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

Photo: Anne Evans Ele crossing Livingstone Road near Maramba bridge

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 shoulder-bag’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 Their cemetery on a nearby farm

Leba Pass and waterfall 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 English-speaking 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 Ilse, Mario, Anne at Congo mouth

The convoy at the Congo 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 White-throated 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, war-victim 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 $2610 – Remigio had sent me the bills) but never received confirmation. I wrote twice to him, his secretary Theresa, their agent Lezle, even to Ned ... nothing. So much for the ‘emergency rescue plan’ being in place! The reason for the agreement being broken, I had been told by Koos, was due to Rico being busy with a Shoprite delegation (Enrico Sakko, a South African of Italian-Dutch origin, living in Namibia and working in Angola, is a fixer who helps S.A.n business people establish contacts in Angola) who didn’t have the time to pay the garage. Until the last day in Lubango, when I was shouted at by Rico (for ingratitude and non-payment), I had never spoken to him; I certainly have never met him. Today I learnt to my surprise (in a lostshepard pm) that the real reason for the plan not working was me ‘altering the goalposts’ and ‘making my own arrangements about the repairs to the Pajero’. This, Koos had told the convoy, is what caused the problem. Koos lied. How, pray, was I supposed to have done that, no language, no local knowledge, no fundi at hand?!! Koos had lied to the convoy before. Already at Flamingo Lodge, when he told us the Kwanza had appreciated and was now AKW90 to the US$. 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 …