|  Author | Topic: My old job (Read 5,427 times) |
onlymark
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|  | Re: My old job
« Reply #120 on Jun 17, 2011, 4:33pm » | ![[Quote]](http://images.proboards.com/buttons/quote.gif "[Quote]") |
A quote from later - "within the last week or two another overland truck from another company .......... had been attacked, one of the female passengers had been raped and two other passengers had been shot."
And yet further -
"several of the passengers including an off duty policeman were severely beaten and all their money stolen."
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kerouac2
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #121 on Jun 17, 2011, 5:07pm » | |
"Sand pilot" would look great on a business card.
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onlymark
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #122 on Jun 19, 2011, 7:13am » | |
As would 'Muff Diver', so I'm told.
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onlymark
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #123 on Jun 19, 2011, 7:14am » | |
The journey continued smoothly, apart from the odd problem with the alternators that eventually was fixed by buying new ones, we travelled on through Mali, Burkina Faso, Niger, Nigeria and in to Cameroon.
Mali -
![[image]](http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x411/onlyMark1/2011%20inc%20Encounter/scan0022_800x539.jpg "[image]")
It was here that the roads began to get really rough. Certain areas had a large logging industry and to gain access to the forests then the companies had built roads, or rather large tracks that the logging trucks could use. When a dirt road is used over a period of time the dirt forms a washboard pattern, it forms corrugations in the surface which you either drive over very slowly or very quickly, there is no in between. If you drive slowly then the truck will go up and down in to each rut and not cause any damage, if driven quickly the truck will skip over the low points and just hit the tops of each rut. The distance between the top of each rut determines how fast you must go to achieve the right effect of a smooth ride.
The major problem with this is that the grip on the tyres is diminished as it is only making a fleeting contact with the road every half metre or so. Hence it can be difficult to turn corners or brake. The large logging trucks travelled so fast that the ruts were quite a distance apart and every so often a wrecked truck would be seen turned over on the outside of bends. Also the problem for us is that we were struggling to go fast enough to skip over the ruts without compromising safety, this made for several slow and bumpy days to say the least.
The plan in the Cameroon was to cross the border in to the Central African Republic at a place called Gamboula. This was towards the south east of the country and would give us a journey of only two days or so in CAR before being able to enter the Congo (Zaire), the shortest possible time in the CAR was a bonus as it had a reputation of not being the safest place. Little did we know though that within the last week or two another overland truck from another company had been in the CAR when they had been attacked, one of the female passengers had been raped and two other passengers had been shot.
Word of this incident filtered down to us from other travellers we met on this section who had been turned away at the border. The CAR authorities had banned access to all tourists trying to enter the country.
We thought that there was no harm in giving it a try anyway.
A few days later we turned up at the border and told that we were not allowed to enter, as we were tourists. We had already thought up a plan to try and counteract this. We told the officials that we were in fact volunteers that were going to work at a game park in the south of the country.
Many negotiations followed, they were not sure whether to believe us or not. We had no supporting paperwork to prove it but we said that it was all ready to be collected in the capital, Bangui. We stayed at the border overnight trying to persuade them. Eventually the head of the Immigration of the area turned up to speak to us. After more reasonably friendly talks he still stood by the order he had received and refused us entry. He went away back to the nearest small town but we still stood our ground.
The officials at the border then relented a little and authorised two of us to enter to go and see the chief again at his headquarters. We told him that he was depriving his country of foreign help in establishing one of the best game parks in the whole of Africa and if we were allowed in then the whole would thank him for his co-operation.
We showed him a list of the people on the truck and told him of their occupations which we had altered to make it look as though they were specialists in engineering, animal welfare, forestry etc etc. I could see that he was thinking about it and in the way of Africa he came to something of a
compromise. We had already offered him some form of “financial help” and offered to pay for any “permits” that he saw were necessary but he was not interested at all.
His compromise was that all the British passport holders could enter but no one else.
Asked why only them and he quite seriously said that they were the only ones to be trusted, the rest were spies! It became clear we weren’t going to be able to enter here so we went back to the truck and thought about the best course of action.
All we could do was return to a place were we could telephone to my office in England and ask them for advice and the latest news. We returned to Batouri and after a conversation on the phone we made our way over to Yaounde were we were to obtain a visa for Chad.
The new plan was to travel back to the north of Cameroon, enter Chad and then try and enter CAR from the north at a little used border crossing. There we hoped that, as the communication system in CAR was so poor, that the officials there would not know of the restrictions.
We were in Yaounde three nights while the visa was sorted out and it was there that one of the girls in the group was robbed. She and a couple of others had left the place we were camping, a rundown Catholic Mission, and gone to a local bar. On the way back, just after it was dark they were jumped by several local men who took what money they had on them.
Clearly upset but not to be cowed she went out the following night and the same thing happened. You would have thought she had learnt her lesson, but no, the third night, out again and again robbed. Each time she had gone out it had been with different members of the group but each time it had happened. Poor girl, I’m sure she hated parts of Africa after that.
Also when I was walking around the town during the day I saw suddenly appear at my feet an envelope. It was one of the types with a window in that normally holds a bill. I could see bank notes through the window as it lay there. I had been told of something that was done to tourists to rob them of their money. The envelope is thrown at your feet with the money clearly visible, you automatically place your hand on where you keep your money belt or such like as your first reaction is to check you’ve not lost any. The next thing you know someone has snatched it from you.
I wasn’t carrying any more than a small amount with me anyway so I kicked the envelope into the gutter, looked back as couple of the locals went scrabbling after it and I walked quickly away. I was glad we weren’t going to stop here for any length of time!
We left Yaounde and began to head north, back the way we had come.
Not a pleasant experience as we knew the roads were very rough and it felt like we had been travelling for days and had not gotten anywhere, also there was no guarantee that we could enter CAR when we got to the northern border.
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bixaorellana
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #124 on Jun 20, 2011, 3:33am » | |
Just checking in to say what a treat this story continues to be.
Were there squabbles over who got to sit up front with the driver?
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onlymark
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #125 on Jun 20, 2011, 5:07am » | |
I'd always hope to have a plan to avoid squabbles and try and for see when they might occur so I could head them off at the pass.
Every day two people were responsible for the cooking. They had first refusal on sitting in the cab (double passenger seat up front with me). Normally the pair always did, but I told them if they didn't want to they could pass on their turn to anyone else - and there were times when someone didn't want to sit with me for the whole day. In fact there were times I didn't want to sit with me.
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cheerypeabrain
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #126 on Jun 20, 2011, 6:33am » | |
This continues to be fascinating.
Did you ever have people who liked to cook and managed to produce really good meals? (I know you've already talked about cooking).
Did you get many 'relationships' start (or finish) during your journeys? and if so did this lead to problems within the group?
Did you ever get individuals who thought that THEY should be in charge/knew best ? how would you deal with this? and where are they buried?
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onlymark
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #127 on Jun 20, 2011, 7:43am » | |
Cheery, I only had one person who truly loved to cook and would do so at every opportunity. Including taking the turns of other people. Most just get on with it, some hate it - and various degrees between.
We did have some really good meals but there was mostly a time limit due to arriving at a camp spot and then cooking or if we were somewhere for the day then the time was spent seeing what was there.
Often if we were stationary and I had little to do for the day (I'd seen everywhere on the trip several times anyway and I liked the times when the group was away and I was by myself for a few hours) then I'd get the camp oven out and do some baking or shepherds pie etc making. Most meals were sufficient and filling. It was rare to have a really good or bad one.
Relationships - definitely. At least one or two started with a big group and some long established ones finished due to the proximity of each other twenty four hours a day for weeks/months and occasional stressful situations. There were awkward moments but I made a point not to get involved unless it affected the trip or the running of it.
I know many leaders ended up in long term relationships with group members, as I did. How long most relationships between the group themselves lasted after the end of the trip, I've no idea.
Normally my authority was recognised without there ever being a problem, but there were a couple of times when that and my ability to run a trip were seriously questioned. Often it was people who wanted an unreasonable amount more than they'd signed up for, or paid for - or wanted something quite different from what the brochure and information stated. Often it was someone who'd read a guide book and rebelled against not going somewhere they 'knew' to be better. Often it was people who wouldn't take my advice and wouldn't listen when I told them about certain safety and/or health aspects.
If there was friction it was usually as a result of the person not accepting that my opinion/knowledge was more accurate due to my experience than there's was.
Remember that there were group members who at home had a job where they were the boss or had a lot of responsibility and had difficulty handing this role over to me. They weren't the type to cede control - and that's why they did good in their normal job anyway.
Initially at the beginning of the trip there was a bit of a power struggle, understated though, between them and me. I always won without fail. I had to.
These instances were few and far between, but they did happen. I often said "You may not always like me. But you can always trust me".
The twice I was seriously called on it, where they thought they could do better, was when as it came to a head, I called a group meeting.
I told the group that from now on I was a group member and that that person was the leader. I handed them the keys to the truck (I kept the money safe key to myself though).
Some of the group, who were on my ‘side’ then started asking awkward questions as to where we were going, how long, when we would camp, where etc etc etc.
I played the awkward group member and reversed the roles, asking all the same questions and saying all the same things that the person had done to me.
I then asked, over the next hour or two, the logistical questions, the trip organisation questions, the mechanical questions about the truck – the names of everyone in the group – they usually didn’t know them, they were too selfish.
I’d then remind them of the duties they had to perform as to ringing ahead, planning ahead, truck maintenance, reports – have they done this, have they done that and so on and on.
The nail in the coffin was always though when I told them they had to drive the truck for all the hours of the day – legally. On the one occasion where the person toughed it out till the next day (after the disaster of breakfast when they didn’t know where anything was, where it went back, what we’d got, how I’d told them they have to monitor the tents being taken down and no kit left behind, how we had to be punctual) – when I said – “Lead on McDuff. Drive us away” – and obviously they had no licence or experience and couldn’t.
I then asked the group, “Who shall lead? Me or him?”
I found that no matter how it might be a bad tactic – humiliation always worked.
There were no dead bodies, just those scarred for life.
Nasty person aren’t I?
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onlymark
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #128 on Jun 20, 2011, 7:46am » | |
The point of the above being that no matter how much you try, some people will only change their opinion once they walk in your shoes for real. You have to let then make their mistakes and learn from them, they wont listen otherwise and wont understand unless they try it practically.
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kerouac2
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #129 on Jun 20, 2011, 8:00am » | |
I am a big mouth at the office but very submissive in strange territory. 
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bjd
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« Reply #130 on Jun 20, 2011, 9:25am » | |
I don't think it really sounds humiliating -- there was probably no other way to teach the other person a lesson. And it probably made everyone else realize exactly how much you had to do. 
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onlymark
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #131 on Jun 20, 2011, 1:43pm » | |
Cheery, did you take part in the zombie invasion?
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mich64
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #132 on Jun 20, 2011, 5:32pm » | |
I have been enjoying your posts on your old job Mark and also reading the book. Every job has a purpose and a reason and you did a great job doing this one and I think people from these trips will remember you always in different ways that you touched their lives.
Cheers,
Mich
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kerouac2
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #133 on Jun 20, 2011, 5:41pm » | |
Jun 20, 2011, 1:43pm, onlymark wrote:| Cheery, did you take part in the zombie invasion? |
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I read about that. Apparently, Leicester is not well prepared at all. I think they should carefully watch 28 Days Later before it is too late.
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kerouac2
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #134 on Jun 20, 2011, 5:43pm » | |
Going back to Mich's post, Mark, have you stayed in touch with any of the travellers from back then besides your wife?
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onlymark
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #135 on Jun 20, 2011, 7:11pm » | |
The short answer to that is no.
I was in touch with half a dozen but as time went on it became less frequent as we all moved on. Now I'm at the point of receiving updates now and again and electronic Christmas Cards - which is all I tend to send in return now.
My wife was still in touch with another woman from her trip but she got married to someone and has dropped off the radar for now.
Mich, thanks.
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onlymark
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #136 on Jun 20, 2011, 7:53pm » | |
The only thing that lightened up the journey was on the outskirts of a village called Garga Sarali, a one-horse village in the middle of nowhere. The track we were on was the only track in that direction to the north of the country. Some bandits had the good idea of making an ambush and robbing any vehicle that came past. Fortunately we were warned about them as we entered the village and initially we thought they were in the village but we found that they were still two hours to the north.
A local bus had come through from the north, had been stopped, several of the passengers including an off duty policeman were severely beaten and all their money stolen.
As we pulled up in the village there were several vehicles there waiting to continue north but they couldn’t go until someone came south and said that the road was clear, most likely this would be the army who, I was told, had been notified but how I didn’t know as there seemed to be nothing in the village to communicate with. There was little we could do but wait.
Two of the vehicles waiting were Landrovers and I could see that they were driven by whites. One of the group engaged them in conversation and we realised they were English. They were in the country helping out with pipelines or telephone lines or something, I was never quite sure. One piece of kit that they did have was a satellite phone, this was what had been used to contact the military.
The Englishman with it was very proud of it, it was the latest model he said, it was expensive to use at over a hundred dollars a minute but could contact any one in the world.
“In that case,” I said, “Can I phone my mother?”
He spluttered for a minute or two until I said I was joking and he looked a little relieved.
We ended up spending the night camping in the grounds of the local clinic, as it wasn’t until late that the military came through and told us that the road was now open. The next morning we carried on with no problem, the bandits having made off in to the countryside.
We entered Chad with the officials only giving our paperwork a cursory look at and we had a reasonably pleasant few days travelling back south towards the Central African Republic border.
We didn’t know quite what to expect when we got there, a small town called Bemai. We had exited Chad without any problems and were a little nervous as we approached the CAR Immigration official.
His “office” was a small mud and thatch hut by the side of the track with a wooden pole stretching across to block entry.
As we walked towards him he came out of the hut to meet us. His first words were, “Tourists?” We weren’t sure if this was a question or a statement. If we admitted to being tourists then there was the chance that he had heard the news and would block our entry, if we denied it then we would have to explain who we were and he would wonder why the visas we had obtained were all for “tourist purposes.”
We took a gamble and said, “No, transit to the Congo.”
He looked at us for what seemed a very long while and then invited us in to his hut. This is where you always have to be patient it is no use rushing the process. We were not sure if he still would let us in but we knew that we would find out all in good time.
He asked to see all the passports and spent a very long time looking at every detail. He then made a pile of them and started again, going through every one. He then made separate piles depending on the nationality and spent some time checking through. He then put each pile in what was probably alphabetical order, changed his mind and re-arranged them again, maybe in to numerical order.
He then reached in to the draws of a dusty, worn table and pulled out an exercise book that was put in front of him. The piles were then moved around to make space for the book on the small table, then moved around a gain to get each pile in some other order that I couldn’t work out.
Then finally he put the piles in an order with the most of one nationality to his left (British) and the least on his right (Japanese). But he had a problem, there was only one Dutch passport as well, so he had to think for a second or two as to if the single Dutch one should come after the single Japanese one or vice versa.
He decided that the Dutch came first and left it at that.
I was waiting and waiting and eventually he pulled out of one of his pockets an old biro and began to try and write in the exercise book cum register. Needless to say the pen didn’t work, I immediately gave him mine and he accepted it with a small nod of the head.
A straight line was drawn, or as best as he could, across the page and the date filled out. Then he had to make columns for first the name, then the nationality, the passport number, the date of issue, date of expiry, date of issue of the visa and its expiry, one for his signature and then one for the signature of the passport holder.
All this took even longer as he first had to work out how many columns he needed and the space to be allowed for each one.
Then he settled down to fill out the details. He had to keep asking me which was the relevant detail but eventually the register was finished.
A tense moment came then as he searched around in the table, opening every draw looking for what I hoped to be the entry stamp. This was found tucked away at the rear but then another problem arose.
There was no ink pad to wet the stamp.
Another search took place, this turning up at the rear of another draw.
But the ink pad was dry, obviously not been used for some time. This problem was solved by a little water and he then proceeded to very carefully stamp each passport, turning the stamp around so it lined up exactly with the side and top of the page.
Clearly a man who if he was going to do a job then he was going to take as much time as he wanted to do it right. All, we thought, was done but no, he then fished out another exercise book cum register, this one had, “Douane” (Customs) written on the front.
To cut a long story short, he then had to go through the whole process again. I’m sure that we were the most exciting thing to have happened to him for years and he was wanting to prolong the enjoyment.
At last he returned our passports, said we could continue, lifted the barrier and we drove in to the CAR as quickly as we could before he could think of anything else.
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lola
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #137 on Jun 21, 2011, 3:47am » | |
Over the course of this narrative I've come to picture you as a kind of Jack Aubrey RN figure, Mark. Holding off attempted mutiny! Lonely at the top! and now add Sailing under false colors!
Let me see if I understand this: you learn that people are being raped and shot in the Central African Republic, so naturally you falsify credentials and otherwise lie through your teeth so you can go see what all the fuss is about. Or does CAR just take up so much of central Africa that it's a nuisance to go around? Would you have at least done some token volunteering at that game preserve to salve your consciences for the fibs?
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onlymark
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #138 on Jun 21, 2011, 5:40am » | |
If we wanted to complete the trip going through CAR was the only viable alternative. We couldn't really avoid it. Before making the decision to press on I spoke with the group and asked what they wanted to do. They were all for having a go as the likelihood of us also being raped and shot was minimal - or as minimal as it would be in the country. The company that had had the problem weren't targeted because they were overlanders, more it was an opportune crime.
Falsifying paperwork is a common occurrence. I even falsified a visa for India one time and it passed. It's a little 'payback' for all the Police and authorities that ask you for some fictitious permit just so they can scam money out of you. But it doesn't always work, as you shall see.
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lola
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #139 on Jun 21, 2011, 2:42pm » | |
Closing the border to tourists seems like an odd response to that incident, doesn't it, considering how that country sprawls sideways across central Africa.
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onlymark
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #140 on Jun 21, 2011, 4:03pm » | |
The logic behind the decision of any country to do anything is always confusing anyway.
(I got three any's in that sentence)
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cheerypeabrain
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #141 on Jun 21, 2011, 7:37pm » | |
Jun 20, 2011, 1:43pm, onlymark wrote:| Cheery, did you take part in the zombie invasion? |
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uh?
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cheerypeabrain
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #142 on Jun 21, 2011, 7:40pm » | |
Jun 20, 2011, 5:41pm, kerouac2 wrote:
Jun 20, 2011, 1:43pm, onlymark wrote:| Cheery, did you take part in the zombie invasion? |
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I read about that. Apparently, Leicester is not well prepared at all. I think they should carefully watch 28 Days Later before it is too late. |
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Now I understand....I am prolly a bit of a zombie myself atm due to all the overtime I'm doing (that's why I ent been around much) Leicester is pretty much full of the living dead most of the time....
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onlymark
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| | Re: My old job
« Reply #143 on Jun 22, 2011, 8:01am » | |
Two days later we arrived on the outskirts of the main city, Bangui, and had to stop at a military checkpoint. An officer in charge wanted to check our passports so after a small argument over him collecting the whole lot together and we wanting him to just check them one at a time, which he won because he had a gun and he was refusing to let us through otherwise, he took them in to a small hut nearby closely followed by myself.
At least he seemed organised because he very quickly filled out one of the regular exercise books but then put all the passports in a bag and walked out to the truck. He let it be known that he wanted taking in to the city and would return our passports when we got there. No problem, we thought as we are going that way anyway. So he got in the cab and we started to drive off.
The place we were going to stay was at a Peace Corps building just to the south west of the city. Bangui is the border with the Democratic Republic of the Congo, formally Zaire, actually a river physically forms the border. As we drove in we tried to tell him where we were going to stay and we tried to turn off he main road several times to head towards it. He was having none of this and told us in no uncertain terms that we were to keep going straight on down to the river. The main road actually sharply ends at the river, you can go no further apart from into a large fenced and gated compound with a small squat building situated near the entrance.
It looked like some official building and I thought at first that he just wanted to be dropped off there, probably just time for him to go off duty or something. But we soon realised that this was as far as we were going. As we entered the compound the gates closed behind us with a clang.
I had kept asking for our passports to be returned, he kept refusing all through the journey. Now he jumped out of the truck and told me to follow him.
We went in to the building an in to a small office. A man was already sitting behind the desk and they had a very quick conversation in French of which I caught none of it at all. The second man then told me in English, he seemed to be the boss of the first one that we shouldn’t be in the country, the borders had been closed to foreigners and we had to leave as soon as possible.
The only way across the river was by a ferry and we had to catch it straight away.
This was a major problem for us. Firstly I had to contact my office, we had not been able to do so for a couple of weeks and I knew they would be beginning to worry about us being in that area. Secondly, we were short on fuel. There is very little diesel in the Congo and we would always try and fill as much as we could before entering, there was a chance of getting some at a town about halfway through but it was very expensive and of poor quality. I wanted to completely fill the tanks plus about six Jerry cans. We also needed to fill with water and re-stock with food. I needed to obtain as much strong wood as I could to assist in the repair of bridges that we wanted to cross and I knew would be in a poor state.
We all needed a day or two rest and a good clean up.
All this I tried to relay to the boss but he was having none of it. He insisted that we leave the country and would take us to the ferry to do so. The first man must have told him though that by now it was too late for the ferry and we must spend the night in the compound. We tried to negotiate with him for more time but he was adamant. We settled down to spend the night and go over what stocks we had.
It didn’t make for much optimism as I was banking on collecting what we needed here, there not being any decent place before or after where we now were.
The next morning we went to see the boss again and again hoped to persuade him that we needed more time. We told him where we were to stay and even though we had told him before, this time he seemed to relent, he knew the couple who ran the Peace Corps place, a western couple, and he must have felt we would be safe there so he allowed us that day to do all we needed but to leave first thing the next day. The compound gates were opened for us, our passports were handed back and we drove off to the house feeling relieved.
We managed to obtain all we needed that day and have a good wash and a swim in the small swimming pool at the house and the next morning we headed off to the compound to see the boss and get all the exit paperwork done.
We were ushered in to his office and we had a conversation with him that went a long the lines off, “What are you doing here?” he said.
“We want to have the paperwork and passports stamped so we can leave. Like you said we have come back this morning.”
“Ah yes but you can’t leave today.”
“Why not?”
“It is a public holiday and the ferry doesn’t run on public holidays.”
“So we will come back tomorrow and go then?”
“Yes, if you want, stay a few more days if you want, you are welcome here.”
He had suddenly changed his tune, for what reason I never found out, so we went back to the Peace Corps and settled down in the pool.
The next day we repeated the procedure, at the compound we saw the boss who was now trying to persuade us to travel around and see more of the country. We, by now, wanted to go, it was about time and everything was ready. Reluctantly the boss completed all the paperwork, handed it back to us and wished us a good journey. We drove around the side of the building to the ferry dock and then had to wait for it to appear from across the river.
When it came into sight we could see that all it was, was a flat pontoon type affair with an engine tacked on to the side. According to the information e had it was rated at 40 tonnes but it looked as though it would only carry, at the most, half of that. As it pulled up we could see that it was no more than a rusting hulk, holding our breath we drove on. It seemed to sink quite a way but then settled down, the engine throwing up clouds of black smoke as it laboured to move.
Eventually it did and we made our way over to the other side.
The journey took about twenty five minutes and as we got closer to the far bank we saw some activity as the locals turned to watch us. A man in a military uniform strode down from a nearby mud brick building and waited for us to arrive. As we did so he walked onto the ferry and I went to meet him.
What he told me didn’t really make my day. He told me that the country was closed to tourists after an incident several months ago where some had been injured. Deja vu, I thought. He said we must turn round and go back.
I asked him about another truck from the same company as mine that had recently, that is in the last couple of weeks, just exited through this border on its way north. We hadn’t seen it though I had been expecting to because we had spent time going around through Chad. He remembered it and took another position that the country had been closed, had opened again, he had been informed but still had to get confirmation from Kinshasa, the capital. I asked him how long that would take and he said maybe one or two weeks as there were no phones.
What about the radio, surely the military has radios I asked. Yes they did but the reception was poor and it is too far away. But you do have radio contact with someone I asked. He admitted that he was in radio contact with his superior officer but now wasn’t the time to talk to him as he wasn’t there. (How on earth he knew this I didn’t want to push too far). We then discussed as to when he could contact his boss, that very night he assured us.
I said that we would drive off the ferry, camp and wait. This we couldn’t do, it was too risky, he said, to be camped near the border, he hadn’t enough men to protect us. The best solution was to return across the river and come back the next day. We had no choice, so we went back to CAR.
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onlymark
Guest
| | Re: My old job
« Reply #144 on Jun 22, 2011, 8:10am » | |
Not the ferry between CAR and the Congo, but a similar size. This one was in Niger(?)
![[image]](http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x411/onlyMark1/2011%20inc%20Encounter/Bild053d_800x373.jpg "[image]")
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onlymark
Guest
| | Re: My old job
« Reply #145 on Jun 22, 2011, 11:57am » | |
On our arrival back in Bangui the Immigration boss who had been giving us grief about leaving was waiting for us. I explained what the problem was and with a big smile he welcomed us back and said we could stay as long as we want.
Weird, I thought, I wanted to leave as soon as we could, I didn’t trust this man at all.
The next day, rather than uprooting all the group again for what might be a fruitless exercise, I went down to the river without the truck and got a wooden dug out, called a pirogue, across to the Congo side. I spoke to the same official about the situation. He said that he had not been able to contact his superior officer. We discussed the fact that he had already had instructions that it was no problem to let tourists enter, this had already come from the capital so there was no reason to refuse us entry. This he agreed with and decided that if we went back, got the group and the truck, he would allow us to enter.
We were in business at last.
I went back to the Peace Corps house, collected the group and we travelled the same ferry across to the Congo side. I didn’t call back to the CAR boss to tell him we were going, we just slipped away as quietly as possible, he made me feel uneasy. The official allowed us off the ferry on the Congo side and we settled down to do the paperwork.
We had to get the passports stamped, get the customs procedures sorted out, which involved a declaration of how much money each person was carrying with them and a search of the baggage, also we had to obtain a permit for the cameras we were carrying. Each camera had to be listed by make and
model and a fee paid. There was also a “Road Tax” of 150 US dollars, which was a joke as there are no real roads there at all.
When all the formalities were done it was getting late in the day so we drove for an hour or so out of the
village and found a small clearing to bed down for the night.
I’m not sure if there is any tarmac at all in the Congo, certainly we didn’t travel on any though I would think there is some in the capital city. The “roads” are no more than mud tracks that become virtually impassable in the rainy season. The small amount of traffic that does travel does so very slowly
and with great difficulty. If one of the trucks becomes bogged down in the mud then it has to be dug out. The next truck will more than likely get stuck in the same place and it also has to be dug out. Hence after a period of time the hole gets deeper and deeper until you can drive into it and it is deeper than the truck is high.
It is often easy enough to walk from one side of the hole onto the roof of the truck and then across to the other side without stepping up or down, they can be that deep. The holes usually fill up with water which has to be drained first either by digging a small trench to the side to run off on to lower ground, if there is any, or by using buckets manually. If it isn’t too deep then you would stop the truck on the entry and walk through or use a stick to see how deep it was or if there were boulders hidden in the bottom, which would damage the truck. The water would often stay there for weeks on end and become stagnant, it would smell very badly and be full of disease, you had to be very careful to wash your hands thoroughly before eating and if you had a cut they could easily become infected.
The cut would then become a tropical ulcer which if not treated before it got to that stage would eat down through the skin and bone, if still not treated then gangrene would set in.
Often on hilly sections the track would have washouts. These were where, during a heavy rainfall, the water would run quickly down the track and wear part of it away to a depth of a metre or more. If this washout was running in the same direction as you were driving then you tried not to let one side of
the truck fall into it, invariably though it often did as the tracks were quite narrow. You would have great difficulty running out of it and sometimes you just had to drive tilted over until it ended.
When the washout ran across the track then you had to start using wood and stones to build across it.
Another hazard were the bridges across the rivers or streams. They were of two types, wood or metal. The wooden ones were usually tree trunks laid across from one bank to another. On encountering one of these then you had to stop the truck just at the beginning and try and see which trunks lined up with the wheels. Often they would, often they wouldn’t. When they did then you could sometimes drive straight on and off, but because the wood was usually wet, the tyres wouldn’t fit perfectly on the top edge of the tree trunk
then there was a danger of one side slipping off. We would then have to nail planks of wood on to the top edge to make a reasonably flat surface to travel on.
(Here’s where I can put the photos most of you have seen but you can now see the context as well)
![[image]](http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x411/onlyMark1/2011%20inc%20Encounter/Bild046d_800x539.jpg "[image]")
![[image]](http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x411/onlyMark1/2011%20inc%20Encounter/scan0028_800x524.jpg "[image]")
![[image]](http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x411/onlyMark1/2011%20inc%20Encounter/cd6ea086.jpg "[image]")
![[image]](http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x411/onlyMark1/2011%20inc%20Encounter/scan0024_800x540.jpg "[image]")
It was difficult to judge quite how strong the trunks were as you couldn’t see the underneath of them too well, they could easily be rotten without knowing. The danger of running the wheels down in between two trunks as they were laid side by side was that the weight if the truck would force them apart and the wheels, if not the whole truck would fall through. These had to be dealt with using more wood and the metal sand mats to form a platform across the trunks to run on.
Sandmats –
![[image]](http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x411/onlyMark1/2011%20inc%20Encounter/d30dc375.jpg "[image]")
A framework formed the metal bridges and the roadway covered in planks of wood. Actually, very little wood as it had either been stolen or rotted through. So, using the wood we carried with us, we had to make our own roadway, a long and tiresome process, as we didn’t carry enough planks and wood to cover the whole bridge.
![[image]](http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x411/onlyMark1/2011%20inc%20Encounter/scan0025_404x600.jpg "[image]")
We had to do a small section, drive on to it then as we pulled forward you would rip up what was behind and relay it to the front. Repeat the process over and over again until you got to the far end.
Sometimes there was no bridge at all or it was unusable. Then you had to drive down one bank, through the river and back up the other bank. This was fraught with problems but at least you knew that you weren’t going to fall off the unstable bridge and wreck the truck.
It was easy enough to get down the first bank, usually easy enough to ford the river, but then getting up the far bank was where the fun started. You couldn’t get a run up to it so you just had to plug on as best as you could. The ground would be steep and slippery and we would have to peg down the sand mats to stop them being forced backwards by the driving wheels. At times the bank was so steep that the brakes were unable to hold you or so slippery that when you tried to move up it and failed then several members of the group had to fling a large rock each under a wheel to stop you sliding back down and losing all the ground you had gained. Also some of the group, if not all of them would have to be clinging on to the side or front of the truck to use their combined weight for one or more of the wheels to grip better.
At times you would have to leave the trailer in the river, get the truck up the far bank as best as you could and then hope that the hawser, the metal tow rope, was long enough to reach down, attached to the trailer and after being connected to the rear of the truck, pull it out.
With the combined effects of running through water and mud the brakes would become less and less effective. In an ideal world, after running through a bog hole, then it would be nice to strip and clean all the wheels and brakes.
Obviously this was not practical so I had heard of stories of the trucks going through a bog hole, then travelling downhill, the brakes not being effective enough and the truck running on, the driver hoping that the bridge at the bottom would support the weight and that the driver could line it up just right. This never happened to us due to some good luck, some careful planning and maintenance but the brakes were never at their best.
Just to give you an idea of the difficulty of the “roads” here are a couple of statistics. We were to travel a total of 2196km in the Congo. On a European motorway you would travel easily at around an average of
100km/hr. On normal roads, then around 80km/hr.
The best section we did was at the beginning where we covered 261km in 13.5 hours of driving (this was only hours of driving it didn’t include stops), an average of 19.3 km/hr. the worst section was a distance of 133 km, which took us 20 hours, an average of 6.65km/hr!
We drove for 25 days in all to get through the Congo and it took us 165.5 hours of driving, a total average of 13.27km/hr.
We all knew before we got there that travelling through would be a challenge, one we hoped that we had prepared for. Previous to our arrival the group had begun to fragment into different cliques. From experience I knew this would happen, as people would graduate to spending time with those of a
like mind. What happened in the Congo was that the group had to all work together to overcome the obstacles placed in front of us. This they did extremely well. Where occasional bickering had taken place, understandable when so many different personalities had been placed together, there now came to be a common purpose.
It was as though they began to work as a team and petty objections were put aside. Unselfish actions were commonplace, when someone felt tired, another would offer to help.
This was clear when we were forced to stop because fallen trees or bamboo blocked the track. It would need us to cut through it with machetes and it was good to be involved when three or four would jump down from the truck and start to attack the obstruction.
![[image]](http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x411/onlyMark1/2011%20inc%20Encounter/Bild034d_800x540.jpg "[image]")
As there was only room for that number on the track then the rest would clear off to the side the cut foliage. As soon as one of the cutters began to feel tired one other would willingly step into their place while the original one would rest. It didn’t matter who the first person was, there was no feeling of only helping one person and not the next.
We were all in this together.
![[image]](http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x411/onlyMark1/2011%20inc%20Encounter/Bild036d_800x541.jpg "[image]")
When we stopped for the night there was often only a small area in the jungle to set up the camp. Rather than the first out of the truck grabbing the best place there were all sorts of compromises made so all could make the best of it.
It was wonderful to be a part of it.
![[image]](http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x411/onlyMark1/2011%20inc%20Encounter/scan0020_406x600.jpg "[image]")
We were able to carry with us enough food to last us for twenty-eight days for three meals a day. It would be a very basic diet and we would have to bake our own bread every night but with all the tinned, dried and packaged food we carried it would be survivable. What we lacked was fresh food, this we tried to pick up at all the villages we passed but we were only able to pick up one or two eggs or pieces of fruit at each one, they had very little to eat and as such there was little surplus to sell.
What we did manage to buy was of a very poor quality and, for example, we would work on a basis of getting one usable egg out of every three we bought.
We had to be quite strict as to what food could be taken out of the store we kept and it was the job of one of the group to let the cooks for that day know what they could have. A bit of a rationing system in effect but it was done with the blessing of the entire group, as we definitely didn’t want to run out before leaving the country.
We had heard of different overland groups that had gone in and run out of food and became ill after being unable to buy enough as they travelled. It was still a risk to only have enough for twenty eight days but that was all we could really carry, I knew of times when groups had spent six weeks or more travelling through.
Breakfast would usually be muesli helped down with powdered milk and leftovers from the night before. Lunch would be the bread we had baked with tinned cheese, tinned corn, corned beef and pickle. Dinner would be dehydrated curry, chilli or chicken supreme with rice or dehydrated potatoes and tinned vegetables. Desert would be tinned fruit or any fresh that we could find.
We would buy the local maize flour and make fried fritters with them or buy plantains and fry them in slices. It became monotonous and not very appetising after a week or two but we had to eat to keep our strength up, the travelling was quite physical.
Every night there would be talk about what the favourite meal was or what particularly you were missing. In that respect we were all looking forward to sitting down in a decent restaurant and stuffing yourself fit to burst. There were no complaints though, the group were all sensible and realised that we were a lot better off than the locals.
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mich64
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Posts: 2,140
Location: Ontario, Canada
| | Re: My old job
« Reply #146 on Jun 22, 2011, 12:27pm » | |
What a challenging part of the adventure. Reminds me of our annual trek to the family cottage, obviously not to the extent as this, but yes roads that go from mud tracks, to sand to rocks and so narrow in spots you have to keep your windows closed to get through the bush and the bridges are not much better than those you crossed. Slow progress can sometimes be the most rewarding.
Cheers,
Mich
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bjd
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Posts: 3,984
Location: South-West France
| | Re: My old job
« Reply #147 on Jun 22, 2011, 1:00pm » | |
Was this the only time you went through the DRC, Mark? What a trek!
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onlymark
Guest
| | Re: My old job
« Reply #148 on Jun 22, 2011, 2:30pm » | |
There were west Africa trips and east Africa trips but only one through the middle. I originally worked mainly in the middle east and Asia, but the very first trip I ever did was in east and north Africa through to Nepal.
This account is of the first and only time I'd joined up all the Africa trips and finished down in Capetown. After this trip I then worked mainly in south and east Africa - which I was glad off as it was relatively quite easy.
The east African roads could be quite tough but once in Zambia/Zimbabwe it was plain sailing with stop-offs mainly in campsites.
The 'tourist trail' in effect.
I was reading an account of a couple who went through the Congo recently in their own car.
They stopped to help a local motorcyclist who needed some oil. As they were giving him some of their supply, first the passenger and then the driver asked them for money.
At every turn they were asked for money or it was demanded. Many times a day.
Eventually this perfectly normal and nice couple changed.
It summed up quite the problems that were encountered when they said -
"For almost a month now we were in a serious fight with Congo. We were fighting against corruption. We were fighting against the roads. A constant battle. Congo was giving us a serious beating, but we stood strong and did not give in. Slowly but steadily we were winning this battle against the Congo.
But while we were so busy battling the roads and the corruption, Congo sneaked in from behind. It had transformed us into loud and angry people. With no remorse, no compassion, and a total lack of rules."
This links through to their story. There are plenty of good photos - but the entry is very long. It takes some sessions to read it all -
http://www.horizonsunlimited.com/hubb/ri....-kinshasa-53285
Bear in mind that this was just a couple. I had to look after over a dozen people.
It was stressful.
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bjd
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Joined: Feb 2009
Gender: Female
Posts: 3,984
Location: South-West France
| | Re: My old job
« Reply #149 on Jun 22, 2011, 3:55pm » | |
There is also a great book called Blood River by a journalist called Tim Butcher about his trip along the Congo River.
Back to you, Mark.
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