as made the effort to take a brief nosey under the bonnet of a Land Rover. How much use that’ll be on the road, remains to be seen.

Now, what I’m trying to do, is to make the seamless transition from self-indulgent babble to something mildly useful for anyone interested in what they need to sort out before heading out on a diesel-powered escapade across Africa – ‘The Boring Bit’, basically. Of course, I’m not writing the below with any modicum of authority, I’m simply regurgitating what I’ve been told, and I imagine I’ll have forgotten something of major importance along the road – in which case, you’ll be the first to know.

Diseases
I could be horribly misinformed here, but I’m under the impression that anyone planning on travelling through Africa shouldn’t leave the house without Yellow Fever, Cholera and Malaria. That isn’t to say you should contract this Holy Trinity of nastiness before a trip, rather take measures to ensure you inoculate yourself against said afflictions.

First up: Yellow Fever. While I’d have to Google it to find out exactly what it does to you, I know it’s bad. So bad, in fact, that you’re not allowed into many African countries without a certificate proving you’ve had a Yellow Fever jab. Sadly, to obtain said certificate (it’s actually more of a booklet), you have a needle jammed into your arm and are charged £55 for the privilege. It’s also worth noting that not every GP in the UK has a stash of Yellow Fever vaccinations on hand, so it’s worth calling yours and finding out where to go for the jab.

Then there’s cholera. Again, at 55 quid a pop, I was tempted to skip this one, until a pompous text from Giles informed just me how many people in Africa die from the disease each year, as well detailing how they die. Thanks. For someone who isn’t a big on injections, I was happy to discover that the vaccination is taken in drink form – two doses a week apart from one another. (Why Glaxo Smith Klein can’t put a bucket load in Africa’s water supply, I don’t know.) Be aware that many GPs have to order the stuff, so book your appointment well ahead of your departure date.

Last, but certainly not least in this little list of horrors, is malaria. Malaria is officially my least favourite disease for a number of reasons:
1) It’s transmitted by mosquitoes – the most infuriating and pointless member of the animal kingdom
2) It’s REALLY expensive. I spent 66 hard-earned British Sterling on just two weeks’ worth of Malarone (Larium’s cheaper, but I was scared if I took that I’d go mad and unwittingly murder Davy and Giles in their sleep)
3) It kills nearly a million people in Africa every year, more than any other disease.

Since I’m keeping an eye on my budget, I’m banking on being able to buy most of my malaria tablets in South Africa, since they’re a fraction of the price than in the UK. Needless to say, this was Davy’s idea, not mine.

Obviously, there are a number of other jabs that your GP will recommend you have before heading off on a journey similar to ours, but the majority of them are free – hurrah! – so they’ll stick ’em up to you any way. A good website to refer to is www.masta-travel-health.com. All you do is type in the countries you’re visiting, and it tells you what jabs you need... The only catch is that it costs about £1 a minute to log onto the site. Happily, your GP can look at it for free and will even print out all the information relevant to the countries you’ll be visiting.

Visas
While British passport holders can acquire visas for a good number of African countries on arrival at the airport, they can’t expect the same when travelling overland. The way I understand it, many border crossings consist of little more than a shed and a few blokes with AK47s, which means that there simply aren’t the facilities to process visas. So, for the past couple of months, we (Davy) have traipsed around various African embassies in London, getting our clammy palms on as many visas as possible before setting off. While the application process for each visa (with the exception of Libya and Sudan, not forgetting the whopping £75 for a Zambian visa) is fairly simple, you can’t simply ask an embassy to issue a visa in advance for ‘date X’. This wasn’t a problem for Egypt, Ethiopia, Kenya, or Tanzania, because a tourist visa is valid for six months from the day it is stamped. Things get a little more tricky with the likes of Sudan, where tourist visas only last a month and can only be issued once you’ve presented an array of documents including an invitation letter. Libya is similarly troublesome. Take a look at the following to see why: http://www.sahara-overland.com/country/libya.html and www.fessano-w-tours.com.

The one visa I was able to organise for myself while living in Jakarta was for Egypt. However, the nice yet incompetent lady who processed it only gave me a three-month visa, which meant it would have expired as I was passing through, I don’t know, Botswana or somewhere. Not very useful. Needless to say, I was mildly miffed and, with furrowed brow and pointy finger, I asked that I be issued a six-month visa for no additional charge. Since she was a nice (yet incompetent) lady, she went to great lengths to rectify the situation; her efforts culminating in me being called into the Egyptian embassy to meet someone who I’m guessing was the ambassador. After Nice Yet Incompetent Lady explained what had happened, the important-looking man talked some Egyptian to her then talked some English to me (‘No problem.’) A few minutes later I was handed back my passport, which now had ‘6 months’ scrawled in biro over the original ‘3 months’ stamp, and sent on my way.

I’ll be writing a strongly worded letter to Nice Yet Incompetent Lady and Important-Looking Man if and when I get stranded in Sudan.

International driving license
It goes without saying that you need a driving license to hire a car in Africa, and while a British license is valid in the likes of South Africa and Botswana, other countries require you to have an international license. These are easily acquired for just a tenner at www.rac.co.uk.

Of course, the above measures will only go so far in easing our passage through Africa. The rest, we’ll find out on our way. But then, I suppose, that’s half the laughs.

And so, without further ado, to Africa.