34. Gabon: Cameroon border - Oyem - Mitzic - Bifoun

Gabon was a surprise for us.  We had anticipated going through the Central African Republic so we had done no research on it.  Our guidebook, Lonely Planet "Africa on the Cheap" first edition, had never heard of travelers going through the country.  In retrospect it is the country most like where Dan lives now, the Bolivian Amazon, in many ways: "architecture", mode of transport, vegetation, climate, agriculture, roads, sweat bees.. and today. apparently many national parks.  It was a pleasant experience for us, however it is also the likeliest place for Dan to have contracted filariasis, or "elephantiasis", which we did not find out until we got back to the US.  In fact it was preliminarily diagnosed as "Hodgkin's Disease" until an East Indian doctor saw Dan from a hallway and recognized it immediately.  

 

Map of Gabon showing our route in yellow dots.  Source: www.ezilon.com

I hadn’t expected a river at the border, so it was an especially nice surprise to see a cool, tree-lined, VERY slowly moving stream. Waiting on the Gabon side was a very fancy car ferry. The strangest thing was that, except for presenting our passports back in Ambam, there were no other formalities to be gone through on the Cameroonian side. Especially amazing when you think of all we went through at the border coming in from Nigeria.

Needless to say, there were no “occasions” waiting for us, so we sat down beside the river to figure up the final results of our Cameroon expenses (we have yet to hit a cheap country) and eat a bite of bread with cheese. It was kind of comforting to be waiting there with the other woman because it meant some kind of car must go through.

After a couple of hours a pickup crossed over on the ferry. The woman decided to go then, but he was asking too much for our taste. We decided to get checked through at the police post --once again no hassle--  and by good fortune another public pickup drove up, this one from the Gabon side. He said he’d take us for a reasonable price as far as Bitam, so we blithely hopped on. As we rode along the 30 some km, we marveled at how good it felt to be riding again in an open pickup. We could even smell some wonderful flower scents that don’t come near us in a closed and crowded car.

We had asked to be let down at the mission protestante which turned out to be 3 km before Bitam. It was almost dark when the driver put us down and gave us the disheartening news that the price he’d given us did not include the baggage. Grrr!

The mission looked pretty dead, but we did see a couple of dim lights. After a short wait, the pastor came to talk with us and he took us to a couple of rooms in a house that was under construction. He and his wife were very kind (we are obviously off the beaten track) and insisted on sweeping out the rooms and brought us two pots of rain water to wash up in.  It felt good to wash off the dust and --yes-- sweat, eat some granola, and lie down surrounded by the mosquito net that, luckily, hung above the bed.

                                                            Bitam - Oyem, Gabon, Saturday 26 February, 1983

(DAN)  We awakened, had our granola and hit the road in fairly good time. It rained during the night and the mist above the trees and the wet, dripping atmosphere brought back feelings of my youth in the Bolivian tropics. It was a good thing that we had started early because once we’d walked the few km to town it turned out that we had to do formalities at both the gendarmerie and immigration. We began to hit the notorious Gabon prices soon afterwards: café au lait 3X as expensive as in Cameroon; bananas (even though there was a tree in nearly every yard) 3X as expensive, nearly what one pays for them in the States.

We then kept walking on out of town for maybe another 45 minutes before we found a good place to wait for a ride. Once a nun and once a brother (?) stopped and offered us rides, but they were only going to the Catholic mission. Maybe ten fruitless vehicles went by before an old Peugeot 404 with a bearded European driver stopped. He (and it turned out his Gabonese wife) was only going 60 km, but we piled in. Piled in, that is, for our dustiest ride since the ore train in Mauritania. The pickup had a tarp on and the dust just rolled in.  So far, these Gabonese roads that were supposed to be impassable have been pure dust. Our benefactors owned a quaint little hotel 15 km north of Oyem and I don’t know what else they had gone to Bitam for, but they were carrying two 5-gallon jugs of palm wine. Our driver knew the driver of a Toyota pickup we passed, so when he passed by the hotel, he flagged him and asked him to take us on into Oyem. The man was reluctant but acceded. By this time we were caked with dust and this second driver almost declined to shake my hand when he dropped us off.

He was nice to drop us right at the gendarmerie so we could do our formalities.  However, it was 1305 and none of the 6 gendarmes in the office wished to look at our passports -- come back at 1500. We wished to continue traveling, so I insisted. One officer got really mad and glanced through the passports as a cadeau (gift) for the touristes.

From there we continued our walk through Oyem to the edge of town.  Oyem was rather a surprise; it reminded me considerably of Brazilian Amazonian towns. Tropical rainforest vegetation, but US-quality streets, sidewalks, buildings, and sewers.  We found a place well out of town where we could leave our packs by the road and rest out of the sun in a shed. It was a long, hot afternoon. There were a lot of vehicles, but it turned out that they were all fairly local. We learned the next day that the president of Gabon had made a visit there in his helicopter and we were on the road to the (paved) airport. Many, many people stopped to talk to us, to tell us that we could not get a ride there, etc. It was polite of them, but it increases the stress of waiting for a ride. We wanted to get to Mitzic (pronounced as in midget) before dark (another 180 km), so we gave up at 1630.

We walked back into town and headed for the big Catholic church that we had seen on the hill. They had plenty of room for a tent, but wanted us to take a room instead as just the night before a youth had been attacked on the church grounds. They had a full-pressure shower as well, and it was an incredible relief to feel the cold water run over one’s body. That night it rained really hard, the first lightning and thunder we have seen for ages. It was definitely superior that we did not have to pack away a wet tent. The mission had a Black monsignor and two French brothers.

The terrain has not changed much since the stretch between Edea and Yaoundé. It has been rolling topography with a residual rain forest. By that I mean that I’m sure it has been logged for valuable wood, but has not been cleared at all for planting. We have not seen a planted field since we got into Gabon. The villages along the road are very similar: small, single rows of clapboard houses and an invariable roofed-over area for people to wait for vehicles. The road so far in Gabon has been excellent dirt road.

Rainforest near Mitzic, Gabon, so familiar from where we live in Bolivia.

It occurs to me that most of the places we name do not appear on your maps. For purposes of small scale maps, we are currently 40 km east of Equatorial Guinea, about halfway down the east side. From there we will head SW to Lambaréné, Gabon, and from there SE to Loubomo, Congo. N’Kayi is about 60 km east of there on the railroad track.

                                                            Oyem - Mitzic, Gabon, Sunday, 27 February, 1983

(HELENA) We started out the day pretty dispiritedly because of our long wait yesterday. We were also feeling down because yesterday SOMEHOW we’d both left our books behind in the shed where we’d been waiting. We can’t imagine how both of us could have been so distracted, but all we found of them this morning was two rain-wettened pages. Both of them were borrowed from Ann Kemper, the missionary we stayed with in Zing, Nigeria. We walked on beyond there, mostly because we wanted to avoid having the same people walk by and see us still there. As we turned back around after having priced some pricey bananas, we half-heartedly put out our thumbs to a gendarme’s jeep. He stopped! Our mouths must have dropped stupendously when he told us “montez.” He seemed a bit curt at first and wasn’t too patient with our hesitant French, but in the end I think he enjoyed himself and even gave us his address so the Mademoiselle could write him.

The chef was a very calm, VERY unhurried man who even stopped the vehicle several times to look words up in our small French-English dictionary.  He drove very slowly and stopped several times to talk to people and even stopped at his mother’s village, first to pick up “mother’s home-grown” food and then to settle some kind of dispute. We have no idea what it was, but some 15 people gathered in the shelter we’ve mentioned, which is for awaiting transport and probably for meetings like this.

He dropped us off in good humor in the center of Mitzic. It was 11:30 when we arrived, so we walked on out of town to see if we could get a ride further on. It was Sunday, so no one seemed to be going anywhere. We sat there for 3 hours with people walking by constantly making comments like, you’re going to get a ride by waiting “comme sa sur la route?[1]” (voice of incredulity).

Oh, speaking of classic comments, our gendarme friend asked us if we wash our clothes. We don’t know quite how to interpret that because we really do try to keep as clean as possible[2].

We decided to head back into town fairly early so we could settle down before dark. We assume that Daddy, must be raising his eyebrows at our relying so much on missions, we want you to know that today we most definitely tried some hotels. The first was decent but very expensive; the second was still very expensive, but with no water and a very small, airless room[3].

We stopped next at the Mission Protestante. The pastor wasn’t there, so his wife invited us into their breezeway. I stayed there and “chatted” with some young men while Dan went to ask at the Catholic Mission.  Pére Bernard was very friendly and showed Dan where we could put our tent and take rain-water showers.

They were most kind at the Protestant mission, but naturally the Catholic one was perfectly kept up with a nice lawn for pitching the tent. Once we got there we had to wait for it to stop raining. Yep, I’m afraid we’ve definitely hit the rainy season.

We never did find out exactly what kind of place they have there, but, aside from the French priest and a very old priest from Gabon, there were about 10 high school-age boys living there. P. Bernard very generously invited us to supper. Most enjoyable except that the conversation was all between him and us.

Mitzic seems not very large, but it is served by a twice-weekly flight. It’s hard to imagine that it would be worth it, but then we’ve hit the place when the road is at its best.

On the way to the missions, we walked by a bunch of tipsy gendarmes. Naturally they had to show  their authority, so they had us get out our passports. It looked as if they were about to have a bunch of fun at our expense when Dan took out our benefactor’s name and address. They saw their chef’s name and right away gave back the passports. His address proclaims the Commandant of the Gendarme Brigade for the entire area of Mitzic.

Mitzic mission, Gabon

                                                      

      Mitzic - Bifoun, Gabon, Monday, 28 February, 1983

(DAN) Before we left the table at supper, Pére Bernard invited us to come have coffee with them in the morning after mass. We had been sorry to miss the mass in Oyem --we left just as the drums (hollow-log type) were calling people, so we decided to get up for the 0630 mass here. I want all of you to know that we hit the wet grass at 0530, had the tent down and everything packed by 0633. Helena commented how nice it was to have the clock that Grandmother gave us in Spain and which has served us so well.

Mass this morning was a mixed blessing (sorry); we were the only ones there until half way. Usually we rely on nuns to know when to stand, sit, kneel, or just bow one’s head. When three older women did appear, they sat behind us, probably to watch us. So I am afraid that we sat through most of it. It still rankles to remember  flunking religion in Caranavi, Bolivia (taught by Nuns) for not knowing the most important part of the mass.   Well it is hard enough to understand French, but the Gabonese priest was 80-something and hard to understand. Then when the women came in, we think they switched to Fang, the local language. All this took place a in a huge church which maybe seats 500 people.

We had our café au lait in bowls as with the priests in Noadhibu. A good, solid start on a long day. I think that Father Bernard might have been lonely for “European” company, because as long as we were around, we carried on a steady conversation. The area there is only recently “evangelized” (not over 50 years old).  The area used to be Pygmy country (as had been much of the terrain we’ve covered the last few days) but is now Fang (average height) country. In fact, they speak Fang from southern Cameroon all the way to Lambaréné, a very wide area. It seems strange that one would have so many different languages in an open place like Upper Volta, and one language over an area of “impenetrable forest”. It may have more to do with the way the area is being settled. The Pygmies are apparently not adaptable, or not accepted into the “modern” mainstream and are being pushed to the margins. We have been seeing various very short, heavily muscled individuals, but I doubt they are full-blooded Pygmies.

Oh yes, we also found that what shows on many maps as a railroad in Gabon, from Moanda (near Franceville) to the border with Congo, is actually the longest cable car in the world.  When the area was prospected (manganese, I believe) and developed it was cheaper to put a cable car up over the forests and mountains, rather than a railroad. It makes sense. However, it apparently excludes passenger travel, so that is out.

We hit the road feeling cheerful and full, walked all the way through town again, to many people’s impure delight, and out the other side. We walked maybe 3 km before we were overtaken by a large, empty, white Mercedes Benz truck. We were reconciled to paying, but when we asked how much he would charge us he said, “oh no, cadeau.” It is surely different from being stuffed with 20 other people in a van to ride high in the cab of a new MB truck. I guess that the truck has enough more stability than cars that they can take curves faster. He certainly took them faster than I would have thought possible. He even insisted on buying us some delicious bananas. Unfortunately the ride only went 50 km, or to a fork in the road called Lalara.

Crossroads Lalara, Gabon. 

 There was a shed there in which to wait, so we sat there for three hours waiting, to the loud sounds of Hi Life in the store next door. A lot of log trucks and tank trucks came through but they did not seem feasible. Finally a big, empty Berliet came through about 1230; a pay ride this time, but it would take us all the way to Bifoun, the fork for Lambaréné and Libreville. We clambered aboard and wolfed down the last of our lunch and settled in for a long, breezy ride. In good truck style, however, he went about 15 minutes and then pulled over for 90 minutes to get diesel, wash, pray (Muslim), and shoot the breeze. There were 2 trucks traveling together and they all turned out to be Hausa Muslims from northern Cameroon. One man was trying to proselytize me on one side and trying to get me to say I would give him Helena for marriage on the other. I told him she was not mine to give. He looked kind of incre­dulous until our driver assured him that yes, in America women do anything they want to.

It was at this place that we found that our fellow traveler was from Equatorial Guinea and spoke good Spanish. We had some fun parleying the lingo.

We got started again, but our driver insisted we follow the other truck at about 50 m and we ate dust for the next 45 minutes. I guess we would have gone all the way like that except that we ran onto a third Hausa driven truck broken down, and stopped to help. That ate up perhaps the next 90 minutes. Something had gone wrong with the back axle; it was all taken apart and they were trying to get it put back together again. Unfortunately, my special friends, the small black sweat bees, showed up by the thousands to welcome us. They do not sting, but crawl up one’s nose, ears, eyes, mouth, and make nuisances of themselves. If one is mashed, it releases a strong, acrid smell which only seems to attract more bees.  Only three of the seven men present could work on the axle at once and the others offered advice and tried to keep the bees off the other three.

Hausa-owned trucks.  Helping each other on the road, in spite sweat bees.

Finally we left the other two trucks and continued. No more dust, but soon it began to rain, so we had to get down under the tarp until we arrived in Njole at dusk. The area we drove through was extremely beautiful, shown as the Crystal Mountains on our map. However, we have yet to see any land cleared for crops in Gabon. In fact plantains seem to be scarce and expensive right here at the source. Every time the driver would see a head for sale by the road he’d pull over and bargain for it. They ran from 3 to 5$ for small to medium heads!

The driver stopped for supper at Njole and we decided to splurge and get a full restaurant meal. We got a plate of rice, one of plantain, and two of good, full stew and just stuffed ourselves. It seemed to be a Kosher (for Muslims?) restaurant. There were a lot of Muslims out front washing up and the driver and others disappeared a good while before they ate --to pray, we guess. When we all waddled back to the truck we found that our Spanish speaking Equatorial Guinean friend and the woman he was traveling with had skipped off in the dark without paying for their ride. The driver took use of the opportunity to air his view of Guineans in general, but it had no immediate effect on us other than that now we got to ride in (ah, luxury) the cab. However, when we got ready for bed that night Helena found that her nightgown was wadded in her pack and the alarm clock that is usually wrapped therein was gone. It is, as far as I could remember, the only time that Helena had ever left her pack unlocked. It is, however, the only item we have had stolen[4], and our most “replaceable” valuable. One of our most expensive lessons.

We got to Bifoun about 2030 and it was very dark. It is a small cross-roads town of about Puerto Linares' size and character. There is no mission, but we were shown to the catechist in the dark. We explained that we had everything except a place to put our tent. He had, in fact, a half-built house (roof but no walls) which was the perfect place, especially in the case of rain during the night. There was plenty of rain water and he had a shower shed where we were able to wash off our day’s tension. About 15 adults watched us pitch the tent and unpack, but moved on good-naturedly when it was time for the next step. The last person to leave was a short, bent, elderly woman who insisted we take a big bunch of small finger bananas as a gift. This offset a little the sorrow of  discovering the theft. As far as we can tell, the only other thing that was taken was a little plastic bottle that we picked up in Kano and that I drank my tea from. The man really got us where it hurt.

Perhaps the most memorable event of the day was that we crossed the Equator. It was raining at the time, and we got tired of looking through the side of the truck for a marker. According to our map it was just before a small town, Alembe. We arbitrarily decided at one point that the Equator was an imaginary line around the earth passing through a VW wreck by the road.  Sure enough, a few minutes later we drove into town.

We had our first baggage search in Gabon just outside of Njole. A young, leering gendarme had us get our packs down. He went through Helena’s pretty thoroughly, then had me take everything out of mine, spread them out, and explain them. There was a group of children and young women present which may or may not explain his thouroughness.

                                                           

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[1][1] This became a phrase for our trip, so many people could not believe that we would wait for rides “just like that, on the highway!”

[2] Some fellow travelers even accused us of carrying an iron, because we kept a change of clothes just for visiting consulates, and after a while for crossing borders.

[3] As I review our guidebook from this trip, in these remote places the author always recommended trying the missions first.

[4] The only thing stolen all year on the road.