Gael warning in the Congo

Don’t worry guys there was an open bar down the road which was happy to supply us. But U was worrying about the clouds gathering and the accuweather forecast for a storm that night
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But I woke to a dry morning and was on the bike (after buying a ham and veggie filled bread roll for later) rolling at 0615 with a full tank and a jerrycan. Wanted to make use of the light.

First impression on the piste was ‘where is everyone ‘...literally no other vehicles to be seen as the piste wound it’s way across the countryside

Not so many photos as I was focused on riding and not dallying. The graders had been along although there was plenty evidence of ruts from the last rainy season




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It wasn’t until I got close to the frontier that I saw the typical crevasse ridden, muddy horrors of Congolese lore. (This was a lot worse close up and not a place to stop on a heavy GS)


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Eventually I rolled up to the Congo border which was nicely placed on a steep mud hill with nary a flat spot to place a 240kg motorcycle. It must be a nightmare when it rains!
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Eventually I placed the bike and went to the gendarmes hut. No one was there but a shout emerges from the adjacent shower and the chef came out with a towel round him to say he would be with me shortly! I then did the rounds of the police and douane (and possibly immigration too!) all this was just a bunch of huts an a glade. The douane asked me if I had a Carnet de Passage (which the Congolese embassy in London said I had to have). I just said ‘no’ so he, quite unbothered as has been my experience across Africa, sent me on to Nyanga, 25 kms into Congo, to get my passavant.


So eventually I set off again (it was still early on) and was bowling along the piste and enjoying the view - when the bike started to lurch and sputter. I could see a village ahead so tried to nurse the bike but about 400 mètres short it died.

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Soon I had lots of willing helpers (I don't think much happens of interest around there). A fuel pipe had detached itself and there was lots of petrol around..




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The local mechanic was fetched from up the hill and we looked at the problem together. The problem seemed to be that the tube was slightly stretched and was pulling off so he walked back to the village and eventually arrived with an extra piece of tubing which was connected to the old, and with a form of clip 🤞🏼


But the bike wouldn't start so we pushed it up the hill, to take it to the mechanic's place. Fortunately I had willing helpers as I was knackered by the time we got there! We paused for a minute to get our breath back, I retried the ignition and ....we were off. I offered the mechanic 2,000 CFA (just under £3) and he seemed very content.

Time to say farewell
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So off I set, trying a little to moderate my speed on the piste. I had been running at up to 60 kph to even out some of the bumps but the bike had been taking quite a bashing nonetheless. I was also slowing down for the villages (not a local practice!) as I always worry a kid will get overexcited and run out in front of me.
Soon I am at Nyanga where I must pass customs, and admire their motorcycle
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I also refuel (from big Pastis bottles which are each 1 litre) as I have lost some petrol in the last incident and it's still a looong way to the next pump.


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At the 'fuel station'
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Then it's back on the bike and moving off at a good pace, although there are an alarming number of sandy spots, which are impossible to distinguish beforehand from hard baked light mud from last season which are like corrugation. So it's very active riding, on the pegs most of the time to get the best view, and always trying to be ready to lean back and accelerate to get the front wheel up if it is sand

I am conscious it's still 200 kms to Dolisieand all of it piste. My plan B is to stop overnight at Kibango which supposedly has an auberge.

But after 30 kms that plan becomes redundant when, as I zoom past a group of overexcited children, the bike stutters and stalls. Restarted. And it dies again

So I pull up (no choice, innit!) which gives the kids a chance to catch up with me and gather to stare as I start to assess the problem.


I quickly spot the fuel pump is no longer working. Fortunately I have stopped near the tiny infirmary of this hamlet and I am helped to push the bike into the front area of it
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The local head of the infirmary comes to chat. Seems the local mechanic is off in Pointe Noire. We discuss various options and after a while conclude it’s worth sending a helper on a scooter back to Niyanga to find Arnold the other mechanic. First the scooter loan is negotiated and then I provide fuel from my jerrycan.

Whilst we await the return I give Madame some London postcards which are a big hit with the kids
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I am promised a bed in the examination room of the infirmary (it has 2 rooms and an office) which boasts a mosquito net.

As I talk to Madame about everything under the sun she tells me they see a lot of cases of malaria there and also AIDs and respiratory problems. The current inmate is a very ill lady and her husband is sleeping there as is her friend, since they come from a village 8 kms away. I ask him who is minding his farm patch while he is away and he explains that they don’t sow until the rains which are expected any day so it’s OK. He is old and weatherbeaten and I am shocked to learn he is 42, reflection of the hard life here.

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Everywhere is decline: they used to grow coffee but the mill has gone; the cooperative opposite has closed; and the infirmary used to have world bank funding but no longer has. The village has no electricity and although there is a shiny new fridge for vaccines, there is no money for fuel to run a generator,

Then the mechanic arrived:
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He used a sensible approach to the problem but his meter was ‘up country ‘ so by the time we had narrowed it down to the absence of current to the block by the RHS of the tank he then drew a blank. A brief moment when the pump came to life suggests it is OK and it’s the power supply to it that is problematic.
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During this process he had lots of adult helpers and advisers whom he admirably and sensibly ignored!

So then we were stuck. I paid him for his time and made him a filter coffee (brought from Addis by me) which he enjoyed, unlike the others I had offered coffee too - they found it way too bitter ☕️.

He went in his way and it was time for me to reflect. I had limited local money, no phone or internet there and it no electricity.

So I decided to accept the hospitality of the infirmary - there was little choice anyway as there was virtually no passing traffic.


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Throughout this trip I have had a Plan B of abandoning the bike if it couldn’t be fixed. After 130,000 kms and a hard life it doesn’t owe me much and I deliberately didn’t get a carnet for that reason.

I think that moment may have arrived - regrettably when it is newly serviced and with new battery, brake ids, plugs and tyres. But my choices are limited so I wheel it to the side of the infirmary, cover it with a tarpaulin and make arrangements to continue early the next morning in a collective taxi to Dolisie.
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I go off to get some water from the village pump for a wash and to drink (fortunately I have brought a water filter)
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Local river fish are proudly exhibited
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The sun sets and it is time for reflection:
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Even if a fix can be done (and I am not sure how now I have exhausted the local mechanics expertise) the electrics have been suspect since crossing the Sahara and I wonder if many long trips in extreme temperatures have taken their toll on the loom (and, maybe, the Hall sensor too?). In which case might I have another failure, and maybe in a less hospitable place than here?

With these thoughts whizzing in my mind I curl up on the infirmary bed and spend a disturbed night, not least with the noise if the other residents which reportedly include bats in the tin roof.

But not before admiring the magnificent night skies, untroubled in this electricity free area by any light pollution.


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" Throughout this trip I have had a Plan B of abandoning the bike if it couldn’t be fixed. After 130,000 kms and a hard life it doesn’t owe me much and I deliberately didn’t get a carnet for that reason.

I think that moment may have arrived " :tears :tears :tears

:(

hope that's not the case Simon..
 
Someone wiser than me said that it’s when Jung’s go wrong that the adventure really begins.

And it allowed me to spend an afternoon chatting with local people. At one point the elderly 42 year old sent off for some palm wine at 30p a litre. I had a mouthful and buy does it have a punch...given my low tolerance for alcohol I left them to finish it

The head nurse set off on the back of a scooter for an evening dancing at Poro, about 7 kms back up the track.

But not before she had frilled me on how many children I had, then why didn't I have more? Since I slept with my wife what contraception did I use? She left me with a sense that a much bigger family was normal / she talked almost if a duty to 'mettre au monde'(bring in to the world) lots of children.

I would guess she was in her 30s and had 3 children also but hoped for more. Her husband was a school teacher in Pointe Noire, about 10 hours bus ride away.

This was an interesting example of the fertility challenge facing Africa. I was encouraged later that evening in talking to Bellevigne, the 25 year old deputy nurse, who was by the fire where I shared the supper of stewed fish and manioc. Although she was one of 8 children she wanted only 3 and was insistent that the children had to be provided for (whereas the slightly older folks were saying 'God will provide'. )

Anyway back to travel.... getting a ride to Dolisie may be difficult as shared taxis start 30 kms away and leave when they are full. Fortunately Mat, one of the local lads, had a big brother who was a taxi driver so he went off to see if he could reserve me a place for the morning...🤞🏼☘️


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Crap position to be in, as you say though it could be in a much worse location.
Can you arrange a passing truck to take the bike to town and have one last proper go at it? Generally as you well know folk will go out of their way to help. A truck or trailer or slow tow - any possible with asking around?
Good luck
 
Even front wheel in the back of a jeep or something, tied well down and back wheel on the ground? Even with rough roads it might work if the driver takes it slowly. Getting to a town might get more minds and hands on it
Also you may find someone with a decent multimeter rat with time and advice from folk on here may achieve something
If it fell off the truck you still walk away
 
Good advice from Alistair there. Provided your pass avant allows you time, the problem can be sorted out .
A by pass to the fuel pump using a known to be good length of wire? Plenty of help here should you need it.
 
Thanks all for your advice and good wishes.

The next morning the taxi arrives. I need not have worried about fitting my pannier bags in it! Once the dead antelopes were rearranged to the bottom of the boot we were off to the races:

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I negotiate the price for the 200 kms to Dolisie...he charges me double fare (£18) and gives me the whole front seat which I am delighted with, there will be four people in the back!
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When we stop 10 kms later we take on a bag of fish which goes on the roof, meaning that with the big bag of fofo we now have meat, fish and veg on board plus a spare wheel and a CD of Congolese gospel music and are set for all eventualities ☘️


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The fishmonger:
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We stop later to buy manioc wrapped in Palm leaves to keep it moist. It's solid stuff on its own but the lady behind me hands me some smoked fish from a bag to spice it up. Delicious! I offer arounumy chocolate biccies in exchange.




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The driver sings along to 'je suis in fou de Jesus' and other top gospel tracks which seem to run on a continuous loop for the 5 hours of our hor and dusty journey!

It gets so hot the driver stops so we can all cool ourselves with water from a stream.

Then we hit tarmac at the outskirts of Dolisie and after dropping offothers and their loads he takes me to a couple of hotels. I choose this one as it's close to town centre...I need to get cash and a SIM card for Congo (despite what the companies say, their Sims are all country specific!)
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This is nicely spacious hotel, although I discover later the water runs out as their water tank have been ruptured (the new manager says it has been so for 5 years) and in the morning a massive cockroach bumps into me as I walk to my (unlit) bathroom.

But I am so knackered after the night in the infirmary and the long dirt road drive that I sleep like a log.

I had managed after an hour's delay to score a SIM with 2 Gb data so felt connected to the world.

The hotel restaurant was closed so I dined at a street stall nearby on fish and fried sweet bananas (delicious!) for the princely sum of 65p.



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Refreshed, I wander over for breakfast to the restaurant. It's closed again!

So I take advice to try the next street corner, where I have an excellent omelette and a cup of sweet coffee. As I munch two business men join the little bench and eventually we get chatting. They remark it's unusual to see whites eating in the street.

Jean-Claude and Didier, my two Dolisie advisers:
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When they hear of my trip we get chatting about travel through Africa. And when they hear the bike is indisposed, they recommend and call a local mechanic who works on the police yamaha 1300s etc.

He rides over and we have a good chat. Muama passes my interview and we discuss ways of fixing/ recovering the bike. So after some reflections back at the hotel I call him and we agree that he and his apprentice will go out to the bike, bringing a meter and a back up battery (there is no electricity there). If it won't work he will try to get it freighted on a lorry and will travel back with it to Dolisie to work on at his premises. I sub him the funds for this, and he gets things underway and has already spoken to the head nurse in Malembe when I call her to authorise her to let him take the bike.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained🤞🏼


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