Crossing Nigeria, Between Danger and Beauty in the Rainy Highlands
In this blog, the Bell family and a German family travel from Nigeria to Cameroon via the Gashaka-Gumti National Park in the rainy season. Due to the ongoing civil war in Cameroon, we were unable to take the most direct route into Cameroon. We had to brave the muddy but beautiful mountain trail, the ultimate test of the General Grabber X3s.
The journey on the trail into the highlands to Cameroon was about more than just getting from point A to point B. It was about navigating landscapes that defied expectations and testing ourselves against the raw challenges of untamed nature. We were stepping into one of the most infamous trails of West Africa, a place where every twist and turn could mean the difference between progress and setback. But first, let me paint you a picture.
By now, we were well acquainted with the typical sights of West Africa–the bustling villages with crumbling infrastructure, the frenetic rhythm of daily life, the juxtaposition of deep poverty with occasional opulence, dusty streets, and a natural environment exhausted by human demands. However, the highlands of Nigeria were unlike anything else we had encountered on the continent. As if they belonged to another country, another world, these highlands were alive with rich green fields and rolling hills bordered by ancient forests resting under a misty sky. A typical montane ecosystem, this land seemed almost enchanted. Cattle grew large, moving slowly, befitting a world untouched by the chaos elsewhere, while cash crops flourished, and the Fulani people lived with tranquility unknown to the rest of the country.
The Gashaka-Gumti National Park marked our entrance into this terrain. Created in 1991 by merging two game reserves, the park is Nigeria’s largest and most ecologically diverse area. Deep within it, herds of elephants roam, chimpanzees traverse the treetops, and buffalo, crocodiles, hippos, antelope, and more than 500 bird species call it home. Though lions had disappeared, conservationists hoped they would one day return. The southern sector, where we found ourselves, featured rugged, mountainous terrain – steep cliffs, valleys, and roaring rivers. At the same time, the northern half of the park offered sweeping grassy savannas. Rumors spoke of a thousand kilometers of muddy, treacherous 4x4 tracks crisscrossing the park, as well as criminal gangs and Boko Haram taking advantage of the park’s seclusion to conduct their operations, exploiting the porous border with Cameroon. We hoped we’d avoid any encounters with them.
Our first obstacle was a rickety bridge made of planks and logs. It sagged under our weight, and the constant rain didn’t make our task easier. The group gathered and debated our options. The Land Rover would go first, with reinforcements of wooden planks to support its crossing. The plan was cautious: the Defender was lighter than our friend’s German truck, and we could further strengthen the bridge if needed. In the end, the German couple drove the truck over, the planks creaking and bending but holding steady. We were off. The rain poured steadily, filling large potholes and transforming the trail into a maze of miniature lakes and flowing streams. Fortunately, the path had a rocky base, providing much-needed grip to ascend the steep hills that lay ahead.
We drove for hours, climbing, descending, and stopping frequently to marvel at the sheer splendor of the highlands. The further we journeyed, the more spectacular the landscape became. The highlands had lush forests, soaring cliffs, and dramatic skies. The cool, misty air was refreshing—a stark contrast to the sweltering heat we’d endured for months. It seemed surreal to travel in Nigeria and not be drenched in sweat. Had it been a more stable country, these highlands would make the perfect location for eco-lodges, an idyllic place for hikers, nature lovers, and those yearning for an adventure far from the ordinary. Without a doubt, it was among the most beautiful places we’d ever set foot in.
We often drove in low range, not because the trail was challenging but because picking up any real speed was impossible. The twists, dips, and rough sections forced us to proceed cautiously, especially since the German truck was a heavy vehicle requiring careful maneuvering to avoid damage. The hours passed in a slow rhythm, and with the sun beginning to dip toward the horizon, we searched for a spot to set up camp for the night.
On a plateau, beside a row of tall pines, we stopped. I noticed a shepherd tending his flock nearby. He sat on a cluster of large granite boulders overlooking a verdant valley. The sight was one of pure serenity. The rain had finally stopped, and we approached the shepherd to ask if we could camp by the road. He greeted us warmly and reassured us we’d be safe. With that blessing, we set up for the night, cooking a simple pasta meal with mango and banana for dessert. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and soon the skies opened up again. But despite the downpour, we slept soundly that night—the crisp, cool air a blessing, and the absence of mosquitoes a pleasant surprise.
Morning came fresh and wet. We were greeted by passing motorbikes, and soon after, a large red truck plowed down the road. Seeing such a heavy vehicle make it through the muddy terrain was astonishing, reminding us of the Linden to Lethem trail in the upper Amazon, where we’d seen massive trucks battle against the odds, sometimes getting hopelessly bogged or toppling over.
Soon after, we were approached by a Muslim family from the fields nearby. Their children smiled at us, and we exchanged greetings. Not long after, the village chief, Ibrahim, arrived. Dressed in a striking white and gold tunic, he welcomed us warmly to his land. He was proud of his village and spoke with the authority of a respected elder while children gathered around him. His reassurances that we were safe were comforting, and after chatting for some time about the road ahead, we said our goodbyes.
The journey continued through muddy trails, valleys, and mist-covered hills, pushing us to our limits but rewarding us with moments of beauty and peace. It was difficult, slow driving, but this was what adventure was all about. There were no checkpoints, roadblocks, or hectic traffic—only the challenge of the road and the majesty of nature.
Our trusty Defender worked hard that day, its General Grabber X3 tires gripping the slippery red clay as we navigated steep, muddy inclines. The glow plug light flickered, the gears gave us trouble, and the brakes needed bleeding, but it kept soldiering on, climbing like a mountain goat. The X3 mud-terrain tires we’d fitted in Portugal were proving their worth, biting into the slippery ground with a tenacity that made all the difference. People often ask us why we use mud-terrain tires, and the answer is simple: you don’t need them until you do. They become the line between getting stuck and moving forward in those moments. (The X3s served us faultlessly across West Africa; we did not suffer a single puncture, and overall performance was beyond excellent).
Late in the afternoon, we pulled into the village of Dungwa Bongo, a sleepy hamlet of red mud-stained buildings. We moved slowly through the narrow streets, and the people we met treated us with friendly curiosity. It was a world away from the turmoil and tension we’d experienced in other parts of Nigeria. Here, life seemed simpler, more connected to the rhythms of nature. We topped up our fuel at a local station—a reasonable precaution given the remoteness of our route—and set off again, pushing further towards the Cameroon border and a steep, muddy climb that other vehicles struggled to climb. Still, we had no issue at all; the X3s do all the hard work for us!
It was a long, challenging day, but one of our best in Africa. There were no pesky officials, bugs, or oppressive heat. It was just us, the open road, and the breathtaking beauty of the highlands. As we neared the Cameroon border the following day, we reflected on our journey. Nigeria had been a land of contrasts: full of warmth and welcome but shadowed by dangers and challenges. Yet, as we prepared to leave, we carried with us memories of its beauty, its people, and the adventure we’d found on its rugged trails.
