From the book "On Foot Through Africa"
Orion Paperback Edition published in 1995 by Orion Books Ltd.
The Guinness Book of Records has a set of rules defining the walk around the world: you must begin and finish in the same place, cross four continents and cover at least 26,400 kilometres. Two men have done it, stopping as I have done and working between walks, but no women.
My Transworld Walk began at John O'Groats when I was sixteen. With my hair in dreadlocks and a hamster in my pack I walked 1,600 kilometres to Land's End in forty-nine days; an average of forty kilometres a day.
Two years later I walked across America from New York to Los Angeles. I was eighteen and it was my first experience of paranoia. At every town, it seemed, my sponsor threatened to pull out. But I did the 5 ,600 kilometres in 151 days; an average, again, of forty kilometres a day.
Australia was next. 5,100 kilometres from Sydney to Perth, in a planned 150 days. I spent two years getting the finance together, but on the eve of the walk my main sponsor called me up and said, 'Hello Ffyona. I've been in contact with our Australia office who are running a promotional event which clashes with yours. I'm afraid we're going to pass on this opportunity.' In short, I didn't have enough money to walk across the continent at forty kilometres a day, so I walked eighty kilometres.
The toughest part of that journey was the 1,600 kilometres across the Nullarbor Plain. It was — the training ground the mental training ground — for Africa. I learned never to think of the end of the journey or even the end of the day.
My two successful predecessors had crossed Europe, Asia, Australia, and America. I decided to substitute Africa for Asia; I like to walk from one end of a continent to the other and too many parts of Asia were impassable.
My good friend Anthony Willoughby suggested I take the old explorers' route, Cape Town to Cairo. Drawing a straight line between the two, I didn't have to be Foreign Secretary to foresee a few complications: there was a major war in Sudan for a start. But I took the view that I would just have to hang loose and be ready to sidestep the hot spots when they ignited.
After some research into water and food availability, I discovered there were several long stretches where there wasn't likely to be much of either. I would need back-up. I am not a traveller; I do not wander where the fancy takes me. My expeditions are more focused. The planned route covered 10,000 kilometres (6,300 miles), which would take me a year to walk at my usual speed. I had never been to Africa and I didn't want to recce it: if you don't know how bad it can get you always think tomorrow will be better.
I decided on a vehicle and two drivers, which I hired from One Ten Expeditions, a company specializing in expedition support. I paid for a fully equipped Land Rover, fuel, documents and drivers' flights, wages and food for a year. My office back-up came in the form of Luly Thomson, who had been Bob Geldof's right-hand man during Band Aid. She was fun to be around, and provided good, old-fashioned moral support. I hoped that she would also keep family and friends updated on my progress, and sponsors informed.
All my walks have benefited a charity because they are vehicles which can — so why not? This time I wanted a charity which benefited people in the countries on my route. There were plenty covering Kenya, Tanzania, Zimbabwe and Nigeria but little in between. Then, through my investigations, I came across Survival International, an organization which lobbies for the rights of threatened tribal peoples.
Now all I needed were the sponsors themselves, and I spent the next two years looking.
My aim was to get one major sponsor, since smaller ones often want more than their pound of flesh and rarely get satisfactory returns. I've been turned down only once for sponsorship when I've actually got in front of the decision makers, but now nobody wanted to meet me. The recession was biting hard, Saddam Hussein had invaded Kuwait, and the charred remains of a British girl, Julie Ward, had just been found in a Kenyan game park. Companies don't like sponsoring individuals at the best of times because of the high chance of failure, and no one wants their logo on a dead body.
Almost in desperation, I went to the British Footwear Fair at Olympia in August 1990, hoping to meet marketing directors. It was the wrong fair; all high heels and slingbacks. Kids' slippers with elephant motifs were about as African as it got. But Hi-Tec was there, standing out like a stubbed toe. I picked up their hiking boots and read the blurb. 'Tested on expeditions around the world,' it said.
So I asked the guy on the stand: 'Which expeditions?'
He didn't know. I told him about my walk and said that if he really wanted to test them, he should sponsor me. Luly and were invited to make a follow-up presentation to him at his office, which we did. The meeting went well and they agreed to get back to me within a fortnight.
Three months later I got a call to say no. I heard this on a Friday night, but by Monday morning I'd got them to put in half on the basis that I would come up with the rest by the end of February. Just £25,000 to find in two months, then.
Nick Gordon, the editor of You magazine, went some of the way to bridging that gap over a round of carpet golf in his office. I was very glad he came straight to the point because I can't play golf and it was my throw.
I went to Sydney in early February to promote Feet of Clay, the book I had written about my Australian journey. I worked my way west, hoping for a miracle. A sports injury equipment salesman heard me on a radio chat show in Perth, while driving home from the office. He called me up with an offer: a free massage in my hotel room. My first reaction was to tell him where to shove his sports injury equipment, but I accepted dinner. Across a candlelit table I asked him for sponsorship and he said he'd get onto it. I said I'd heard that one before.
I was tannoyed at the airport the next morning. Nicholas Duncan had persuaded his company, Niagara Therapy, to put in 5,000 Australian dollars. With two weeks to go before I headed for Africa, I was still £12,500 short.
When I got back to One Ten Expedition's office in London there was a box of shampoo waiting for me, sent by the marketing director of John Paul Mitchell salon hair care products. 'Because I heard your voice on the radio and thought you must have beautiful hair,' said the accompanying note.
I called him up, thanked him and asked him for money. Four days later we met in Kensington and he agreed to put in £2,000 then and there and £2,000 at the end of the walk. We said goodbye and I went back to my car to find it had been broken into. I'd left my briefcase in there with my passport, credit card and keys. I cancelled my credit card but I couldn't get out of the car park because I had no cash. Then I remembered that my boyfriend's mother had given me £20 for my birthday to buy a towelling dressing gown for the trip — much more practical than a towel — and I'd stuffed the money into the ashtray.
I was still £10,500 short on my original budget, but decided I couldn't hang around any longer. There was nothing left in the pot to pay Luly, but she very gallantly decided to continue working for me and be paid later. The One Ten Land Rover was duly shipped to Cape Town, loaded up with kit and food stores for the remoter places, in time to start on z April 1991. Towards the end, the pages in my diary looked like a wall of graffiti, until the final day, when the scribblings were given a priority number:
1) sew badge on late jacket 2) get reshaped insoles from Simon 3) to hank, get replacement card, cash, T/C 4) Phone Aunt Rabbit 5) sign four (six?) cheques for Nic re old parking tickets 6) Mark re photo agreement 7) put car in bin 8) take back video 9) clean flat of perishables 10) bone for Fraz 11) PACK! 12) record ans machine mess — 'Hello, this is Ffyona Campbell, I've gone for a walk…'
My Transworld Walk began at John O'Groats when I was sixteen. With my hair in dreadlocks and a hamster in my pack I walked 1,600 kilometres to Land's End in forty-nine days; an average of forty kilometres a day.
Two years later I walked across America from New York to Los Angeles. I was eighteen and it was my first experience of paranoia. At every town, it seemed, my sponsor threatened to pull out. But I did the 5 ,600 kilometres in 151 days; an average, again, of forty kilometres a day.
Australia was next. 5,100 kilometres from Sydney to Perth, in a planned 150 days. I spent two years getting the finance together, but on the eve of the walk my main sponsor called me up and said, 'Hello Ffyona. I've been in contact with our Australia office who are running a promotional event which clashes with yours. I'm afraid we're going to pass on this opportunity.' In short, I didn't have enough money to walk across the continent at forty kilometres a day, so I walked eighty kilometres.
The toughest part of that journey was the 1,600 kilometres across the Nullarbor Plain. It was — the training ground the mental training ground — for Africa. I learned never to think of the end of the journey or even the end of the day.
My two successful predecessors had crossed Europe, Asia, Australia, and America. I decided to substitute Africa for Asia; I like to walk from one end of a continent to the other and too many parts of Asia were impassable.
My good friend Anthony Willoughby suggested I take the old explorers' route, Cape Town to Cairo. Drawing a straight line between the two, I didn't have to be Foreign Secretary to foresee a few complications: there was a major war in Sudan for a start. But I took the view that I would just have to hang loose and be ready to sidestep the hot spots when they ignited.
After some research into water and food availability, I discovered there were several long stretches where there wasn't likely to be much of either. I would need back-up. I am not a traveller; I do not wander where the fancy takes me. My expeditions are more focused. The planned route covered 10,000 kilometres (6,300 miles), which would take me a year to walk at my usual speed. I had never been to Africa and I didn't want to recce it: if you don't know how bad it can get you always think tomorrow will be better.
I decided on a vehicle and two drivers, which I hired from One Ten Expeditions, a company specializing in expedition support. I paid for a fully equipped Land Rover, fuel, documents and drivers' flights, wages and food for a year. My office back-up came in the form of Luly Thomson, who had been Bob Geldof's right-hand man during Band Aid. She was fun to be around, and provided good, old-fashioned moral support. I hoped that she would also keep family and friends updated on my progress, and sponsors informed.
All my walks have benefited a charity because they are vehicles which can — so why not? This time I wanted a charity which benefited people in the countries on my route. There were plenty covering Kenya, Tanzania, Zimbabwe and Nigeria but little in between. Then, through my investigations, I came across Survival International, an organization which lobbies for the rights of threatened tribal peoples.
Now all I needed were the sponsors themselves, and I spent the next two years looking.
My aim was to get one major sponsor, since smaller ones often want more than their pound of flesh and rarely get satisfactory returns. I've been turned down only once for sponsorship when I've actually got in front of the decision makers, but now nobody wanted to meet me. The recession was biting hard, Saddam Hussein had invaded Kuwait, and the charred remains of a British girl, Julie Ward, had just been found in a Kenyan game park. Companies don't like sponsoring individuals at the best of times because of the high chance of failure, and no one wants their logo on a dead body.
Almost in desperation, I went to the British Footwear Fair at Olympia in August 1990, hoping to meet marketing directors. It was the wrong fair; all high heels and slingbacks. Kids' slippers with elephant motifs were about as African as it got. But Hi-Tec was there, standing out like a stubbed toe. I picked up their hiking boots and read the blurb. 'Tested on expeditions around the world,' it said.
So I asked the guy on the stand: 'Which expeditions?'
He didn't know. I told him about my walk and said that if he really wanted to test them, he should sponsor me. Luly and were invited to make a follow-up presentation to him at his office, which we did. The meeting went well and they agreed to get back to me within a fortnight.
Three months later I got a call to say no. I heard this on a Friday night, but by Monday morning I'd got them to put in half on the basis that I would come up with the rest by the end of February. Just £25,000 to find in two months, then.
Nick Gordon, the editor of You magazine, went some of the way to bridging that gap over a round of carpet golf in his office. I was very glad he came straight to the point because I can't play golf and it was my throw.
I went to Sydney in early February to promote Feet of Clay, the book I had written about my Australian journey. I worked my way west, hoping for a miracle. A sports injury equipment salesman heard me on a radio chat show in Perth, while driving home from the office. He called me up with an offer: a free massage in my hotel room. My first reaction was to tell him where to shove his sports injury equipment, but I accepted dinner. Across a candlelit table I asked him for sponsorship and he said he'd get onto it. I said I'd heard that one before.
I was tannoyed at the airport the next morning. Nicholas Duncan had persuaded his company, Niagara Therapy, to put in 5,000 Australian dollars. With two weeks to go before I headed for Africa, I was still £12,500 short.
When I got back to One Ten Expedition's office in London there was a box of shampoo waiting for me, sent by the marketing director of John Paul Mitchell salon hair care products. 'Because I heard your voice on the radio and thought you must have beautiful hair,' said the accompanying note.
I called him up, thanked him and asked him for money. Four days later we met in Kensington and he agreed to put in £2,000 then and there and £2,000 at the end of the walk. We said goodbye and I went back to my car to find it had been broken into. I'd left my briefcase in there with my passport, credit card and keys. I cancelled my credit card but I couldn't get out of the car park because I had no cash. Then I remembered that my boyfriend's mother had given me £20 for my birthday to buy a towelling dressing gown for the trip — much more practical than a towel — and I'd stuffed the money into the ashtray.
I was still £10,500 short on my original budget, but decided I couldn't hang around any longer. There was nothing left in the pot to pay Luly, but she very gallantly decided to continue working for me and be paid later. The One Ten Land Rover was duly shipped to Cape Town, loaded up with kit and food stores for the remoter places, in time to start on z April 1991. Towards the end, the pages in my diary looked like a wall of graffiti, until the final day, when the scribblings were given a priority number:
1) sew badge on late jacket 2) get reshaped insoles from Simon 3) to hank, get replacement card, cash, T/C 4) Phone Aunt Rabbit 5) sign four (six?) cheques for Nic re old parking tickets 6) Mark re photo agreement 7) put car in bin 8) take back video 9) clean flat of perishables 10) bone for Fraz 11) PACK! 12) record ans machine mess — 'Hello, this is Ffyona Campbell, I've gone for a walk…'
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