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 
Somehow Glos only 13-0 down – Bristol have blown about 5 tries.
LikeLike
Charlie P showboats a bit, as he crosses the Glos line and gets the ball knocked out of his hand,
LikeLike
Glos score a try then Brizzle blow a ridiculous effort with Piatau (C) slowing up going over the line and a Glos player knocks it out of his hand!
Reckon Pat might have a strong word or two at half time about the showboating.
LikeLike
farcical from Bristol really…………….should be out of sight
LikeLike
Glaws with the upper hand here, Bristol lucky to go in ahead. 36 for England, he is playing magnificently, and with Ben Morgan ready to come off the bench, the Bears must be quaking in their boots.
LikeLike
At last Brizzle don’t bollocks up a try! Lovely from Vui.
LikeLike
This time Charlie P remembers to look after the ball. 18 – 7 to Bristol.
LikeLike
This is how I learned to watch RU as a kid.
LikeLike
@Craigs – I don’t think they did get turned into whales – seemed to have arms and legs and other stuff that whales haven’t got. Bit poor really. I’m now starting to think that the Gazza that The Cat used to go on about in that game wasn’t actually Gazza.
LikeLike
Cmw – hactually whales have do arms and legs. Sort of. The flippers at the front are what used to be arms and the leg bones are still there but not functional.
Poor Gazza. Next you’ll be saying Granny Crack dealer doesn’t really sell crack.
LikeLike
@Craigs – The whale is a fish without arms and legs. Melville says so in MD.
LikeLike
Probably.
LikeLike
Craigs
The flippers at the front are what used to be arms and the leg bones are still there but not functional.
Hmm. I think you may mean ‘The flippers at the front evolved into arms in terrestrial mammals’, etc.
LikeLiked by 1 person
@Thaum – Craig’s observations are as much or as little use in understanding the whale in all its enormity as anything else. Melville says so in MD.
LikeLike
Sort of.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thaum – nope, they used to be arms now they’re flippers. No wonder Mody Dick skewered his stupid whale.
LikeLike
@Craigs – I might be prepared to accept your creature as some sort of whippomorph, most likely an ambulocetus. Not going to get it a place in the cetacean library though, not in folio, octavo or duodecimo.
LikeLike
Most of the rugby we saw from Wales exhibited little use of arms or legs this year. Without being flippant about it. Wasn’t Moby Dick a Welsh front rower in the 70s?
LikeLike
Grass roots update…
Well we’re into our 4th week back and last week was first week when contact was allowed. We kept it “simple” – basically played an approximation of RL – tackled player plays the ball (or presents the ball) and go again – we’ll leave rucks and mauls to our “pre-season” (no doubt a few were glad and a few were disappointed)
We’re playing 7 vs 7 (or thereabouts) – an interesting thing is how wide to make the pitch… too narrow and it’s endless running into each other (even with tag) – too wide and the fast lads run sideways until they get to the edge then straighten. You need it narrow enough that the initial carries have to be straight – or else the defence just drifts across – but still wide enough that if you can suck in defenders by running straight – there’s space out wide if you pass properly (yes, I know what this sounds like… )
Numbers wise, we’re good – 30+ at each session even with GAA football and soccer running – the GAA U15 league begins running in 3 weeks, so that’ll strip away a lot of our older (U14) cohort. We might wrap up then.
I’d love to keep going but I’m conscious that if we don’t break late June to mid-August, then started our “pre-season” in August and then ran until end of April 2022 (as was the plan this season) – that would be a full 12 months (from the restart on 26th April). I’d rather they came back in August looking forward to the mud and rain of the winter….
LikeLiked by 7 people
Cmw – they imbibed the paleblood and contracted the kos parasite. Ergo, whales. QED mofo.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Since no one commented – might as well comment on Munster vs Connacht. Main talking points were the ropy refereeing and ropy execution by Munster. Kudos to Connacht but you’d hope they can get up to that level again vs Treviso.
Main problems with Munster – where do you start ? Very quickly it had the feel of one of those games they occasionally churn out – usually against Treviso or Dragons (sorry, Iks) – play poorly but dig out a win … not this time, though.
LikeLike
trisk, my lad had his first mini-rugby session at the weekend. We’d wanted him to try GAA but our local club is at full capacity so we went for rugby instead. A great turnout – 35 Under 7s were there and 35 Under 6s on the other half of the field. Lots of running and lots of skills, though 20 minutes of box-kicking practice was a bit much.
LikeLike
Wow… covid-imposed or just self-imposed?
LikeLike
200 kids in the Juvenile Academy (kids from 4 to 6).
LikeLike
Evil Leinster Machine starts ’em young.
LikeLike
Evil Dub machine that one as it’s GAA.
LikeLike
200 kids in the Juvenile Academy
Tory backbenchers fled Brexit Britain for Dublin?
LikeLike
TomP
1/ Stop confusing me with facts that you’d already explained.
2/ Dublin was in Leinster last time I checked, so I am right anyway, nerrr.
LikeLike
3/ Some of them will probably end up playing rugby anyway.
LikeLike
Ooh….serious numbers. I’d say GAA followers in other counties would be mortified if/when they hear that. If that’s repeated across Dublin – it could mean semi-permanent Dublin hegemony.
From a health PoV – good to see so many playing sport…. no doubt some will migrate to rugby (or even bigger fear – AFL)
LikeLike
Sam Simmonds got just the 3 tries tonight.
Good game and good win for Exeter. LI were very combative.
LikeLike
thaum, it’s good news for Ulster rugby considering that half your team is ex-Leinster players.
trisk, it was a shame for the boy as he was really looking forward to it. His classmate whose dad played professional rugby is at GAA rather than rugby.
We hadn’t any contact from the club after a come on down and bring a mouthguard email. It’s understandable now with those numbers and just 2 guys running the academy. The lady from the rugby club was on the case and gave up some of her Saturday afternoon sorting out the paperwork. The rugby club is going to the end of June and then stopping for a couple of months.
LikeLike
Ha! The benefits of club membership: just got a message that we’re invited to a “webinar” with David Campese tonight.
LikeLike
Now, I’m surprised at that – we’d have bigger numbers of coaches/mentors (what you will) at the age groups here – though it takes a certain type to work with the real “smallies”.
LikeLike
Administrators, I suppose. At the rugby there was a head coach and they broke the lads down into 4 groups with 2 coaches in each group of (roughly) 10 with the head coach focusing on one group.
LikeLike
Yeah 2 guys seems a bit light. At the club my eldest goes to there’s a co-ordinator for each year group, head of the minis plus 4 or 5 actual coaches for each group. it’s pretty well run & they’ve got the covid protocols up & running well.
Youngest does football. the horror.
LikeLike
If they’re administrators that makes more sense
LikeLike
Thomasina Miers’ recipe for chorizo and parsley scotch eggs
Pretty sure OT has become Food section editor of the graun.
LikeLike
@craigs – wouldn’t that be Crash?
LikeLike
Too much parsley
LikeLike
Crash would’ve put peanut butter into them instead of parsley.
LikeLike
Refit – could well but OT was moaning about posh scotch eggs a while ago so maybe it’s him. Plus I’m pretty sure Thomasina Miers goes to his local.
LikeLike
Yesterday the Graun was saying that vegetables are the main event on a bbq. And then described grilling.
I was suitably offended.
LikeLike
I watched the Exeter vs LI highlights. Is it me or is Sam Simmons better in heavy traffic than BV? Could be that it was against LI but the boy can bosh.
LikeLike
I’m fairly sure it was OT who doesn’t like posh scotch eggs. Please correct me if I am wrong.
LikeLiked by 1 person
We’ll correct you on the things you’re wrong about at some point.
LikeLiked by 1 person
16,500 going to be allowed to watch the Lionz play plucky Japan at M-field
Shame I didn’t get in on the ticket lottery thing
LikeLike
‘Yesterday the Graun was saying that vegetables are the main event on a bbq.’
Hmmm. This is a dubious proposition.
‘And then described grilling.’
an outrage
‘I was suitably offended.’
I was hoping for unsuitably offensive
LikeLiked by 1 person
@craigs
That was certainly me. Having said that a chorizo sausage will make a very fine scotch egg indeed, so long as you don’t serve it cut in half with a runny yolk just to show how culturally sophisticated you are.
But I wouldn’t bother with the parsley – I’d just give it to the guinea pigs instead.
LikeLike
OT – the yolk was indeed runny.
LikeLike