Jo'burg By Truck 1985-86

Zaire rained on our breakfast, so we rushed around trying to finish scrambled eggs and help everybody keep or get. Our audience ringed us, sheltering under trees and with huge palm fronds held above their heads. We swapped some of our empty tins for pawpaws, a giant Nido tin opening their eyes with delight and getting us three fruits. Then, as we pulled away, they threw more fruit into the back of the truck in thanks, so we threw a working biro back and waved goodbye.

Woke in the dark to flashing torchlight that seemed to come from Hawke’s tent, and then from the end of the truck. But, maybe because I was half-asleep, or I refused to believe this could be anything out of the ordinary, I didn't act on my sense of disquiet, instead lying back down in the truck and falling asleep. Next thing I became aware of feeling cold, and I lay there wondering whether to brave the mozzie-infested truck to get my sleeping bag or stay put. I made a commando leap out of and back under the net with sleeping bag in hand and next thing I knew there was pandemonium, as Jim returned to the truck with my sunglasses and a handful of Per’s letters that he'd found in the grass where he’d gone to pee. His discovery led to a worse one: three daypacks (containing 5 cameras, two of them mine!) were missing, as was the truck cutlery box. 

Walked on after breakfast, past the village of last night’s revelry where the drums were hung in the central palm tree. Closer inspection provided the solution to the metallic sound of last night: one of the drum skins was stretched over a small metal barrel, while the other two had traditional wooden bodies. The grey-haired old woman who danced in the shadows last night stood still in the village grounds now, watching me, and waved back.

Made our final trip into Bangui, where I changed money at the bank and wrote a letter to the Douglas family to accompany their jar of truck-made marmalade, telling them about our relatively uneventful trip from Kousseri.

Headed to the British Embassy for help with my dwindling passport pages and was told to come back at 12.45. Nearby met the Canadians from the EO truck heading to the American Embassy so I tagged along. The friendly and helpful U.S. Vice Consul explained that official extra U.S. passport pages can only be inserted in U.S. passports, but he wrote a letter in French asking border officials to use this and a second blank piece of U.S. embassy letterhead for stamps and stapled them in my passport. Who cares about the small-print warning that unauthorised alterations will render the passport invalid and subject to cancellation?!

Woke up to the grumbling of people discovering that thongs and shoes they’d left outside their tents had disappeared during the night. Stupidly we had also left our new stools out and four were gone. So too were Ben’s clothes, left out to dry - two pairs of underpants, denim shorts and shirt - and the three pairs of undies I had hung at the end of the truck. This resulted in our first blow up as a group, with some of us wanting to make a stand and demand the return of our stuff and others saying we should do nothing. I didn't understand why our stupidly leaving things out made this stealing okay. The "do nothings" wouldn't sit back and do nothing if the same thing happened back home, even if they had left things out. What was great though was that while our words were heated the tension dissipated quickly and things returned to normal, with no lingering tensions about our different opinions.

A breakfast search of our campsite found the three Swedish passports and Geoff’s towel on the ground. I understand why the y discarded the passports but don't know why the towel was undesirable. We pulled out of camp but stopped again at the offenders' village, the barefoot thieves running for cover on seeing our truck and disappearing into the grass behind the huts. One of the boys had left his plastic shoes and a metal rolling ring in our camp and Ben armed himself with these to walk through the village. But what he planned I don't know and he did not return with any more contraband. 

Wandered down to the falls for an early morning spray but the water pressure noticeably less than last night. All alone so revelled in that again. 

Our southbound journey took us down the western boundary of Parc Nationat de Benoue, but the only wildlife we saw was a single, small brown duiker (small antelope) in the grass just off the road early in our drive. The country became greener as the morning wore on and we started up the Massif de L'Adamaoua, a long haul on which we overtook the Encounter Overland, before cruising into the southern city of Nganundere.