the Not Johnny Clegg Story of Travel In Africa
We climbed quickly into the air and escaped the clutches of Kinshasa below us, with Brazza rapidly fading behind us too as we headed towards Douala and sanity. It’s a relatively short flight, across Congo-Brazza, Gabon, and I would imagine Equatorial Guinea, before getting to Cameroon. There was the odd bit of turbulence as we flew into the darkness of a tropical night, the sun setting very quickly in Africa, no dilly-dallying like in Europe. We were to transfer from the international side to the domestic side and get a flight to Yaoundé from there, with our host Eric, who would provide our visas on arrival. Douala soon appeared on the horizon, lights flickering in the distance, a reassuring sign that we were on track. Then they disappeared. Just for a couple of minutes, then reappeared. If we’re being blocked by mountains, I thought, we’re pretty fucking low to the ground. But the lights were well below us – it was just a normal night of patchy electricity, with generators kicking in whenever the power failed. Which was often.
We landed without problems and soon made our way into the arrivals hall. Rob and his Gabonese business partner rounded us up, including a young woman from South Africa’s tourism board, who spoke fluent French, having grown up in exile in Paris and attended a swanky school there, she told me. Several times. Where was Eric? We needed our visas and clearance to get to the domestic flight. Turns out his flight from Yaoundé had been cancelled due to bad weather. No visas, no entry. No power, no lights. And every time the lights came back on, the South Africans were clear to everyone – diving on their luggage to make sure nobody stole it in the dark. For shame! After a couple of hours of hanging around the humid arrivals desk, our Gabonese colleague arguing with the officials in a combination of French and English, with a few choice Zulu and Afrikaans swearwords thrown in, had managed to get us out of the airport and off to a hotel for the night, our connecting flight having long since departed. Only problem, we had to leave our passports behind.
We headed to the Akwa Palace Hotel, not too far away and close to the Wouri River, where logs were floated down from the interior, destined mainly for China. It was late by now and everything was closed. Our host managed to get a chef and waitress to serve us dinner. “Just remember – everything makes you sick, so stick to overcooked chicken!” Rob hissed in my ear. I looked at the menu, and asked the waitress what she’d recommend. “The ndolé! It’s delicious!” was the immediate, infectious response. I was sold. It’s basically a wild spinach that is cooked in a variety of different ways depending on location and culture. Mine came with chillies, shrimp and peanuts. It was superb. I got lost in the tastes as Rob was demanding sauce to make his overcooked chicken palatable. He lathered it on the leathery fowl and launched into it, before lunging for a beer and gulping it down as the piri-piri sauce caught his throat. Once he’d stopped choking, he shut up for a bit. What a win!
Before dawn the next morning we got into our air-conditioned 4×4 and started the five hour, 230km trip to Yaoundé, Cameroon’s capital city. We’d arrived about two weeks before the elections, held faithfully every seven years by incumbent Paul Biya in the solid knowledge that they’re rigged in his favour and France prefers him in power to the unknown*. What it did mean, though, was that as we traversed the countryside, we hit army roadblocks every 20 or 30 kilometres. The process was simple: the driver drove as fast as he could through the winding roads of the forest and open grasslands, overtaking massive logging trucks and petrol hauliers without much thought for what may be coming the other way, at equally breakneck speed; hooting at everything in sight, through small villages with timber houses, some painted brightly, others not, scattering chickens, children and goats as he went. As the rudimentary roadblocks loomed – a plank with nine-inch nails facing upwards and soldiers with AK-47s manning them in case you decide to skip them – he would swear, screech to a halt and put his subservient smiley face on. Because we didn’t have our passports back yet. No sweat, he calmly gave his identity card and a wad of cash at each stop and we were on our way again. In retrospect, we were beyond lucky that we weren’t locked up for days or weeks on end while the issue was sorted out, but yours truly was filled with the bonhomie of a man released from the shame of apartheid, and faith in the humanity of all people. Basically, a naïve idiot. But it was this trip, careening through the rainforests, our driver and minder** regaling stories of Roger Milla and other football heroes, the forests flying by with stunning majesty, smells, sounds and lighting, with Manu Dibango, Salif Keita and Youssou N’Dour for company, that cemented my love for the continent, my people and its music. I can still smell those rainforests whenever I hear that music. I can still recall the arguments about which of the Biyiks was the better footballer. Magical.
We arrived in Yaoundé just before 9 am, so just in time for the start of the main conference to cement ties between South Africa and Cameroon. We sat at the podium, with yours truly to do the introductory speech, much to my horror. We waited patiently for the local dignitaries to arrive. Then took a coffee break at 10am. By 11am, when the local governor and minister of trade had decided which of them would enter last to the greater fanfare, we got underway. Sort of. We had to wait for the TV crews to get back from their own break and then repeat the sweeping entrances and ovations. That done, brief introductory speeches out of the way, it was time for lunch.***
Host Eric was in fine fettle by now, with coverage on national television assured, and took us to an ‘eco-lodge’ for lunch. It was a beautiful wooden house perched on top of a hill looking across tropical forests as far as the eye could see. It was built from the trees that once inhabited the hill and the now lack of vegetation was creating serious erosion, which the owner, who wanted to build another twenty of them on the hills around there, seemed oblivious to. Lunch was great though – donkey, pork and goat meat skewers presented on a grooved wooden platter with different spices in each groove. You rolled your skewer in whichever one you wanted, and they then grilled it for you. Served with deep-fried plantains, now a firm favourite of mine and washed down with a small 33 Export. Back to the hotel just in time for the coffee break.
By this stage, trouble was brewing in paradise, with Rob and his sidekick demanding our passports back and accusing Eric of effectively holding us hostage. Eric was incensed, accusing them of wanting a free trip that they were simply using for their own business. I stayed out of it, figuring that he who holds the passport is king. And he also had my plane ticket. The afternoon flew past, with recriminations replaced by reconciliations and renewed animosity by turn, but I was meeting with great people, many of whom were interested in sending their kids to South African universities. I was happy to oblige, having recently been at one and helped them with entrance requirements on return.
Eric then introduced me to a good friend of his – the CEO of the local branch of one of the world’s largest tobacco companies. We were soon off to his aunt’s fantastic restaurant* for dinner, with a bunch of South African Air Force pilots for company as well. They were training the Cameroon Air Force, but seldom got into the skies because of the weather, so spent most of their time drinking in the hotel. And then being grounded because they weren’t in any condition to fly. Dinner was sublime, again, with a variety of seafood, meats, vegetables and casava concoctions that I can’t remember the names of. The rest of the week followed a fairly similar pattern of torturous Cameroonian hierarchy politics, wasted time, great meetings, better food and excellent company. Time to head back to Douala and the final leg of our journey – still (worryingly) no passports in sight.
*Sorry Flair, that was the distinct impression given to us at the time, and it persists today!
**We imagined he was just there to keep us safe from harm, but was in fact Secret Service assigned to us to make sure we weren’t spying on the elections, we found out much later.
***I think you’re getting to understand that I’m a victim of largesse in all of this and lunches were thrust one me at an early age.
As digested by Deebee7
Onna telly this week
Friday 30th April
| Leicester v Ulster | 20:00 | BT Sport 2 |
| France v England (women) | 20:00 | BBC iPlayer/Red Button |
Saturday 1st May
| Stormers v Sharks | 13:00 | Premier Sports 2 |
| Toulouse v Bordeaux | 15:00 | Channel 4 / BT Sport 3 |
| Bulls v Lions | 18:00 | Premier Sports 1 |
| Bath v Montpellier | 20:00 | BT Sport 2 |
Sunday 2nd May
| La Rochelle v Leinster | 15:00 | BT Sport 2 |
Ovally Balls 
SBT, He did dream of pulling on the shirt:
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Sbt – you forgot Matt Stevens.
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“grew up getting goosebumps hearing about the exploits of Barry John, Fergus Slattery, McBride”
Pretty sure LRZ grew up hearing about the exploits of AWJ. Other than the ones that were too long ago.
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Cmw – LRZ is younger than Matt Dawson’s dummy against the Boks. Madness.
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I’m sort of halfway with Big Duhan, or Irn Dru as he is known to Embra fans.
He played a total of 77 minutes over two games for the Bulls in the Currie Cup qualifiers before getting crocked. Went to Montpellier to see if he could get ahead there, fucked his hip and that was it, no contract, no way of getting his hip fixed. His career was at an end.
Cockerill went out on a limb (cough) when vdM failed his medical at Embra and he persuaded the SRU to stump up for the treatment and rehab. It would have been nice if he’d stayed on for us and I can’t help but feel pissed off that he left after what I hear was a very reasonable off was put to him.
However I understand that it’s a job that can be curtailed at any minute, as he will know more than anyone.
I guess it just rankles that it isn’t a top end club that he is moving to, if it had been Toulouse or Exeter I could understand the ambition, but to got the bottom club in the Premiership? With Alan-wake me up if any rugby breaks out-Solomons as Director of Rugby?
We at Edinburgh have suffered the mixture of narcolepsy and Tourette’s that his teams inspire.
As for the Lions, pffft, he qualifies to play for Scotland so he qualifies to play for the Lions, iirc he has the best stats in defence and attack of any of the wings from the 6N
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i’m surprised that there appears to have been no medical cost claw-back in his contract with edinburgh………
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Also, I have arrived at the conclusion that Grauniad rugby writers have pictures of certain Quins players on their bedroom ceilings……………….
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@Slade – Not just current Quins players, former ones too.
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The last game on this has the funniest finish to a game of cricket I think I’ve ever seen (I know we’ve had too much cricket the last few days, but still). The last over begins at 7 hours and 57 minutes (there are a load of games on the same stream). I can’t even begin to describe what happens.
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That’s hysterical, CMW! Both sides doing their best to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
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Cmw – some good ground punching there.
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I liked the fact that on the golden ball, needing to score 2, they sent in their fattest most immobile batsman.
I also like the fact he slid in feet first rather than bat first.
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@OT – He’s spent the rest of the tournament batting in the top four despite being one of their weakest players and is almost certainly the worst top order batsman in the competition. They manage to get him down the order for once to give themselves a better chance, but he still managed to get involved. I have suspicions that he might have some involvement with their sponsor, he certainly looks like he’s eaten enough of it.
It didn’t help that the more obvious people to use for the Golden Ball had just either been bowled or pointlessly run out in the last over – you can only use players for it who haven’t been out. I would still have gone with the guy who was in even though he was struggling as he has since the weather improved and he took his woolly hat off.
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That’s tremendous.Well done, UCC.
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The other day my lad came home from school and asked me if I knew who Jonny Sexton was. I said I did and asked if he did. He said that JS was a player for Ireland – he only really knows Welsh and South African lads – and that his friend Tom’s dad is a friend of JS. Ah, right, I thought. Took him to school this morning and saw Tom’s dad for the first time and it turns out he most definitely is a friend of Sexton’s. Lots and lots of games this lad played.
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One thing that has struck me with the Lions announcement is that it’s a fairly brutal way to find out if you aren’t going. Surely players could opt to find out by call or text beforehand if they sign a non disclosure agreement or something?
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It’s fne I think.
Bantz merchants like Marler would drop hints on their twitter.
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Tomp – I’m sure the players are made of sterner stuff than me.
Maybe a Lions reveal explosion. Red if going, empty if not.
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Jonah Lomu’s birthday today. Would’ve been 46.
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Craigs, on the Glasgow version of the video of players’ reactions to being selected Ali Price is outside in his car whilst everyone else is in the room, you can see some players battering the windows when Price’s name is called out. He gets a huge cheer when he joins them a minute or so later.
Jonah would have been 46 today? That’s actually younger than I would have guessed.
He changed the game, on another board the other day someone mentioned that he wouldn’t be nearly so intimidating today as he was then, but I said that Jonah today would be Eben Etzebeth with a sub 10 sec 100m time.
That would be intimidating.
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TomP, sounds like an “in” for tickets!
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“Friend of Sexton’s”
Is it Ronan O’Gara?
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Ticht – maybe it’s just my general fear of results. My final accountancy exam results were sent by text at 5pm on a Friday which was bad enough. I was in a pub but had to get quite a bit of work done that day and it was tortuous*.
So I can’t imagine getting told in front of all your work mates like that.
Apparently Nadolo is the same height as Lomu but 17kg heavier. It was inevitable that someone like him would come along and tbh I think it has made the game better. That last try against the Aussies in the 2002 game sticks in my mind.
* I passed. And on the Monday after I was told that I had got a pay rise. Then a week later I was told that a fully qualified accountant was surplus to the firm’s requirements and was given a month’s gardening leave. Fuck my profession.
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It’s weird thing saying Jonah wouldn’t have had the same impact today as you can’t teleport him to now.
Two points with it – his influence was massive as there have been a stream of massive wingers since then. However, he wasn’t the first “big” winger as there was John Bevan in the early 70s etc. Secondly, he was the first (perhaps only) megastar of the pro era and the televised era. I remember him being on Saturday Superstore or whatever the BBC’s kids programme was at the time. That’s celebrity.
The NZ ’95 team may be my favourite non-Welsh team ever. They did a Grand Slam of the Home Nations in that tournament and the first half v England was just sensational. Best moment will always be the Zinzan drop goal.
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@tomp
Watching as an England fan was very frustrating. The Lomu bit, despite being simply brilliant, wasn’t a massive surprise to me as I couldn’t believe England put Tony Underwood up against him (I remember the press bigging it up as a clash of equals, bizarrely). I said beforehand England needed to put de Glanville (i.e a centre who could tackle) on the wing against him but nobody listened to me. I think Ian McGeechan did when he played Alan Tait on the wing for the Lions the following year.
But when that drop goal went over I may have shouted “oh that’s not fair!”. It was superb.
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nobody listened to me
Just wondering if you engaged the right stakeholders….
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@craigs
I told my mate Dave but he wasn’t too bothered. Or well connected enough.
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Ot – I heard Dave is a massive arsehole though.
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OT,
Deebee’ll be hear soon with lots of chat about James Small and Lomu never scoring a try v SA.
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@craigs
Dave was in the year above Josh Lewsey at school but they weren’t friends.
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OT – one became an England RWC winning fullback and one worked in an office with Yosoy.
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@tomp
Around early to mid 90s I used to bang on that northern hemisphere RU wingers couldn’t tackle, unlike RL wingers and RU wingers in the southern hemisphere. The experiences of Underwood Jr, James Small, and the 97 Lions tour confirmed my hypothesis.
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@craigs
Dave is now a solicitor living in Altrincham. Specialises in company insolvency.
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OT – moved to better things then.
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Taity was a union centre first, of course. His dad was a league player, no?
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Taity grew up playing both RL and RU I think. He did start playing union but joined that rather spectacular Widnes team with JD1, Offiah etc
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“It’s weird thing saying Jonah wouldn’t have had the same impact today as you can’t teleport him to now.”
Yeah, my point about Etzebeth with an Olympic 10m time probably doesn’t hold true either, the modern-day Jonah would need to be so very different to what is around just now, just as he was.
Olympic pace, Kolbe’s step, along with Billy Whizz’s probably, Sexton’s pass and Carter’s ability to run the game, McCaw’s engine and all-round ability…
even then we are talking about the best things from the best players, it’s not something that would actually change how teams are selected and how they set up, like Jonah’s impact on the sport.
Still, it would be nice to see my fantasy player in an Edinburgh and Scotland shirt.
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Get the boffins at the SRU to work on that time machine so they can kidnap a young Jonah Lomu in the early 1990s and bring him to Scotland.
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OT, Was Offiah a good defender? Out of this world in attack but can’t remember anything about his tackling.
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@tomp
No he wasn’t! He used to get right royally slagged off by RL fans for that reason.
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He did score millions of tries, mind.
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@tomp
All RU converts used to get stick from some small minded fans, though. Even Jiffy
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The thing about Lomu was that he had much more to offer than just brute strength and the ability to run over people. He had good pace, an eye for a gap and actually, if you look at some of his tries, he had very good footwork too. I often used to say that it was his footwork that put defenders on the back foot or got them off balance, so that he could run through/round/over them. And with all of that, TomP, he never scored a try against the Boks. And neither did anyone born in New Zealand score a point against the Boks in the ’95 Final.
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Wasn’t ever regarded as part of the job spec in union, I suppose. My recollection down at the “coarse” rugby level was that full back, centres, back row, second row and maybe the hooker were expected to tackle
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No one from the Lions has ever scored a point in a World Cup final, Deebee. A shaming stat for South Africa’s 5th best rugby province.
Also, no one born in the current boundaries of South Africa scored in the 2007 final.
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No Scot has scored in a world cup final…yet.
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TomP, this is your chance for the ultimate facting, if anyone called Scot scored in a final, let us know, there is bound to be one
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@ticht
Jason Robinson is Scottish-qualified through his Mum and his lad (Lewis Tierney) plays RL for Scotland. So that counts.
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Can get as close as David Kirk. So OT’s suggestion of Mr Billy Whizz is probably the best.
Loads of Aussies who’ve scored points in finals have Irish-sounding family names.
Fun fact: No Irish players with Aussie-sounding surnames have played in a World Cup semi-final.
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Just have to get a vicarious thrill from that…..
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