Journey of a Lifetime: Part 4

Fred Von Hoyer is driving up Africa, from Cape Town to the Tangiers. This is his Journey of a Lifetime. To read the story of the journey so far go to Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3. Here we continue with Part 4.

If I were to describe Francophone Central Africa I would say that you never know what to expect; it’s all very chaotic. There’s an odd mixture between people out to make a quick buck at your expense, and those beautifully sincere people who just want to show you some of their life and experience some of yours. Like an old man I met in Kinshasa who had a side-street stall fixing tatty flip-flops and shoes. We just sat and chatted about his life and about what he did; there were no expectations, just a friendly old man.

So far I’ve come to dislike the main cities on my journey, as they are too chaotic and dirty. I much prefer the open road and villages, where the people are far more hospitable and the scenery is breathtaking. Some of the cities weren’t too bad and once I got my head around the chaos, it was possible to enjoy myself. I would walk at night through side streets and alleyways finding little restaurants serving wonderful local food.

Trying to get out of Kinshasa and across the Congo River was a huge hassle. I arrived at the harbour and stood out like a sore thumb riding in on my big motorbike. People were constantly coming up to me, hassling me for cash and demanding bribes. I managed to fend them off and got the bike to where the ferry was being loaded.

Gazing out over the harbour it looked like a line of ants loading up the ferry; hundreds of people sweating and swearing at each other as they struggled under the large loads they were carrying. Everything from plastic chairs to metal street lamp posts were packed onto the boat. The scene was incredibly chaotic and I was glad once we were underway and headed away from the madness of Kinshasa, my wallet drained as much as my emotions were.

We arrived in Brazzaville in the Republic of Congo, and after getting through the officials I started heading north. The road was good for about 200 kilometres before it turned into huge potholes. I eventually reached a small village before sunset. The next morning, after a breakfast of avocados and bananas, I headed off struggling up bad roads with huge corrugations. The roads were shared with trucks and often traffic would come to a standstill as vehicles tried to navigate the bad roads. I met a Japanese couple who had taken two days to complete the section I’d done in less than a day.

By the end of the day on these bad roads I was completely fatigued, and eventually I took a bad fall and the impact winded me. I lay there for a while as I was simply not up to carrying on; I was fed up and pitched the tent some way off the road. There is so much open space that besides the roadside villages every 20-or-so kilometres there isn’t a soul around for as far as the eye can see.

The next morning I headed across the Gabon border. The roads in Gabon are tarred and much better than what I had just been riding. I drove through the country fairly quickly, but just before I was about to cross the border into Cameroon I looked back and felt like I hadn’t really experienced Gabon. Up to this point I felt like I was rushing ahead, trying to get to the next border post. I had heard of an out-of-the-way border crossing in Gabon, and so decided to take a 120 kilometre detour through the jungles of Gabon to get there.

As I drove down this small dirt road I got completely surrounded by jungle. After a few kilometres I found a man with a motorcycle which wouldn’t start so I towed him to the next village. There I chatted to a few of the villagers who told me the border crossing was on the other side of a river about 80 kilometres ahead. Eventually I arrived at the river crossing and there were two young men with pirogues. We negotiated a rate and they helped get the bike and luggage into the dug-out. I sat in the second pirogue following the bike down the river. I just sat there with a gratifying smile, knowing that I’d made a great decision.

We got the bike out of the pirogues and up onto Cameroonian ground. A laid-back immigration officer came out and stamped my passport, and I was on my way in no time. I stopped at the next small village to chat to the locals, one of them speaking fluent English. We spoke for a while, and they offered me some palm wine before setting off again. The shadows were getting long when I arrived at the first main Cameroonian village called Oveng.

When I arrived in Oveng I was greeted by the chief who offered me a place to stay in an ‘auberge’ (French for inn). The auberge was a stable-like room with just a bed, which is all I really needed. The locals were gathering around, and we chatted and I took photos of them which they enjoyed. I met the local teacher who offered to show me a place to get some food. I invited him to join me because by then I was starting to feel lonely which became acute when eating a meal; having no one to share the moment with.

There was no electricity or running water in the village which was built around a crossroad, the crossroad being the main business hub and meeting point. We enjoyed a warm beer in the dark amongst the other customers whilst waiting for the lady at the shop to prepare a meal. She brought a paraffin lamp with the meal. I never did find out what the meal was, only that it was good. I became distinctly aware at that point of how much I took electricity for granted. How easy it made my life and all the little things I like to do and like to have.

The full moon had risen by the time the two of us were walking back and as I was looking out over the grey jungle canopy, moonlight glistening off the leaves, I heard the chief’s voice, inviting me for a beer at the outdoor bar. We got chatting and he started speaking of America’s attack on Libya. This was the first time on this trip that I realised what these people were going through. I had gotten lost in self absorption; my world had become roads and border crossings, dirt tracks and villagers. I received no answer to my question as to the reason for the war. Instead the chief invited me to a soccer match the next day. I planned on attending the soccer match at six in the morning then leave by ten at the latest. I left at eight…. two days later.

To be honest, I am not very good at soccer and felt useless as I fumbled with my feet around the ball. The patient captain would move me from wing to centre to some other position to finally the bench. After the match I was invited to the club lunch. Every Saturday the local chiefs, village elders, doctors and clerks come together to play a game and have lunch.

The lunch is more about singing songs and keeping the beers flowing, than actually eating lunch. I bought the club a case of beers to say thank you for the day, and ended up drinking a lot of them. I swopped soccer shirts with the doctor and became an honourary member of a soccer club in a small village in the jungle of South East Cameroon.

None of this would have happened had I chosen the paved road.

Images of Journey of a Lifetime: Part 4