Saturday, September 5, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
I spent 4 days onthe Bomassa and arrived at Mosakka. After all the dire predictions and warnings, it was a remarkably easy journey. Africa never ceases to surprise. After the initial confusion, Thierry took me under his wing. I had my first hot shower, in Africa. I feasted on Duck, crocodile and goat each day. In the evenings I even managed to watch the Dark Knight and several Bond films on his DVD player. I felt, however, slightly detached, the journey lacked the authenticity that I craved. The journey was supposed to be a challenge and ended up being a cruise. I wanted to travel with Africans and like an African.
Be careful what you wish for.
My living conditions have fallen somewhat dramatically. Instead of a comfortable sofa I am bedding down on the metal deck of a barge, wth only a sheet for comfort. Instead of a nice private cabin I am sharing 6 square metres with a Congolese family of 6, 2 caimans and several chickens. Instead of fresh juice I am drinking river water from the Congo river(I run the water through a coffee filter I picked up and then add several drops of iodine per litre((I recommend iodine to anyone travelling, I have drunk local water everywhere and just added iodine to purify. No money spent on bottled water and importantly no plastic, it is also a very effective antiseptic for cuts and minor injuries. I am unsure of any long term affects of consuming so much iodine, thyroid??).
Bienvenue to life on the Makotipoko.
The Makotipoko is a small tug pushing 10 barges. The barges are piled with huge logs, planks and wooden furniture all being transported down to Brazzaville. There are around 250 passengers, mostly Congolese, a handful of Cameroonians and about 50 Zairean refugees fleeing attacks from the Ugandan Lords Resistance Army in Eastern Congo. People shelter wherever there is space, on deck, on top of logs, between planks and erect a roof of plastic or tarpaulin. The best shelters belong to the refugees who have good quality white and blue UN plastic as roofing(see photo). Most of the Congolese are ex workers from the CIB logging company, the economic crisis has reached the depths of the Congo jungle and CIB has cut production (and workforce) by 60 percent.
Family life here takes place in the open air; Each day my curious eyes see children being washed, mammas preparing food and old men sniffing tobacco. The boat is a huge market and people trade food and cigarettes all day long. The internal market is supplemented(and a little bit of excitement generated) by the pirogues that villagers paddle frantically to moor on the side of the boat(the boat doesn’t slow down and many are left hopelessly in our wake). They hawk fish, cassava and papaya and all the villagers come and have a little gawp at the mandele.
I have a new best friend.
Michelle is ten years old with the natural curiosity and energy of the young, untouched by the self consciousness of the teenage years. A scar next to his right eye gives him an expression simultaneously both earnest and quizzical. After the standard exchange of name and nationality, he endeared himself immediately to me by asking:
"Are there dragons in your country?"
He is definitely a keeper.
"Some people say they exist, other don’t. I have never seen one, but I believe they exist." I reply, not wanting to dash his hopes completely.
"How can you think they exist if you have never seen one?"
"I believe many things exist even if you cant see them, like gravity or love."
He wisely ignored the last part of my statement and replied assertively
"Dragons breathe fire" and headed off below deck.
The following day I gave him a Welsh pound coin with the dragon on it.
Now he wants me to take him to England.
Not surprisingly there are many children on the boat, and they come and play with the Mandele each day. During the boat journey I picked up a number of nicknames:
"The white man who swims" after a morning dip in the Congo.
My favourite: "the white man with blue fire" I have made a small stove out of a couple of coca cola cans which burns methanol, to cook my food.
"The white man who eats little children", when children scream mandele at me i usually reply "Mandele na liya mwana" Yes whiteman likes eating little children.
And the somewhat less fortunate "the white man who thinks his father is a monkey" apparently my explanation of evolution was less than convincing.
The boat is making good time, we should be in Brazzaville in 3 days. We move along at about 15kmph following the white arrows posted by the Bomassa. The river is vast, the Congo is the second largest river after the Amazon, and at times it is hard to male out the opposite banks. On our right is the Republic of Congo and to our left the Democratic Republic of Congo(formerly Zaire, ive used zaire inthe blog just to avoid confusion). The landscape is flat and covered in forests apart from the occasional small village poking out from the trees. There is smoke on the horizon. The villagers are slashing and burning the forest before planting manioc and all along the route there are large fires on the bank. During the day the plumes of smoke seem threatening and give the landscape an apocalyptic feel. At night however, the orange glow all along the banks resembles an airport runway and has a comforting feel.
Day two. I was woken this morning by a baby chick scampering across my face. Cute it was not. Cesar(father of the Congolese family) proceeded to show me how the crocodiles had huddled round the charcoal burner during the night for warmth. I made a mental note to make sure the burner was lit each night, otherwise they may seek body warmth.
I was invited up into the navigation cabin today and was alarmed to see the Captain downing 2 beers before 10am. Justification, 1 hour later we hit a sand bank and beach the boat. We are well and truly beached.
Day 3
We return to the beached barges. Another day of pushing and pulling awaits. The passengers are upset, there is talk of mutiny. A frequent question that gets passed around is "What do you think of the navigation?" usually swiftly followed by a torrent of abuse directed at the captain and his mother. People are angry and food and cigarettes are running low. However, My little dragon is regularly bringing me plates of food and all the mammas on board are eager for me to try their cooking.
Another worry is that the quinine I bought in Cameroon is counterfeit. My consultant in Cameroon estimated that 30 percent of all pharmaceuticals in Cameroon are fake, imported from Nigeria. What kind of sick fuck goes to the effort of producing counterfeit medicine.
Then again this same consultant who complained bitterly about counterfeit medicines had her own little dodgy business going on. Each day she would steal medicine from the hospital and sell it on at her own pharmacy. Charming.
Many medical practices in Cameroon shocked me. In clinic I consulted a 78 year old man with AIDs. He was suffering from ankle oedema(swelling) probably due to the Kaposis sarcoma that covered around 70 percent of his lower limbs, but perhaps due to heart failure. He had visited a traditional healer who had seen the excess fluid and decided to do something about it. He had made 4x10cm wide incisions on the soles of both feet, presumably to drain the fluid. This man can no longer walk.
It is estimated that 60 percent of the worlds population refer to a traditional medical practitioner before accessing western medicine. Whilst I accept that traditional practitioners are a resource, and that many traditional remedies can be effective, the traditional practices I saw in Cameroon appalled me.
I did however come across one fantastic traditional cure, whilst on the boat. A young girl was eating a fish, when she got a fishbone stuck in her throat. Papa started slapping her on the back, whilst I started getting ready to try and perform the Heimlick manouervre. However, Mamma reacted first, she grabbed a banana, quickly peeled it, broke it in half and thrust it down the young girls throat. She swiftly recovered. I was amazed. I guess peristalsis gets hold of the banana and forces it down the oesophagus, and the resultant peristaltic bulge puts extrinsic pressure on the tracheal obstruction?? I have christened this somewhat unoriginally the African Heimlick(I don’t even know how to spell Heimlich) any suggestions of better names gratefully received.
By the end of the day we have freed all but one barge, which remains obstinately stuck on the sand. Patience is starting to run low.
Day 3
This morning i touched the DRC for the first time, I swam off from the barges and planted my feet on Zairean soil. I sneaked off behind a tree and had a cheeky poo. Toiletting on the Makotipoko is rather less comfortable. To execute a number two,you head to the back of the boat, face forwards, plant your feet on the very edge, squat out over the wake of the engines and hang on to a rope with both hands. It conjures up vague memories of waterskiing.
We return to the single barge. Eeirily there are 3 or 4 large eagles hovering, circling above it like vultures.
Today we have changed tactic, the tug pulls up alongside the barge and turns on its engine, with the aim of clearing the sand by the force of the wake. After two hours, we figured that this doesn’t work. The Captain has now resorted to ramming the barge. We take a large run up, warnings are shouted and then we plough straight into the barge. We then reverse and perform the same manouerve again. Every 3rd or 4th collision someone falls into the water. There is a lot of anger, shouting and remonstrating with the captain, eventually everyone calms down. Until someone falls in again.
Night falls and we rush back to the other barges to find that one is submerged(we had the motor driven pump that clears any water that enters all day).
The passengers have now sent an envoy to the captain asking that we continue on to Brazzaville and leave the solitary barge to its fate. The captain after radio contact with his chief refuses angrily. The passengers in turn refuse to pay for their tickets.
Day 4
We finally managed to free the barge today. The passengers on the solitary barge were overjoyed, it cant have been particularly enjoyable, marooned in the centre of the Congo river and all your fellow passengers demanding that you be left there. To celebrate everyone climbs on top of the logs cheering and clapping. As we near the other barges, the men form into one group and the women into another. Singing and dancing we approach, men and women split reciprocally into groups on the other barges and as the boats meet everyone jumps around in carnival atmosphere.
noone falls in.
We formed up into convoy again and headed off.
Day 5
We have been sailing through the night to make up for lost time.
Last night iwas woken by torches flashing in my face, there was some grunts and movements and i fell back to sleep.
Be careful what you wish for.
My living conditions have fallen somewhat dramatically. Instead of a comfortable sofa I am bedding down on the metal deck of a barge, wth only a sheet for comfort. Instead of a nice private cabin I am sharing 6 square metres with a Congolese family of 6, 2 caimans and several chickens. Instead of fresh juice I am drinking river water from the Congo river(I run the water through a coffee filter I picked up and then add several drops of iodine per litre((I recommend iodine to anyone travelling, I have drunk local water everywhere and just added iodine to purify. No money spent on bottled water and importantly no plastic, it is also a very effective antiseptic for cuts and minor injuries. I am unsure of any long term affects of consuming so much iodine, thyroid??).
Bienvenue to life on the Makotipoko.
The Makotipoko is a small tug pushing 10 barges. The barges are piled with huge logs, planks and wooden furniture all being transported down to Brazzaville. There are around 250 passengers, mostly Congolese, a handful of Cameroonians and about 50 Zairean refugees fleeing attacks from the Ugandan Lords Resistance Army in Eastern Congo. People shelter wherever there is space, on deck, on top of logs, between planks and erect a roof of plastic or tarpaulin. The best shelters belong to the refugees who have good quality white and blue UN plastic as roofing(see photo). Most of the Congolese are ex workers from the CIB logging company, the economic crisis has reached the depths of the Congo jungle and CIB has cut production (and workforce) by 60 percent.
Family life here takes place in the open air; Each day my curious eyes see children being washed, mammas preparing food and old men sniffing tobacco. The boat is a huge market and people trade food and cigarettes all day long. The internal market is supplemented(and a little bit of excitement generated) by the pirogues that villagers paddle frantically to moor on the side of the boat(the boat doesn’t slow down and many are left hopelessly in our wake). They hawk fish, cassava and papaya and all the villagers come and have a little gawp at the mandele.
I have a new best friend.
Michelle is ten years old with the natural curiosity and energy of the young, untouched by the self consciousness of the teenage years. A scar next to his right eye gives him an expression simultaneously both earnest and quizzical. After the standard exchange of name and nationality, he endeared himself immediately to me by asking:
"Are there dragons in your country?"
He is definitely a keeper.
"Some people say they exist, other don’t. I have never seen one, but I believe they exist." I reply, not wanting to dash his hopes completely.
"How can you think they exist if you have never seen one?"
"I believe many things exist even if you cant see them, like gravity or love."
He wisely ignored the last part of my statement and replied assertively
"Dragons breathe fire" and headed off below deck.
The following day I gave him a Welsh pound coin with the dragon on it.
Now he wants me to take him to England.
Not surprisingly there are many children on the boat, and they come and play with the Mandele each day. During the boat journey I picked up a number of nicknames:
"The white man who swims" after a morning dip in the Congo.
My favourite: "the white man with blue fire" I have made a small stove out of a couple of coca cola cans which burns methanol, to cook my food.
"The white man who eats little children", when children scream mandele at me i usually reply "Mandele na liya mwana" Yes whiteman likes eating little children.
And the somewhat less fortunate "the white man who thinks his father is a monkey" apparently my explanation of evolution was less than convincing.
The boat is making good time, we should be in Brazzaville in 3 days. We move along at about 15kmph following the white arrows posted by the Bomassa. The river is vast, the Congo is the second largest river after the Amazon, and at times it is hard to male out the opposite banks. On our right is the Republic of Congo and to our left the Democratic Republic of Congo(formerly Zaire, ive used zaire inthe blog just to avoid confusion). The landscape is flat and covered in forests apart from the occasional small village poking out from the trees. There is smoke on the horizon. The villagers are slashing and burning the forest before planting manioc and all along the route there are large fires on the bank. During the day the plumes of smoke seem threatening and give the landscape an apocalyptic feel. At night however, the orange glow all along the banks resembles an airport runway and has a comforting feel.
Day two. I was woken this morning by a baby chick scampering across my face. Cute it was not. Cesar(father of the Congolese family) proceeded to show me how the crocodiles had huddled round the charcoal burner during the night for warmth. I made a mental note to make sure the burner was lit each night, otherwise they may seek body warmth.
I was invited up into the navigation cabin today and was alarmed to see the Captain downing 2 beers before 10am. Justification, 1 hour later we hit a sand bank and beach the boat. We are well and truly beached.
Day 3
We return to the beached barges. Another day of pushing and pulling awaits. The passengers are upset, there is talk of mutiny. A frequent question that gets passed around is "What do you think of the navigation?" usually swiftly followed by a torrent of abuse directed at the captain and his mother. People are angry and food and cigarettes are running low. However, My little dragon is regularly bringing me plates of food and all the mammas on board are eager for me to try their cooking.
Another worry is that the quinine I bought in Cameroon is counterfeit. My consultant in Cameroon estimated that 30 percent of all pharmaceuticals in Cameroon are fake, imported from Nigeria. What kind of sick fuck goes to the effort of producing counterfeit medicine.
Then again this same consultant who complained bitterly about counterfeit medicines had her own little dodgy business going on. Each day she would steal medicine from the hospital and sell it on at her own pharmacy. Charming.
Many medical practices in Cameroon shocked me. In clinic I consulted a 78 year old man with AIDs. He was suffering from ankle oedema(swelling) probably due to the Kaposis sarcoma that covered around 70 percent of his lower limbs, but perhaps due to heart failure. He had visited a traditional healer who had seen the excess fluid and decided to do something about it. He had made 4x10cm wide incisions on the soles of both feet, presumably to drain the fluid. This man can no longer walk.
It is estimated that 60 percent of the worlds population refer to a traditional medical practitioner before accessing western medicine. Whilst I accept that traditional practitioners are a resource, and that many traditional remedies can be effective, the traditional practices I saw in Cameroon appalled me.
I did however come across one fantastic traditional cure, whilst on the boat. A young girl was eating a fish, when she got a fishbone stuck in her throat. Papa started slapping her on the back, whilst I started getting ready to try and perform the Heimlick manouervre. However, Mamma reacted first, she grabbed a banana, quickly peeled it, broke it in half and thrust it down the young girls throat. She swiftly recovered. I was amazed. I guess peristalsis gets hold of the banana and forces it down the oesophagus, and the resultant peristaltic bulge puts extrinsic pressure on the tracheal obstruction?? I have christened this somewhat unoriginally the African Heimlick(I don’t even know how to spell Heimlich) any suggestions of better names gratefully received.
By the end of the day we have freed all but one barge, which remains obstinately stuck on the sand. Patience is starting to run low.
Day 3
This morning i touched the DRC for the first time, I swam off from the barges and planted my feet on Zairean soil. I sneaked off behind a tree and had a cheeky poo. Toiletting on the Makotipoko is rather less comfortable. To execute a number two,you head to the back of the boat, face forwards, plant your feet on the very edge, squat out over the wake of the engines and hang on to a rope with both hands. It conjures up vague memories of waterskiing.
We return to the single barge. Eeirily there are 3 or 4 large eagles hovering, circling above it like vultures.
Today we have changed tactic, the tug pulls up alongside the barge and turns on its engine, with the aim of clearing the sand by the force of the wake. After two hours, we figured that this doesn’t work. The Captain has now resorted to ramming the barge. We take a large run up, warnings are shouted and then we plough straight into the barge. We then reverse and perform the same manouerve again. Every 3rd or 4th collision someone falls into the water. There is a lot of anger, shouting and remonstrating with the captain, eventually everyone calms down. Until someone falls in again.
Night falls and we rush back to the other barges to find that one is submerged(we had the motor driven pump that clears any water that enters all day).
The passengers have now sent an envoy to the captain asking that we continue on to Brazzaville and leave the solitary barge to its fate. The captain after radio contact with his chief refuses angrily. The passengers in turn refuse to pay for their tickets.
Day 4
We finally managed to free the barge today. The passengers on the solitary barge were overjoyed, it cant have been particularly enjoyable, marooned in the centre of the Congo river and all your fellow passengers demanding that you be left there. To celebrate everyone climbs on top of the logs cheering and clapping. As we near the other barges, the men form into one group and the women into another. Singing and dancing we approach, men and women split reciprocally into groups on the other barges and as the boats meet everyone jumps around in carnival atmosphere.
noone falls in.
We formed up into convoy again and headed off.
Day 5
We have been sailing through the night to make up for lost time.
Last night iwas woken by torches flashing in my face, there was some grunts and movements and i fell back to sleep.
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