Dag 21 en 22: Pointe Noire na Dolisie

​​(English translation below)

Dag 21 en 22: Pointe Noire na Dolisie
 
Om op die strand te kamp klink meer idillies as wat dit is. Sand. Ook deel ons ons lappie sand met die restaurant se dans en 'boulles'  klubs. So ons kan eers tent opslaan 20:00 wanneer die dansers klaar is, en ons moet weer afgeslaan wees teen 9:00 die oggend vir 'boulles', maar dan is ons welkom om weer op te slaan.
 
Ons is vroeg op en ek gaan draf 'n ent op die strand om iets aan hierdie middeljarige sagtheid-om-die-middel te probeer doen. Dan begin ons The Courier Guy en DHL se lyne warm bel.
 
Die bande is 'in transit'. Dis in Brazzaville. Nee dis alreeds in Pointe Noire. Nee dis in Brazzaville. Dit sal nog 'n week vat om in Pointe Noire aan te kom. Ons besluit om die goed in Brazzaville te gaan haal. DHL belowe om dit daar vir ons te hou.
 
Ons sê koebaai vir die Portugese paartjie en die Franse Suid-Afrikaanses gesinnetjie. Hulle waarsku ons dat die Suidelike grens tussen Cameroon en Nigerië toe is vir toeriste. Ons moet verder Noord ingaan. En daardie pad is SLEG - ons móét die rowwer bande kry.
 
Die foon lui: Julle bande is hier in Pointe Noire! Kom haal dit gerus. Ons ry soontoe. Niks. Die bande is in Brazzaville. Ons vertrek na Brazzaville.
 
Die pad tussen Pointe Noire en Dolisie is 'n sprokie-kronkelpad, oor berge en dale, deur die Kongolese oerwoud. Nuutgeteer. As mens stop vir water hoor jy niks anders as die gesing van oerwoud-voëls nie. Nou en dan sien mens afgebreekte takkies met blare aan, en klippe, in die pad. Dit beteken êrens om die blinde draai staan 'n voertuig stil - pasop. Die kontras tussen nuutgeteer en aanmekaargelap is skril. En dis orals.
 
Die aand slaap ons in 'n aangename klein herbergie in Dolisie. Die sekuriteitswag gaan wys ons waar om saam met die locals te eet. Ons nooi hom saam. Drie hooggepakte borde hoender, straatgebraai, met rys, en drie groot Ngok-biere kos R185. Afrika-musiek en plastiekstoeltjies op die straat. Die manne ná werk se afsaalplek. Afrika is lekker.
 
Die volgende dag rus ons in Dolisie. Versorg die lugfilters en kettings. Skryf blog en lees oor die Kongo. De Witt beduie dat die Kongo verdeel is tussen die DRC en die Republiek van Kongo toe die konings van België en Frankryk in 1885 só besluit het. Koning Leopold van België het die DRC (toe Zaïre) sommer as sy eie privaat eiendom verklaar en die hoofstad Leopoldville gedoop!
 
Ons maak ons reg vir môre se lang pad Brazzaville toe. Waar die bande (hopelik!) vir ons wag. En êrens binne ons begin iets te roer van die invloed van wêreldmagte op plaaslike kulture. Vooruitgang en agteruitgang en 'n soort van sakkende ewewig tussenin wat tevrede is met grenspos-kantoortjies se vuil mure, blinkswart Land Cruisers met donker vensters, vuil water en lang Ngok-biere.
 
Die sakkende ewewig maak my bang. Veral hier rondom my middel.
 
Day 21 and 22: Pointe Noire to Dolisie
 
Camping on the beach sounds more idyllic than it is. Sand. We also share our patch of sand with the restaurant's dance and 'boulles' clubs. So, we can only set up our tents at 20:00 when the dancers are done, and we have to pack up again at 9:00 in the morning for 'boulles,' but then we're welcome to set up again.
 
We're up early, and I go for a run on the beach to try and do something about this middle-aged softness around the waist. Then we start calling The Courier Guy and DHL.
 
The tires are 'in transit.' No, they're in Brazzaville. No, they're already in Pointe Noire. No, they're actually really in Brazzaville. It will take a week for them to arrive in Pointe Noire. We decide to go to Brazzaville to pick up the tires. DHL promises to keep it there.
 
We bid farewell to the Portuguese couple and the French South African family. They warn us that the southern border between Cameroon and Nigeria is closed for tourists. We have to go further north. And that road is BAD - we must get the off-road tires.
 
The phone rings: Your tires are here in Pointe Noire! Come pick them up. We ride there. Nothing. The tires are in Brazzaville. We depart for Brazzaville.
 
The road between Pointe Noire and Dolisie is a winding fairy-tale, over hills and valleys, through the Congolese jungle. Freshly paved. When you stop for water, all you hear is the singing of jungle birds. Now and then you see broken branches with leaves and rocks in the road. This means a vehicle is standing somewhere around the blind bend - be cautious. The contrast between freshly-paved and patched-up is stark. And it's everywhere.
 
That night we sleep in a pleasant little inn in Dolisie. The security guard shows us where to eat with the locals. We invite him along. Three heavily loaded plates of street-grilled chicken with rice, and three big Ngok beers cost R185. African music and plastic chairs on the street. No women. Clearly the spot where the guys hang out after work. Africa is lekker.
 
The next day, we rest in Dolisie. Take care of the air filters and chains. Write the blog and read about the Congo. De Witt points out that the Congo was split between the DRC and the Republic of Congo when the kings of Belgium and France decided so in 1885. King Leopold of Belgium even declared the DRC (then Zaire) as his private property and renamed the capital Leopoldville!
 
We prepare for the long journey to Brazzaville tomorrow, where the tires (hopefully!) await us. Somewhere inside us something starts to stir about the influence of world powers on local cultures. Progress and deterioration and a kind of sagging equilibrium in-between, content with the dirty walls of border post offices, glossy black Land Cruisers with dark windows, dirty water, and long Ngok beers.
 
The sagging equilibrium scares me. Especially here around my waist.

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