Dag 29: Ntam na Sangmelima

(English translation below) 

Dag 29: Ntam na Sangmelima
 
Laasnag het die disko langs die motelletjie gepomp tot net na 3:00 toe die kragopwekker se diesel opgeraak het. Dit was Vrydagaand in Ntam, 'n piepklein plekkie (met reuse luidsprekers) op die Congo-Cameroon grens - en die naweek is behóórlik gevier. Ons voel oes en effens beneuk. Hoe durf hierdie mense ons slaap so bederf? Ons is op 'n reuse Afrika-avontuur, ons het betaal om hier te slaap en ons verdien dat die dorpie homself inhou oor 'n Vrydagaand! Wie is hulle om hulle week van stoei teen die armoede te probeer ontvlug as ons ons beauty sleep wil hê? (Jip. Ons het geglimlag oor ons selfgesentreerdheid.)
 
Die motel-opsigter, die jong outjie wie ons gister so vriendelik ontvang het, loop verby, groet, en begin 'n emmer uitkatrol uit die put hier langs ons. Water vir die dag. Die put is reg langs die longdrop.
 
Ons pak op, trek ons duur gepantserde klere aan en klim op ons volbloed-ysterperde. Nóg 'n dag van motorfietsry deur Afrika. Die wolke hang donker en swaar.
 
Ons ry-ritme word telkens gebreek deur gewapende wagte wat ons regmatigheid wil verifieer. En deur ons loopmae wat net nie tot bedaring wil kom nie. Die oerwoud duur voort en so-ook die klompies-klompies modderhuisies langs die pad. Nou en dan, eintlik al sedert Angola, 'n reuse nuwe gebou wat óf half-klaar gelos is, of in onbruik verval het. Hospitale, sekuriteitskomplekse, regeringspaleise. 'n Sportstadion! Bossies wat groei in die krake. Die oerwoud wat die wit olifante stadigaan insluk en verteer.
 
Om iets neer te plak op 'n plek werk nie. Maak nie saak hoe goed die bedoeling is nie. Dinge moet van onder af groei. En daarvoor moet daar 'n wíl wees. En harde werk. Oor jare. Van bínne gedryf. Nie in isolasie nie - natuurlik leen en leer mens van ander - maar die wil, wat die weg word, moet van binne kom.
 
Die eerste sagte druppels begin ons gesigte soos klein naaltjies steek omdat ons valhelms oop is. Die konflik: Gaan ons ons reenbaadjies aantrek en hoop die temperatuur daal van 30 na 20 grade? Of gaan ons soos laas maar natreen en hoop die temperatuur daal nié. Die druppels raak vetter. Ons stop, trek die reenbaadjies aan. Begin sweet en opwasem. Trek weg. Hoop die reen koel ons af. Later, toe dit ophou, en ons sopnat gesweet is, hou ons stil en trek die reenbaadjies uit. Asem en verligting!
 
Die kontraste en konflikte is orals. En moeilik om van sin te maak. Sien ons armoede of sien ons 'n aardse manier van bestaan? Sien ons nors wagte of jong mans wat agterdogtig is oor witmense se motiewe? Sien ons onvermoë om nuwe geboue te onderhou, of ongevraagde aalmoese en pretensieuse kasarms? Of 'n mengelmoes van al die bogenoemde?
 
Day 29: Ntam to Sangmelima
 
Last night the disco next to the motel pumped until just after 03:00, when the generator ran out of diesel. It was Friday night in Ntam, a tiny place (with giant loudspeakers) on the Congo-Cameroon border - and the weekend was properly celebrated. We feel red-eyed and slightly irritated. How dare these people spoil our sleep? We're on a huge African adventure, we've paid to sleep here and we deserve that the town must take it easy on a Friday night! Who are they to try to escape their week of struggling against poverty if we want our beauty sleep? (Yes, we chuckled at our entitlement...)
 
The motel caretaker, the young guy who received us so kindly yesterday, walks by, says hello, and begins to reel out a bucket from the well here next to us. Water for the day. The well is right next to the long-drop.
 
We pack up, put on our expensive armour and mount our thoroughbred iron horses. Another day of motorcycling through Africa. The clouds hang dark and heavy.
 
Our driving rhythm is repeatedly broken by armed guards who want to verify our legitimacy. And by our stomachs that just won't settle down. The jungle continues and so do the lines of mud houses along the road. Every now and then, actually since Angola, a huge new building that has either been left half-finished, or has fallen into disuse. Hospitals, security complexes, government palaces. A sports stadium! Weeds growing in the cracks. The jungle that slowly swallows and consumes the white elephants.
 
Copying and pasting buildings that resemble progress, doesn't work. No matter how good the intention. Things must grow from the bottom up. And for that there must be a will. And hard work. Over years. Driven from within. Not in isolation - of course one borrows and learns from others - but the will, which becomes the way, must come from within.
 
The first drops start to prick our faces like little needles because our helmets are open. The conflict: Are we going to put on our rain jackets and hope the temperature drops from 30 to 20 degrees? Or are we going to get wet like last time and hope the temperature doesn't drop? The drops get fatter. We stop, put on the rain jackets. Start sweating and steaming. Pull away. Hope the rain cools us down. Later, when it stopped, and we were drenched in sweat, we stopped and took off the rain jackets. Breath and relief!
 
The contrasts and conflicts are everywhere. And hard to make sense of. Do we see poverty or do we see an earthly way of existence? Do we see surly guards or young men suspicious of white people's motives? Do we see inability to maintain new buildings, or unsolicited alms and pretentious monstrocities? Or a mixture of all of the above?​

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