Jo'burg By Truck 1985-86

Luxuriously late sleep in, lying under my net watching the truck swarm with mozzies until 8 o’clock! And we didn't finish breakfast until 9:40, having made several group decisions - including checking our feet for jiggers (parasitic sand fleas that burrow into human skin), several of which were found and removed.

Slept in a tent with Ann (rather than on the truck as usual) to get early night but the natives were very loud so not a great sleep. Stomach bad again so no breakfast. Walked on with Vicki through a road tunnelled through overhanging bamboo.

Walked on with Hawk, passing a lineup of gorgeous children outside the village school. Trees ablaze with yellow blurs as weaver birds fed their young. Had to push start a truck out of our way to drive on.

Sat in the crows' nest until we reached the town of Bumba (name reminiscent of tribal drums), where the riverfront was lined with colonial era Belgian brick buildings in disrepair are now inhabited by locals. (Belgium granted independence to the Republic of the Congo in 1960, but conflict followed and continued between black and white civilians, and tribal and ethnic groups, central government and secessionists, until 1965, by when the country was essentially under the control of infamous leader Mobutu Sese Seko, in change while we were there, who renamed it Zaire in 1971. President Kabila formally changed the country's name to the Democratic Republic of Congo in 1997 after overthrowing Mobutu's regime.) Visited an inadequate market before landing in a riverside bar to eat peanuts and watch Kel, Vicki, Ben, Bill, Julie and Marcus drink Primus beer and pirogues and floating hyacinth islands drifting downstream.

Woke to the sound of the yard being swept and got out of my bag to find our lovely landlord had done what he said and stayed up all night to guard us. A threatening grey sky hung over our breakfast and “studio” shots of our family man before we churned back through his yard and waved enthusiastic goodbyes.

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.