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The
Journal Travel Journal Africa Africa Day 60: Mboki to Near Sudanese border As light appeared so we woke, this time to the sound of voices. Given our fear of discovery we quickly set about the morning vehicle checks and packing up to get away a.s.a.p. During this time a group of locals wandered over to watch the show. Friendly, as they always were, they informed us that about 50 yds away was the local school, so much for covert. The road was actually very good in places and we were able to make Obo, the last town before the border in very good time. It is here that all formalities are concluded and we woke up the various officials and got all relevant stamps. The road out of the town towards the border was very difficult to find, and stupidly we elected not to go via the market to try and pick up a machete, electing instead to crack on to see if we could cover the last 100kms in that day. Eventually we found the "road" which was little more that an overgrown farm track. As we passed through small villages the, by now familiar, bemused looks increased in their intensity. Clearly very little (no) traffic had passed this way, in fact the army checkpoint completely forgot to ask us for money such was their confusion. The road at times was little more than a footpath, very overgrown and very steep with huge rocks. Bert and Ernie simply lapped it up constantly stunning us with their ability to get traction, particularly given that neither of them was in full health and both are carrying about 4 tonnes. Clearly we were in the presence of off road masters, we were mere Padowan monkeys by comparison. Just after a "lunch stop" (our usual 2 minutes to swap drivers) of the last of the biscuits we burst out onto a clearing to be confronted by a large secretary bird prowling around, cue humming of the Jurassic park music. At this stage all was going well, although the road was rough it was passable and the only problem was the constant rolling around of mangos on the roof "harvested" as we burst through the undergrowth. Suddenly Giles' mechanical sixth sense reported Bert lurching alarmingly to the left. A quick stop and we had our first puncture of the trip, a testament to our fabulous tyres. Despite the lack of previous practice Mobile Medics set to work like a well oiled F1 pit crew, although there was enormous trepidation about using the high lift jack after our previous attempt. Within 25mins we were on our way again. Just 10 minutes later, coming up a steep incline, Bert hit trouble, sliding and beaching himself on the rear differential. With an inability to get himself off, all eyes turned to his partner in crime Ernie. Some hacking of the forest and Ernie was driven past. Shackling him to his partner we tried in vain to free Bert. To no avail, so shovels were unpacked and Duncan and Andy began to hack away at the rock hard ground, whilst rocks were gathered to attempt to provide a ramp to run him up on. All available weight was removed to help the escape. The heat was oppressive, but the flies were unbelievable, Duncan at one point sporting his own "cape of flies". Eventually a channel for the diff was mined out by the sterling efforts of Andy and Duncan and Austin gingerly sat in the driver's seat for the attempted "Houdini". Diff lock was gingerly engaged, something we had always avoided after the horror stories of a phenomenon known as "wind up" whereby the diff explodes, spare diffs being a little hard to come by in the CAR jungle. Bert, however, knew best and merely pulled himself free. Once again we were on our way, but by now chastised by the first minor failures of the trip. As
if to add insult to injury just 5 minutes later we came across a
fallen tree blocking the path, previously there had always been
a route around but this time there was none. As Giles climbed up
on the roof to get a good GPS fix the rest of the crew began to
cut a path. Then the saw blade broke, leaving us with a junior hacksaw
to tackle the jungle trees. Before long tyre irons, hammers and
sheer body weight was employed to break a path, with a little careful
manoeuvring both vehicles made it around. The GPS reading informed
us that we were still at least 35km from the border and reluctantly
we concurred that to push on this tired may cause even more problems.
Despite our enormous reservations about camping in the bush of no-mans
land between CAR and Sudan we set about trying to find somewhere
suitable. Up bright and early we hoped to cross at least two more ferries and if possible recharge with water, noting that the size of ferry as marked on the map got steadily smaller. Hmmm, less weight to pull we hoped. The
next ferry was much as the first, but thankfully, looking at the
state of our hands, the locals all pitched in to drag us across.
Bert and Ernie looked on in serene indifference, happy to see us
pulling them for once. Coming across a rather larger village, Zembio, we paused to restock our diminished water supplies. Andy and Duncan's water pump technique was cheerfully encouraged by the locals, although the young girls were able to achieve a much better flow rate! With some local produce on board we headed off. Coming
across our first small ferry it was a pleasure to see that this
was in fact just acting as a bridge, the river being fortuitously
low at this time of year. Up again for first light we made our way in to Bangassou. Once in town we were greeted by the locals and police and were informed of some more formalities and stamps in our passports. In addition we were able to find some more diesel, and although the quality was a trifle in question, choice was a luxury we didn't have. A local missionary station was able to change some US dollars enabling us to at least pay for the diesel. Sadly they also informed us of two Germans who had done our intended route two months back, taking 15 days to do the last 100kms! Having stocked up with bread, diesel and the required stamps we set off, discussing madly whether or not Bert and Ernie would be better equipped to handle it than their WW2 2 wheel drive ambulance The previous day the map was noted to have four new symbols marked on our route, which previously we had not come across. The key duly informed us of "motorised" ferries. The local police assured us they would be working, but given the difficulty of finding diesel we were more than a little sceptical. The first ferry came into view towards midday, with just a few fishermen on the opposite bank. Climbing onto the ferry its state of repair was shocking and we could see no way that it could be used. The fishermen paddled across and assured us that all was well. Gingerly we loaded the vehicles on board. At this point it was indicated that the "motorisation" was in fact human powered, the first gathering of the Mobile Medics ferry tug of war team was put into action. During the rest of the day we were sporadically hit with rainstorms, but the road remained passable. Climbing up onto a ridge we came across a great place to camp away from the road and settled into the, by then, familiar routine. Some trucks passed down the road that evening in the opposite direction, which boded well for the possibility of the road. Dawn rise for vehicle checks than back on the road, only a handful of bees surrounded us this time making it a little less hurried. The road from Bambari to Bangassou steadily deteriorated all day. At times it was low ratio and crawling up areas that had been heavily eroded by rain running down the road. Fortunately the aforementioned rain had yet to hit us, fingers crossed all round. Our mood was noticeably higher once we were on the move and we all began to feel more positive about what was ahead. As the day passed the checkpoints virtually vanished, and there was seldom any mention of money. This lifted us greatly, the local population continued to be very friendly and the local mangos were sampled, spectacular if a little tricky to eat with full beards! Towards the end of the day we burst out of the jungle onto a breathtaking waterfall, again very morale boosting as we contemplated a swim, eventually deciding against it. As light faded we found a very good campsite that afforded excellent cover and was miles from population, about 30kms outside Bangassou. Although pestered by flies these soon disappeared come sunset and we settled into a much more relaxing evening. The chef was back on form and we had another excellent bush stew under tremendous stars with Colobus monkeys squealing in the distance. As night fell we felt safe enough to light a candle which triggered a once in a lifetime opportunity to view the CAR moth suicide display team. The difference in our outlook was incredible and feeling much more secure and optimistic than the previous evening, we headed to bed. The day started early, as we wanted to put good distance between Bangui, and ourselves figuring that the checkpoints would decrease in number. The vehicles had been thoroughly washed by the hotel staff, much to our disappointment as they now looked more valuable and thus stealable. The combination of the drunk, aggressive police and officials, the threat of banditry, the unknown nature of the route ahead, the fast approaching rains and the possibility of jeopardising the whole project meant we were all genuinely worried about what we were about to tackle. As a group, we are not shy of a challenge but in the minutes before we left there was a very real feeling of unease, which in itself was disturbing to all of us. Leaving town we were not stopped at the "border" checkpoint of the previous night so cracked on, pausing only to buy bread and cheese. A little further down the road the eagle-eyed Giles noticed that the stamps of the previous evening were marked 'Entrée'. Turning round we went back, not wanting to leave any availability for more on-the-spot fines. Sure enough we needed to fill out exit cards and get more stamps ('Sortie') and more money exchanged hands, although again with a receipt. It was noted at this time that the local traffic was also paying at each checkpoint, roughly the same amount as we were being charged, this eased our hearts a little and we set off. We'd been told the police and civil servants haven't been paid by the government for years, so perhaps this was their only source of income. At yet another checkpoint 20kms down the road our carnet was stamped a total of four times, and with money exchanging hands at alarming rate, we began to get concerned about having enough local currency to get through them all. At Sibut the road became dirt again, and the checkpoints began to lessen in frequency. In fact we also got asked less and less for money and everyone became increasingly friendly. Towards the end of the day we found ourselves in the awkward situation of being too close to the outskirts of Bambari to camp safely so pushed on into town. Seeing a petrol station we decided to fill up, and Andy made the vital observation of our potential range and availability of diesel. Chats with the locals and we realised this might be the last diesel we would see before Sudan. We then proceeded to procure extra diesel containers and broke a golden rule emptying out two water containers to fill with additional diesel - meaning we had 75 litres of diesel in each tank and 200 litres in total in the Jerry cans between the two. We figured that that would be enough to reach Sudan if we didn't find any more fuel on route, and that maybe Andy's Dad would be able to help us from there. So far we'd seen water bore holes in every village and had a total carrying capacity of 60 litres as well as numerous bottles. We hoped the range could be stretched and headed out of town. Light
began to fade very fast so the first available break in the jungle
was driven through and we set up camp in far less than ideal circumstances.
That night all of us were more than a little nervous, in fact our
Chef whose evening meals up till that point had rivalled the Savoy,
accidentally added the controversial spice Citronella from the candle.
Well, we figured it would keep the bugs away as we sweated it out! Day 55: Nana-Bakassa to Bangui Up at pre-dawn to maximise daylight driving hours there was a low buzzing all around us. In fact we were utterly surrounded, the hive being very much populated! The phrase "African Killer Bees" kept running around our heads so it was quick vehicle checks and tent packing before escaping back to the road. Only Andy got stung after one rather brave bee went into his sandal. The road remained reasonable with only the occasional light shower keeping us on our toes. The temperature was noticeably cooler too, although humidity was clearly steadily climbing. The police checkpoints began to increase in frequency, with money being the recurring theme. The "Nigerian Defence" of smiling and waving was not a ploy we were able to employ here as they had rather more substantial barriers. Instead two new defences were created. The first was to go blank and stare into space when the first "price" was quoted, a ploy invented and brilliantly executed by Dr Shawyer, the result was a substantially lower "price" being accepted a few minutes later! The second was rather more person specific. Unfortunately Duncan had developed cold sores after his illness in N'Djamena allowing him to look sickly before coughing on the papers as he handed them over. Unsurprisingly, the result was a very speedy wave through. Incredibly the road suddenly turned into sealed, beautiful highway about 150kms outside Bangui, but progress was slowed by the massive increase in checkpoints. We also had our first encounter with the Presidential Guard, including a rather tricky test of our diplomacy when a photo was taken near the checkpoint. Convinced that the small digital camera was a spy camera it took some more cash in the form of an on-the-spot fine before we could proceed. At last we entered Bangui, the final checkpoint requiring us to fill out entry declaration forms and getting stamps in our passports and carnets!? This time a receipt was given but the feeling of entering a separate country was palpable and worrying. Filling up with diesel and pulling into the only hotel in town, we decided to get as much info as possible from all sources as well as stock up for the next leg. The capital is stunningly located on the edge of the river Obangui, and cheers could be heard from the local stadium as an evening football match was in progress. Giles and Austin took Bert into town to stock up with food but were unfortunately stopped at a checkpoint 500 yds from the hotel and, having made the schoolboy error of leaving all our documents back at the hotel, they threatened to impound the vehicle. The new Olympic sport of the 500yd sandal dash ensued to grab the documents, another 'fine' and crisis was averted. That night there was sleeplessness all round as apprehension about the next leg of our journey hit home. Day 54: Moundou to Nana-Bakassa (CAR) We arose to a turbulent sky and rainbows off in the distance. The familiar morning checks of the vehicles done we were ready for the off. The road continued to deteriorate becoming a single lane dirt track (not that this seemed to have any impact on the pace set by Dr Shawyer; the population graph of Chadian chickens registered a dramatic downturn). The vista opened up giving us snapshots of plains framed by extraordinary storm light. Making reasonable progress we made the CAR border around 9 in the morning and cleared the Chadian formalities without problems; although we had to pay at the customs office, we were uncharacteristically given a receipt. A further 5km down the road we had our first, but by no means last, encounter with CAR officials. The border guard was friendly and very efficient, quickly stamping us in and only asking for a calendar, although with our schoolboy French this took some time to work out. A little further down the road we reached the first town and the customs checkpoint. After customs in the first building we were used by the police in the second building as a teaching aid. All went fairly smoothly and no money exchanged hands. Rather worryingly the police captain felt that the rains had already started in the south of the country…we doubted that the roads were of German autobahn standard. A further 40kms down the road we reached another checkpoint. Strolling up to the station the police chief asked for money, with no receipt this time, and for us to give a lift to an extremely elderly gentleman. He indicated that he could sit on the top of one of the Land Rovers, on rough dirt tracks. In our best mime and schoolboy French we communicated our doubt at his grip strength and were duly waved through sans geriatric roof rack attachment. Pushing on through villages greeted by bemused waves, all was well, and then Bert stopped dead. No amount of pushing could wake him and our panic began to rise. With the bonnet up and local audience in situ Austin rummaged around before finding the stop solenoid wire was disconnected - a fact discovered by the controversial method of electrocution, much to the delight of the locals. A little African repair and Bert roared back into life, thankfully, as we were fairly sure that the RAC cover is a little patchy in CAR; even saying we were a woman alone we doubted they'd be there anytime soon. At the next village we rumbled up to another checkpoint, to be greeted by our first Pygmy gesticulating madly that we were too close to the roadblock and should reverse 10 feet. Off we trooped into the station to sit down with an officer in brand new Nike trainers. He "carefully" placed his AK47 on the floor pointing directly at Duncan's groin before proceeding with the usual formalities. A few minutes passed and in strolled his boss, aggressive and rather worse for wear, wanting to discuss world politics, not a topic that regularly comes up in GCSE French and definitely not a topic we wanted to discuss. Inevitably money was asked for and a little bartering got it down to reasonable levels and we carried on our way. By now light was fading and the jungle looked pretty formidable but, true to form, a clearing revealed itself and we were able to secrete ourselves away from the road. As tents were unfurled Andy pointed up to the tree where an African beehive was located but with no bees around we figured it was abandoned…. The routine became one of "covert camping" with minimal lights, noise and early bed, attention was not something we wanted to draw to ourselves in this part of the world. Wanting to get a good distance covered we left fairly early in the morning, leaving the heady delights of N'Djamena behind us we were on the road again. With the strains of Hillbilly Symmes' rendition of 'On the Road Again' (somewhat of an anthem) in our ears we found ourselves slipping back into the routine of the road, we crossed the river and were pleasantly surprised to be waved through the first of the police checkpoints. The tarmac road remained in good condition for the day and we made our way past trucks loaded in a fashion that contravened several laws of physics. Having taken advice on the route we took the road via Kelo and were somewhat disturbed to see vast, heavy rain clouds building on the horizon. Shortly after Kelo the road turned into a dirt track of reasonable condition and much to our concern the clouds started to deliver their load as we saw the first rain since northern Morocco. Given we were not expecting the rains to start in that area until May this was not encouraging. As the light began to fade at around 5 we started looking for possible camping sites. Outside of a town we saw an open area that we pulled off into and headed a little way away from the road to avoid being seen. We camped for the evening in an area that we weren't entirely convinced wasn't a tribal meeting ground, still it seemed to serve us well and we attempted to get back into the routine. We were entertained that evening by a colossal electrical storm in the south that dramatically lit up the night sky. The morning saw us once again making the familiar journey back to the garage hoping to find good news waiting for us. We found Ernie looking much healthier than before with a brand new (if slightly different, series III) fan fitted. We asked the mechanics to tighten up the still leaking injection points on Bert in the vain hope that this may reduce the clouds of smoke that he had been producing. In the meantime we refitted the mudguard onto Bert's front wing, hoping this drastic change in the aerodynamics might make the all important difference in power. With both vehicles now driving in a similar fashion to our arrival in N'Djamena we decided to call it a day with the modifications. They now seem to have absorbed enough series III parts to qualify as having changed their identity irreversibly. Having
now worked out the Millennium Falcon style multiple key ignition
system on Bert we scuttled back to the hotel to unpack, clean and
repack the vehicles. Andy's plane landed at 0400 and we hoped that his return might herald an upturn in our fortunes. Certainly we felt reasonably pleased that given the sight of Duncan's illness ravaged features and the news of Bert & Ernie falling apart by the minute he didn't just get straight back on the plane home. The garage had good news, however. The leak was due to a fault in the water pump, not the aluminium hose, which would have been almost impossible to weld. The water pump needed renewing but they were confident they could source and fit one by the next day and would be able to find an 'African' solution to our bent fan bearing. Just as it was all looking up however, on the way into town in Bert, his engine starting cutting in and out. Not another problem. Back to the garage to be told that fuel was leaking from the injectors that had been cleaned last week - evidently on replacing the injectors the old washers had been used instead of replacing them with new ones as necessary. Again the fault of what we hoped was one rouge mechanic at the garage (the other mechanics have been thoroughly confidence inspiring). The garage promised that this could also be rectified the next day. We would see. It was good to have the four boys back together again, and armed with the Sudan permits and assistance Andy's Dad had managed to source we all started to feel a little more confident about the route. We'd decided to check into a different hotel in order to ensure that we could all be in the same place when Andy got back that night so most of the day was taken up in moving around (we'd started moving almost as slowly as the locals). Austin had noticed a thorn had wedged into the rubber of one of Ernie's tyres so we planned to change it and see if there was a leak once the thorn was removed. Given our previous attempt at jacking the car (see Nouakchott) we decided this would be best done on the flat tarmac of the hotel car park in the cooler evening. We're now no longer surprised by the mechanical peculiarities of Bert and Ernie, so it was just about par for the course when, on moving Ernie to the tarmac about half of his coolant emptied onto the floor. On opening the bonnet we saw that the fan had come clean off, either because of the bearing fusing at a jaunty angle, and that water was leaking from, we thought, one of the coolant hoses. After changing the hose however, Ernie was still leaking and we thought perhaps it was coming from one of the aluminium connecting tubes. Thoroughly disheartened we realised that we needed another trip to the garage in the morning. Palm Sunday and therefore we reasoned a day of rest. Giles and Austin spent the middle of the day by the pool and Duncan the day in bed after a nasty bout of Chadian D&V. Austin, the man who never burns or peels, promptly burned and began to peel - that'll be sitting out in 450C sun at midday for you. A quiet evening and we hoped that with our leader due to return shortly we would be back on our way within no time. On going back to the garage we were told they hadn't found anything wrong but perhaps by taking it all apart and putting it back again, maybe we would see an improvement. Only we didn't. Instead, Bert had started knocking and producing lots of black smoke, and worryingly difficult to start. In fact impossible, stranding us outside our intended lunch spot. Jumping in Ernie and racing back to the ,now closed garage, we managed to get hold of the mechanic who came back to Bert. Rather interestingly he immediately took of all the injectors and raced off to have them cleaned. A service we had already paid for…hmmm. Approximately 3 hours later he returned with another mechanic and replaced the parts, to no avail. Much head scratching they eventually removed the fuel stop solenoid and Bert roared into life now smoking in his "usual" fashion and the knocking had subsided, but stopping him involved stalling! During this time we met two Americans whose journeys had taken them through southern Sudan building schools, and they were planning to return in 3 weeks, but might possibly link up with us and leave early, more the merrier! "Stalling" Bert back at the hotel feeling somewhat disheartened we collapsed into a welcome cold beer and planned our strategy to get Bert back to health. Low and behold the aforementioned "comedy" mechanic turned up with a replacement solenoid, sourced at 7 o'clock, something smelled wrong. Adamant that we should not go back to the garage the following day, he duly replaced it, but the problem remained. Food, beer and sleep seemed the best approach. Following day we reasoned an electrical problem, and returned to the garage. Once there we found all smiles and our comedy mechanic nowhere. Twenty minutes of Giles' rapidly improving mechanical French and the mechanic got to work. Incredibly it was discovered that the ignition connection had worked loose, an entirely separate problem, solved in a fabulous African way. Sourcing a Series three ignition barrel they rewired and cut a new hole in the steering column to accept it. Much like the Millennium Falcon we now have a two key start up system! Bert was back! Evidently the original comedy mechanic had been trusted to get the injectors cleaned, an operation that required him going into town, which he clearly had not done. Fortunately Bert seemed to know this and threw off his ignition connection in disgust, catching comedy mechanic out and getting his injectors cleaned as a result. We await to see if the power returns…. Andy had a wedding to go to and so booked flights back home to leave on the Wednesday. We took Bert to almost every garage in N'Djamena (no Land Rover specialist) and found that everything was normal (turbo function, compression testing, timing belt etc) - still no cause. At the last garage (the Toyota specialist) they said they would check the intercooler and clean the injectors for us as a last resort. On the positive side, Andy had been to the Central African Republic Ambassador's house and arranged visas for us all. The temperature was now reaching over 45C during the day and not falling below 35C at night so much of the middle of the day was spent either by the Novotel pool (in the shade) or in Austin and Giles' Novotel room (they moved after a couple of days at the Sahara). In the evening we spent most of our time discovering N'Djamena's quite staggeringly good array of restaurants. On the Wednesday evening we took Andy down to the Airport and said goodbye for the next week. Day 42 - Dakwa, Nigeria to N'Djamena, Chad Given it was less than 200km to the border and even though that involved 2 border crossings, we allowed ourselves a late start and a bit of a lie in. It almost felt like how it had sounded in the brochure. Continuing along the awful road to the Nigeria-Cameroon border we set off at half nine. We didn't have a Cameroon visa but hoped that as the route was only 100km or so through Cameroon we'd be able to arrange a transit visa on the border. This border crossing was easy enough and we weren't even asked for a fee for the visa. The pot-holed road continued for another 80km (we mostly drove on the dirt next to the road); hard work but an opportunity for some good photos and videos. The last few kilometres to the Chad border is on good road and we were hopeful of making N'Djamena by early afternoon. Sadly the border officials at the Chad border post had other ideas. Firstly the chief customs officer was away in town and we had to wait for a junior officer to go find him before getting the carnet stamped. Once this had been done, a police officer who we'd had a nice chat with but had refused to give him a gift, spotted Austin put a foot on the concrete flag pole base. According to him, this was a massive faux pas, showing extreme disrespect for his country and meant Austin would have to go to jail. Naturally we all felt that this was a load of rubbish but thought the best approach was profuse apologising and suggesting we might be able to pay a fine instead. Eventually this was agreed (no receipt of course) and saddened we headed the last few kilometres into town. Because we would be in N'Djamena for a week or more and needed somewhere where Bert and Ernie would be safe we had a trawl around town to find something suitable and decided due to cost and availability to stay at the Sahara Hotel - Air Con at night and a guard who would watch the cars. We actually made it up before the call to prayer (five o'clock!) and were on the move by quarter to six. Not surprisingly there wasn't much on the road and to begin with no one at the police check points. As it got to about eight, we started to see more people driving around (not obviously on essential business) and more police. The 'slow slightly, smile and wave' routine again worked very well and when we were stopped (people, usually customs, standing in the middle of the road or waving guns) either the polite 'no', or Giles' technique of asking more than one question at once and taking any 'yes' answer to mean we could drive on, and we again made good progress. The good road runs out about 80km from the border and turns into a mixture of awful pot-holed tarred road and dirt tracks. Despite promising ourselves an early stop to camp because of our early start, we drove until half past five and camped 10km away from the Nigeria-Chad border. There was very little bush to camp in so we were pretty conspicuous but by that time we were beyond worrying too much. Giles again excelled himself by producing hot dogs for all and along with a sleepy bunch of locusts that roosted in a tree next to us we hit the sack. |
