Mammoth sleeping bag wash, scrubbing on the table using gallons of water. Exhausting but a great excuse for R&R at the patisserie. Commandeered Sacha and Anna (off the Douglas family truck) and headed off with Jim, wandering down the ruined street before descending on the bakery - and, surprise, surprise, there was Nikki surrounded by postcards and croissant crumbs. Astronomical prices but I splurged on a slab of scrumptious cake/pudding worth every franc.
Rendezvoused at the post office and then made return visits to the yoghurt shop and our milkshake stand. Our man not there and inferior product until he returned and the form improved. Downed a banana shake and then shared a banana and mango one with Adri. Got a photo of ten of us armed with “pints”.
Then to a market with perfect but expensive fruit and vegetables, huge eggs, and a meat section that came out to meet us in the form of swarms of flies. Our search for flour for a farewell chocolate cake for the Douglases landed us in a bulk flour store with ceiling high stacks of 25 kg sacks. After ten minutes of confusion in basic Overlanders' French trying to price the flour and explain that we wanted 5kg we were directed a few metres across the road to the flour ladies in the market where we could buy any amount we wanted!
What again struck me was the tiny amounts of goods for sale: piles of twenty macaroni noodles, dessert spoons of tomato paste, two stock cubes, peanut butter by the teaspoon; bowls of flour, spoonfuls of nuts, glasses of sugar-only the fruit and veg are sold by weight-and then only on occasion. So different from supermarket shopping. I wonder if people at home with low incomes would be more familiar with buying just enough for what you need? I left the market with some ostrich fabric for some kitsch pants.
Returned to camp by an alternate route involving a soft-drink stop at the Novo Disco, a Reggae joint where walls painted with brightly coloured murals of Yannick Noah in tennis pose and Bob Marley surrounded a central open area with a tiled dancefloor and small coffee tables.
Walked along embassy road, passing a closed museum. On its front porch was a beautiful wooden boat with pointed bow and squared stern, apparently constructed of lengths of wood joined by twine, a real patchwork vessel, the bottom misshapen by the use of different planks. Huge pottery urns, some with broken bases, lined the museum balcony. Unsure what we are and are not allowed to photograph so took a surreptitious photo of a blasted church, awed by the damage to even the concrete park benches and light poles. Wound our way through the back streets near the president’s palace where we saw by five huge storks perched atop a leafy tree, the biggest one gently flapping his huge wings to hold steady before settling among the foliage, its graceful movements belying its big size and weight. We were peering up at the storks when police officers moved us on.
(While we were exploring the city, back at the hotel Kelvin and Ben had fitted Stanley with the replacement gearbox from the Douglas family.)
When we got back, I stressed over writing a fair guard roster for the night before escaping to the bar and chatting with Anna Douglas, such a lovely girl I wish we had more time to get to know each other. (I would stay with the family back in England on another trip.)
Cleaned out the truck with Vicki, made two chocolate cakes that rose impressively out of the pans and took huge helpings to the Douglases and Nikki in the restaurant. Back at the truck, I ate mine with freshly made chocolate fudge sauce poured over the tope top. Then I had a rest before my 12.30am guard duty shift.
Left: The Douglas Family, Right: Ndjamena milkshake pints
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