(Marion continues with her own story after abandoning Seaton in hospital.)

The wet season in Zaire was due to start in a few weeks, so now we were in a quandary as all along we had been determined not to get bogged down in a country whose roads were reputed to be bad enough in the dry season. If we waited six weeks at Bangui, bad conditions for travel would be inevitable. Should we abandon the trip, sell the vehicle and all fly back to Britain? Seaton could do this on our medical insurance, free, accompanied by a nurse, Bo. That would leave me to return with the children by the cheapest available means, but selling the vehicle involved considerable difficulties. Or, daring thought, could the rest of us drive on through Zaire to be joined by Seaton, travelling by air, at some later stage of the journey? The chief difficulty with this last plan was that neither Bo nor I knew much about internal combustion engines, and the vehicle had proved itself rather prone to problems already. However, this plan warranted further investigation. There was a place called GOMA marked on the map with an airport nearby, at a distance from Bangui that might take us three weeks to cover by road. A visit to the Air Zaire office produced the information that there were weekly flights via Kinshasa, capital of Zaire, where there was a night's stopover with all arrangements for hotel accommodation to be made by Air Zaire. This should not be too much for Seaton on his release from hospital. The British Consulate was unable to offer us much help but they did later send Seaton 7 consecutive unopened copies of The Times when he appealed to them for reading material.

We moved camp to the wasteland near the river where other expeditions like ours usually camped. Was there anyone who would help us with vehicle maintenance and nursemaid us through Zaire? Several parties were sympathetic but not keen to adopt us. Anyway we realized that travelling at the pace they were mostly advocating would be too much for us and our vehicle. By this time, however, we were getting quite keen on this plan. The prospect of another six weeks in Bangui's humid heat did not appeal to us. Perhaps we could start along the route that everyone used from Bangui, and would be overtaken in due course by a party we could join.

So our minds were made up and we prepared to leave Seaton and Bangui. He was on a fat-free and salt-free diet which he found most dull, so we left him with a supply of food and a polythene water container, as the hospital's water supply seemed to be off more often than it was on. He also had several books, writing materials, cards, passport and money. He had a pleasant airy room with slatted walls and a ventilation fan and the staff, all black except for the most senior, seemed very kind. The hospital was not quite up to British standards - patients had to provide their own cutlery and wash it up themselves, and the rats running along the water pipes at night kept them amused - but it was the best hospital in the Central African Republic. The medical care seemed quite satisfactory and we thought we were leaving Seaton in capable hands.

We stocked up with food as we had heard that little was available in Zaire. Seaton gave us a list of instructions to anyone who was going to maintain the vehicle. So we bade him farewell and set off eastwards on the first easy stage, the 460 miles still in the Central African Republic. Here we knew the roads would be reasonable, but we were beset by daily thunderstorms during which water poured into the cab and dripped onto the children in the back seats. On the fourth day's drive, there was a heavy storm ahead and we found great branches and small trees down across the road which was itself almost obscured by the water rushing along it. We made use of our hand-axe and manoeuvred and slithered around these obstacles. Meanwhile I had been looking at Seaton's list of instructions. Checking oil, water and tyre pressures was easy enough but there were various mysterious things to be done at 3 to 4 day intervals and we had been travelling 4 days already. So I began studying the invaluable maintenance manual and was soon crawling under the vehicle to identify the various places that had to be lubricated. There seemed to be oil, grease and dirt everywhere, so I soon designated an old shirt for vehicle maintenance duties and got down to work. There were five places that needed to have oil inserted and I managed to find a tool to open the filler plugs, but there was still the problem of getting the oil in, as oil does not flow up-hill. It took a long time but I did eventually manage to fit a funnel and various hoses and bits of piping together to convey oil messily to the various apertures, through holes in the cab floor, engine and elsewhere. I discovered that if the vehicle had a sideways tilt, oil was apt to flow out of the holes rather than in. Meanwhile I had also found while under the vehicle that we had a broken spring. The help of a mechanic at a cotton factory nearby enabled us to have this repaired by welding free of charge. This was one of numerous acts of kindness we encountered all through Africa.

So now we were at Bangassou where we were to cross the broad Oubangui river by ferry to enter the Congo. It is called Zaire now but the roads are still appalling. And waiting by the water's edge we were lucky to find some other trans-Africa travellers to whom we could appeal for companionship through Zaire. Perhaps it was better not to warn them of our accident-prone and inexpertly maintained vehicle until things went wrong. Martin and Sue were a Canadian/Australian couple on a motorbike and Carl and Delphine, a German/Australian couple in a Volkswagen minibus. The children took to them strongly but I hope did not pester them too much. Bo and I were glad of the chance to recuperate as we were finding the long hours of driving the heavy vehicle over poor roads very tiring.

The ferry we needed to use did not resemble the Aust Ferry over the Bristol Channel. This one needed the Africa Explorer's two batteries to start its engine in the morning, and as it was moored on the far bank, we had to watch while our batteries were paddled across the river in a dugout canoe. When they and the ferry had returned to our side, we had to creep down the steep bank and then edge the vehicle on board along two planks little wider than our tyres. There was just room for the motor cycle to squeeze on board and we were soon chugging across the river. With the party reassembled, after the minibus had been brought across as well, we set off southward along a track with grass down the middle, jungle on either side and a ribbon of blue sky above.

We managed less than 100 miles a day through the jungle country because of the poor roads. The hazards were various: unexpected rocks and stones, deep potholes, and streambeds that meandered their way along the track and demanded careful steering. In some places, one side of the road was much higher than the other and the vehicle took on an alarming tilt. In the worst series of mud-filled potholes, the front wheels edged into one gulf just as the back ones tried to climb out of another, and this was the dry season! The vehicle started to give way round the windscreen in response to the perpetual jolting. But we progressed. I managed to do the maintenance jobs while Bo struck camp in the morning, and in the evening we were very tired. The spring, I found, had broken again and there was no prospect of getting it repaired for weeks. We did little after the children were safely in bed except write our diaries and have a mug of coffee before turning in ourselves.

The road continued past strange sounding places, - Bondo, Buta, Poko, Isiro - but mostly just jungle. Tall stately trees often interlocking above the track, massive bamboos and palms, dense undergrowth with wild pineapples and bananas, and occasional villages tucked away invisibly along little paths. We were getting low on supplies and did not find the abundant tropical fruits very filling. Even the so-called towns had little in the markets - shoe polish, matches and hair oil on every stall but little basic food. Apparently there was a widespread shortage of wheat in Zaire which meant no bread.

In the late afternoon we started to look for somewhere to camp. If possible we found a mission, where hospitable Europeans provided a friendly welcome and a feeling of security. More often we found ourselves far from these signs of civilisation and were forced to camp in a jungle clearing. Many of these were just areas from which material had been scraped to repair the road. As the swift dusk fell, tom-toms would start up in unseen villages and jackals could be heard howling not far off. Later, as we lay in our sleeping bags, we were aware of strange crashing noises and rustlings from the dense undergrowth. Eventually we slept until the jangle of the alarm clock roused us at first light. And so on through the jungle with an occasional glimpse of monkeys scrambling through the branches or superbly coloured butterflies flashing past.

One night at a mission, we were allotted a thatched hut as massing clouds rumbled around. The storm broke as we were going to bed and the rain fell in tropical torrents. I was woken from a deep sleep by the sound of our vehicle's horn blaring, and leapt up shouting loudly to try to scare away the thief who had set off the burglar alarm. All seemed secure at the vehicle but as I walked away the horn started again. When I climbed on the roof, I realised that the strong wind that had just got up was rocking the vehicle sufficiently to activate the alarm. I switched it off and returned sodden but relieved to bed.

We came to another broad river with the track ending abruptly at the water's edge. Here there was a hand-operated ferry made of three linked canoes with three men paddling, two poling and one man keeping them all in time by beating out a rhythm on a hollow log. With our 4 tons of vehicle and equipment on board we were swept some way downstream during the crossing before paddling up beside the further bank to the landing place. The ferry was free but everyone expected a tip!

One day we were flagged down by a lorry parked with its bonnet raised beside the road. Our common language was a low-grade French and they asked if we could give them a little tow to get their engine started. I thought we could and got out the towing chain. As I had rather expected, this did not solve the problem. Could we tow them to the nearest town, some 15 miles away? They had already been stuck there 4 days they said, and I could quite believe it for we had seen no other vehicle all day. Having been assured that the road was level and the surface good, I agreed to help them, hoping that pulling such a heavy vehicle would not have a detrimental effect on our engine. The lorry driver tooted his horn and about 30 people unexpectedly emerged from the jungle and scrambled on board the lorry. We were off, hardly even managing to get into third gear and having considerable difficulty on the hills which of course did exist on the route. After a bit I tried four wheel drive, low ratio, which did prove more satisfactory. Several hours later we got to the town, Buta, and drove the wrong way round an unmarked roundabout ( not having seen a roundabout since Bangui) where we were stopped by a shrill whistle. Luckily the policeman who had been sitting in the shade, was appeased by the lorry driver's voluble explanation and we were allowed to continue on our way, soon reaching the lorry's base where it was welcomed home with relief and gratitude. The market held little food and we found our companion vehicles clustered round the petrol pump, so we replenished our own supplies as the availability of fuel was quite erratic.

In this way we travelled on day after day, covering 80 or 90 miles in about 7 hours driving. One section of road had been recently improved and we actually got into top gear. It was a rather frightening stretch as the occasional lorry came hurtling along in the other direction and we were lucky not to meet one on any of the many blind bends. Most of the time however, we were grinding along in a low gear negotiating the potholes and bridging the gullies left by last year's rains. We had a constant struggle keeping up with our companions' vehicles, but at least the Africa Explorer was behaving itself. The children were quite happy. While travelling, the puzzle books came out, stories were told, songs sung and games played. And as soon as we stopped they tumbled out with their collection of miniature cars, to create new and complicated road systems on the gravelly ground. Later there was usually time for a card game or a bout of colouring before a wash and bed. It was amazing how much dirt accumulated each day!

After 10 days we found the land beginning to rise and we climbed out of the tropical heat of the jungle onto a long range of hills with an impressive view over the Congo Basin, a carpet of trees stretching away to the horizon. It was near here that we began to see Pygmies peering at us from the verges of the road. They were rather shy, but quite a crowd accumulated when we stopped. Small muscular men and women not much bigger than Jennifer with minute babies. Some wished to sell us bows and arrows, others were just inquisitive but none wanted to be photographed. I managed to snatch a couple of photos with my camera nonchalantly held at waist level. We bought bows, arrows, a quiver and a primitive hand-held musical instrument, giving shirts and soap in exchange, and drove on.

We passed through Beni, a large place on the map but nothing much on the ground. Here, as elsewhere, were signs of the strife of a few years back - empty European-style houses, ruined petrol stations and a burnt-out tank. We were fortunate enough to get a loaf of bread and fruit was abundant. For a change from the tinned and packet meals we had been subsisting on, we bought 2 pullets at one village we passed, to be killed and later plucked en route. The children thought the resulting meal quite a feast.

Now we were climbing up and up through the foothills of the Ruwenzori range of mountains, with their snow filled gullies near the summits and mist clad slopes. We never approached these heights, but the day we crossed the equator we camped at 8000 feet near a pass and had our coldest night on the African continent. These upland regions are very pleasant with pastureland grazed by dairy cows, and mansions abandoned by the departing Belgian owners. The steep valleys contained 20 foot tree ferns and towering giant lobelias, and enormous lichens were draped from the branches of the trees. As we began to descend again there were extensive banana plantations. This crop must be for consumption elsewhere but its transportation must impose quite a problem. There were fields of coffee trees and intense cultivation of various field crops such as maize, mealies and manioc, the small areas of each patchworking the hillside.

After a whole morning winding bumpily downhill, the road took us past a notice announcing that we were entering the Virunga National Park. Now we began to descend a steep escarpment and a vast plain came in view with Lake Edward just visible to the north. We stopped to examine the plain through binoculars. Yes, those black dots were animals, and there was our road running between them and quite close to a herd of elephants. We descended gradually to the plain and then kept stopping to watch and photograph the wildlife, abundant here whereas we had seen little earlier on our journey. There were numerous buffalo eyeing us malevolently, reputedly dangerous animals, and a herd of elephants which disregarded us and continued splashing themselves with mud at a waterhole. We identified three sorts of antelope and later stopped beside a river where a number of hippopotami were standing in the shallows. One after the other they submerged themselves, coming up at intervals to snort and yawn and blow bubbles. Warthogs seen nearby dashed off into the bush, their tails held high.

We were not allowed to camp in the park, so we travelled on past several villages, finding nowhere possible to stop for the night. Here we were treated with some hostility, various people shaking their fists at us, and one lad throwing a handful of stones at the vehicle. This reaction to our presence was new to us. We had been used to mimed requests for cigarettes or children trying to get us to buy pawpaws. We sought the security of the next mission for the night. Only another 60 miles to Goma but we made slow progress next morning owing to the brakes and the exhaust system being in need of attention. The final stretch of the route lay over a pass between two groups of Virunga volcanoes. On our left were three steep sided pyramids covered on their lower slopes with intensely cultivated terraces, and on our right, a higher but less steep sloped mountain with a column of smoke drifting from its summit. Its slopes were uncultivated, being part of the National Park. I would have liked to have been able to climb it, a two day expedition with crater views at the top, but circumstances did not permit. So we pushed on to Goma, pausing only to purchase an unexpected rush basket of strawberries from a small boy at the roadside.

It was something of a triumph to reach Goma at last, our destination on this stage of the journey. The Belgians had built and later abandoned this impressive small town standing on the shores of Lake Kivu, said (by the Zaireans) to be the most beautiful lake in Africa. Our first stop was the post office where we expected to find a letter from Seaton. It was eighteen days since we had left Bangui, we had travelled 1635 miles and we expected Seaton to arrive on the weekly flight via Kinshasa arriving the next day. There was no letter from him, but my letter to him, written ten days earlier was there and I left a note telling him that we were camping beside the lake. We had found an idyllic spot in the garden of an empty house and had been given permission to stay there by the guard. There was refreshing bathing off the black lava rocks with no bilharzia to deter us as so much volcanic ash gets into the water that there is said to be no life in it. The water lapped us to sleep.

The next day found us at the airport but when the Kinshasa flight arrived, there was no sign of Seaton among the passengers. We were rather worried but eventually resigned ourselves to another week's wait. While shopping at the large well stocked market, two men tried to pick my pocket, but my purse was sufficiently deep to elude their grasp. Bo, however, walking nearby, had her purse snatched by a man in a brown shirt, and a lengthy chase ensued. Several youths joined in as she shouted "Stop, thief!" in English, but she was gradually outdistanced. Rounding a corner, she found an excited crowd ahead and her purse was returned to her, but empty, 10 zaires in notes (about 10 pounds sterling) being mising. On her complaining further, these were also produced by another youth who stated that he had found them on the ground! We determined to be more careful of our belongings after these incidents. That Goma has a high crime rate is perhaps demonstrated by the fact that every shop had a steel grid to protect its windows.

Here we parted from our travelling companions as they continued on their way through Rwanda and into East Africa. As they left we were told that we could no longer camp by the lake which was awkward as we had been unable to discover any other possible camping places. A tropical downpour commenced and our misery was complete. However, generosity once more came into play. First a Polish woman stopped to talk to us and offered us her lawn to camp on and then, as it continued to rain heavily, she introduced us to a Greek Cypriot who owned a coffee plantation 10 miles away. He had an empty furnished bungalow which we could use free of charge. We gratefully accepted and, having left a message for Seaton at the post office, were soon following Mr Kostatt as he drove home. After being hospitably entertained to supper in his house, we settled into the bungalow nearby. There was a view from the terrace over the coffee plantation and at night you could see the distant glow from the summit of one of the Virunga volcanoes.

We did not have long to wait for Seaton. On leaving hospital after three weeks he had various difficulties but eventually took off as planned on his flight to Kinshasa. Here he was told, erroneously, that flight times had been changed, and he was forced to spend two nights trying to keep cool in a hotel waiting for a non-existent flight. Luckily the Airport chief helpfully found him a seat on a freight plane to Goma, where he arrived on the day we moved into the bungalow. He got our messages and found his way to us next day. The next two weeks were a perfect holiday while we all enjoyed having the luxury of our own bungalow with the lake for swimming, the fresh climate after the humidity of the jungle, the good food available and use of the plantation workshops for the re-invigoration of the vehicle. Seaton was able to complete his convalescence and all too soon everything was once again ready for the continuation of our journey eastwards, very grateful to Mr Kostatt for his kind hospitality.

NEXT

Homepage l Europe l N Africa l Sahara l Nigeria l Central Africa l Hospital l Congo l Rwanda l East Africa