Dag 34 en 35: Van Mayo-Darli na Gembu (Nigerië)

(English Translation Below)

Dag 34 en 35: Van Mayo-Darli na Gembu (Nigerië)
 
Ek dink het nie gedink dit kan só erg wees nie. En ek hoop nie ons kry weer sulke dae nie. Daar is nie 'n pad van Mayo-Darli na Gembu nie. Net 'n sloot, berg op en af, wat só uitgekalwe is van erosie dat die skeure op plekke meters diep is. En dit soms langs kranse wat die einde sal beteken as mens 'n fout maak.
 
Ons het skaars foto's geneem, want met die stoei en konsentreer en voortbeur is fotos neem die laaste ding waaraan mens dink.
 
Op 'n stadium, nadat ek al hoeveel keer geval en met 'n gesukkel en met hulp die motorfiets opgetel het, staan ek op 'n paadjie, 30cm breed, wat oppad is om steil te daal. Links van my die krans na onder. Regs die onrybare erosiesloot wat op 'n stadium die pad was. De Witt is voor my uit en roep skielik oor die interkom: Stop tjomma! Stop! Ek stop en besef ek is bang. Ek besef ook dat bang nie sal werk vir wat nou hier voorlê nie. Een foutjie, een vlugtige kyk na die afgrond, een glips van die wiele in die modder, en die trip is verby.
 
Net toe kom Panyo, 'n Barmhartige Samaritaan, verby. Panyo is een van die vele plaaslike mense wat op hulle klein motorfietsies elke slootjie en lyn oor die passe ken. Wat mense en goedere vervoer op plekke wat jy nie sal glo nie. Hy stop. Vra of ek al dié pad gery het. Ek sê nee. Hy sê, half ontsteld, maar jy kan nie hier ry met daardie groot swaar motorfiets nie!
 
Ek vind myself vasgevang tussen my ego wat wil wys ek kan, want De Witt is nounet hierdeur, en 'n deel van my wat besef ons eintlike doel is om nog vir twee maande deur Afrika te ry. En hierdie is bo my vuurmaakplek. Met De Witt en Panyo en vele ander se hulp stu ons voort. Ons gaan nie Gembu maak voor donker nie. En ons is óp.
 
Iemand ry vooruit en vra die hoofman van 'n klein gemeenskappie, 'n statige, skraal man in 'n lang Moslem kleed, of ons die nag in sy gastekamer ('n modderhut) kan deurbring. Ons word oorval van gasvryheid. Mense drom saam om na ons te kyk. Panyo sê dis omdat ons wit is. Hier kom nooit witmense hierlangs nie.
 
Die volgende dag sal net twee ure wees tot in Gembu, belowe Panyo. Dit het gereen die nag, so die modder is pap. Ek val weer 'n keer of twee, en Panyo ry my motorfiets verder af na die Donga rivier toe, waar die fietse per kano oorgeroei word. Die rivier vloei sterk en ons sien in ons geestesoog hoe die ding kantel en die fietse in die rivier beland - maar gelukkig, met 'n gespook en spartel, kry ons die fietse oor.
 
Nou net nóg 'n paar berge soos gister s'n, en dan's ons daar. Maar 8km van Gembu af, teen 'n byna regaf steilte waar die hele pad weggevreet is in diep erosie-skeure, sit 'n 6x6 lorrietjie was. Sy een voorwiel het afgebreek. Dit blok die sloot en niemand kan deur nie. Later kap twee ouens 'n stuk van die rotsmuur weg en ons besluit om die bagasie af te laai en die fietsie daardeur te wriemel. De Witt ry. Ek stoot en trek saam met vyf ander en ons kry beide die fietse deur!
 
'n Twee-ure rit wat ons vyf ure vat, maar uiteindelik is ons in Gembu. Effens in skok. Maar wonder bo wonder in min-of-meer een stuk.
 
Day 34 and 35: From Mayo-Darli to Gembu (Nigeria)
 
I never thought it could be this bad. I hope we don't have days like this again. There's no road from Mayo-Darli to Gembu. Just a ditch, up and down the mountains, eroded so deeply in places that the cracks are meters deep. Sometimes along cliffs, where a mistake would mean the end.
 
We barely took photos because with all the struggle and concentration, taking photos is the last thing on your mind.
 
At one point, after I had fallen several times and struggled to pick up the motorcycle, I found myself on a narrow path, 30 cm wide, steeply descending. To the left, the cliff below. To the right, the impassable eroded ditch that used to be the road. De Witt was ahead of me and suddenly shouted over the intercom: Stop, buddy! Stop! I stopped and realized I was scared. I also realized that fear wouldn't work for what lay ahead. One mistake, one quick glance at the abyss, one slip of the wheels in the mud, and the trip is over.
 
Just then, Panyo, a Good Samaritan, came by. Panyo is one of the many locals who know every nook and cranny of these passes. They transport people and goods on small motorcycles in places you wouldn't believe. He stops and asks if I've ridden this path before. I say no. He says, half shocked: But you can't ride here with that big heavy motorcycle!
 
I found myself caught between my ego, which wanted to prove I could do it because De Witt had just gone through, and a part of me that realized our real goal was to ride through Africa for another two months. And this was above my skill level. With De Witt and Panyo's help, and many others, we continue. We won't make it to Gembu before dark. And we're exhausted.
 
Someone rides ahead and asks the chief of a small community, a dignified, slim man in a long Muslim robe, if we can spend the night in his guest room (a mud hut). We are overwhelmed with hospitality. People gather to look at us. Panyo says it's because we're white. White people never come through here.
 
The next day will only be two hours to Gembu, Panyo promises. It rained the night, so the mud is like paste. I fall again a couple of times, and Panyo rides my motorcycle to the Donga River, where the bikes are paddled across by canoe. The river flows strongly, and in our minds, we see the thing capsizing and the bikes ending up in the river - but luckily, with a lot of pushing and shoving, we get the bikes across.
 
Now just a few more mountains like yesterday's, and we're there. But 8 km from Gembu, on an unthinkable incline, where the whole road has been eaten away in meters deep erosion fissures, a 6x6 lorry is stuck. One of its front wheels has broken off. It blocks the ditch, and no one can get through. Later, two guys chip away at the rock wall to make the gap wider, and we decide to unload the luggage and squeeze the bikes through there. De Witt rides, and I push and pull with five others, and we get both bikes through!
 
A two-hour ride that takes us five hours, but eventually, we're in Gembu. Slightly rattled. But, miraculously, in more or less one piece.

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