Monday, January 23, 2006
All the people that say we can't do it. (Third Week of January 2006)
Several of Dean's friends, some of whom work in road construction, and many of the people who we ask for directions along the way have told us that our car will not make it to Congo or thru Congo. A Congolese man at the embassy of DRC was more encouraging and informative; he instructed us to completely change our route into Congo-requiring that we backtrack for nearly four hundred miles-and to drive through a section of his country where the Michelin map does not recognize so much as an unimproved track. This is the first time that we will be completely off of the map.
We have just completed a huge backwards loop through Gabon in order to arrive at its southeasterly border town in the vicinity of Franceville, region of Bongo. The region between the main north south highway and this presedentially favored town does not reflect Gabon's prosperity. A resident of Mbondou, a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, referred to this area as Gabon's "neglected provinces." Just prior to the last round of elections there was a flurry of road construction in the area; as soon as the president finagled his way into seven more years of authority, this construction stopped, long before it was finished. I would wager that four or five of the wood plank bridges that we crossed will become impassible within the month. We had to build ramps, straddle deep holes over running water that were just inches smaller than our wheel base, shovel obstacles clear and physically push and pull the Stingray through awful sections of mud nearly forty meters long-at one point it was necessary to engage the assistance of a dozen village women, a large truck, three tow ropes and our now indispensable hand winch.
People in this region have watched Bongo govern their country since the mid 1960's and they have nothing to show for it. These villages have no electricity and they do not have food available around breakfast or lunchtime for travelers passing through. This lead to some adaptations in our diet. We came to view the carcasses dangling in the roadside wind from prominent wooden poles as essential little blessings.
In the last three days we have eaten porcupine, which is fun to order because you ask for "Porky Pig", smoked "gazelle" which looks more like ratalope and tastes like tender stewed beef (dinner with pasta, breakfast with chili powder, lunch in a sandwich), and something people are calling Pangolay, which was brought to us in its final hours by a nighttime hunter who set it down by its two foot tail to crawl in a wheezing wounded circle. This creature has scales, fur and stumpy little legs. It looks like the lovechild of a diminutive stegosaurus and a badger. It has a foot long tongue and a stomach full of ants; but it is not the ant-eater that anyone I know has ever seen. It cost six dollars and is now soup. We are learning about the animals of the rainforest by eating them.
Only now do we all realize how many culinary opportunities we missed in the countries behind us. I was certain that the smashed flat, brown charred, skewered smoked rodent carcasses waved at our car by small boys were amongst the most nasty things on which someone could chew. But I was wrong. My initial revulsion at street side meat has been overcome by my taste buds every single time, with one exception. That exception would be the jungle maggot kebabs that we accidentally bought at a toll booth in Cameroon. Those things were nasty as hell. I tried to act like they were good so that Tuuli would eat them; but it didn't work because I couldn't smile or act happy and not barf at the same time. All I did was eat all four of the ones on my stick, crunching on their little black heads and working hard to swallow their chewy, toe-nail colored, bitter worm bodies, which ranged in size from cockroach to small turd and were all cooked flat. Somehow, Sean devoured four sticks with genuine pleasure. We kept around Tuuli's unfinished stick to offer to the policemen who pulled us over to ask for money. They were visibly disgusted and let us go much more quickly than usual. We will have to resort to this strategy in the future.
Several of Dean's friends, some of whom work in road construction, and many of the people who we ask for directions along the way have told us that our car will not make it to Congo or thru Congo. A Congolese man at the embassy of DRC was more encouraging and informative; he instructed us to completely change our route into Congo-requiring that we backtrack for nearly four hundred miles-and to drive through a section of his country where the Michelin map does not recognize so much as an unimproved track. This is the first time that we will be completely off of the map.
We have just completed a huge backwards loop through Gabon in order to arrive at its southeasterly border town in the vicinity of Franceville, region of Bongo. The region between the main north south highway and this presedentially favored town does not reflect Gabon's prosperity. A resident of Mbondou, a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, referred to this area as Gabon's "neglected provinces." Just prior to the last round of elections there was a flurry of road construction in the area; as soon as the president finagled his way into seven more years of authority, this construction stopped, long before it was finished. I would wager that four or five of the wood plank bridges that we crossed will become impassible within the month. We had to build ramps, straddle deep holes over running water that were just inches smaller than our wheel base, shovel obstacles clear and physically push and pull the Stingray through awful sections of mud nearly forty meters long-at one point it was necessary to engage the assistance of a dozen village women, a large truck, three tow ropes and our now indispensable hand winch.
People in this region have watched Bongo govern their country since the mid 1960's and they have nothing to show for it. These villages have no electricity and they do not have food available around breakfast or lunchtime for travelers passing through. This lead to some adaptations in our diet. We came to view the carcasses dangling in the roadside wind from prominent wooden poles as essential little blessings.
In the last three days we have eaten porcupine, which is fun to order because you ask for "Porky Pig", smoked "gazelle" which looks more like ratalope and tastes like tender stewed beef (dinner with pasta, breakfast with chili powder, lunch in a sandwich), and something people are calling Pangolay, which was brought to us in its final hours by a nighttime hunter who set it down by its two foot tail to crawl in a wheezing wounded circle. This creature has scales, fur and stumpy little legs. It looks like the lovechild of a diminutive stegosaurus and a badger. It has a foot long tongue and a stomach full of ants; but it is not the ant-eater that anyone I know has ever seen. It cost six dollars and is now soup. We are learning about the animals of the rainforest by eating them.
Only now do we all realize how many culinary opportunities we missed in the countries behind us. I was certain that the smashed flat, brown charred, skewered smoked rodent carcasses waved at our car by small boys were amongst the most nasty things on which someone could chew. But I was wrong. My initial revulsion at street side meat has been overcome by my taste buds every single time, with one exception. That exception would be the jungle maggot kebabs that we accidentally bought at a toll booth in Cameroon. Those things were nasty as hell. I tried to act like they were good so that Tuuli would eat them; but it didn't work because I couldn't smile or act happy and not barf at the same time. All I did was eat all four of the ones on my stick, crunching on their little black heads and working hard to swallow their chewy, toe-nail colored, bitter worm bodies, which ranged in size from cockroach to small turd and were all cooked flat. Somehow, Sean devoured four sticks with genuine pleasure. We kept around Tuuli's unfinished stick to offer to the policemen who pulled us over to ask for money. They were visibly disgusted and let us go much more quickly than usual. We will have to resort to this strategy in the future.
5 Comments:
From a Finnish mother perspective this is almost,too exciting to read - but keeps me praying. Is the finacial situation ok? Can I send a care packet to some Embassy on your way? ulla äiti
ahh. how far a former vegan falls... just for perspective's sake: do you remember about 10 years ago sitting in a restaurant while i ate liver + kidneys and you made barfing noises and lectured me on animal rights? ah, the pangolay would be proud. poor pangolay.
I read over your blog, and i found it inquisitive, you may find My Blog interesting. So please Click Here To Read My Blog
http://pennystockinvestment.blogspot.com
http://pennystockinvestment.blogspot.com
An adventure for a good cause. It's way more exciting than me deciding to work in CRS again when i go back to Gambia...maybe they'll let me do what you guys are doing instead of sitting in an office.
Grumpy D
Post a Comment
Grumpy D
<< Home