Dag 36: Gembu na Bali

(English Translation Below)

Dag 36: Gembu na Bali
 
Die teerpad uit Gembu, al langs die Malimba Plato, en dan af met die berge na die laeveld, is aan't verbrokkel, maar voel soos die N1 in vergelyking waardeur ons die vorige paar dae is. Op die plato is ons hoog bo seespieël, so die lug is koel (27 grade), en die uitsigte asem..
 
Padblokkade. Bande en dromme en stokke in die pad. 'n Man in uniform en 'n lang geweer wys ons moet stop. Paspoorte. Wat het ons om vir hom te gee? Niks? Het ons gedink ons kan deur hulle land ry sonder om iets vir die soldate te gee? Ons speel dom en vriendelik en hy laat ons ry.
 
..rowend. Elke nou en dan 'n klein dorpie, wat maar soos baie van die dorpies lyk waardeur ons al is: zoemponies wat toet-toet, bokke, stalletjies langs die pad, wemelende mense wat wuif en roep en...
 
Padblokkade. Die uniform lyk anders. Seker polisie dié keer. O nee, dis doane, sommer hier 200km die land in. Paspoorte. Bekyk die visa aandagtig. Dan die stempel. Waarheen gaan julle? Waarvandaan kom julle? Het julle ietsie vir ons?
 
...breed glimlag. Ons stop om geld te trek. Dadelik veertien mense rondom ons. Nuuskierig. Welcome to Nigeria! Where are you from? With this bike?! Fotos word geneem. Op en langs en agter die motorfiets. Ons voel soos celebrities en dit is ongelooflik uitputtend. Die kitsbank wil nie vir ons geld gee nie, so ons ry verder. Bekommerd omdat ons heeltemal te min Nigeriese Nira by ons het om ons by die volgende groot dorp te kry. Die pad word...
 
Padblokkade. Weer die dromme en bande en stokke. Vier mans in uniform kom pad toe. Wys ons moet stop. Een ou gaan bekyk my paspoort in sy houtkantoortjie. Die ander twee of drie staan hier rondom De Witt. Hoeveel kan hy vir hulle gee om hier deur te kom? Die man met my paspoort kom terug. Wys vir die ander hulle moet laat los. Ons kan ry.
 
...skielik baie mooi. Ons kry uiteindelik dit reg om weer tot by 90km/h...
 
Padblokkade. Twee in uniform. Gewere. Paspoorte. Waarheen? Waarvandaan? Hoekom? OK julle kan ry. Dan skielik drie ouens in gewone klere wat na bier ruik en naderstrompel. What can you give us? Ons ry.
 
Kom by 'n motel. Wil inklok. Doane-beampte verskyn skielik. Paspoorte. 'n Duisend vrae.
 
Die aand sit ons en sweet en gesels en eet iets - moontlik 'n tipe vis hier uit die rivier - en wonder oor Nigerië. Hulle het vir ons slegs tien dae gegee om deur die land te ry en dan weer uit te wees. Dit behoort genoeg te wees, mits als goed gaan. Ons luister Springbokrugby oor RSG, met horte en stote want die internet is stadig. Die bokke wen net-net teen Engeland! Dit gaan goed.
 
Day 36: Gembu to Bali
 
The asphalt road out of Gembu, along the Malimba Plateau, and then down from the mountains to the lowveld, is falling apart but feels like the N1 in comparison to what we've been through these past few days. On the plateau, we are high above sea level, so the air is cool (27 degrees), and the views are breath...
 
Roadblock. Tires and drums and sticks in the road. A man in uniform with a long rifle signals for us to stop. Passports. What do we have to give him? Nothing? Did we think we could ride through their country without giving something to the soldiers? We play dumb and friendly, and he lets us go.
 
...taking. Every now and then, a small village, which looks much like many of the villages we've passed through: buzzing scooters, goats, stalls along the road, bustling people waving and shouting...
 
Roadblock. The uniform looks different. Probably police this time. Oh no, it's immigration, 200km into the country. Passports. Examining the visas carefully. Then the stamp. Where are you going? Where are you from? Do you have something for us?
 
...broad smiles. We stop to withdraw money. Immediately, fourteen people surround us. Curious. Welcome to Nigeria! Where are you from? With this bike?! Photos are taken. On and next to and behind the motorcycles. We feel like celebrities, and it's incredibly exhausting. The ATM won't give us cash, so we continue. Worried because we have too little Nigerian Nira with us to get us to the next big town. The road is...
 
Roadblock. Again, the drums and tires and sticks. Four men in uniform approach. Indicate we should stop. One man examines my passport in his wooden office. The other two or three stand around De Witt. How much can he give them to get through here? The man with my passport returns. Tells the others to stop. We can go.
 
...suddenly much smoother. We finally manage to reach speeds of up to 90 km/h again.
 
Roadblock. Two in uniform. Guns. Passports. Where are you going? Where are you from? Why? Okay, you can go. Then suddenly, three guys in plain clothes who smell of beer approach. What can you give us? We ride off.
 
Arrive at a motel. Want to check in. Immigrations officer suddenly appears. Passports. A thousand questions.
 
That evening, we sit, sweat, chat, and eat something - possibly a type of fish from the river - and ponder Nigeria. They've given us only ten days to travel through the country and then leave. It should be enough, provided everything goes well. We listen to Springbok rugby on the radio, with interruptions because the internet is slow. The Boks just barely win against England! It's going well.

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