Overlanding Conakry Guinea: Surviving West Africa’s Most Chaotic City (4×4 Jeep Wrangler Rubicon)

Conakry is the city every overlander traveling through West Africa talks about—and not in a good way.

Every time we met other overlanders, it would come up in conversation. No one had anything positive to say. Everyone seemed to hate it. But if you’re continuing south, avoiding Conakry isn’t really an option. It’s one of the few places where you can get the Ivory Coast visa—unless you already sorted it out in Dakar.

We hadn’t.

And since we weren’t traveling on a fixed schedule, there was no way to plan it ahead of time. We didn’t know how long each country would take us, so getting the visa in Dakar wasn’t realistic. Freetown wasn’t an option either—there’s no Ivorian consulate there.

So, like it or not, it was time to head to Conakry.

We decided to arrive on a Sunday, hoping it would reduce the traffic. The drive in was long—and honestly, one of the most dangerous we had experienced so far. The road was filled with overloaded semi-trucks, taxis, minivans packed with passengers, and motorcycles. Everyone drove aggressively, overtaking on blind corners and forcing their way back into the lane, pushing you aside if needed.

We saw multiple accidents along the way.

As we got closer to the capital, everything intensified. Traffic became denser, and the small towns on the outskirts were packed with people walking everywhere—along the road, across it, and sometimes right in the middle of it.

Then we hit a police checkpoint.

The officer spotted us from far away and immediately signaled for us to pull over. From the moment he approached, we could tell he was looking to get something out of us. He came straight to my window, shouting quickly in French, gesturing toward Brett’s feet.

At first, we didn’t understand what he wanted. Then we realized—he wanted to see if we were wearing shoes. Brett lifted his foot, showing his boots. The officer then turned to me, leaned into the window, and saw that my boots were on the floor mat with my feet resting on top of them.

He got visibly angry and told us to pull forward and park.

Everything happened quickly, but we already knew where this was going. As soon as we stopped, he came back and told us we had committed an infraction for not wearing shoes. We argued that it wasn’t true—and more importantly, I wasn’t even driving. He insisted it was mandatory. I pushed back and asked how it could possibly be illegal to drive without shoes when there were literally people riding on top of cars all around us.

He suddenly told us to go. No fine, no paperwork—just another failed attempt at getting a bribe.

One of the most ridiculous ones we’ve experienced.

We kept going and officially entered Conakry.

From that point on, the traffic turned into chaos. We ended up behind a semi-truck that kept honking aggressively, forcing cars out of the way. Because it was wider, it acted like a shield, clearing a path. We stayed close behind it, and for a while, it gave us some breathing room.

Here, one lane easily becomes two. Cars push you toward the median just to squeeze through. If you don’t give in, you risk getting your vehicle scratched or hit. When we lost our “shield,” we had to pay attention to everything—cars merging without warning, drivers playing chicken until someone brakes, and vehicles coming from every direction.

Every car in the city seemed to have dents and scratches, and it made sense.

Motorcycles were the most unpredictable. They moved like swarms, weaving in and out of traffic, riding inches from the Jeep. They don’t signal, they don’t look, and many don’t even have mirrors. They zigzag constantly—beside you, in front of you, across lanes—and if you stop suddenly, they will crash into you.

All of this happens at the same time—cars, motorcycles, and pedestrians all moving together in a constant, chaotic flow. People walk along the road, step into traffic without warning, and cross wherever they want.

It’s overwhelming.

Eventually, we found another semi-truck and quickly positioned ourselves behind it again. Once more, we had protection in front and on one side, and when another truck pulled in behind us, we were boxed in—ironically, the safest we had felt the entire drive.

Along the way, we saw multiple fender benders and even a fistfight between two motorcyclists right next to us. At one point, a large military convoy passed in the opposite direction—dozens of armored vehicles and even a helicopter overhead. Everything looked surprisingly new.

By the time we reached our hotel near the airport, we were more than ready to be done driving.

We chose to stay there on purpose—to avoid the 12 km drive into downtown traffic every day. Even the road to the hotel felt sketchy, but once we parked the Jeep safely inside, we knew we had made the right decision.

Visa Runs and First Impressions of the City

The next morning, we left the Jeep safely parked at the hotel and took a taxi to the airport. Before anything else, we needed to get the Guinea visa sticker in our passports so we could apply for the Ivory Coast visa.

What surprised us immediately was how relaxed security felt. We were able to walk straight into the arrivals area, all the way back to where passengers come in before immigration—no checks, no questions, nothing.

Then we waited.

And waited.

It took four hours for the official to show up and process the visa sticker. Once we finally had it, we walked back out to the main road, passing multiple police officers along the way, and flagged down an unmarked taxi heading toward downtown.

It was Monday now—and the difference in traffic was noticeable right away.

Sitting in the back seat, we could finally observe the chaos instead of being in the middle of it. It was actually fascinating to watch—cars and motorcycles weaving around each other in what looked like complete disorder, yet somehow everything kept moving.

When we reached the city center, we got dropped off and walked a couple of blocks to the embassy. The area felt heavily controlled, with military personnel on many corners and large armored vehicles parked throughout. The Ivory Coast embassy sits very close to the presidential palace, which explains the strong security presence.

Everything seemed fine—until we got to the gate and found out it was closed.

Holiday.

Not just the embassy—most of the city was shut down. So after all that, we had no choice but to come back the next day.

Right outside, we met a young German traveler who was also trying to get his visa. We ended up going with him to a nearby Lebanese restaurant for lunch, and that’s when he told us what had happened to him the day before.

He had been detained for a total of five hours—no explanation. It took the German embassy getting involved, and the ambassador personally showing up at the police station, to get him released. Even then, it took four hours of “negotiation.”

Later, he was told the reason: his appearance. He had a beard, and they suspected he might be a jihadist.

Hearing that didn’t exactly make us feel better about being there.

Walking Through Conakry

Since everything was closed, we spent some time walking around downtown.

It was hot. Extremely hot—and humid in a way that just drains your energy. Even with the holiday keeping things quieter, there were still people everywhere. The streets were dirty, there were strong smells in the air, and the overall environment felt intense.

At almost every corner, there were mototaxis waiting, and every couple of minutes, someone would ask if we needed a ride. Traffic never really stops—cars honk constantly, motorcycles cut through everything, and crossing the street becomes a challenge of timing and confidence. No one stops for you. Traffic flows from both directions, and motorcycles often go against it anyway.

There are traffic lights in some of the main streets, and if—by some miracle—people respect them, you can cross quickly. But you don’t rely on that.

What stood out to us was the heavy presence of police and military across the city. You see them everywhere. Large portraits of the president are displayed across buildings, often showing him in full military uniform, covered in medals.

Later that day, as we were heading back to catch a taxi, the streets suddenly started to clear. Police lined the road, and then we heard sirens. A convoy of black SUVs, escorted by motorcycles and military vehicles, passed right in front of us. One of the SUVs had heavily tinted windows, and from the reaction of people around us, it was clear—the president was inside.

As soon as the convoy passed, everything went back to normal. We grabbed a taxi and headed back to the hotel.

Back to the Embassy

The next morning, we headed back downtown—this time with no holiday to slow things down.

The difference was immediate. The city was in full motion again. Traffic was heavier, the streets were packed, and the pedestrian overpasses were filled with people moving in the same direction. It felt like watching a stadium empty after a match—just a constant flow of people.

Along the roads, daily life unfolds right in front of you. People cook, eat, sell goods, and even bathe along the roadside. Everything happens out in the open, often in very rough conditions—surrounded by dirt, rubbish, grease, and sometimes rats.

It’s hard not to notice.

At the same time, it gives you a real sense of how people live day to day. This is normal here. It’s what people are used to.

When we arrived at the embassy, it was finally open. From the moment we stepped in, the staff were kind, polite, and helpful. We submitted our application without any issues and were told to come back in up to 72 hours.

Walking back out, something unexpected happened.

Near a small park, we noticed a well-dressed man walking toward us, surrounded by security. We stepped aside to give them space. As he passed, I smiled and said hello. He smiled back, greeted us, and even asked how we were doing. Then he crossed the street and entered the central bank building.

Curious, we asked a couple of police officers nearby who he was.

The prime minister.

Seeing the president one day and the prime minister the next was definitely not something we expected in Conakry.

Waiting It Out in the City

There isn’t a whole lot to see in the city center. There’s a small cathedral near the embassy, and you can see the presidential palace from a distance, but you’re not allowed anywhere near it. There are a few cafés, restaurants, and patisseries, but many are on the expensive side, and the food we tried was average at best.

We did find a few small shops with imported goods, which was helpful, and after trying several ATMs, we eventually found one that actually had cash.

When we finally got the message that our visas were ready, we didn’t waste time. Early the next morning, before the city fully woke up, we took a taxi downtown, picked them up, had a quick lunch, and went straight back to the hotel.

Final Thoughts on Conakry

Conakry is one of those places you either hate or learn to tolerate.

For us, it was tolerable—but just barely. The chaos, the noise, the heat, and the overall intensity of the city make it hard to settle into. Even after five days, it never really felt comfortable. The air-conditioned hotel room became our escape at the end of each day.

We tried to compare it to other cities we’ve visited, but it really stands on its own level.

That said, one thing never changed—people were always kind to us. Despite everything going on around us, we never felt unsafe. Police and military were respectful, and locals were generally friendly.

And in the bigger picture, Conakry is just a small part of traveling through Guinea.

The country itself is beautiful, with incredible landscapes and rewarding tracks to explore. A few days in the capital quickly fade once you’re back out there.

In a way, going through Conakry feels like part of the experience—something almost every overlander in West Africa goes through at some point.

Conakry was just one part of our time in Guinea. Before reaching the capital, we explored remote tracks, chased waterfalls, and experienced some of the most rewarding overlanding in West Africa. You can read that part of the journey here: Overlanding Guinea in a 4×4: Kambadaga Waterfalls, Les Echelles de Djinkan & the Road to Conakry.