Cameroon - Part 2: Just outside Garoua - The infamous, all-time worst truck mishap for Mark.

Within less than 30 minutes of leaving the camp at the river bank we came across a massive truck that had jack-knifed and turned on its side in the road. We waited around for about 15 minutes as a crane started trying to pull the truck back into position or at least give us room to manoeuvre around it but when progress looked slow we took up the invitation from the two truck drivers in front of us who were also losing their patience with waiting. They knew a 'short-cut' along a less travelled dirt track that took us around the back of a cluster of villages...

God-damned over-turned truck getting in our way.

All seemed good with us pilgrims wobbling about in the back (like we'd grown used to doing) as Marjane negotiated Ruby's way over bumps, under cables and low-hanging branches and between tight spots were poor old Ruby was a bit too portly to squeeze between trees on either side of the track. As well as an ace chef, accomplished mechanic, humble guide and skilled driver, Marjane proved to be a generous gardener, offering a complementary pruning service to the local villages as we rolled through. (Laraldo and I were mere apprentices, collecting the off-cuts through the open tarp along the way...Lara resigned her post after seeing a large, bright green spider creep out of the recently torn branches and into Dave's rucksack right in front of her.)

Norm's Free Gardening Services

  

AK, not amused with dealing with the off-cuts.

As the track opened up a bit we thought we were 'out of the woods' (so to speak) when disaster struck: Ruby dropped her back right tyre without warning, catapulting us guys in the back from our seats. Nobody was harmed but Ruby came to a standstill. From our recent run-in with the mud in Waza National Park, we all knew what had to be done. The shovels and mud-mats came out faster than Robbie Williams (still waiting) and us travellers-turned-road-crew got busy digging. Ruby's tyre was in pretty deep...so deep in fact that the entire right side of the 17.5 tonne truck was near enough 45 degrees from the ground - a pedestrian could easily just reach in through the side openings (normally about 9ft of the ground) and grab something of the passenger seats in the back. To make matters worse, as The Nutty Professor (Neal) and I "dug out" the wet mud from around the tyre, we realised that the ground was getting WETTER as we dug rather than drier. This is when the brown stuff (mud in this case) really hit the fan. 

Ruby's right flank was well and truly stuck.

The entire right side of the 17.5 tonne truck was near enough 45 degrees from the ground - a pedestrian could have easily reached in through the side opening.

Everybody started getting stuck in before we realised the full scale of our predicament.

Even Squirty Dobkins got involved (that's right, an 11yr old digging under a precariously balanced 17.5 tonne truck.)

Kay over-seeing things from the shaded sidelines.

Karen digging in vain. Neal & I were nearby to offer encouragement. (!)

Get in there Karen! Like Sonya, another true to form industrious Kiwi.

Oh dear.

We asked Norm how this fared amongst his All-time Top 10 Truck mishaps...he wrote his answer in the dirt on the side of Ruby.

As the local villagers started gathering around in droves to see some stoopid white folk, we began to realise that we had in fact fallen into a subterranean spring and, given the rain we'd been seeing in previous weeks, we could be spending more time there than we'd planned. As we continued to dig in vain the other truck drivers that had led us astray came to our help and suggested we piled rocks up in the ever-growing puddle of mud(d) so Rube's could get some traction. As we did so, Marjane (now often referred to as Norman/Norm/Normski for reasons only former passenger Zah can explain) was at the front helping the Cameroonian truck drivers tie a cable to Ruby's face (I think I caught him cooing in Ruby's right wing-mirror so as to keep her from going into shock). Satisfied with our work at the front and back with mud mats and rocks in place, Norm jumped in the cab and began revving and turning as the local Samaritan's started their engines and began pulling. Nothing. We tried again. Still nothing. Then the first (heavier truck) tied itself to the second one and they both started pulling...but maybe a bit too hard too soon: Ruby's nose (tow-bar) came clean off in a way not even MJ could have foreseen ("sha-mon!").

Our first effort with the tow-rope and one truck.

Attempt No. 2 - this time with two trucks pulling.

Several hours had passed with no resolve. It was approaching mid-day and the sweltering sun was almost overhead. As the heat drove us whiteys into the shade of nearby trees, more and more local villagers came out to see what all the commotion was about. Luckily one of the other trucks had a small crane on the back of it so they reversed it back down the track to maybe see if we could lift Ruby back up to normal level. (Ironically, that's exactly the same thing we'd seen being done to the over-turned truck that had blocked our path that morning.) With the winch hook in place the truck started lifting but rather than bringing Ruby up, the crane-bearing truck began to topple. At this point the local truckers said they'd leave us for about half an hour so they could fill their truck up with gravel thus making it a heavier counter-balance for their next attempt at Ruby. As they left in a cloud of dust I took my hat off to 'Boiler-Suit Guy #1 who had worked relentlessly on our behalf all morning.

So we waited.

...And waited.

...and waited.

Trying a different tack, this time with a crane.

Our misfortune provided an afternoon of entertainment for these lil' fellas.

It wasn't just the villagers that came out to see what all of the commotion was about. (Pygmy chameleon.)

Two hours passed before we gave up thinking the truckers had been estimating half an hour in 'African time' and came around to the fact that they'd just abandoned us. A few of us picked up the shovels again in vain but this time, we knew it was in vain. Devoid of ideas, sunburnt, sweaty, frustrated, covered in mud and hungry we took time out in the shade of a big tree and sipped hot drinks provided by Kay and ate a bean stew with bread that Son and Lara had miraculously concocted out of the stark supplies they had access to via the truck's side lockers that weren't sunk in mud.

As we finished the grub we proposed the idea that I head into the nearest town on the back of a moped, armed only with my memory of GCSE French, explained the ordeal and sought help. We approached the onlooking villagers (now numbered in their hundreds by my reckoning) and asked if one of them could give me a lift to the nearby town. The seemingly self-appointed leader shouted orders to his underlings and one moped owner smiled and obliged us our request - only after going into his hut to retrieve his official taxi driver vest (as the local moped taxi drivers wore). In other words, this was no favour - he wanted payment. As we laughed amongst ourselves at our predicament I explained to the leader (known from now on as "Red Hat Guy") exactly what we wanted to do. He thought about it, gathered up his people once more and came back to me saying, in essence "Screw getting outside help. If the rains come you are fookayed and might be here for weeks. Me and four of my homies will get you out of here before the day is done for..." (cue a group huddle) "...50,000 CIFA. 10,000 per man".

Nice. These guys had watched us struggle all morning and been somewhat entertained by our plight and only now they were offering to help but only if we crossed their palms with silver. 50,000 CIFA was the equivalent of about 50 dollars - probably more than a month's wages for these guys. This time it was our turn to confer, and on the realisation that it would probably cost more than that to get a large truck or some kind of professional outfit out in the Styx (quite a cool term to use in this example) to help us out we figured we'd give it a go...but there was one condition: they had to get us out that day and by now it was about 2pm. Done deal.

So we made ourselves comfy as it was our turn to watch them. Despite the frustrating situation, morale was still pretty high and there were no hard feelings towards the locals - we somewhat admired their business prowess. It was now our turn as onlookers and from the shade of said large tree, the villagers began to work their arses off. We were only paying five of them but men and boys of all ages came out of the woodwork to help - presumably because they had little better to do and after all, there was entertainment value in all of this: by late afternoon, Ruby's 17.5 tonne bulk was balanced precariously on a jack, on a log, on a boulder, on another boulder, on another log, on top of a tyre which sat in mud that formed a rustic bridge over a subterranean stream. As if that weren't enough, endless bodies piled underneath her to dig out mud and lay a bed of rocks. As the guys worked, Dave, Norm and I stayed close by, partly for security and partly out of morbid curiosity: the objects the truck was propped up on gave way at least twice which was shit scarey to say the least - we were close enough to get crushed whilst the girls who were at a safe distance, thought we had been! 

Dave aka Berbs stands lends a helping a hand whilst keeping a watchful eye.

More and more villagers came to help.

Unscathed, the villagers resolved to get a bigger jack (as opposed to using two small ones in increments and sliding them out to replace them with boulders and logs and start the jacking again from a higher level!). Red Hat Guy went off on a moped and again we waited (and waited). An hour and a half (or more) later he was back but with no jack as he didn't have the money (5,000 CIFA) needed as a deposit at whatever garage it came from. Armed with money and another fella to help, Red Hat set off again and was back in about an hour (we could see the moped come a mile away as now three fully-grown men were on it and battling to balance their weight along with that of the jack on the puny wee bike).

As they pulled up, our hopes faded with the daylight and the task in hand just got a little bit more dangerous.The guys got to work again but this time is seemed futile. Even if we'd have wanted to, we couldn't see Jack Shizzle in this light and not wanting to crush a whole village for the sake of 50 dollars we asked them to stop working...but Red Hat refused and his people listened to him. He explained again how if it rained we'd be stuck for weeks and even a small amount of rain overnight would undo their hard work. So under the spotlight of every torch we could possibly find, they continued; some men digging under the truck and laying a makeshift road of stone and others (including Red Hat) working on the jack to get the truck elevated enough to get more rocks underneath it. 

Safety first (?) as Red Hat gets stuck in with the big jack now in place (still balanced precariously).

At this point, I should mention 'Goliath'. He was one of the original 5 guys appointed by Red Hat and for good reason: the guy was about 6ft 7, probably only about 19, and built like a B.S-H (well-made toilet...if you know what I mean?) During the whole afternoon he barely relented and when we'd used up all roadside rocks to form the traction bed under the truck, they sent Goliath into the mountains (literally) and he'd come running back minutes later holding boulders with his arms outstretched above his head. I actually thought he'd gone and plucked the moon from the sky. At one point in the afternoon, I mocked him that he could just pull the truck out on his own or use his hands to chop down some trees to help bridge the muddy riverbed. Everybody laughed. He got his own back several hours later when I was throwing some logs up to Norm to put in the wood locker at the top of the truck: with a cheeky smile he just picked them up and put them in the locker himself - no throwing, jumping or assistance needed. Everybody laughed again, but this time at my short-assed expense.

Goliath: it looked like he'd plucked the moon from the sky. (We couldn't even lift this boulder.)

Another funny moment occurred when the locals caught Norm, Dave and I covering our legs in mud from toe to thigh - it was dusk and it was too dangerous to go on the truck to get mozzy repellent. I'm sure I'd seen Bear Grylls keep mozzies at bay this way before. Needless to say, the locals were in hysterics.

At about 10pm, after 12 hours and numerous attempts to get Ruby free, an entire village's men and a truck full of whiteys were ready to for the day's last effort. The jacks were up as high as they could go and a new road that even the Romans would have been proud of had been laid as a stream trickled on indifferently beneath it. The villagers were telling Norm to just start her up and go but we explained that a drop from such a height as we'd raised her to on the jacks and props, would do Ruby's delicate frame no good. We had to bring the jacks down and remove the props incrementally in the same painstaking process as we'd got her up. After a bit of protestation the locals saw sense and took our advice. In the words of Harold Shipman, "we needed more patience'.

After they removed the third of half a dozen rocks and thick logs (flat surfaced and solid enough to support a jack. Norm had cut them from a nearby fallen tree with his chainy - much to the villagers excitement) the worst happened, the tower of props fell (and I suppressed my instinct to call 'JENGA!') and the truck came crashing down with it. Again the girls thought we'd been crushed and again we escaped but thought Red Hat and his honchos might not have. Fortunately, everybody was fine but we'd done exactly what Norm was trying to avoid and even though the muddy track was no longer an issue, we might not have been able to get Ruby going again properly if her under-carriage was damaged.

With mud-mats in place, fingers and toes crossed and prayers said to Allah and Jesus, Norm revved and turned like he had done numerous times already that day. In a cloud of mud and exhaust fumes and to the sound of the stones crunching underneath, Ruby was rescued from the mud. The whole day, we'd been like Atreyu rescuing Artax from the swamp, but in this case, it was a story with a happy ending, not a never-ending one. We all whooped and cheered and clapped and I can honestly say I don't think I'd felt so elated before. It was a truly awesome experience and we'd all done it together. Goliath, Red Hat and the boys were beaming as we all shook hands and congratulated each other. Norm paid up pronto and the guys made one request that we helped them fill in the massive trench we'd dug in their road the next morning.

The trench the truck left after we got it out. (Note the truck tyre that had been at the bottom of the tower of props under the jacks.)

As the euphoria subsided, Neal, Karen and Squirt got stuck right in with cooking and we had a late spag bol dinner before retiring to our tents. The next morning I got up late (not on purpose, I promise)  to see that Dave and Mark had already helped the locals fill in the trench, the only problem was the surface of the dirt road was now extremely uneven. Norm and I joked with Red Hat and the boys that we should reverse the truck back over to flatten the surface. Whilst Ruby went down THE well, this joke didn't go down TOO well...

We finally said our goodbyes to all of the villagers that had helped but not before Red Hat and his homies had scoped the bookshelf on the truck and asked for a few books as a leaving present. We duly obliged and saw it as appropriate that Goliath was given Muhammed Ali's biography - you should have seen the smile on his face!

As we rode out of the village I plugged my iPod into the truck's stereo and we blasted out The Animals - "We gotta get out of this place".

Cameroon - Part 1: Rhumsiki, Maroua, Waza National Park, Garoua & The Hippo Man

I should point out that Laraldo The Great wrote the last few blog entries and that the one about Togo and Benin was using my log-in but written by her...I did NOT comment on the voodoo statues saying 'Look at the willies...tee-hee!' as some of you have asked.

So...not to be mistaken for the Khmer Rouge, Cameroon proved to be yet another action-packed chapter in this African odyssey. I might have to do it in a few posts although I'm conscious of the better half watching over me like Sauron to make sure I get this done...

On the day the World Cup started (Friday 11th June) Marjane (driver Mark) took us over Cameroon's border with Nigeria via a different route to the one he has taken before. As he went through the usual rigmarole with customs, we sat in the back of the truck listening to South Africa's 1-1 draw with Mexico on Neal's radio. Initially we thought the game must have been great for spectators but we shortly realised lots of static is similar, but not the same as, a roaring crowd.

Now on the Cameroon side of the border, we bush-camped in a random field where the well-camouflaged locals kept a roving eye on us from the bushes (see photo).

The well-camouflaged locals kept a roving eye on us from the bushes.

Squirty Dobkins gets some good karma

The following day we moved on to a small village called 'Rhumsiki' (3,500 inhabitants from recollection...at least that's how many I counted). The views in Rhumsiki were nothing short of stunning and were made even better by the fact that, due to the extortionate prices at the town's hotels/hostels we were told by locals that we could camp out under the stars at a point in the town that had a panoramic view of the entire place: as far as the eye could see, undulating hills were pierced sporadically by HUGE pinnacles of rock; the Nigerian border about a kilometre to the North West and the rest of Cameroon ahead of us.

The views in Rhumsiki were nothing short of stunning.

Once parked up, a few of us lads (Berbs aka Dave aka Mark, Yoichi, Marjane and me) sauntered our way into the (only) local boozer where we were treated like kings as we sat with the locals and watched two World Cup games back-to-back...the second game seeming so much more exciting than the first...but in hindsight, I think that was just the 33 Exports we'd been chugging all afternoon. If truth be told, the most interesting part of the afternoon was when saw-dust started sprinkling down from the ceiling and dusting our heads. When we all (locals and tourists alike) looked up and saw a termite nest in the roof we thought nothing of it. Minutes later a mouse fell from the rafters and broke its two back legs on the guy in front of me's head. Had it been my sparsely populated head and not an Afro, it could have been end of days for the poor wee blighter.

Interestingly, one of the patrons at the pub was the village chief who went by the name of Don Quixote (no joke) but by then we'd already met Julius Caesar and a couple of other fictional and historical legends too. Like me, The Don commanded respect wherever he went and with his very good English invited us to his place for what turned out to be a 5 course dinner (with pizza for starter) as we watched yet another 'thrilling' World Cup 1-1 draw...this time between USA and England. Berbs and Neal had already settled their patriotic differences in the car park.

Berbs & The Prof settled their patriotic differences in the car park.

We never could convince Neal that football (or soccer as he calls it) is the only real football. (The vest says 'Obama - A change we can believe in.')

Dinner at Don Quijote's place.

A night under the stars.

We all slept out on one giant mat at the panoramic point for a truly awe-inspiring night under the stars (the Milky Way was so clear it looked like low clouds). When we woke the next morning, Berbs had moved his sleeping mat to a distance that he had obviously hoped would have put him at a safe distance from Kayelene's snoring.

Embarrassingly, I fell within the first 5 mins of our trek.

After breakfast, Julius Caesar (yep) took us on a 3 hour trek around the hillside (embarrassingly, I fell within the first 5 minutes...on the flat too)  and his local village complete with market (where me and Berbs tried the local home brew called 'billebille' - not sure of the spelling) and witch doctor. We all got to ask the witch doctor one question (for the price of a dollar) and he'd answer by spitting on a crab, putting it in a bucket of sand, mirky water and a couple of symbolic runes, putting a lid on the bucket, shaking it and then opening the lid to see what symbolic mess had been made. I won't tell you what I asked him, but put it this way, he painted a prettier picture of my future than the Cuban voodooman that 5 years ago told me I'd die before I'm 30 from an STD or in a car crash...I'm 30 in October and I'm travelling around Africa (where AIDS is...er... popular) in a truck. Sweeeeeeeeeet!

Half-way through the trek...

Me 'n' Berbs sampling the good stuff in the village market at the end of the trek.

The entrance to the local market in Rhumsiki.

Going to see the witch doctor: "Oo ee oo ah ah ting tang walla walla bing bang."

Laraldo does her bit for UNICEF.

Once back at the truck we handed out a few 'cadeaux' (by way of old clothes, pens and balls) to local kids (....er that was 'PENS and balls' for those with bad eyes) we said our goodbyes and made our way to Maroua - a decent-sized town where we'd finally get to see our host country play a game: Cameroon Vs Japan.

Kayelene & I return from our cook group shop on the back of our taxi.

We had a few hours to kill prior to the game so everybody explored Maroua whilst Kayelene and I did our cook group shop (pointed in the right direction by Brad from the local US PeaceCorps contingent). The town was proudly decorated in the now familiar colours of red, yellow and green; flags were flying everywhere and vuvuzelas were being blown all over the place (I don't know who these vuvuzela guys are but they seem to be very lucky). On seeing the flags we decided we had to have one for Ruby (the truck) so we asked a shop-keeper if we could buy the one flying outside his shop. After us refusing his extortionate price and him refusing our counter-offer of 5,000 cfa (about $10) his neighbour (a tailor) dashed out excitedly to tell us that he could make one in 5 minutes for that price. 15 minutes later (African time, remember) we had our flag and it was tied to the side of the truck. Aces.

Watching Cameroon V Japan with the locals.

Check the guy with the Cameroon flag on his arse!

By kick-off we got into the spirit of things with the locals and all donned our Cameroon t-shirts and prayed to see the African nation thrash the Japanese on the tv we were watching en masse on the roadside. (Much to the dismay of Yoichi our Japanese travelling buddy...but he wanted us to tell everybody he was Chinese, just in case there were any bad feelings.) Japan won one-nil and the locals seemed pretty downhearted but that didn't stop us driving through town with our newly purchased Cameroon flag down the side of the truck, Marjane beeping the horn and me and Berbs at the front of the truck wearing our Cameroon shirts and cheering with pride. We got plenty of whoops, smiles and cheers and we even had a few people yelling and gesturing what I could only assume meant "Get T.F. outta here!" too. We thrived on it all.

That night we made a bush camp near 'Waza National Park' and the next morning got up at about 4.30am to get to the park when the gates opened. (As Kayelene and I were on cook group that morning, I thought it would be good to wake the camp up with 'The Lion Sleeps' by The Tokens.) The park was pretty low on wildlife but we saw about a dozen giraffe (two of which we saw just chilling on the roadside BEFORE we'd paid to go into the park), a couple of jackals, topi and warthogs as well as numerous cool birds whose names I failed to get.

Sunrise on the road to Waza National Park, Cameroon.

Most of the animals in the park must have died before we got there...

Just some of the many birds whose name I failed to remember... (No double entendre there, I promise.)

Although the park was pretty empty, none of us were disappointed as most of us are doing the entire trans around Africa and have the east coast to look forward to (those that aren't doing the east coast on this trip had already done it on previous ones anyway). Besides, our time in the park wasn't entirely without action: within about half an hour of entering, Ruby was well and truly stuck in the mud so we had to all jump out (ignoring the warnings at the gate about never leaving your vehicle) and dig her out. It was pretty cool being up to your nuts in thick mud and wondering if a pack of lions might be waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. The reality is that we were stuck in the mud because it was rainy season and this also meant that the animals had plenty of places to go for a tipple (and that's why we never saw many at the few waterholes en route). As the usual route was so muddy we were back out of the park within a few hours and at a nearby hotel/lodge negotiatng the price of our first shower in days.

Safari lookout point from the top of the truck before the brown stuff hit the fan.

True to form, Sonya's first out of the truck to get the shovels out.

Son & I pulling the mud-mats out of the trucks side lockers.

Laraldo gets stuck in (...the mud).

Yep - we're fooked!

Sorted...eventually.

During the process, we all got a new pair of socks...

...which we washed off in nearby Puddles (of Mudd).

Me 'n' Berbs launching a mudmat on to the hard ground so as to get the dried mud off.

Me, Berbs & our French (crap) guide.

Yoichi, Squirty Dobkins & Karen get stuck in cleaning the mud mats once we left the park.

Kayelene, hard at work overseeing the clean-up operation.

Once clean we settled for another bush camp on our way to Maroua and the next day we were visited by the chiefs of the village we'd happened to be camping in. They were a bit pissed off we hadn't asked them for their blessing but were placated by Kay's awesome doughnuts (not a euphamism). Back on the road we went into the centre of Maroua and picked up some grub before heading to Garoua to hunt down 'The Hippo Man' (Marjane had been told about this guy by one of the other African Trails drivers who had passed through there the previous year).

After driving back and forth we asked a local policeman who didn't have a clue what we were talking about so we carried on up the road in dismay. We'd only got 500 metres when said policeman overtook us on his motorbike and flagged us down. It turns out that some of the locals had overheard our plight and pointed the cop out to Mr Hippo himself (sat at the foot of a tree with a hand-written sign on it saying 'Call XXXXXXXXX for the Hippo Man').

Hippo Man lead us down the road where his cronies met us with their wee dugout canoes and beckoned us in so they could take us to see the giant grey rocks that were moving in the river about 200 metres away. Yoichi, Sonya, Squirt, Neal, Laraldo and I all got in the boats which sat with their bows about a millimetre above the water level. We were taken across to a small sand bank where the Hippo Man got to work calling the big mammals over; slapping the water and throwing some feed from his bag. Sure enough the hippos came up and out of the water where Hippo Man fed them with his hand in their mouths and patted them on the head. Laraldo, Yoichi and I waded out from the sand bank and got as close as the the Hippo Man himself, but you can see that in the photos below (and these are NOT photoshopped as some have already suggested). Question: If the plural of hippo-pot-am-us is hippo-pot-am-i, what is the plural of what-a-twat-am-us?

Why are those big boulders in the river moving?

Lara and Yoichi "Fat Bastard" Oguchi in the dugout canoes on the way to see the hippos.

Hippos are down there somewhere.

Lara does her impression of a hippo to Squirt's amusement. (Real thing in the background - very hard to tell the difference.)

Hippo Man throws out some feed.

Yawn!

The hippos were not amused with Lara's piss-take.

That's right: Hippo Man's hand is in the hippo's mouth.

Getting closer now...

Crap photo, but at least I caught the split second Lara would turn her back on the hippos.

Here they come!

 

Not brave. Just stupid.

Back ashore and after some hard negotiating over the price of the experience, we set up camp up the road on the banks of the river, put the tarps out on the side of the truck, put the kettle on and watched an awesome electrical storm close in whilst sipping a brew. I even saw at as an opportunity to offer up a wee dram of the expensive Scotch ("Caol Ila")  I'd bought at Gatwick airport. The night was tainted for Laraldo as she trod - in her open-footed sandals - ankle deep in a cow terd. I found it pretty amusing.

After setting up camp, everybody watched the sunset over Garoua on the other side of the river.

Watching the storm come in, whiskey in hand...

The next day we set off early to give us plenty of time to get to Yaounde via the notorious Cameroonian roads...