A morning drive through hills - dozed a lot - before we stopped to shop in the city of Maroua. Decided to lob into the artisan shop for some tourist hassle. Some beautiful handcrafts, including superb half giant gourds decorated with block work - what a pity Stanley is so small and we are so many! - gorgeous trading beads at horrendous prices, finely worked woven mats, and the now familiar collection of brightly coloured leather thongs and snakeskin handbags. Fled back to the market, where I could have bought a huge soft cotton-stuffed mattress for only 4000 CFA. The fabric alley was piled with coloured prints but mostly from Niger. The banana truck was in, loading up carts with hands of green fruit.
Visited a little museum with Geoff, home to a dusty collection of artefacts from old woven baskets to clothing, and farming implements to trading beads; also an antique version of the (long-treasured) gourd I souvenired after using it to lift water from a well. Delighted to be able to touch the exhibits rather than peer at them through glass.
Continuing on our journey, we left the main road and drove through more hilly country scattered with small gatherings of huts; stopped for photos where the road wound gently into the hills and villages overlooked the valley. We saw villages behind villages, sheathes of grain leaning against many of the huts, the ground scattered with pottery urns and woven baskets. A short way up the valley we stopped at a weird "altar" - a mud figure with sharp teeth and an urn atop its head. It stood on a stone platform, with smaller pottery and metal figurines at its feet. Does voodoo reach this far east?
The terrain became more and more like the rocky stretches on the road to our border U-turn in Mali, though there are fewer stone huts. buildings utilising the stones for hut building. Later in the afternoon we entered the volcanic landscape of the Mandara Mountains, where pillars of rock and rocky outcrops towered over the valley. Wonderful views from the (sadly closed) Rondell Bar, with birds riding the thermals overhead. Found warm beers before moving on. Saw big troops of baboons across a creek.
We navigated some big bumps as the road deteriorated into dust.
We are so rich compared with the people who live along our route yet the constant request for handouts is wearying me. When we drive through villages and the kids stand out or run along beside us shouting "Cadieux!" I find myself refusing to even wave back, somehow thinking that will make some difference to the children. All it does is frustrate me.
Camped beside a huge reservoir and proceeded to wash, caught mid-sud and stark naked, by Ben’s bellowing that the men who had arrived were sending us packing. We're not supposed to wash in the water. Saw the funny side, with Bob and stood starkers, our white skins like neon signs, yelling back at Ben. (Nowadays I wouldn't dream of using soap in a river or stream but back then we didn't think like that.)
So we pulled down our tents, packed up the kitchen and dinner, and drove on in the dark. We switched off the lights in the back of the truck and less conspicuously passed two separate bonfires circled by chanting and singing children. The first group was writing with charcoal on large wooden slates while an adult walked around - night school perhaps.
Turned off the road again without any real idea or view of what the ground was like and camped for the second time where Stanley floundered in soft sand.
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