East of the Sun Trip Part 3 : In which we remember that excellent travel buddies make all the difference

After a few fleeting hours of sleep, we face a second day of travel much like the first. We were unlucky: we were at the travel agency before it even opened, we didn’t manage to get tickets on the first and only scheduled bus to Maloundoun. We were lucky: they ran a second bus and we were on it. Not that we were feeling particularly lucky to be back on a prison bus only a few hours after escaping the last one. 

Kid selling hard boiled eggs at the travel agency - and rocking an Obama Change shirt.

I won’t bore you with more of the same details about travel, except to note that it was clearly evident that our surroundings were becoming less “developed” and more jungly. We saw more Baka (pygmie tribe) houses, more children with sad distended bellies, and more logging trucks contributing to the stripping of this old-growth forest somewhere just out of sight. It put me in the mindset of Fern Gully, except the scary machines are winning. But for all the sad or heart wrenching views, there were others intriguing or lovely. We saw beautiful blue butterflies, we saw trees so big that Kate, Joe, and I couldn’t hug around the base of their trunks, and FINALLY around 4 pm we saw our destination: Mambele.

In life, stuff goes wrong.
But that only adds to the adventure. 

Beautiful, beautiful Mambele. A tourist attraction in its own right. Wide boulevards, interesting architecture, and welcoming inhabitants. 

By which I mean dirt roads that fit four or five 18-wheelers across, little wooden shacks that I could have built myself, and Souleymanou the Burkino-Faso-an (yeah I have no idea what that nationality should be) immigrant. After we arranged and paid for our three-night jaunt into Lobéké Reserve at the WWF office—and thank goodness they were open at 4:30pm on a Saturday—we met Souley. He announced that he runs they only restaurant in town, could get us anything we need except alcohol (he’s Muslim), and makes a mean spaghetti omelette. We each ordered one and though it was definitely not the best spag-om I’ve had (like, burnt on the outside and undercooked on the inside, and I didn’t even get any tomatoes), the presentation more than made up for it. Souley is a caricaturist’s dream, too tall and thin with quite a nose jutting out of his face, and he kept up a rapid fire conversation, making pronouncements in the tones of a radio sports announcer. He’s a bundle of delightful surprises, like the fact that he came to this Wild Wild West town in the middle of freaking nowhere in Cameroon to make money. And is he? Oh yeah. I’m pretty sure he’s running the whole town and I have no doubts that he spoke the truth when he said he could get us anything. He could probably also tell us all the pregnant teenagers, who’s cheating on who, who’s shipping what at what prices, and all the rest of the town gossip. For only a small fee. 

After dinner with the enchanting Souleymanou, we went out to the bar with our new friends from the WWF office including our porter, Valentin, the mother of his youngest child, Rose, and the bartender Natalie. (Yes, I again sang Natalie La Rose’s Somebody. I’m addicted, it’s embarrassing.)

After one beer, pleading exhaustion, we trudged off to sleep in our rented rooms at the Doctor’s auberge. 

“Are you a doctor?”

“No.”

“Are you the doctor?”

“Yes.”

Alrighty then, glad we’re on the same page. For only $4 a night, we were treated to some of the best accommodations right in the center of town! These luxurious accommodations included: a room with a bed! What else could one possibly need? There is even a window, if that takes your fancy, and a door with a bent nail for a lock. Oh yes, latrine’s out back. There’s a water barrel around the side and a bucket here if you need it, yes, all included! A light? Well you can use of these solar-powered lamps. Yes yes, have a pleasant stay at the Doctor’s Auberge! 

Too suspicious to touch the sheets, we slept on our sleeping bags and burned mosquito coils, falling asleep to the sound of cockroaches on the flimsy plank walls and the thumping night club down the street. 

My last conscious thought before falling asleep was: are we in a prostitute hostel? 

We woke up in spite of ourselves at 5am, when the night club’s music finished and the truck engines started. A new day, a new spag-om chez Souley! Miraculously, our driver was ready to take us into Lobéké not at eight, but at seven (What? A Cameroonian, early?). We were driven the last 44 kilometers along with Valentin, Frederick our guide, and Prospère our eco-guard; and man, were we comfortable with our own seats and four-wheel drive and effective shocks. Magical.

Joe, Kate, and I just before heading out.

The car left us at “le Pont Cassé” (the Broken Bridge) camp, and we were finally stretching our legs in this unicorn of a place, Lobéké, wildlife preserve, old-growth forest, natural wonder and true wilderness. And I was going to see a gorilla if I had to tiptoe all 5k to the Petit Savanne (the next encampment). 

On that first hike, we did not see a gorilla, but we did glimpse: two white-eyelid Mangabeys (Cercocebus albigena) and Crested Mangabeys (Cercocebus agilis), and one female antelope (Cephalophus callipygus) as well as more butterflies and birds. We also heard a frightening noise that sounded like a revving motorcycle engine but turned out to be Colobus monkeys. And yet, hours of sitting in the observation tower at Petit Savanne left us feeling disappointed. I suspect all of us were grumbling in our hearts, and feeling guilty about that grumbling.

That's a bridge.
And it's not even the "broken" bridge!

But upon returning to the camp, we skewered hot dogs (we splurged on them in Bertoua) on green branches over the cook fire. It was the best thing we ever tasted, and we were in good company. Joe put it best when he said, “This could be a lot more disappointing if I were with other people. I’m glad we’re together.” If you’ve ever traveled with someone wonderful or with someone terrible, you know that your travel buddies can make all the difference in an experience! 

Still, especially after seeing nothing again the next morning at the observation tower, I couldn’t help but wonder. Are we even going to see anything? Where are our gorillas? Did we put ourselves through two days of hell on four wheels for nothing?

To be continued...