Cross-Congo trip, July 2006

We are back home! After one year in the Congo we were ready to do some exploration, and after e few trips in the Cherokee, were ready for sterner stuff. Not that the Cherokee cannot do it, but Shahnaz is sorry for it, and there is a sense of, well, delicacy to it. The turbo has to be handled just so, the electronics are sensitive to dampness, and, well, we wanted tougher. So when we saw an Uri a year ago, I wanted. This was as close to the archetype of a 4X4 that I could imagine. You want aircon, CD, radio? Install it yourself, buddy. This is a mean, go-everywhere machine, not a means to massage your ego, pamper your senses, or indulge your vanity. A modernised, improved version of my Willis Jeep! It took a lot of research to find a left hand drive prototype, in Namibia, more time to finalise the sale, and, having paid in February, more time to have it finished, have a canopy put on, as it is a pickup model, then have it shipped. Eventually there was the waltz with the paperwork, and finally, in end July, we got the word. The Uri has landed.

In the meantime we had done some homework, and had identified some like-minded souls, who were also planning to drive up from the coast. Sounds easy, and on the map it is some 700 kilometers. In the time people did it for a weekend. But thirty years of neglect, as well as a war or two (depends on who is counting) and most of the main road is not passable for a man on foot, while the rest is frequented by Ninja rebels, who may be politically motivated, or may be inspired by the local variety of weed, to do some economic redistribution. You do not argue with a guy with two hand grenades, the pins missing, the language incoherent, but the intention clear: Hand over your valuables or things may get interesting. Or so some friends told us.

But, as always, there is another way. You could take the forest roads, then cross the Bateke plateau, to enter the northern road that connects the republic of Congo with the Gabon. “Everyone does it” we were told. Someone else said: “Sera’ un ballade.” We should have been warned.

So arrangements went ahead. Our camping gear is mostly in South Africa, we had no time to prepare, but still…. I took two days’ leave, and headed off to Pointe Noire with what should have been the morning flight on Thursday, but turned out to be the noon flight.

Got the Uri at customs, had some drama with the customs, discovered that the spare wheel had gone missing, and friends sourced another. Bought a sponge mattress, some water, some bully beef, a pot, coffee, a packet of sugar lumps and milk and we were ready! Then waited for Shahnaz who was to come on the afternoon flight, which became the evening flight.

First we had to fill, deliver a parcel to the UNDP office, and then check in with our friends, who were in full dismantling of bikes, poaching improbable amounts of stuff, and in general having a whale of a time.

Friday morning we left at oh dark thirty. More like 05h00. Our hosts were going to see us off with coffee, but slept through, so we crept out, forgetting some warm clothes and stuff. We hit the road north through the already growing traffic, a good road for some klicks, the off into gravel, later dust, later potholes as we proceeded into the Mayombe mountains. We were in a convoy with two scrambler bikes, a quad, a Nissan Patrol, with a high, heavy roof rack, and a Prado. We found that the road had, sometime back in history, been tarred so when you hit a piece of remaining tar you shake loose the fillings in your teeth! Really amazing mountains, some ruins of deep forest, bad erosion in places, but mostly bad granite gravel roads. At one place we stopped where a pipe comes out of the mountainside, clear cool water, with pieces of marble in the pool. Numerous road blocks, manned by police, soldiers, gendarmes, militia, you name it, but nothing that could not be handled with production of sheaves of official papers, and, most important, a packet of cigarettes.

Then eventually we took a shortcut and went through a number of villages. Dust like powder, sometimes 20 cm deep, and it hangs like smoke in the air. Chickens, pigs, a few dogs, goats, and people who come to stare at the convoy roaring through.

First sign of civilization beyond the mountains was Camp Foralac, where the police officer, after the obligatory packet of cigarettes, came to lament how he had been abandoned here in this desert. Life is tough!

Eventually we made it to Dolisie where Shahnaz had to drop off a couple of printer cartridges at the UNDP office, then on, on towards Sibiti. After some 30km of really bad, dusty road we see a town called Botadi. On the map Botadi is just short of the Angola border! What to do, we press on and find the group waiting for us at the next crossroads.. Turns out Botadi is the singular for Matadi, which means rocks! So any village with rocks is Botadi....

Then tar road, quite good, all the way to Sibiti. Met an inquisitive Policeman there, when I asked him "comment ca va ici chez vous?" he replied: "A l'air d'aller un peu."

We slept in a 1/4 star hotel, power from 6pm to 10 pm, two buckets of cold water in the shower, the wash basin not connected to incoming or outgoing, but what the hell, it has a basin, no? Marco prepared dinner from numerous cans, our two bully beef cans were quietly packed back into the box. By the way the sugar had jumped out of the carton it was in, and was coloured a delicate shade of pink from the dust. I picked most of it up and stashed it back into the carton.

We left the next morning towards Zanaga, but turned left about 15 km short at Ingoumina, a long road between villages, complete with kids, pigs, potholes. We saw a brothel, a couple of restaurants, and a village called America, "Here there is no terrorist.” Passed through Chicago too, believe me.

Up to now there is road, some good, some bad, some worse. Add bridges with planks, clay, dust, gravel, holes deep enough to swallow a wheel, as you wish. At one place we crossed a bridge with on one side a single log, planks on the other. Shahnaz managed to keep the car neatly on the centre of the log.

At one place we stopped at about 11h00 for coffee, in deep jungle, and found a swarm of Safari ants crossing. We crushed a lot, I regret to say. The sugar had jumped out again, I donated some to the ants, and packed the rest back in.

On again, and then left onto the sand of the Bateke plateau, eager to try the 4X4 capacity. After about 20 km we come to the conclusion that the transfer case does not work. We got stuck once, then backed out and made our own tracks next to the others, on the grass. The road less travelled by….

All this way we saw no sign of life. No cattle, no game, maybe three birds. Wide grassland, burnt in most places, but green despite the fact that the rains are still a few weeks away. After about 50 km of this we camped on the plateau, pitched a camp, and started cooking. We went to collect fire wood, the Patrol came back with some more. We roasted chicken, the others made pork and opened a lot of cans. It got quite cold, but we had thrown all out the back, and slept comfortably on a sponge mattress. In the night the humidity explained how the grass could be so green despite the dry season, the condensation was enough to rescue you from death by thirst! Twice Shahnaz had to go walkies, and it is rather a lonely feeling, standing there on the bare plateau at one in the morning, shining the little torch, looking for leopards, hyenas and what not.

Morning came, no room service, no wake up call, I asked my money back. First we had a duck bath with a water bottle and a thermos flask! Do not ask… Then we found that the Safari ants had called their cousins in to take revenge, the camp site was crawling with them! One of the bikers also had to go walkies in the night, and when he got back into the tent discovered he was covered with ants! We got a graphic demonstration of how to shake ants out of your underpants.....

Eventually packed, trash burnt, refuelled, and we were back on the road. Again we trailed, had some heavy going in places. With four tracks next to each other one gets onto the side slope, and with the sand and tracks throwing you around, we once nearly overturned the car. We hit one or two bad patches, once when we were coming down from the high plateau. There is deep black soil, in the rain it must be a nightmare. Now we were catching up with the Prado, and, slowing down, got stuck, we had to back nearly 200 meters before we could get out of the tracks. Once onto the side of the road we made good speed, and again caught up. On the last few kilometres of the plateau the road gets onto a narrow ridgeline, and eventually the capacity to make your own road gets limited by thick bush, and the narrow ridge. Here I had to slow down for the Prado and got stuck with no joy going forward or back. We tried packing stuff under the wheels, but no still no luck, until the Patrol came back, and towed us out. A heavy climb, the tow rope went taut twice, and we were up onto the real road! By now the tracks between villages looked tame, after 100km we could get out of low range, and even get up to third gear!

Now that we had to make speed, a puncture for one of the bikes lost us a lot of time in one of the villages. The villagers will tell the story of that repair for months to come. Of course the one officious guy wanted to know who gave us permission, and so on, but for the rest they just stared. Shahnaz had some of the ladies peering through her window discussing what sort of person she was. No Mondele, but also no Congolese, what is this?

Then back on the road, now tar, until we got to Jambala. This was about 15h00, and the guy who pointed out the right direction said that we would easily make Ngo by 18h00. I thought he was crazy, it is only 123 km! He knew better. This is the main road to this Provincial Capital, but the holes were in places as deep as the wheel of the Uri. As we went on the road got worse, eventually there were signs that repairs were being planned, because there would be ditches dug across the road, about 10cm deep and about two meters wide. I really hope they will make more that 10 cm of foundation, there is clay beneath, and a foundation of less than 50cm will not last more than a season.

Eventually, tired and shaken to the bone we got to Ngo, and met up with our friends who were loading the quad and the bikes on a trailer, around 17h30. We just said hi and bye, as I was worried about the distance and the travelling in the dark. We now had 241 km to go, not too much fuel, and I wanted to get home. Fortunately the road is really nice, and even has lines in the middle.

We stopped once to pour in the last jerry can, for the rest we hammered it for home, all the time expecting the others to overtake. They had misjudged their fuel, and on a Sunday afternoon the stations were closed. Eventually we got to Brazzaville at 21h00, and the first group turned up about 30 minutes later, only to find us drinking their beer! We got invited to dinner, but decided to rather head for home, as we thought it might be a better idea to have a shower, just for a change.

Our impression was really of a country with enormous potential, but no development, all we saw was decay, villages going back to the bush. We drove for hours and hours through the ruins of the forest, saw trucks hauling big, and not so big trees out, little agriculture, and almost no cattle. No development, apart for numerous police posts and officious road blocks.

The Uri did us proud, now we have to find out how to get it into four wheel drive!