cycle distances C.A.R.
|
Bangassou
After about 9 days from Bangui I have arrived in Bangassou, say the second city of this country. It seems a decent city, but I find it quite village-like, because everyone wants to know who I am, where I come from etc. There are no tarmac roads and I was constantly on a dirt road full of holes, sand, rocky and on rough terrain. I still need to explore the city. Upon arrival I immedately drank a beer in the local 'cave' (bar) at the crossroads, herrlitsj!.
Sometimes I think I go back in time, that I am back in the colonial era. When you arrive at such a town like Bangassou you see colonial style built structures somewhat degraded, a raunchy bridge dated from 1943 that spans a broad river (PK 17 de Bangassou ). On the river a boy is paddling a cranky pirogue. The houses, the marché where you can drink a 'shey' are brown dusted because of the sandy brown jungle road. The forest is near anyway, though it has in the surroundings of Bangassouvirtually disappeared and you'll see narrow slender trees in rows, planned as part of a 'projet reforestière` (reforestation project).
En route
I passed small villages where for the last 4 days I haven`t seen a borehole (in a proper village say the head of the prefecture was 1 waterpump for the whole village, anno 2012, amazing!). A pump costs 200,000 FCFA -300 euro, peanuts one would think, but it shows how poor this country really is. With almost all over the country rivers and passing 2 times a 'chute'(waterfall) you might think `perfect` in terms of water supply. Unfortunately such possibilities are not exploited here.
En route
I passed small villages where for the last 4 days I haven`t seen a borehole (in a proper village say the head of the prefecture was 1 waterpump for the whole village, anno 2012, amazing!). A pump costs 200,000 FCFA -300 euro, peanuts one would think, but it shows how poor this country really is. With almost all over the country rivers and passing 2 times a 'chute'(waterfall) you might think `perfect` in terms of water supply. Unfortunately such possibilities are not exploited here.
It is here 'le saison sèche' (= the dry period up to April's). It is a problem because the streams are reduced to a stinking muddy pool where the local people fill their yellow jerry cans tu use it as drinking water (!). Luckily you have the occasional heavy downpour, with a strong wind that goes "Voll Gass !". A bit painful when you are camping with your simple tent in the bush but good for the countryside one can say. I am now back in such a 'maison Catholic', I have just talked tofather Theo, a friar \ spiritain from the Netherlands who lives here for about 42 years and now speaks better French than Dutch haha ...
En route, apart from the difficult terrain and bad road it goes well. I see farmers with machetes, or with a gun but those are hunters. Yet I don` feel very comfortable when I pass these people saying 'Bonsjoer'. These people carry tools that can be used as weapons and you're in Africa. Yet no one is hostile to me, on the contrary, their friendliness\ cordiality often works on my nerves. If I rest under a tree, they often bring a chair so I can sit, expecting me to talk, to chat with them (like all Africans, the central Africans are very social people). However I am just not really a social type moreover quite exhausted and not in the mood to answer the same stupid questions again and again and again....So I have studied an important key phrase in French that goes as follows: "Merci pour me laisser reposer seul!" (= 'Thanks for letting me having a break alone ").
... loading cotton before Bangassou \
In the beginning I felt guilty that my only contact with this people seems to be when I ask them to leave me alone, or if I arrive again at a roadblock \ barrier where I have to explain again myself to gendarmes (the usual repertoire of questions like 'where are you from, how long lasts your trip already, why do you do this, etc., etc.) and that my travel documents are REALLY in order. But after a while I felt not guilty anymore. Even a child of three understands that you really can irritate someone just by standing in front of him and observe him without any gene.
A successful escape attempt
In general you see hardly any cars, very occasionally a 'camion' (= truck), or those kinky white pickup vehicles carrying a UNICEF flag so that they are not all the time stopped by these Mongols in uniform (gendarmerie) at a road block. I have considered myself composing a UNICEF flag and tie it up on my bike but then you get a completely different set of intelligent questions you have to answer. Or you see a huge brackish car without windshield, crammed with cans, wood and even people outside the vehicle dangling. Yet all have one thing in common: the pilot of such a vehicle believes that he is Allah and Muhammed in the same person \ king of the road.
The idea is that you as a pedestrian \ bicycle jump in the bush and thus provides some kind of priority to the proprietor of the motorized vehicle (the 'road' usually reduces to a small path bordered by either jungle or bush). I have always refused to act in such a way, usually I use the best part of the road: the middle. Usually pilots forgive me because they do not always see some BWM (Beautiful White Man). Only once a pilot drove my off the `road` loudly gesticulating at me, angry about so much lack of respect from me for him.
In the beginning I felt guilty that my only contact with this people seems to be when I ask them to leave me alone, or if I arrive again at a roadblock \ barrier where I have to explain again myself to gendarmes (the usual repertoire of questions like 'where are you from, how long lasts your trip already, why do you do this, etc., etc.) and that my travel documents are REALLY in order. But after a while I felt not guilty anymore. Even a child of three understands that you really can irritate someone just by standing in front of him and observe him without any gene.
A successful escape attempt
In general you see hardly any cars, very occasionally a 'camion' (= truck), or those kinky white pickup vehicles carrying a UNICEF flag so that they are not all the time stopped by these Mongols in uniform (gendarmerie) at a road block. I have considered myself composing a UNICEF flag and tie it up on my bike but then you get a completely different set of intelligent questions you have to answer. Or you see a huge brackish car without windshield, crammed with cans, wood and even people outside the vehicle dangling. Yet all have one thing in common: the pilot of such a vehicle believes that he is Allah and Muhammed in the same person \ king of the road.
The idea is that you as a pedestrian \ bicycle jump in the bush and thus provides some kind of priority to the proprietor of the motorized vehicle (the 'road' usually reduces to a small path bordered by either jungle or bush). I have always refused to act in such a way, usually I use the best part of the road: the middle. Usually pilots forgive me because they do not always see some BWM (Beautiful White Man). Only once a pilot drove my off the `road` loudly gesticulating at me, angry about so much lack of respect from me for him.
... the road to south sudan /
Very occasionally, and that is very special, an oncoming-vehicle reduces speed to reduce the amount of the vehicle`s raised dust into the air or just to have a good look at the Handsome White Man. A white pick-up comes from the opposite, passes me at my left, slows down but not stopping. Suddenly shouting, a figure in slippers a hawai-like t- shirt running from behind towards me. Behind him a figure coming out of the the pick-up and fireing at the running man with a Kalashnikov. Luckily I'm just not in the line of fire. Three meters from me the fugitive runs into the bush, about thirty seconds later the Kalashnikov hero after him. I now know how a Kalashnikov sounds: short metal-sound, pop pop pop... The road is bad with a wave pattern which makes it hard cycling but I don`t care. It's pure adrenaline now that propels me forward: “away from here!”
About two hours later with the tongue on my rancid sandals as a manner of speaking I rest in a bamboo chair in the `office’ of a corrupt policeman. 'Il faut payer 5000 FCFA! " (you have to pay 5000 FCFA!– 7,50 euro). Corrupt, because he registers nothing (your data is usually written down in some kind of Big Book) I can even negotiate about the amount of money with him ...
Bicycle Parts
On such a road I have to lubricate/ clean my bicycle every 10 days. The gears are worn, I am now pedalling with them since Guinea-Conacry, so roughly 5000 km now. Not bad for real Chinese craftsmanship ey?!. I think I will send the President of the people`s republic a thank-you- note if I ever come back again -insj-allah!. I now have 5 spare tires, 2 extra gears and 4 chains, mad but necessary. Oddly enough I have no more flat tires, 1 once, but that was a leak in a old fixed hole. Hang Zou is still standing besides me, very reassuring!.
Mission Catholique
The Catholic mission I really see on this rough journey as an oasis, a sanctuary both physically and mentally. From Bangui to Bangassou I was 2 times in a Catholic mission: in Alindao I stayed an extra day. The football final between Ivory coast and Zambia using as an excuse (a boring match, after 120 minutes even 0-0), but a day just to rest so exhausted I was.
I could join with dinner twice a day (there was also a breakfast but they forgot to inform me about that). En route you can barely get food here. OR they eat here at home (no outside-the-door-food culture) OR it's just tough times here and one lives truly on Manioc and a glass sjey(not nescafé since that`s too expensive and not even possible to buy in the boutique ...)
You might wonder why I choose such a hard life. Why hurting yourself so much? You can also book a trip to a Greek island, and chill out on the beach as so many do. It is actually the pure challenge that keeps me going, to see how far I can go, if I can reach Egypt, Palestine. I think on an idyllic island I would soon get bored ..
The Islamic world attracts me, an interesting world. Here in sub-Saharan Africa it is raw, rough, but also beautiful, impressive. I am still amazed how people survive here. The cassave must be an important component ...
Geen opmerkingen:
Een reactie posten