Thursday, May 24, 2007

still in the Congo









Le Route Principle
i didn't get the chance to finish the last entry so here goes.....

The road was well and truly blocked. A logging truck had got stuck in the mud so when the next truck had come along, the driver tried to drive around it. He got stuck. So the Caterpillar 'log loader' had been brought down to pull them out. Yes, he too got stuck.

When we arrived they were waiting for a bigger Caterpillar 'log loader' to arrive. Whilst i could have got the bike through with a struggle, there was no way the Nissan could pass so we waited. Plus I wanted to how they would pull out two 40 tonne trucks that were axel deep in mud. Eventually the big one showed up and in usual African style with every one barking instructions at each other they got to work. For the first half an hour nothing budged. But slowly slowly, bit by bit, they managed to free one of the the trucks. We took the opportunity to nip through before another truck blocked the road then continued south. It was getting dark by this stage and we had to decide whether to bush camp, or push through to a hotel that we had heard about from the stranded truck drivers. With the thought of a cold beer and possibley a cooked meal we ventured on. Well, until my rear wheel seized. The brake pad, which i knew was nearly finished, finally said 'no more', came away from the housing and wedged it self between the caliper and the disk. We freed the pads, removed them and continued with only the front brake.

The hotel was more of a logging camp. The rooms were little more than wooden shacks around a bar and seating area with men getting drunk on small plastic bags of whiskey and occasionally dancing to the distorted music. We negotiated a good deal to have sole use of an outside elevated seating area where we drank some beers, cooked up some of our supplies and i pitched my tent. Earlier that day i had noticed that many of the truck drivers were oriental looking, and we had joked that the Chinese logging companies had brought them over as the locals kept crashing the trucks. They turned out to be Malaysian, but yes the reason they were here was as we had joked. They were training up the Congolese after so many trucks had been wrecked.

The following afternoon we arrived in Point Noire and treated ourselves to a decent hotel and a Pizza. I was shocked by the how wealthy the town appeared. Fancy bars and restaurants, shops selling quality electronic goods, and plenty of white people driving around in fancy clan 4x4s(clearly expats). The contrast between the isolated rural villages and the city was more extreme than i had seen anywhere before on the trip. It is the same here Brazzaville the capital where i am now. This morning I was sat in pavement cafe drinking an espresso watching sharply dressed young Congolese men on their way to work clasping leather briefcases chatting on the latest Nokias. Incredible when you consider the journey we had to undertake to travel between these 2 cities.

I tried and failed to get new brake pads in Point Noire so i e-mailed Ground Control in Reading, where Ollie dropped sorting out the Three mobile billing system to get a new set DHL'd over to Brazzaville. 76 quid to send a 10 gram package acroos the world in 5 days. Now received and fitted.

The road to Brazzaville was no better than the roads in the north, the traffic just as infrequent and progress just as slow. Every 10km we would have to stop and walk through the muddy water or a river to find the best route. In some places the local villagers had created a deviation which could be used for small, or in some cases, large fee. There were also chancers who tried to get money for using the main route, claiming they had improved it.

How????
At the first really bad section, a house adjacent to the road had put a barrier across the entrance to their land. We could use it but would be charged twenty five quid for the privilege. A colossal amount for them and we were clearly being stitched up. I figured i could get my bike over a steep path on the other side to the house. But that was not possible for the car.

We tried to play it cool. Made some coffee, attempted to renegotiate and had another look at the slosh pit that lay in front of us. Tom (and I too) thought he could make. He didn't and got stuck, water filling the foot wells of the car and burning out the stereo (the second of the trip, fitted only two days before).

The sand ladders and shovel came off the roof, some lads came to help and I was in my boxer shorts up to my thighs in mud and still we could not free the car. It wasn't looking good. The villages here have no vehicles and we had not seen one on the road for three hours, so when two new 4x4s showed up we were relieved. They managed to pull the Nissan back out but the sump guard and bash plate and been ripped off again and the clutch was not gripping. T & L talked about going back, but that wasn't an easy option either and we had heard that the road got better the further on. A reduced rate of ten quid was finally negotiated and we both passed through the garden.
Later on

On the second afternoon I stood chatting to a Canadian chap from the Red Cross who was traveling in the opposite direction but was waiting for a stuck vehicle to be freed before he could pass in his Land Cruiser. I suddenly heard Tom, just out of site round the corner, going ballistic swearing loudly in Dutch. I ran into view thinking their car had dropped into a ditch, but he seemed OK.

" The f#cking bastards are asking for money" he yelled "can you believe it??!!".

Tom had just spent over an hour pulling three 2x4 cars through a particularly treacherous section of mud and deep water. The local young male villagers, who always flock to such situations had been helping to push when we arrived and continued to help afterwards, and naturally asked for payment for their efforts. Fair enough. But when the drivers of the stuck cars thought that Tom should pay he lost it.

The Red Cross guy didn't seem so surprised. "These people have just come out of a long civil war" he reasoned " they are used to doing anything can just to get by and make a buck".

This was another occasion
Before i left, i had said that if anyone with a gun wanted money off me i would simply pay up. But here we were arguing over two quid with an angry man holding a revolver . It was the cheek of it. He, and his mates were claiming to be responsible for improving the only passable section of the road and had put up a bamboo barrier. We had been driving behind two Red Cross Vehicles and claimed to part of their convoy. This had worked the last time but this guy was more determined to extract some of our money. As he got angrier I saw sense and handed over the money he opened up and we sped through. I doubt it was loaded anyway. Bullets cost money.
Our last bush camp
Not surprising the bananas were cheap here

We both crawled into Brazzaville. The Nissan needing some serious work- the brakes were shot, the suspension on one side broken, bumper hanging off and the clutch needing some attention. T&L are at the garrage now and are not sure how long it will take to get the car road worthy again. I've picked up my DHL package and have replaced both sets of brakes and this afternoon will fix the speedo/odometer. The odometer is key for me judge how much fuel I have. I would like to leave tomorrow, taking the ferry over the Congo River to DRC. It will be a shame to part company with T&L but at the same time I am not keen on staying for what could be a week. A decision to make.

Friday, May 18, 2007

Into the Congo



I crossed the equator around 1pm on the 11th May. A grubby sign on the side of the road was all that marked, what was for me, a significant mile stone. London 6,500km it says, yet i had driven over 18,000 to get there.

I had arranged to meet Tom and Laura at a catholic mission in Lamberene a further 100km down the road where we would stay the night. Ive actually been staying a quite a few missions in this part of Africa. They are generally cleaner and quieter than the cheap hotels and often let you camp in the grounds for a small donation.

We left town (and the last of the tarred road) the next morning and were soon confronted with our first obstacle. Recent heavy rains had caused localised flooding and series of 20 m long puddles lay before us. It wasn't that deep (18") so Tom drove through first and after gauging the depth from his tyres blasted through getting totally soaked with the spray. After a couple more of these i felt pretty unstoppable . And then we came across this.

A river had burst its banks and thigh deep fast flowing water cut across the road. A couple of beefy 4x4s crawled across from the other side and Tom figured he could make it too, but there was no way i was. One bad move and bike would be pulled down stream. I loaded my luggage onto Toms roof and waited for a truck. After 15 mins a Land Cruiser showed up and agreed to take the bike. I dashed him a fiver and gave the young lads 20p each.

Late the following afternoon, we arrived wet and muddy at the Congo border. After completing all the formalities, we were informed that the one road that continued south was worse than we had come through. We though it best to stay the night, and after seeing what rooms were on offer T&L decided to sleep in their roof tent. I took one of the two pound rooms complete with nowhere to wash and a shitting shack out the back.

They weren't wrong about the road. It would barely be rated as a farm track in Europe. After the previous few days we had worked out a system for the deep mud and water. If it looked reasonable Tom would drive through first and I would look for the shallower side or even a way around the edge where locals on foot had cut a route through the bush. If the water came over his mud guards for more than 2 meters I knew the bike would struggle. Where it looked especially difficult we would wade through first to check. Generally this worked. My bike stalled twice in deep water and had to be pushed out with help from T&L, and the Nissan got stuck on its axles in section of particularly stinking mud. Our effort with the shovel, jack and sand-ladders did nothing to budge the 2 tonne car and as we had seen no traffic all day I rode back to the last village about 1 km away to get help. They had no vehicles so a possie of 8 scrawny lads were summonsed and headed off to the car. An hour later after much revving and grunting the car was out and laura rewarded the guys with a pound each, A gerry can and a football. They were all happy with the football but when the dosh got handed over, the old fella grabbed it and the squabbling started.

By 7.30 the following morning Tom and I were covered in diesel under the Nissan fixing the fuel line that had ruptured the previous day with a length of garden hose. If anyone knows how to get diesel out of clothes please let me know. It was also confirmed to us that a bridge on the main route south was out and only the bike would be able to get across. We tried an alternative route, but the surface of the road was covered in a slippery clay that gave me no traction at all. I fell 5 times in the first hour. The third fall faster and harder ripped the right hand pannier from its frame smashing the indicator on its way. the sump guard was bent and tank bag buckle broken. I was fine just a little bruised an more muddy from sliding along the slippery clay. Thank fully the pannier fitted back on with the help of a luggage strap but with in 5 minutes i was off again. We decided to turn back and try the remaining route south which would take us to Point Noire.

The road now being used by logging trucks was better and we made good progress until:







Thursday, May 10, 2007

Cameroon to Gabon


It was one of the guys that got involved in brokering my deal for 3 bananas and 2 bags of nuts that pointed it out. " Look, you have flat tyre". It was my last day in Nigeria and my first puncture of the trip.
Whilst I was expecting to have many more punctures and even to be on number 5 or 6 by now, this did nothing to cool my frustration in the midday heat. However, as is often the way in Africa there is a man (or twenty) eager to help. Within minutes we had the bike to a tyre repair man 20 yards down the street. Yes very fortunate.
White man in town always sparks a little curiosity. White man on a loaded motorbike that has broken down was a real treat and soon a crowd of onlookers had gathered. Everyone was especially curious as to the contents of my panniers and bags, and seemed ammused that i was carrying tools and a puncture repair kit. 40 minutes later i was on my way and an hour later at the Cameroon border where the sealed road finished and the dirt began.
The main road from the Nigerian border into Cameroon

I spent a clammy night in a town called Mamfe in a hotel with no power or running water and the following morning set about finding petrol. Whilst Mamfe is a reasonably sized town, the roads linking it to the south and east are too poor to consistantly take petrol tankers so there are no fuel stations in town. I was initially sent to a government depot which apparently sold fuel but there was no one around so i had to resort to the 'fungi' fuel sold in gerry cans on the street. This is imported illegally from Nigeria and is of a slightly lower quality than the fuel station 'super' but the bike didn't seem to notice the difference as we continued south on the red dirt roads through the forest.

I arrived in Limbe on the coast as the sun was setting, in time for a cold beer in a beach side restaurant where i met a Cameroonian living in Hackney. He was here on holiday with his " year old boy and visiting his 'Cameroonian' girl. I got the impression he also had a 'London Girl'. The following day was the 1st May- Labour Day and an all day booze up for the workers of the country. And me.
My rear tyre was now resembling my head and was worried about finding a decent replacement. In England i was advised to change my rear wheel for a larger 18 inch one as 18inch tyres are less rare in Africa. I had ignored this advice, primarily on cost and was now beginning to regret it. I had found good tyres in Togo but only 18inch and when i eventually found somewhere selling motorbike tyres in Cameroon i had the same result. 99 percent of motorcycles in west Africa are small Chinese bikes with small Chinese tyres, hence my difficulty. So when a mechanic rolled out a 17" rear Michelin T63 (good on dirt and acceptable on the tar) I was a very happy man. The chap sensed this and i probably paid over the odds but i didn't care.

The luxury of camping with a car-Tom and LauraIn Yaounde, the Cameroonian capital i met up again with Tom and Laura who i had ran into a couple of times since Nigeria. They are from Holland and also heading south to Cape Town albeit following a different route and in in the comfort of their Nissan Patrol 4x4. I had 5 nights in Yaounde sorting out myself and the bike: I got visas for Gabon, Congo and DRC; stocked up on cash ; washed some clothes; changed the oil and filter; fitted the new tyre; replaced the spark plug and Tom helped me check and adjust the valve clearances (easier than thought it would be). I also discovered a few problems with the front end of the bike. The bearings were knackered (now changed), part of the fork that holds the axle in place had sheared off (now fixed with some new bolts), and the front trye is wearing an a strange and uneven manner (still not sure why?)


campsite mechanics


I headed south into Gabon with my new support vehicle (the Nissan) to Libreville. We took a direct but minor road which runs close to the southern border with Equatorial Guinea, once again cutting through the thick jungle along a very interesting road- great fun on the bike a little bumpy for Tom and Laura in the car. I took my first proper fall of the trip spinning 270° on some slippery mud. Bike and rider dirty but unharmed.




After 250km with the light beginning to fade the road deteriorated further. At the fist big mud hole (about 8m long) i stopped, got off and looked for route around the edge big enough for the bike. There was none. I waited for Tom and Laura. They went through first no problem so i followed apprehensively knowing that if i slipped it would be tough work getting the bike out of the 2 foot deep sloppy mud. Anyway i made it. It wasn't pretty but i made it and the following two deep sections were much easier with my new found confidence.

I just managed to avoid this little fella crossing the road- he's about 6 inches long



Thursday, May 3, 2007

Nigeria- Don't Believe the Hype

This is Sargent Ubeki and his number 2 of the Nigerian Highway Police

The Road to Lagos 24.04.07

It was a bad start to the day- following through on a fart on the way to the Nigerian border. My fist stomach upset of the trip. Apart from this and a touch of African "man-flu" in Mali, I've remained in good health. I was a little hung over too that morning, having met up with Sean again the previous night and drunk beer till the bar kicked us out at a respectable 11pm. Sean, and the previously mentioned Andy, make up the trio of overland bikers in West Africa at the moment. Andy is way ahead of me now- the draw of his wife and 3 month old daughter in Cape Town has put him on a tighter schedule. Sean on the other hand has come all the way from India on his old BMW stopping to work in Europe for a while and is no rush to get anywhere. We may meet up again further south.

The Nigerian border officials gave me a very warm welcome and relatively speaking for Africa, the whole thing was fairly efficient. And so I began the road to Lagos.
All over Africa there are road side checkpoints manned by the Police, Army, Customs or any other corrupt organisation with a uniform, all after a dash/bribe/cadeaux/"a little something for me". Nigeria seems to have more of these per km of road than anywhere else, and the most heavily armed too. The 25km stretch of road from the border to Lagos had about 20 checkpoints each manned by a group of uniformed me, each man with a weapon. I saw guys armed with rifles, pistols, machine guns, sticks and even saw one chap with a 5 wood! I would have gone for the stiffness of 9 iron myself, but each to his own.

Some vehicles pass a dash (typically 30p) to the policeman as they cruise through, others get pulled over and interrogated, whilst others whizz straight through as if immune to the police. I was expecting to be asked to pay big being the being the white tourist, but not at all. If I did get pulled over it was out of their curiosity to me and the bike and I was again greeted with smiles, handshakes and "welcome to our country". The road conditions though, were far from welcoming. The roads are in a terrible state and the drivers frantic. Here the traffic was heavy and cars and trucks would swerve violently to avoid potholes with buses and taxis stopping in in the middle of the traffic flow. Each time the traffic slowed young boys would fill the spaces between the cars selling fruit, drinks, socks, phone cards and the like. Around Lagos itself it was virtual gridlock so the motorbikes, and even some cars, would find alternative routes along the central reservation or round the back of the market stalls and piles of stinking rubbish that lined the road though the mud and sand. No rules apply, anything goes seemed to the order of the day. It was demanding riding and very tiring so i was pleased when i got through with only one slow speed collision with a mini bus. I was enjoying it though and in a great mood- pleased to be on the move again in the right direction and glad the police were my new best friends.

That night (in Benin City) i had some beers with with some students in a bar next to my hotel and chatted about the rigged elections, bent police and African women. They were saying that no one has any respect for the police - only the army.
The following day i was riding behind and old merc as i approached a checkpoint. The policeman gestured to the car to pull over. It didn't and so he raised his AK47 and pointed it into the windscreen at the driver. But rather than the stopping, the driver rolled his vehicle on slowly shouting back at the policeman who in the end let him through. I gave the powerless copper a sympathetic smile and he waved me through. I guess few of the police have ammo for their weapons and the people know this.

Going back to the African woman subject, here is a snippet of a conversation i had in a bar in Benin but is typical of many I've had in Sub-Saharan African since Ghana.

"So you have had African woman yet?"

"No.......no" I laugh knowing were this is going.

"Why not? you don't like the black women?" his tone is inquisitive not critical.

" I have a girl in England." This does nothing to discourage them.

"Achh....the Benin girls are very good. Yes, very good. You much touch one at least before you go" he laughs and gestures to the two women sat at his table and continues "even if it one of these".
Seeing that I'm unimpressed he then tries to attract the attention of girls walking down the street.


After stopping off in Calabar for 2 days to get my Cameroon Visa and change some money, i headed up in to the rain forest near the eastern border to a drill monkey sanctuary and spent a couple of days there with in the company of 2 vets (one local, one Spanish), an American zoologist and a hundred or so monkeys and chimps. The sanctuary aims to release the drill monkeys, orphaned by hunting, back into the wild but also keeps 2 communities of chimps all in large fenced off sections of the forest. The animals were very amusing. The male chimps would throw mud, sticks and coconuts at us whilst the male drills seemed more interested in sex. It is typical for them to mate every hour, and one fella i was told (and then unfortunately witnessed) masturbated at the same frequency.
This is a young male drill- smiling for the camera
This is a 3d mural that amused me on the wall to a hospital. Other panel depicted people with broken bones, so i guess this means that they can sort out your bowel problems. Sort of advertising their services

A sober fact to end on:

Nigeria has a population of 140 million people which is 20 percent of the the whole of Africa. That surprised me.