A journey from hell: Angola – Cunene to Congo – Sep 4 to Oct 2, 2010

A journey from hell: Angola – Cunene to Congo – Sep 4 to Oct 2, 2010
Part I: Lusaka to Lubango
I had always wanted to see Angola. It was the last of Zambia’s neighbouring countries
that, in my 40+ years of regional travel, I had never been to. And so, last year when
driving through Mozambique, I talked my friends Anne Evans from UK and Karen
Hansen from US (I live in Zambia) into exploring Angola. September was the only
month in which we all could go. We searched the internet for possible operators,
knowing full-well from previous researches that we couldn’t do this by ourselves, and
came up with Angolan Adventure Safaris, Koos Moorcroft’s company, as the only one
who would go at that time. And so we signed up and paid up (R9000 pp or US$1300).
Troubles began immediately when trying to get Angolan visas. Karen’s was insanely
expensive, about US$700, because she needed to use a visa agent and DHL services,
and had to get an emergency passport while her lengthy Washington application ran.
Anne’s application was forgotten for a month by Angola’s London embassy, then the
visa was issued with an expiry date two weeks earlier than applied for. I in Lusaka had
the least troubles, except for being told that I had to apply in Mongu, 500km away,
because Lusaka was only giving visas to people who flew into Angola, not those who
drove. I talked the embassy into issuing the visa in Lusaka, but also got it with an
expiry date earlier than my declared exit from Angola. I was assured it was no
problem, that as long as I entered Angola within the period specified I had four
weeks’ stay. This proved untrue and caused us lots of problems and worries later.
NOTE: Angolan embassies in different countries all have their own rules and visa
styles, and issue visas of varying validity.
But visas were finally obtained and Anne and Karen flew into Lusaka. I had prepared
my Pajero to the best of my local fundi’s ability – new suspension, new all-terrain
tyres, and a general once-over (US$3000) – and so we loaded all our gear, mainly
camping equipment, into the ‘green monkey’ (Registration: AAP, which means
monkey in Afrikaans). We knew the trip would be 95% bush-camping without
facilities, so had included lots of wet wipes for waterless washes, and lots of drinking
water, as we’d been told there would be little water throughout Angola.
We set off on Aug 31st, 2010. First stop was Livingstone at our friends Pippa and
Russell’s Maramba River Lodge ($120 chalet for 3, B&B). That night the elephants
visited – they do that a lot as Maramba lies on an ele migration route – and Russell
tried to chase them off by making noises with his chainsaw. He did not succeed and
was chased himself instead. It is sad that the eles in that area are more and more
fenced in by farm development, harassed by villagers in Zimbabwe and Zambia, and
consequently turning aggressive. But where are they supposed to go? Elephant
corridors were promised by ZAWA, our wildlife authority, but are simply not there.
Ele visit at Maramba’s camping place
Ele crossing Livingstone Road near Maramba bridge
Photo: Anne Evans
Photo: Gill Staden, Livingstonian
The next problem arose the following day when trying to cross into Namibia. A
Namibian immigration official, a Mrs Matale, declared first Karen’s Angolan visa a
fake, then all of ours – “it has to be black&white with stipples” she insisted (ours
were full-colour, Anne’s even had her photo on it, and only much later did we learn
that this is what South-Africa-issued Angolan visas look like). She gave us a long
speech on how she had turned back many fake visa holders, mainly from West Africa,
and how she had to protect Namibia’s security. We never found out who appointed
her a watchdog for Angola, or how we, holding EU passports, could be a danger to
Namibia. She detained us for 3 ½ hours, having a leisurely lunch in the interim, and
only let us go with the promise that we would not enter Angola and were going to
have only a one-week holiday in Namibia. We lied.
That night we stayed at Camp Kwando (N$1930 for 3, DBB), perfectly pleasant, and
full of German tourists. The dinner, Kudu steak, was inedible, like shoe-leather. The
manager apologised and refunded the dinner cost.
Camp Kwando
Sunset view at Okavango River Lodge
It was only another 300km to Rundu, the border town at the end of the Caprivi Strip,
which we reached at lunchtime. We were going to do last-minute shopping here. The
Shoprite supermarket was very crowded, and someone had opened my shoulderbag’s zipper but didn’t succeed in stealing anything. It should have been a warning of
things to come. I still needed to buy a sand-shovel, so we drove to a hardware shop.
Anne was in the driver’s seat, Karen stood by, I went in and bought the shovel. On
return, I tied the shovel to the roof-rack. Karen helped. While our attention was
diverted, someone snuck up to the back door, stole Karen’s handbag with all her
papers and money, and made off unseen. “Where’s my handbag?!” The shock was
tremendous. We went to the police, reported the theft of US$4000 in cash-$100 bills,
N$2000 (we all carried much cash as we’d been told we needed it in Angola), some
Euros and Zambian Kwacha, her cellphone, glasses, medicines and passport. The
police laboriously took our statements which took hours, said it was a frequent
occurrence but nothing could be done as it was the Angolans coming across the
Okavango who were the criminals. It was a disaster. Now Karen wouldn’t be able to
enter Angola. By late afternoon we retired to the Kavango River Lodge, a friendly and
comfortable place (N$770 for 3, B&B) where we’d stayed in the past. We told our tale
of woe to owner Mrs Steyn and her daughter Jackie. They phoned all their friends at
banks and bureaux de change in case anyone tried to change $100 bills, but no
money was ever recovered. Two weeks later, when back in Lusaka, Karen got a call
from a Mr d’Oliviera that her bag, papers, meds, etc. had been left at his shop. We
retrieved it on our way home.
And so, having confirmed at Rundu’s Immigration HQ that REALLY nothing could be
done about getting Karen into Angola without passport and visa, we drove on to
Oshakati (Santorini Inn, N$450 for 3, B&B) where we met a very helpful Inn
receptionist and an Air Namibia flight attendant who promised to help Karen while in
Windhoek. That’s where she had to go to get an emergency passport, but we didn’t
even know if there was a Danish consulate. The receptionist went on the internet to
find out – yes, there was one – the stewardess gave Karen her card and assured her
of good flight connections, and with many thanks we carried on.
Next stop Ruacana, Eha Lodge (B&B pp sharing N$ 495, single N$ 710), where we
were to meet the convoy, cross the border, and leave Karen behind. We had
agonised over abandoning the whole Angola trip and drive Karen to Windhoek
instead, but when we learnt that there were daily flights to the capital from
Ondangwa, that the lodge would take her to the airport, and that Karen would be
able to manage, we decided to carry on into Angola. We gave Karen as much money
as we could spare, and it all worked out ok. The Danish consul in Windhoek was very
helpful, she found a nice B&B, and three days later Karen was back in Lusaka. Had we
known what awaited us in Angola, we would have opted for a nice Namibian holiday!
By now most of our fellow travellers had arrived. We went to greet them, especially
Paul Fisher with whom I’d been e-mailing. There were 18 of us in 9 cars, all except
Paul and us Afrikaners, including tour leader Koos. His translator Manuel was Angolan
but lived in S.A. We all had dinner together and debated whether or not to do the
‘doodsakker’, the ‘acre of death’, the dangerous stretch of coast from Foz de Cunene
to Flamingo Lodge, where one has to drive at low tide for 180km on a narrow stretch
of sand between dunes and ocean. Anyone getting stuck could lose a car to incoming
tides. Most people wanted to do it (bit of a macho thing?), we didn’t. In the end high
tides prevented this hair-raising venture (Koos said he’ll take it out of his programme
in future), and we drove through Iona Park instead, which was much nicer and safer.
‘Doodsakker’ drive
Photos: internet
This is what can happen: only wheels visible
But I’m getting ahead of the story. For now we had to face the border into Angola. It
really wasn’t a problem, but it took 3 hours to clear everyone and search everybody’s
car, during which time we just sat around in the heat. Finally we were off, driving
parallel to the Cunene River and through many Himba villages. Everywhere the
children shouted ‘sweetie, sweetie’, always a sign that one is in tourist country.
50km after the border my fuel tank started leaking … AGAIN! On all previous trips I’ve
had trouble with ‘diesel falls’ (I am already on my 3rd fuel tank) and I thought my
fundi had fixed it properly. But no. The +40C heat had melted the rubber dampers,
the rough road had cracked the welds, and only Koos’ and fellow clients Wim and
Kobus’s temporary repair with a mix of laundry-paste and sugar saved the situation.
Twice more they had to employ their ‘boer plan’ before we reached Lubango.
We stopped for the night in scrub forest, near the road, where we were of great
interest to passing (mainly motorcycle) traffic. We had thought there would be a bit
of community spirit, of sitting by the campfire and getting to know each other, but
not so. Everyone chose a camping place, set up tent and prepared supper (we didn’t,
it was too hot), then went to sleep. It was like that for the rest of the trip.
Koos, Kobus and Wim fixing fuel tank
Ned of Flamingo Lodge fixing it again
Iona Park (R500/car entry – we didn’t pay, maybe because we came in the ‘out’ way)
is very beautiful, very much like northern Namibia’s Marienfluss area, with sandy
soils, gentle hills, and odd dolorite rock formations. We saw little game – some
steenbok, klipspringer, kudu, jackal and springbok – but we didn’t stop. We were
racing past everything. That day we drove from 8 a.m. to 17.30 p.m. The convoy
doesn’t do game- or bird-watching! It just moves on. Welchitschia mirabilis were
everywhere, the strange ancient plant that is typical of the Namib desert, whole
meadows full of them, and we stopped at one big one for lunch. Occasionally we met
Himba people in traditional ‘dress’ (ochre and skins). Some allowed themselves to be
photographed in return for a small gift or food. Should one pay for taking people’s
photos? An ethical question that hasn’t been resolved …
That night we camped in a gravel river bed, the next night near the ghost town of
Espaneira. The road through the park was quite bad - rocky, sandy and full of dongas.
It got better once we left the park.
Entrance to Iona Park (for us the exit)
Crossing a stream in Iona Park
Koos entering a donga
Anne at giant welwitchia
Wim photographing wife Rosalie with Himba women
Manuel giving food to Himba family
Dolorite rock formations
Strange plant in Iona, a Bastard cobas
We had 3 nights at Flamingo Lodge (US$45 pp), Koos’ business partner Rico’s beach
hotel. Day 1 was just hanging out, women doing laundry, men going fishing, we
phoning home and eating a nice fish dinner (US$21). Day 2 was a trip to Lake Arco to
see an inland desert lake and some shipwrecks. Anne went with Kobus, a fellow client
who travelled alone, while I stayed behind to watch Ned, the lodge’s guide and fundi,
repair the fuel leak. Most kind of him, but it was no good and didn’t last.
Welwitchia photo shoot
Dolorite photo shoot
Flamingo Lodge chalets
Cellphone reception spot above lodge
View of lodge from top
Ingenious whale-rib lamp
View from dining room
Fully rested and cleaned up we drove to Namibe where we changed money at a lousy
rate on the street (normal rate AKW95-98=$1, we got 90, and the chap changing –
INside our cars, hiding from the police – must have made a cool US$200 profit that
morning). Koos had decreed we change with this person, but why not go to an ATM?
There are lots of banks in town, all with ATMs. Also nice shops. Some people went
shopping, mainly for drinks – it was so hot.
Then on to Lubango, famous for its Christo Rei statue that overlooks the town from a
300m high escarpment ridge. To get from the coast to the plateau the road climbs in
spectacular hairpin bends to an elevation of 1760m, past waterfalls, flowering
Jacaranda, and stunning views. We stopped at the Dorslandtrekker Monument in
Humpata, a memorial to 1874 South African settlers in Angola, and at their nearby
cemetery, and camped 17km out of town at Tunda-Vala, an area of volcanic rock
fissures and beautiful views.
Dorslandtrekker monument, Humpata
Leba Pass and waterfall
Their cemetery on a nearby farm
Tunda-Vala rock fissure
Lubango’s Christo Rei
Returning to town, disaster struck. A speeding water-tanker smashed into our front
bumper. Traffic police came and my car papers and driving licence were confiscated
along with those of the other driver. Koos, Manuel and I went to the police station to
give statements, Anne stayed with the car. In Angola no-one has insurance (“maybe
in Luanda” I was told), and police leaves it to the parties involved to settle things
amongst themselves - unless they want to wait for court trial dates. It took hours to
sort it all out, while the convoy waited and waited. Wim and Jannie had straightened
the twisted wheel-arch and bull-bars to make the AAP driveable. In the end it got too
late for the convoy to drive to the next destination, and we stayed at Caspar Lodge
(US$180/room B & excellent B, camping $20 WITH B!). I was a wreck, unable to do
anything. My knees didn’t stop shaking. Never in my 40+ years of driving have I had
an accident! Roule handed me a cold coke, Rosarie an energy drink - most kind. Anne
took care of everything and booked us into the hotel. Luckily it was near the accident
scene and I could drive the car to its parking lot.
The site of the accident: tanker & Pajero
Pajero with Wim and Anne Photos: lostshepard
Casper Lodge
… a haven of peace
Next day the Pajero went into a garage for repairs. Not serious, it turned out, but as
there could have been internal damage it was better to leave the car behind and get
it checked out (US$300). This meant that Koos’ emergency rescue plan had to come
into action. We had to hire a car with driver from Rico ($250/day for 18 days =
US$4500). Ned was supposed to have been our driver but then had to do another
job, so he got his ‘brother’ Mario to drive us, who unfortunately only spoke
Portuguese. The verbal agreement was that Rico would pay all costs up front (repair
of both cars, hire of replacement water-tanker, lift-crane, tow-truck, and low-loader
truck = US$2633). I in turn promised to reimburse him when back in Lusaka.
The convoy had to move on the next day, leaving us behind to wait for pro-forma
invoices and return of car papers. Koos told us repeatedly how lucky we were that he
had useful contacts (isn’t a tour leader supposed to have those?!), which actually
consisted of only one, Rico. The real help came from Mr Remigio, the Englishspeaking Angolan representative of the water-tanker owner who had been called to
the scene by his driver. Without Mr Remigio and his police contacts we would never
have got our papers back. The agreement further was that Ned would pick up the
repaired Pajero after two weeks, drive it to Huambo to meet the convoy, swop cars,
then return to Lubango with Mario in the hire car. In the end it all went wrong, but of
that later in part 2.
A general comment: Angola has little water – despite its big rivers – and supplies
villages and municipalities by water-tanker or bowser. Villagers keep big square
plastic water-containers by the roadside, like communal taps, that (hopefully) get
refilled regularly. The tanker that bashed into us was taking water to a children’s
hospital. It does so 4 times a week. It belongs to a General who in this way is
supporting the hospital. The driver, after having called Mr Remigio, was very calm
and collected. The police too. No shouting, no theatricals, no arguments. Most
impressive.
Bye for now
The convoy members
Rosalie and Wim Saaijman, at Flamingo Lodge
Flekkie and Roule Eloff, at Lobito (shortly before
their departure)
Romi Boom and Jannie Engelbrecht, Lobito (note the
inevitable firewood)
Kobus de Jager and his amazing rig, Lobito
Alta, being her domestic self,
… and Heinz Buhr, hanging laundry
Johan and Anet Mulke, at Binga Falls
Koos Moorcroft and Manuel (Koos under the car)
Paul and Fred, LCCSA’s mascot, at Kalandula Falls
… and Lin, the ‘lost shepherds’
Driver Mario at Congo River mouth
… and Anne and Ilse, Congo River
Part 2: Lobito to Congo, inland to Uige and Huambo, back to Lubango and home
We caught up with the convoy at a public beach in Lobito. We camped next to a noisy
all-night bar with only two toilets for revellers and us. One couple had already had
enough of the ‘roughing it’, quit the convoy, and returned home. We continued along
the coast in easy stages, with several ‘rest days’ in between, until we reached the bad
roads after Barra do Dande up to Soyo. Bush camps were usually just that – bare
areas of dirt minus the bushes – there was no privacy, especially not for women.
Lobito beach, bar behind trees
By the roadside, next to a Chinese road-camp at Mussema
On the way we had passed through Benguela, the town at the end of the railway line
that used to reach Zambia. Chinese companies are busy rebuilding it. Actually, the
Chinese are busy rebuilding ALL of Angola: roads, bridges, hydro-stations, hotels,
hospitals, blocks of flats. Every few kilometres there is another Chinese road camp.
It’s a veritable invasion, they say. We did not have much chance to speak to them,
but the few we did had learnt Portuguese but keen to end their 2-year contracts.
Bridge over Catumbela R. near Benguela
New Benguela railway station
Angolans put funny things on their round-abouts:
figurines, ships, a railway engine
Slum clearance in Lubango
Seen by the roadside: old steam engines
Water is scarce: washing in the river
Next stop was Cabo Ledo near Porto Amboim, a small fishing camp owned by friends
of Koos (US$75 chalet), and popular with the Luanda crowd for weekend getaways.
Despite having been booked for two nights we could only stay for one. The urbanites
were coming the next day, allegedly paying $200 per chalet, so we were chucked out.
No loss. Most of us had dinner that night at the lodge ($30 for fish & chips and a limp
lettuce leaf!), us sitting with Mario and Manuel, the others together at a big table.
We circumvented Luanda – the town is just too busy to be negotiated in convoy –
and used a newly built ring-road instead. Even here, c 25km out of Luanda, there
were many new developments, notably blocks of flats (to re-house slum-cleared
dwellers?), hotels, even a new university. We stopped for lunch at the Queve River’s
Binga Falls (wise people used the time for a quick dip and wash) on the road to
Gabela (a very famous birding area which of course we didn’t go to), then proceeded
north, still following the coast.
Bridge and hydro-station building site
Housing development near Luanda
Chinese hotel development
Anne and Ilse at Binga Falls, Queve River
What we hadn’t known when hiring car and driver was that, apart from buying fuel,
we also had to take care of Mario. He had a small tent, mattress and sleeping bag,
but nothing else. He had been told by Ned that we mostly lived on sandwiches, that
we don’t ‘do’ cooking, and that he could not expect fancy meals. Alas, Mario was not
too happy with the sandwich diet … while we were not too happy with having to
serve him hand and foot (I don't even do that at home): make his morning coffee, fill
his water bottles, feed him biscuits and fruit while driving, do his sandwiches ... we
had to tell him via interpreter that at least he could wash his own damn dishes! (Just
like the other men in the convoy, I guess he was a product of his society and believed
in the ‘traditional’ division of labour – men drove, women washed and cooked.) He
was a heavy smoker but had not been given any money. During the first few days
both Mario and Manuel were bumming my cigarettes. I resolved it by giving them
their $100 tips early so they could buy their own smokes. Which they did. By the way,
do convoy clients give tips? The convoy info-pack said nothing about it, and I wonder
if Manuel got anything from the others at the end.
Next day we proceeded to Kwanza River Lodge, like Flamingo also owned by Rico, for
a boat-cruise on the river. $40 and two hours later (for that price you get a 2 1/2-hr
sundowner cruise on the African Queen in Livingstone with guide-talk, food and drink), not
having seen anything except some Palm-nut vultures (their Latin name Gypohierax
angolensis indicates that it is native and common in Angola. They indeed feed on
palm-nuts, the fruit of raffia and oil palms, which grow plentifully on Angolan
beaches and river-banks.), we drove on.
Cruise boat on Kwanza bridge
Palm-nut vulture
The next camp was on a private reserve, a future beach resort, Praia do Onca. Here,
on a dusty patch of sand under raffia palms, we hung out for 2 days for no reason
that anyone could discern. It had a basic toilet and cold shower (no door, just a
curtain), which was appreciated nevertheless. There was one other camper, a South
African machinist working in Luanda, who talked to his lady-love on the cell-phone
long (and loud) into the night, trying to get her to come. She seemed reluctant,
despite him promising to take care of both her and her children.
All along the coast we had been driving through baobab, cactus and euphorbia
woodland. This weird and wonderful landscape stretches all the way to N’zeto,
thereafter it becomes greener, scrubbier and full of oilfields. After Barra do Dande
the road conditions got terrible and the going slow. We had passed through Kissama
National Park and the Ambriz Nature Reserve without seeing the teensiest hint of
wildlife. We made it to Musserra that night, camped by the roadside and experienced
the first downpour of the year (we fled into the car) - the rainy season had started
early - then soldiered on to Macula. Here is where the oil fields start, and one can see
oil-derricks and flares right by the roadside, and oil platforms out in the ocean.
Baobabs, cactus and euphorbia
Nice road conditions
Oilfield with derrick and flare
More nice ‘road’
Soon we reached Soyo, the bustling border town on the banks of the Congo River,
the goal of our journey. The Congo River at its mouth is very wide, stretching for
more than 40km, and impossible to see in total (except from the air, of course). We
could only see the southernmost channel of the river disappearing into the Atlantic
Ocean. We took individual and group photos, some people dipped their feet into the
river-ocean confluence, then we went into town to get supplies and fuel (the market
of Soyo must be in the Guinness Book of Records for being the stinkiest, dirtiest in
the world), then off to a beach again, the Quifuma beach. Someone was building a
pleasure resort 17km south of Soyo and allowed camping. It was far from ready but
had a kitchen, functioning toilets, and a free-standing, cold shower for staff. The
previous month Koos had paid US$200 for his convoy to stay there, a month later the
cost had risen to US$400. Allegedly it was the wife of the owner who was so greedy,
though why Koos allows himself to be extorted is not quite clear. What to do but
pay?! A two-night stay awaited us, not quite worth the $25 per person demanded (of
course we had to pay for Mario too), but better than most beaches we’d been to.
That night we were all cited into The Presence, the one and only night when
everyone sat around a campfire together. We each were ceremoniously handed
certificates - Mario and Manuel got one too (the latter must have quite a collection
by now) - for successfully reaching the Congo. We shook hands with dear leader
Koos, speeches were held on how wonderful and fun it all had been, then we went to
bed and left the others to their braais and Afrikaans socialising.
The Congo mouth, southernmost channel
The convoy at the Congo
Ilse, Mario, Anne at Congo mouth
photo: lostshepard The certificate
We were now on our way back, returning the way we’d come up to Caxito, then
turning inland. We stopped again at Mussema, but this time not by the roadside
(after general mutterings of an unhappy convoy Koos agreed to try somewhere new)
but at an unexpectedly pleasant empty beach, Lagoa Pandi. Here a small inland lake
and an ocean bay offered scenic camping and peaceful sleep. For the first time I saw
some interesting birds - egrets, plovers, cormorants - the best were the Whitethroated bee-eaters flying low over reed-beds, a bit south of their normal range
(‘Birds of Africa’ puts the Congo R. as their southernmost distribution), but
unmistakably diagnostic with their black-and-white head markings. A lifer!
Lagoa Pandi camp, with inland lake and reeds
Uige old airport’s hangar camp
Kwanza beach on a Sunday
Kalandula Falls’ bushcamp
Why the initial questionnaire to us asked about special interests and then completely
ignored the info, is another mystery. I'd written 'birds', of course, but the two times I
asked about something I got totally wrong answers (a Monteiro's hornbill was named
a 'bush crow', and the Bastard cobas in Iona a ‘combretum’). In short, Koos didn't
have a clue despite having been many times to these areas. And so we bypassed the
splendid Gabela birding area and the giant-sable Cangandala Park without seeing a
thing. Most disappointing, and especially sad as we were less than 100km away from
the latter. I had so much looked forward to seeing a giant sable!
After turning inland the bush camps got worse, rubbish-strewn and unsanitary. The
Kwanza-beach one was full of broken bottles and hundreds of drunken locals (it was
a Sunday), the Kalandula one full of rubbish and human waste. Camps had become
less and less frequent, necessitating long driving days. The longest stretch, from
Musserra to Uige, took 12 solid hours (the one day I was REALLY happy to have a
driver)! And no camping site in Uige. The previously used site, a gravel pit, had been
declared unsafe. The Chief of Police helped out (for a bottle of whiskey, of which he
reeked the next morning) and escorted the convoy with blaring sirens to the old
airport of Uige. Very funny, all traffic scattering before us. We pitched tents in a
disused hangar, no water, no loo. I thought it dangerously irresponsible to make
clients drive 12 hrs, non-stop (except for fuel and lunch), on hazardous roads, then
offer no decent camping place or hotel (Uige town has several, alas none of them
owned by Rico, so hotel-stay was obviously out of the question).
Distressing was the amount of bushmeat on sale on roadsides. Near Ucua we saw
rare forest duikers for sale, strung up by their necks. In all lodges people kept animals
in cages – mostly vervet monkeys and parrots - but at Quifumu the owner held two
suni antelopes in a small enclosure, the last survivors of the original seven. How a
solitary, rare East-African antelope got to Angola the owner couldn’t say.
The whole journey was a marathon endurance test. Nobody ‘enjoyed’ it or had ‘fun’.
Most said they were happy to have done it – tick, been there, done that – but at the
end couldn’t wait to get away. We HAD been told that the trip was no 'walk in the
park' and no holiday outing ... but WHEN were we told? AFTER we'd paid the deposit
of half the trip's fee! WHEN were we told of the real dangers, that "participation on
this tour might result in injury or loss of life ... that Africa Bushcraft and its staff
cannot be held responsible for any such injuries or loss of life"? AFTER we had signed
the indemnity form on the eve of crossing the border into Angola! Much too late to
reconsider ...
Of course, one prepares for such a journey and reads whatever is on the web. Alas,
the one article about Koos’ convoy travel (by 4x4 writer Patrick Cruywagen) was no
help. Patrick’s had been a fishing trip, and, having been to Angola before and being a
respected travel writer, he had much more freedom of movement than we did. He
took off overnight, went into Luanda for a couple of days, went to bars at night, while
I barely could get permission to go and look for bread.
Aside from learning about Koos’ military history, we received little or no information
on sights passed and places seen (e.g. we bypassed a slave-museum, a world-famous
bird area, game-parks and interesting fauna). Koos is not a guide but a tour leader
who takes clients from Cunene to Congo and back, period. Whatever little
information was given was delivered in Afrikaans to those in the convoy with radios.
Anne and I, charmingly termed ‘the two old ladies’, not understanding Afrikaans and
with a non-English-speaking driver, were usually left ignorant.
Wherever we went, Koos and Manuel handed out 'gifts', to kids and adults alike,
allegedly to buy goodwill. I think it's a bad policy, encouraging corruption, raising
expectations and demands for gasosa (usually AKW1000=c. R80), not to mention
convoys getting beleaguered by kids shouting 'bola' (Koos hands out lots of footballs
... to boys only, needless to say) and sweets (if the girls are quick about it, they get
some too), with adults expecting whiskey or money. I felt the country is corrupt
enough, it doesn't need convoy leaders to make it worse.
In an initial circular Koos had asked his clients to bring 2nd hand clothing. A few did
so. Near Musserra the convoy suddenly ground to a halt, one of the clients jumped
out of her car with bags of old clothes, then handed them to a vastly surprised
villager for distribution. Why here, I asked? Because it's remote and the people are
poor, was Koos' answer. Well, the people are poor all over Angola, and Musserra is
not exactly remote, situated on the main road to Soyo and next to a Chinese road
camp, but Koos didn't see it that way. He thought he was doing good. At another
place, near Cubal Gorge (we'd stopped for photos), pens and exercise books were
handed out to boys playing by the roadside (they got a football too). No wonder that
all mzungus are seen as bringers of fortunes, so rich that they can just drop clothing
and school supplies wherever they go. So surely won't mind getting milked. I firmly
believe that those who want to do good should support projects - AIDS projects, warvictim projects, orphan projects - and not just randomly distribute goodies.
We had chosen to go in convoy because we knew we would not be able to function
on our own, not speaking Portuguese or knowing local customs, especially not the
bribing customs. We had one brush with police at a roadblock near Negage (not far
from the Congo border, and only about 400km south of Kinshasa) where Anne’s visa
was declared invalid and her passport taken away. Koos’ threatening to call Luanda
Immigration - and presumably a payment of a ‘gasosa’ – was needed to get it back.
We DID see 2 waterfalls, the Christ of Lubango, Lake Arco, Pedras Negras, and
camped behind the historic church of Uaco Kungo, which at least was something.
Kalendula Falls, truly impressive
The black rocks of Pedras Negras
Lake Arco
Uako Kungo church, our last campsite
Here, at Uaco Kungo, things unravelled and, despite 3 ½ weeks of being told to “stay
together”, “stay close”, “the convoy must stay together”, within 3 ½ hours we were
cast adrift and forced to return to Lubango. Rico had not fulfilled his promises, and
Koos was unable to do anything about it. Because Koos is not licensed to operate in
Angola, he depends on Rico’s operator permit … in return for which, I presume, he
takes his clients to Rico’s lodges and boats.
We were made to leave the convoy. Koos told the other participants that we had
made ‘alternative arrangements’ which was simply not true. So we returned to
Lubango, got the Pajero out of the garage, and had to wait for Rico to pay Remigio. At
this point, Rico insisted that I must make full payment for repairs and car-hire before
we could leave the country. As I did not happen to have US$7200 cash in my pocket,
as money transfers would take days if not weeks to come through, and as a shouting
Rico was unable to listen to reason, we were in an impossible situation. The impasse
was only resolved thanks to Remigio’s intervention: he talked to Rico’s lawyer, and
after depositing photocopies of my credit cards we could go.
Ned and another driver accompanied us to the border, we passed one more
roadblock that could have been sticky and required ‘gasosa’ (literally meaning a soft
drink but now used as a term for a bribe), and by midnight we reached an Ondjiva
hotel, ready to face the Angola border officials the next morning. Ned saw us safely
across – no problem with so-called expired visas. We were so happy to leave Angola
that we could have kissed Namibian soil! This surely was a trip from hell. And now
we’re safely home and say “never ever again!” Never again Angola, never again
convoy!
Postscript:
Having been home for more than two weeks now, I’m still dealing with the aftermath
of the ‘journey from hell’. I had sent Rico the money owed ($4500 for car hire and
$2610 for car repair bills) immediately after arrival, unprompted and unsolicited,
keeping my promise. To date I STILL have not had an acknowledgement of arrival of
money-transfer or a receipt of $$$ received.
There had been no car-hire agreement, no terms and conditions of hiring from Rico,
there have been no invoices or bills, just a verbal contract relayed by Koos, and Rico’s
written agreement to pay the Hyundai garage. I had to calculate all costs myself (car
hire for 18 days @ $250/day, water-tanker repairs $2610 – Remigio had sent me the
bills) but never received confirmation. I wrote twice to him, his secretary Theresa,
their agent Lezle, even to Ned ... nothing. So much for the ‘emergency rescue plan’
being in place!
The reason for the agreement being broken, I had been told by Koos, was due to Rico
being busy with a Shoprite delegation (Enrico Sakko, a South African of Italian-Dutch
origin, living in Namibia and working in Angola, is a fixer who helps S.A.n business
people establish contacts in Angola) who didn’t have the time to pay the garage.
Until the last day in Lubango, when I was shouted at by Rico (for ingratitude and nonpayment), I had never spoken to him; I certainly have never met him. Today I learnt
to my surprise (in a lostshepard pm) that the real reason for the plan not working
was me ‘altering the goalposts’ and ‘making my own arrangements about the repairs
to the Pajero’. This, Koos had told the convoy, is what caused the problem. Koos lied.
How, pray, was I supposed to have done that, no language, no local knowledge, no
fundi at hand?!!
Koos had lied to the convoy before. Already at Flamingo Lodge, when he told us the
Kwanza had appreciated and was now AKW90 to the US$. Stopping in Namibe to
change money, on the roadside, Anne and me being first in line, we obediently
changed at 90 to the US, only to learn later that we'd been daft and should have
haggled. And it was no bank employee who came to our cars, as some people were
led to believe! No bank in the world will send an employee onto the streets to
surreptitiously change money (crawl into customers' cars and haggle about exchange
rates), then come back with pockets full of hard cash. I mean, really!!!
In Soyo, too, the convoy changed money on the streets - despite all travel books and
-advisors warning against it - and despite banks and ATMs being nearby. I surmise
that Koos, being unlicensed, tries hard to stay under the police radar, and if a group
of foreigners were to pitch up at a bank with wads of $$$, questions about currency
control and operator licences might be raised.
On the day of departure from Ruacana, Koos had promised publicly to refund Karen’s
tour fees. He has not done so to this day. After returning home I reminded his wife
Isobelle of his promise. She miffily wrote back that "Koos always keeps his promises"
but that she hadn't refunded me (I had paid Karen’s fees) due to not having bank-acct
details. I sent them. Then I got the below, with an ABSA bank transfer form attached
for me to fill out (I did). This takes the biscuit! She is now claiming we never paid, that
she needs proof of Karen's cancellation, and the reasons thereof. She wrote:
Sent: Thursday, October 14, 2010 7:20 PM
Ilse,
I am having such difficulties trying to transfer monies to you. See attached form and please furnish
details Fields 59a and 57, …The amount is R9000 … and proof that you paid the said amount to us,
proof of cancellation of the tour and your reason for the said cancellation.
Please cooperate or I cannot assist you and it will not get anybody anywhere to go against the
banking requirements. Just to inform you that I will be out of office as from Friday 15th October
until 31st October.
Isobelle
Would Koos have taken us on the trip if we hadn't paid?!! How could she not
remember that Karen had all her money and papers stolen, and therefore couldn’t go
(she was in tears when we left without her)?!! Wasn’t Koos forever on his sat-phone
to talk to Isobelle?!! I had to instruct my German bank to start a trace to prove to her
that monies were indeed paid (another cost: 35 Euro). What kind of book-keeping is
this?! What kind of business practice?!!
Someone should explain to Koos that it's no good 'shooting the messenger', no good
telling lies, because it's his partner Rico who is damaging his business, not the people
telling the tale of woe.
As said at the beginning: this has been the worst and most expensive trip of my
whole long life: Angola cost me US$10,600 (more than my Antarctica journey!), and
this without counting the hotel/lodge costs of travel to and from Ruacana/Oshikango.
Koos should give up the Angola tours, part company with Rico, and concentrate on
what he knows best - survival- and military training. Or maybe simply retire …