Sunday, October 24, 2010
Gabon.....White, white WHITE!!!!!!
GABON
Ah, Gabon ... Land of a President named Bongo; so enamored of himself he has renamed his home village ‘Bongoville’ (seriously: how good a name is that for a town ...?? And one which we duly pass through on day one and find to be both unimpressive in its reality and completely overdeveloped for its requirements - the true measure of a town versus the ego of its patron. One of those, as is to be found across the continent, ‘why the hell is there a huge bank, hotel and planned golf course complete with tar roads and street lighting out here in the middle of nowhere, flanked by nothing more than local material shacks for housing and people idling under trees’ kind of towns ... Answer: ‘It’s the President’s hometown is it? Ahhh ... Of course it is ...’
Though, admittedly, this is not nearly as good as is to be found in Oyo, northern Congo, where rising bizarrely up and out of endless mile of undeveloped jungle like some utterly false Hollywood set designed as lair for The Evil One suddenly appears a full-sized international airport complete with surrounding brightly decorated, and highly modern, resorts and hotels, where there be no other person nor tourist to be found for hundreds of kilometres in all directions (nor any reason for their needing to be one there - save for it being the President’s hometown of course and one, with the roads being so completely shite from Brazzaville on up north, he insists on flying up into on visits and not driving ...).
And where we confront daily the most bone idle of local cultures met yet, best personified by the manager at a lodge in the Lope National Park who, on our enquiring about camping on the grounds for the night, cannot be arsed in any way to stop talking on her mobile and addresses me in grunts mid perturbed-to-be-disturbed sentence whilst simultaneously scratching her large exposed belly, straining out from under a two-sizes too small Ed Hardy knock-off t-shirt ,and who, on finding out we required water for our shower – how bizarre a request, I know – proceeded to give me a bucket to fill and that, when I did, bled out like a stuck pig through the gaping hole in its base ... Then duly disappeared for the night and, on failing to return to the grounds next morning, I gave up on after 30 fruitless minutes searching and so drove off on without paying - as my friend Caren notes on her ‘favourite quotes’ section of Facebook: “Lazy, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life” and I think she personified that caution perfectly. And more the shame for it being the national park and gem of the country. But, we were to find repeatedly, unfortunately typical ...).
Sceneries nice though ...
Gabon is also home to some of the most bastard driving yet confronted: like 200 km’s of corrugations and potholes where decent roads should be leading into Lope; or endless miles of mud-clogged mires of vertiginous logging roads carved out knife-edge wide into the claustrophobic rainforest, conveying by their very design – or lack thereof - that no man really need aim to be passing through unless paid to be doing so (and ‘so %$ck him if he can’t make it through the track, some other will ...’). All round, a real grind.
We are also met with a new welcoming cry in Gabon: “White!!” Every small child, in no matter how remote a village, has apparently learned this one word of English – bless those missionaries - and they scream it at us on our passing by with a passion ranging from Beatlesque hysteria to football hooligan vehemence - we never know to wave back in happy accord or fight back with either belligerence or maybe a more neutral, go-with-the-obvious shout back salvo of “Black!!” in return (though Clare tries a proud “Yes I am!” after several days bombardment, which is indeed a fine reply if not that by the time it is delivered by her meek (though indignant) self we are usually some hundred yards down the track and so well out of their ear-shot ...). We also begin to notice that we are stared and/or pointed at like aliens here on our passing – both in rural nothingness as well as in developed towns and villages – and so must quickly accept we really aren’t anywhere near the ‘beaten path’ on this route and it IS, if not crazy, then certainly a very rare occurrence for the locals to see white folk in this area (driving by in great hulking white Land Rovers) and that we must accept both the good for that (full Glee greeting) and the (far less prevalent) less-than-friendly (or often more wtf’ish??) glare in return for our smiles and waves in passing ... And, yes, you’re right, we’re “white!!!”
We did, however, have a very special moment in Gabon (which Glen was going to leave out). On the road heading to Cameroon, we passed several villages having some ceremony. After about the third village, I insisted on Glen stopping so we could find out what was happening.
Everyone was extremely helpful, and explained that the ceremony was in remembrance of an elder that died a year ago. His family ruled that area, and it was a way of paying respect to him and the family.
I think the photos show better than I can describe the ceremony.. But it was very emotive, and energetic, with it being more of a celebration of life, and the village culture. Being in that village, with all the villagers was really a turning point for Glen and myself, as it turned the last couple of days impression of Gabon: of corrugated roads, and surly people.....Into a heart warming impression of community, and culture, that we felt truly privileged to be allowed to visit, and be a part of.
Glen also failed to mention the extremely friendly, and helpful security guard that came with us to show us round Franceville ( and pictures of his dog and family...we instantly all bonded over the love of our canine companions)... Without whom we would still be driving in circles round that town.
So, yes Gabon may not have been our favorite country, but with all places we have visited... we are left with so many fond memories of the people there....
Ah, Gabon ... Land of a President named Bongo; so enamored of himself he has renamed his home village ‘Bongoville’ (seriously: how good a name is that for a town ...?? And one which we duly pass through on day one and find to be both unimpressive in its reality and completely overdeveloped for its requirements - the true measure of a town versus the ego of its patron. One of those, as is to be found across the continent, ‘why the hell is there a huge bank, hotel and planned golf course complete with tar roads and street lighting out here in the middle of nowhere, flanked by nothing more than local material shacks for housing and people idling under trees’ kind of towns ... Answer: ‘It’s the President’s hometown is it? Ahhh ... Of course it is ...’
Though, admittedly, this is not nearly as good as is to be found in Oyo, northern Congo, where rising bizarrely up and out of endless mile of undeveloped jungle like some utterly false Hollywood set designed as lair for The Evil One suddenly appears a full-sized international airport complete with surrounding brightly decorated, and highly modern, resorts and hotels, where there be no other person nor tourist to be found for hundreds of kilometres in all directions (nor any reason for their needing to be one there - save for it being the President’s hometown of course and one, with the roads being so completely shite from Brazzaville on up north, he insists on flying up into on visits and not driving ...).
And where we confront daily the most bone idle of local cultures met yet, best personified by the manager at a lodge in the Lope National Park who, on our enquiring about camping on the grounds for the night, cannot be arsed in any way to stop talking on her mobile and addresses me in grunts mid perturbed-to-be-disturbed sentence whilst simultaneously scratching her large exposed belly, straining out from under a two-sizes too small Ed Hardy knock-off t-shirt ,and who, on finding out we required water for our shower – how bizarre a request, I know – proceeded to give me a bucket to fill and that, when I did, bled out like a stuck pig through the gaping hole in its base ... Then duly disappeared for the night and, on failing to return to the grounds next morning, I gave up on after 30 fruitless minutes searching and so drove off on without paying - as my friend Caren notes on her ‘favourite quotes’ section of Facebook: “Lazy, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life” and I think she personified that caution perfectly. And more the shame for it being the national park and gem of the country. But, we were to find repeatedly, unfortunately typical ...).
Sceneries nice though ...
Gabon is also home to some of the most bastard driving yet confronted: like 200 km’s of corrugations and potholes where decent roads should be leading into Lope; or endless miles of mud-clogged mires of vertiginous logging roads carved out knife-edge wide into the claustrophobic rainforest, conveying by their very design – or lack thereof - that no man really need aim to be passing through unless paid to be doing so (and ‘so %$ck him if he can’t make it through the track, some other will ...’). All round, a real grind.
We are also met with a new welcoming cry in Gabon: “White!!” Every small child, in no matter how remote a village, has apparently learned this one word of English – bless those missionaries - and they scream it at us on our passing by with a passion ranging from Beatlesque hysteria to football hooligan vehemence - we never know to wave back in happy accord or fight back with either belligerence or maybe a more neutral, go-with-the-obvious shout back salvo of “Black!!” in return (though Clare tries a proud “Yes I am!” after several days bombardment, which is indeed a fine reply if not that by the time it is delivered by her meek (though indignant) self we are usually some hundred yards down the track and so well out of their ear-shot ...). We also begin to notice that we are stared and/or pointed at like aliens here on our passing – both in rural nothingness as well as in developed towns and villages – and so must quickly accept we really aren’t anywhere near the ‘beaten path’ on this route and it IS, if not crazy, then certainly a very rare occurrence for the locals to see white folk in this area (driving by in great hulking white Land Rovers) and that we must accept both the good for that (full Glee greeting) and the (far less prevalent) less-than-friendly (or often more wtf’ish??) glare in return for our smiles and waves in passing ... And, yes, you’re right, we’re “white!!!”
We did, however, have a very special moment in Gabon (which Glen was going to leave out). On the road heading to Cameroon, we passed several villages having some ceremony. After about the third village, I insisted on Glen stopping so we could find out what was happening.
Everyone was extremely helpful, and explained that the ceremony was in remembrance of an elder that died a year ago. His family ruled that area, and it was a way of paying respect to him and the family.
I think the photos show better than I can describe the ceremony.. But it was very emotive, and energetic, with it being more of a celebration of life, and the village culture. Being in that village, with all the villagers was really a turning point for Glen and myself, as it turned the last couple of days impression of Gabon: of corrugated roads, and surly people.....Into a heart warming impression of community, and culture, that we felt truly privileged to be allowed to visit, and be a part of.
Glen also failed to mention the extremely friendly, and helpful security guard that came with us to show us round Franceville ( and pictures of his dog and family...we instantly all bonded over the love of our canine companions)... Without whom we would still be driving in circles round that town.
So, yes Gabon may not have been our favorite country, but with all places we have visited... we are left with so many fond memories of the people there....
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
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