It’s been quite a week. While none of our experiences so far have been “inauthentic” (except maybe spending a week floating on lilos, drinking beer and eating Pringles in Pointe Noire) we can’t help feeling that the last week was slightly more authentic than most.

Upon leaving Conkouati we had to cross the lagoon to get to the border post. Despite strict price guidelines provided by Tim & Hilda, the ferry (of which there is only one) refused to budge for less then double the price we were advised was the maximum.

After attempting to argue with them in horribly broken French, threaten them, outwit them, outplay them and outlast them, we gave up and paid. On the other side, we barely had time to lick our wounds before we hit the border post.

Stone describes it thus:

“Border control was rather a challenge: the Congo side demanding a CFA60 000 (R880) “departure fee” and Gabon a CFA30 000 (R440) ‘registration fee’, neither of which we felt were legitimate and consequently sat around playing ignorant until both camps started showing signs of aggression – we got away with CFA15 000 (R220) and CFA20 000 (R290) respectively, the Gabon deal including the right to camp in the gendarmerie (police) compound in Ndinidi for the night.

Neither payment we are particularly proud of but were left with little choice unfortunately.

Bizarrely enough, after haggling with the Ndinidi police for a little less than 2 hours, all aggressions were quickly forgotten when we challenged them to an SA vs Gabon volleyball match which Gabon won fairly convincingly 2-0.”

We were (are?) quite keen to complete this trip without paying any bribes or directly supporting any corruption but during both of the above-mentioned experiences we called the respective South African embassies and were told that paying these “fees” was not unprecedented, and that it would ease progress. I’m not sure whether this justifies it, but it made us feel better about paying.

Looking on the bright side, both of the embassies were extremely contactable and helpful and the experience of playing volleyball against the Ndinidi police 20 minutes after a brutal argument was one of the more memorable experiences of our live. It says something – I guess – about human nature. I would also go on a bit about the potential for sport to “break down barriers” too but I’m too embarrassed that we got whipped by three podgy Gabonese policemen, so I’ll stop here.

The next day we set off on what was described by the WCS guys as a “busted up shitarse piece of crap road”.

This turned out to be a pretty accurate description.

We spent the day driving at our lowest average speed yet (1/2 a mile an hour) because we had to stop every couple of metres to hack up fallen trees or fill in donga that had opened up in the road.

We camped in a small savannah and set off the next day to finish the jungle section.

Lurks describes what happened next:

“Just as we were getting through the worst of it we came to a low-lying muddy section. The road was surrounded by muddy water, with a large ominous puddle in the middle. Previously travellers had clearly used one of two approaches… rush through the mud puddle hoping the car would grip into the hard ground under the water or edge your way around the side, hoping the car would not become bogged down in the muddier sections.After much discussion, some verbal attacks, a proposed squirly and a quick vote, the decision was taken to rush the puddle.We made it all of half way before the front became stuck waist deep, the car began to fill with muddy water and panic set the team into action. Thankfully the winch still worked (despite being under water) and we were able drag the bonnet out of the car with the boot still submerged. However, this seemed as far as it would go… with the winch out of pulling power and the car and all the weight angled onto the back tyres, the car stayed in the mud for the next few hours.

We tried a multitude of different recovery techniques, including jacking the car on the high lift jack and stuffing sand ladders under the wheels. All attempts were in vain and as the sun set after 4 hours of fighting against the mud, we had resolve ourselves to the fact that we were going to spend a night away from the vehicle, in a clearing about 100m on from the mud.

The next morning after an anxious night spent with all three of us crammed into a 2-man tent, we set to lifting the car out of the mud using the high lift jack, digging away the mud and jamming wooden board under the tyres in an effort to move some of the weight to the front tyres. After an hour or two of digging and jamming – armpit deep in mud – we eventually got the back of the vehicle up a few inches. Alas, the battery (which had been detached) decided to run flat overnight, leaving us 50kms from civilization and the nearest rescue effort.

Fortunately, Stone volunteered to walk out for help and was able to get cellphone reception after about 32kms. He made a well-placed call to the director of the National Park who sent Mike Markovina (an ex-UCT friend of ours who a happens to be working for WCS in Gabon!) on a quad bike with a new battery.

After 30 hours, the car was finally driven out of the mud pit and on to Mayumba, for a few well-deserved Regab quarts.”