Woke to a bird chorus, mild temperature and nearly everyone’s stuff damp.
Drove all day in green rolling country with beautiful views from higher stretches over bright green valleys stretching as far as the eye could see and cut through by the red strip of road we're following.
Made a morning shopping stop at a crowded market with little for us. There were though three people squatting around a groundsheet spread with tiny white pieces of something which we've seen a lot of recently. Closer inspection revealed it was manioc; one lady was mashing a huge pile of the root vegetable into fibres with a huge blade, an enamel bowl of unworked pieces beside her. (Also called cassava or yuka, manioc is a starchy gluten-free tropical root is a food staple in Africa; it must be cooked properly to eliminate natural toxins.). We could smell its disgusting sour-milk aroma from the truck. It's probably a major constituent of the strange smelling but cheap flour we bought.
Nikki was ripped off for the first time on our trip here, by a lad who took off with her money to get change and never came back.
We made a second shopping stop where Geoff, Ann and I descended on a very loud, all black, African music bar. When we walked in the aggression was almost palpable, especially from a table of inebriated working girls, who didn’t seem to appreciate our presence - or maybe just Ann's shorts. Have never felt so out of place before, one of three white people in an all-black bar. The women threw beer tops at us and laughed when we asked them to stop. Ton upped the ante by returning fire but bar staff and other patrons who seemed to be on our side calmed things down. Ann shook the prostitutes' hands and convinced them we were not a threat. Everything was much more relaxed then, and they smiled at Ann swaying in her seat to the music and happily resumed downing their beers. All the women in the bar were gorgeous, more buxom than we commonly saw in West Africa, their hair braided and tied up in intricate styles.
Driving on, we passed lots of villages, many of them a line of huts on each side of the road. Many looked deserted and we thought this could be the result of CAR politician and military office Jean-Bedel Bokassa’s re-establishment program, which forced villagers to move to main roads.
Again we passed painted villages though here there were more painted people than animals, many in karate kick poses, but also Elvis with an electric guitar. Some buildings were decorated with stripes, diagonals and colours.
We stopped at a stream for water in the afternoon, forming a bucket chain to fill Stanley before having a body wash in the water, which like cow dung. Huge audience of villages who laughed first at our white skins and then at the ensuring water fight.
W passed more villages before camping in a gravelly area close to a village and overlooking a green panorama. The usual grumblings about proximity of natives and our instant audience were founded this time: Jeff's towel, Adri's bag of undies, and a sleeping mat from Marcus and Myrta’s tents were stolen. Then, when the crowd had gone, someone slashed Per & Han’s tent and stole a bag containing the Swedes' spare passports just minutes between the lads check their tents.
Everyone unpegged their tents and re-pitched them in a tight semicircle around the fire. Myrta suggested we ring the camp with rat glue. We rostered shifts for guarding our camp overnight. We hadn't expected to need this vigilance until the capital Bangui.
We had, though, already noticed a different reaction when we waved from the truck. The people here are far less spontaneous in waving back and we're getting rude gestures and abuse. Niikki explained that the people of CAR have had a pretty raw deal from the French, who have enslaved them in the past and recently ripped them off the country's chemical wealth, and this has probably tainted their views of white men.
The French troops stationed here have been very obvious today. We saw a road transport early on and then young soldiers on foot, waving warily and then returning Nikki’s bikini clad blown kisses. So much for independence!
Guard duty here was different, with tension from knowing there are people about with sharp knives. I felt decidedly uneasy patrolling noisily around the tent and squatting in the dark for a wee.
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