Monsieur Ancien’s Guide to Bushmeat

The illegal trade in bushmeat is hampering conservation efforts to protect endangered species in the Congo basin. The WWF has produced an educational calender for educational purposes in this area. The calendar consists of photos and a cover sheet with lists of endangered species(Class A, more endangered and ClassB, less endangered) and photos to boot. The calendars are highly prized in this area, they are first used as a calendar, the pages are then separated and plastered ovewr the interior walls of the home as decoration. The other day I stumbled upon another unintentional use of the calendar. Around 100m from the WWF office there is a small restaurant, complete with WWF calendar on the wall. I enquired what there was to eat and Momma guided me over to the list of endangered animals which also doubled as a handy menu, informing me that today there was 1 class A and 2 class B animals…

The WWF are obviously losing the battle against the bush meat trade, for a variety of reasons. Firstly, this is the way of life for the people here and always has been, they hunt to feed themselves and their families. Secondly, it is cheap hardly any capital needed to start up, all that is needed is to buy a length of wire to make the snares. Thirdly, truckers love meat.

So with apologies to environmentalists and vegetarians everywhere, I present Monsieur Ancien’s guide to bushmeat:

Rule of thumb: The bigger it is the better it is.

1.Elephant, the most prized. Rarely eaten fresh, mostly smoked or dried in the sun. Elephants here give about 5 tons of meat. 2 kilos of smoked elephant costs around a tenner. (I abstained from eating elephant, so cannot give you a taste test)
2.Gorilla. Apparently female tastes sweeter than the male; although male makes you strong. According to Ancien, eating a male gorilla puts lead in your pencil (you can fuck all night, for those of you that don’t get the analogy).
3.Giant Pagdolin. Is some kind of throwback to prehistoric times, looking like a small stegosaurus:armadillo. Very tasty, same flavour as lamb.
4.Buffalo. Standard beefy substitute.
5.Abis. A small gazelle type creature, looks very tender but was quite a disappointment. I was expecting something as soft and delicious as Bambi’s legs…
6.Livre. Large rodent, reasonable, but mamma had stewed it to death.
7.Caterpillars. Surprisingly tasty if somewhat crunchy, the spikes give a slightly prickly sensation as you swallow, followed by a burning similar to a strong whisky.

***Monkey: hard to place, palatability depends on species. The Mayor monkey is a delicacy, but other are not rated so highly. The other day I watched Ancien work his way through the arm of a stewed monkey. Slightly disconcerting was the similarity of the bone structure, almost identical finger bones even down to the tiny fingernails, it was however lacking in one important detail. There was no opposing thumb, which I guess is why we are eating it and not vice versa.




Congo.

The river Sangha is the border of Cameroon and Congo. This morning I hopped into a pirogue(a dugout canoe made out of one massive treetrunk) and we paddled across the border. On the other side underneath a large red, green, yellow flag stood the immigration. It was not the most friendly welcome. I was accused of being a spy, an ivory hunter, a botanist(bizarre), illegal immigrant, and finally a tourist. 2 hours later and 25 euros lighter (going into the back pockets of various men sporting AK47s) I was on my way.

I hate paying bribes.
Corruption is destroying these countries and I don’t want any part of it. Ancien gets a hard time off it at the border and ends up paying an extortionate amount to get his truck through, no wonder there is hardly any cross country trade. In fact regional trade within Africa(African countries trading with other African countries) is only 2% of total trade.

We move from the border onto Pokola, once again through pristine rainforest. Arriving in Pokola uniformed men once again had their hands out. I refused to pay out and he locked up the immigration post with my passport inside. I pass into town via the CIB, Congolese industrial de boite(logging company), a 2km enclosure covered in carcasses of massive trees. Ancien was waiting for me in town and we proceeded to celebrate in the usual fashion. Several bottles later a little nipper I had sent down to the docks to check out the boat situation came running back up to me, crying “Mandele, Mandele”.

The Bomassa was due to leave at 5am, sailing down to Mosakka, the confluence of the river Sangha, Obangui and Congo. Boats are few and far between and this was a stroke of luck for me. I was however drunk, Ancien was currently trying to buy me a pair of sisters to welcome me to the country, and importantly sans passport. I believe I caused quite a scene banging on the door of the immigration post at 1am, uniformed moustachied man(the kind I dislike the most) was not best pleased, but by 4am I was happily passed out on the deck of the Bomassa.

We sailed promptly at 6am. The noise of the engines starting up awoke me, followed by a rather puzzled looking French captain. I guess I didn’t look in great shape, dishevelled, hungover, unannounced and trying to spoon a piece of large metal machinery.

Thierry has been commanding the Bomassa for the last 5 years. Paid for by the French, the Bomassa sails the channel, signposting and clearing the route for other boats. Everything is done by hand.
The signposts are planks painted white.
The depth of the channel is measured with a metre stick.
Positioning is done by compass, map and logbook.
The only computer on board is Thierry’s personal laptop on which he writes informative, but very dull journals of each voyage.
The Bomassa has just cleared and posted the route along the Sangha, it is now heading downriver again to Mosakka, to join the Obangui and sial upriver to Bangui, capital of CAR. Crew of the Bomassa consists of 7 central Africans, 3 congolese, a Frenchman plus their wives and, inescapably, loads of children. There are also a fair amount of four legged passengers. Jacques the ship’s dog is a constant source of amusement and fear for all the local children along the route. We also currently have a goat(lunch), 3 crocodiles(also for eating), chickens for eggs and a couple of tortoises(also for nutrition) and a frozen monkey.

As much as I try to appear a man of the world(especially in front of a group of brawny sailors) I cannot help but tread gingerly around the crocs each time im down on deck. They are tied up with their jaws clamped shut, but they can still spit a loud threatening hiss whenever Jacques the ship’s dog approaches. My fear of reptilians causes a fair amount of amusement for the river folk.
I had a similar situation visiting a mountain lake in Cameroon, after trekking for 3 hours I reached the top of the volcano and traversed the caldera. Standing in the middle of my path was a huge bull, staring directly at me. After the initial shock I decided to play it cool and starting walking casually towards it. It lowered its head and started to paw the ground, making ready to charge. All nonchalance deserted me and I beat a hasty retreat. I sat down about 50m away and considered my options. As I was considering an honourable retreat(I have seen plenty of lakes in my life and have also seen the damage that bulls can do at San Fermin) a young fulhani boy hopped onto the road. No older than 5 or 6 he ran up to the bull and with a loud “WAH” whacked it round the head with a stick. Having a 5 year old show you how to be a man is quite a humbling experience.

The Fulhani are herders and live with their cattle year round, I spent 3 days in the hills with the boy’s family. Every cow has a name and a man’s wealth is measured by the number of cattle he has. Cattle, much as camels in Arabia, are used as currency; from paying a bride price down to buying a mobile phone. The mobile phone is used to spread news about good pastures and relate the current market price in different regions. It is a strange modern intrusion(with undeniable benefits) in what is otherwise a very traditional way of life.