The islands are not Conakry. They are probably more Guinea than Conakry. The islands are little pieces of Earth that have, for the most part, fallen away from development (in the best of ways). At the hotel/villa/shack I stayed, there was no running water and maybe 2 hours of electricity the whole time I was there. First time I washed my hair in a bucket. The beautiful simplicity has a down side though, for example, there is a picture of a health center. It looks lovely. A nice charity built it years ago. Only there is no funding for supplies or a doctor. So it’s just a lovely, locked, unused building.
On one corner of Room, some foreigners built a series of gorgeous houses. Failed to get the proper permit though, so they are all marked for destruction. Whoops.
As it is whenever you leave Conakry, children are all about foreigners. They will grab your hands. They want to be picked up. And they LOVE having their photo taken (with rare exception). I think Guinean children are leaps and bounds more awesome that American children (sorry parents, but it’s true). I literally saw a kid playing with a stick and a circle of wire – you know, making the wire circle continue on a path with the stick. Like in the olden days, if you’ll permit.
On a nearby island, there is a lighthouse. This lighthouse has a sign in book. Dating from 1915. Worst moment of the vacation? Not having a pen to sign the book. What a heartbreak. I will go back, and I will sign. So note, always bring a pen, and also, a small bottle of bleach (bleach is the only thing that saved me from eating exclusively fries, eggs, bread, and Laughing Cow cheese all week).
On the way back, at the port in Conakry, I couldn’t resist a photo of “Stop, attention to the wall” painted on a retaining wall. Oh Conakry, where the things you assume, you shouldn’t assume. And where things that seemingly need no explanation, like don’t drive into this wall, are explained.