KASIA'S GREAT COOKBOOK: PIZZA

Have I ever told you about all the things I've learned in Gabon? Well, there's French, of course, and working with kids, and all those enriching experiences that make you a better person, too. But what I've really learned during my stay in Libreville is... how to make a delicious pizza. And so the time has come to share my knowledge with you. Here goes: pizza a la africana.

First make the dough. You will need 0,5 kg of flour, 4 tablespoons of olive oil, a pinch of salt and sugar, some basil or oregano (whichever you prefer), two tablespoons of dry yeast and some warm water. You mix the yeast, four tablespoons of warm water and some salt and sugar. You leave it in a warm place for fifteen minutes. Then you mix all the ingredients until the dough is smooth and soft and you let it rest in warm place for it to double its size.

Now you can prepare your tomato sauce. I use fresh tomatoes (3 medium ones should suffice), which I peel, dice and stew for a few minutes. Once they become soft, I take them out of the pan and I smash them with a fork. Tomatoes back in the pan, I add some fresh garlic, herbs (oregano, fresh basil and whatever you like), white pepper, salt and a bit of sugar. I leave it to simmer until the sauce gets thick. Then I spread it on the dough.


Now it's time to prepare your topping. I like it simple, so I usually use green pepper, ham, mushrooms, olives and mozzarella. Because of the prices in Gabon, I must settle for canned mushrooms, but I'm really looking forward to using the fresh ones in Europe. Also, as you can see in the picture, we are now forced to use black olives, because of the green olive shortage in Libreville, but both types will work, depending on your preferences.

And here we are, almost done. Put some olive oil on your baking dish, spread the dough, the sauce and your ingredients (I cut the mozzarella into thin slices but you could also grate it). You will notice that I only put olives on Jandro's side of the pizza! It's probably not very sophisticated of me, but I do hate olives and there's nothing I can do about it. As a final touch, sprinkle your pizza with some oregano. Remember to pre-heat your oven!


Clearly, to make a real Italian pizza, you must a) have a special oven, b) have all the vital ingredients and c) be Italian. Sadly, none of these points apply in my case. However, my pizza turns out delicious every time, as most of my friends will confirm. Also, it was sampled by a real Italian (and being a real Italian means you are inevitably awfully picky about food) and she was kind enough not to throw it away. Big success, I'm sure! Enjoy!

MBOLO TO ALL!

When I first came to Gabon, I was very preoccupied with my low level of French. Actually, I envisaged Libreville as a kind of African Paris, where everybody would rattle away in French to my utter despair, not paying any attention to the little white girl's trouble with understanding. Even though I was not far from the truth when I imagined all this horror (I've told you about my adventures with French several times before), I must admit that for a long time I didn't really notice a very important thing: although Gabon is a French-speaking country, le français is not the only language present on its rich linguistic map.

The population of Gabon is constituted by an overwhelming number of about 50 ethnic groups. They are all similar but different, with their specific dances, ceremonies and... languages. Yes, we are talking about a country where not two, not three, but fifty languages are spoken daily. To this, you should add the Pygmies and 300 000 immigrants from countries such as Nigeria and Equatorial Guinea, who are also bilingual in French and the something else. What you get is an intimidating number of languages spoken in a relatively small country (Gabon is roughly the size of Italy).

It is important to know that the biggest ethnic group are the Fang (about 30%). Other principal groups include the Myénè, the Tsogo, the Eshira, the Bapounou, the Batéké/Obamba, the Nzébi, the Bakota and the Mdébé. From what I've heard, the Fang tend to look down on the other groups, and, consequently, they are not very much liked by them. They are also said to be the richest and the most influential. The latter might be true: the biggest shopping mall in Libreville is called Mbolo or Hello in Fang.

So, each ethnic group boasts its own language and, you'll have noticed by now, there are plenty. They are officially divided into the following categories:

• the Mazona (Fang) group in the north, which includes: Betsi, Meké, Mvaï, Ntumu, Nzaman and Okak;
• the Meryé group in the south-west, which includes: Lumbu, Punu, Varama, Vili, Vungu, Eshira and Masango;
• the Memberé group in the south-east, which includes: Obamba, Kaningui, Téké, Tsitségé and Mindumu;
• the Myéné group in the north-west, which includes: Orungu, Galwa, Nkomi, Enenga and Adjumba;
• the Membé group in the centre and east, which includes: Apindji, Bavuvi, Evia, Tsogho, Okandé and Simba;
• the Menkona-Menaa group, which includes: Akélé, Bendambomo, Bawumbu, Beseki, Bungom, Mbahouin, Misigu and Shaké;
• the Menkona-Mangoté group, which includes: Kota, Benga, Mahongwé, Mindasa and Samayi.

The next question to ask is: how come is French the official language then? And this is a relevant, if annoying, question, at least for me. Let me explain why. The fact that everybody speaks French (a vast majority of schools are monolingual in this language) is a direct result of colonisation. Hence, one could logically reason, the language should disappear with the rising of independence. However, French has obviously become a lingua franca in both Gabon and the rest of French-speaking Africa. Without it, some Gabonese might have serious problems with communication - even though they usually speak a few national languages (it's true, they are all polyglots!), they will at some point inevitably stumble upon an interlocutor whose mother tongue will be unknown to them. Moreover, as the national languages have mostly oral traditions (and very few, say, grammar books exist), it would be difficult to use them as official, standardized languages. Finally, how do you decide on the official language if there are fifty to choose from? How do you avoid ethnic and political conflicts? Also, imagine the amount of irrelevant translation! Finally something to compete with the bureaucracy of the EU! And so? French is here to stay, minority-language lovers (that's me, by the way) like it or not.

As a result, some of the national languages are on the verge of disappearing. Many people become monolingual in French (mind you, this is the case of Gabon and not other French-speaking countries in Africa). Notably, the president of the International Organisation of Francophonie is African (Senegalese).

As a final test, try asking a Gabonese what languages s/he speaks. The usual answer is: French, some English, a bit of Spanish... Consequently, I insist: What about the national languages? I am then confronted with a dismissive: Oh yes, that too. What can I say? Wake up, Gabon! Your émergence should not forget about the linguistic heritage that was so generously bestowed upon you!

Abora for reading.

PS. Mbolo and abora are Fang words, meaning hello and thank you respectively.

The map comes from here.

THE ART OF HAGGLING

In Central Africa, haggling is more than just a social ritual. It's art. You're expected to haggle in nearly every situation, and you lose face if you don't. All the vendors will give you an impossible price at first, at the same time contradicting themselves by telling you that, mon frère, you have to haggle. You thus negotiate the price of clothes, fabrics, handcraft, fruit, grilled fish, guide's or mechanic's services... At first, it feels awkward and stressful. Why can't they just give you a decent price at the very beginning? What is the decent price anyway? With time, the stress disappears and you might even enjoy the experience. But, no matter what you do, you always have a feeling that you've overpaid.

Last weekend, we went to the Handcraft Market, in search of certain objects that we'd liked for some time and wanted to take to Europe with us. The market is small, and so we decided to make a tour first, and then get back to the things we liked. We thus visited all the stands and were cordially invited to enter and ask questions, as the story of an object costs nothing. We promised most of the vendors that we'd come back (otherwise, they wouldn't have let us go) and, when we ended our tour, we were confronted with anxious eyes, reminding us what we'd promised. Ignoring them - which makes you feel as if you were taking the last bits of manioc away from their children - we chose two stands which did offer interesting things. We came back. Let the games begin!

Object number 1: Traditional tube, used to warn villagers that a stranger was approaching the village. First price: 35000 CFA (52,5 euro).
The tube was something I liked from the very beginning. Clearly, you can't be too eager, your excitement will only increase the price. I pick up the object and Jandro addresses the seller. Why Jandro? Well, I've discovered that he's become absolutely amazing at haggling, and I myself am not great. Also, I have a feeling that Gabonese men prefer to talk to men when it comes to business. And so it begins:

- So, boss, how much is it?
- Oh, my brother, it's not expensive. You are the first client today. I will give you a good price.
- Yes, but how much is it?
- Very very cheap. Weekend price!
- Yes, but how much is it?
- For you... Hmm... It's a special price. Weekend price. First-client price. 35000.
- Oh la la...! (Jandro puts the tube down, the vendor thrusts it back in his hand.)
- No, no. It's only my price. You don't like it? You give your price! You know us Gabonese, we like talking, getting to know our customer, negotiating. How much do you give me?
- 8000.
- No!
- Yes!
- No!
- Yes!
- Oh, my brother! Impossible. Give... 32000.
- 9000.
- No!
- Yes!
- My brother, you're making me lose money! I'm giving you a special price! First-client price! 30000.

We continue like this for ten minutes. We reach the final price of 13000, assuring the vendor of our eternal friendship and brotherhood. We exchange phone numbers and shake hands several times.

Objects number 2 and 3: A beautiful Kota mask. A ritual knife. First price: 100000 (150 euro) and 50000 (75 euro).
Our hearts had set upon the mask a long time before, and Jandro was really excited about the knife, too. We've found both these objects at one stand, which would probably let us get a better deal. We begin with the mask.

- How much?
- Oh, my brother, it's cheap! I'll give you a special price.
- How much?
- And how much do you want to pay?
- How much?
- OK, 90000.
- No, thanks. (Jandro puts the mask down.)
- No, no, you can't put it down. (The vendor gives the mask back to Jandro.) How much do you pay?
- 20000.
- (indignant) Impossible!
- If you give me a ridiculous price, I give you a ridiculous price.
- (laughing) Ah, my brother! Good one! I will lower the price for you, special price! 85000!
- 22000.
- My brother, you don't understand. I have to go to Makokou and visit the villages to buy this.
- Oh, Makokou, it's beautiful out there! You come from Makokou? Amazing place!
- Oh, my friend knows it? Yes, thank you, it's beautiful. 80000.
- 25000.
- My friend, (the vendor puts his arm around Jandro and whispers in his ear), for you and the lady, I will lower the price. But you're making me lose money. 70000. Only for you.

We continue (full conspiracy, low voices, furtive glances to see if anybody's listening), until, after around twenty minutes of putting the mask down and picking it up again, we reach the final price of 42000 CFA (63 euro). Now the time comes to talk about the knife. The vendor's first price is completely ridiculous, especially in view of the situation: we'd just bought an expensive object from him. We can't agree on the price, and so another vendor, who'd been listening in on our conversation, intervenes. He sees himself as a mediator and our spokesman, happily making decisions for us (if I can decide for my friend, the boss,...). Nevertheless, his help is not needed, and, having been assured that we make the vendor and his family lose enormous amounts of money, we get the knife for the final price of 20000 CFA (30 euro). We leave the market, feeling dozens of people's eyes upon our back, blazing with hatred and disappointment, ready to strike with all the ritual knives that we didn't buy.

Epilogue: As we were leaving, the first vendor stopped us and asked about our car, sporting a big FOR SALE ad. As he asked about the price, Jandro smiled, looked him in the eye and said: Oh, my brother, it's not expensive! You're my first client today, I'll give you a special price! The vendor wouldn't stop laughing for a long time.

The first picture is of a gift that we got from the second vendor for being such lovely clients (it's worth around 1000 CFA or 1,5 euro).

SHOW MUST GO ON

You are probably dying to know what the improvements on our dealings with CEDOC are. Today we visited the place once again and, I'm proud to announce, I have news. This means that we have not yet been denied the money. Quite the contrary, actually. If it were Europe, I would already be planning how I would spend it. However, it's not Europe and so I stick to the wise Polish saying: Nie mów "hop!", dopóki nie przeskoczysz (do not say "hop!", until you've jumped, which in English has something to do with counting the chickens, I think). But I'm really getting ahead of the facts here. Let me start from the beginning.

As you know, last week we left our dossier with the Grand Secretary. The dossier consisted of a substantial number of documents, and I must say it looked very serious and important. Upon the Grand Secretary's previous instructions, we called her - several times - on Wednesday and Thursday, and we managed to find out that we were now expected to call a Monsieur A., who happens to be a - and here I really need a dramatic pause - a very important VIP. We called, were informed that he had been instructed to take care of us, and we fixed an appointment for the next morning.

We thus got up today, dressed elegantly, put on some make-up (me) and a tie (Jandro), and called Monsieur A. to let him know we would be in his office in twenty minutes. Apparently, this was all the time he needed to disappear, because, when we got to CEDOC, he had just left. We were, however, encouraged to wait patiently, which we did. Contrary to what we thought, le Monsieur came back around half an hour later. He was a short man, wearing the characteristic African suit (with the short-sleeved shirt/jacket), who kept pressing a tissue onto his huge nose, while he complained about his cold. He was very cordial and invited us into his office, which was what I've always imagined the inside of my head to look like: a gigantic - in a sense impressive - mess.

We sat down and waited. Monsieur A. had a lot of things to deal with but he did find a moment to send somebody to look for our dossier. We chatted about Gabon and the hospitality of its people, often interrupted by phone calls and people popping in and out. Finally, our dossier appeared. We were only to submit the original of our deposit receipt (which we were reluctant to part with but we did get a certified copy) and then I was asked to sign two copies of an official petition to be reimbursed the money.

Of course, this is not the end. The procedure continues as follows: CEDOC will urgently handle our documents as early as Monday. After they commence the reimbursement process, the CFO himself will call us and we will pick up our dossier with all the CEDOC authorisations. All this should happen around Wednesday. Afterwards, we will go to the Trésor Public (Treasury, is it?) and they will give us the money.

Clearly, if you start wondering how many things can still go wrong (our dossier gets conviently lost with the original receipt, le Trésor ignores us, etc.), I am still far from jumping from excitement. And since I'm not jumping, I'm not saying "hop!" as of yet, just to be on the safe side.

The picture comes from here.

FOUGAMOUING

So, it's been already a week since we went Fougamouing, and I still haven't told you how the trip went. Let me now fill in this huge information gap by telling you the story of the lazy receptionist, talkative guide, spirits of the forest and seven thousand mosquitoes, all of whom we met in Fougamou. Brace yourselves, it's going to be long!

Hôtel Ngounié must be Eshira for Hotel Mosquito
A week before our departure, we booked a double room (I even have a room with a bed for three, if you're interested!) at the Hôtel Ngounié, apparently the best (and only) hotel in the ville. Upon informing the receptionist that we'd made a reservation, we were confronted with a high-pitched prolonged Gabonese ooooooh!, which usually means that you're asking for the impossible. She told us that as we hadn't made our booking with her, she did not know about it. However, she would make the effort of finding us a room. And she did. Of course, it had no light in the bathroom, the shower consisted of a hose, it smelled horribly of anti-mosquito spray and it cost thirty euro, but what do you expect if you arrive without reservation?

Luckily, we always travel with a mosquito net, otherwise we would've been in trouble, as the generously used mosquito spray was indeed smelly but not very effective, and the place was swarming with bloodthirsty buzzing crowd. We were of course asked to give our mosquito net to the receptionist, for, well, she had none. We politely refused and it proved to be the right decision, as in the morning we found several mosquitoes literally stuck in the net. I'd never seen such determination.

Les génies de la fôret
We hired two locals to take us hiking in the forest, and, before setting off, we even visited the house of one of them. It was a simple wooden hut, darkish, full of kids and traditional musical instruments. Neighbours came by to look at us or even boldly take pictures with their mobiles. We began our hike by going down to the river and listening to the story of Fougamou waterfalls. The guide didn't even need much encouragement, and, as soon as we left the village, he began his tale in a loud, clear voice:

- The waterfalls of Sindara are the wife. The waterfalls of Fougamou are the husband. We are all their children. In the forest, there are spirits. They are the spirits of the forest (génies de la fôret) and they are good. They help you. If your machete gets broken, you take it down to the river, you ask the spirits for help, and in the morning your machete will be as good as new. But you must respect the spirits.
- What happens if you don't respect them?
- A long long time ago, there was a couple who decided to catch the spirits and make them work for nobody but the two of them. They took a broken hammer to the river. The man hid in the tree and the woman on the river bank. They waited. When the spirits came, they saw the man and the woman, and got very angry. They were disappointed with their greed, and they changed them into huge termite mounds, which are still visible, one on the tree, the other on the river bank.
- When did it happen?
- A long time ago. But it is true. There is also a more recent story. Some years ago, Yugoslavians came to Fougamou to build a dam. They did not ask the spirits for permission and they did not even present themselves. One day, they wanted to cross the river by boat, and seven people drowned. This was the spirits' revenge for their disrespect. The dam was never built.

Better safe than sorry
...was exactly what we thought and were glad to find out that we weren't going to make the same mistake as the unlucky Yugoslavians. Accompanied by the right people, we were going to do things as they should be done. As we reached the river bank, we stopped and were informed that we were now going to take part in a special ceremony, in which the spirits would be let know who we were and that we came in peace. Thus we would be given protection from diseases (no more worrying about malaria!) and a guarantee that our trip would be safe. Nice!

The guide-shaman-storyteller opened his magic bag, from which he took out seven special leaves. On six of them he put: pink candy, honey, a piece of banana, sawdust from a magic box (the perfume of spirits) and our personal sacrifice: a piece of a muesli bar. On the seventh leaf he placed five bananas. We were told that these leaves are like open palms and are used for sacrifice because they say I'm sorry. Having distributed all the treats, the man lit the Okoume tree resin in the middle of the spread, and he put some calcium next to it. The preparation finished, he practiced pronouncing our names, and then sang-prayed-shouted in Eshira, ringing a small bell while he did so. Afterwards, we were all given a banana, of which we had to throw a piece into the river (for the river spirits) and another piece on the forest ground (for the forest spirits). The rest we were allowed to consume, which was good news, as we were getting hungry. Occupied with my banana, I hardly noticed that the man had put a little red and white feather on his forehead, and started chewing on the perfume-sawdust. Before I could react, he grabbed my T-shirt and spat onto my chest and neck, which made it very difficult to remain serious. However, we were now sporting the spirit perfume and were thus safe to wonder further into the forest. The Yugoslavians had no idea what they'd missed!

No crevettes for us!
After the ceremony and a tricky jumping from one stone to another on the river bank, we arrived at a lovely place, where the villagers went fishing for river prawns. We met a girl and a little boy fishing with a simple rod (a stick and fishing line, which proved to be extremely efficient), and we joined them for the crevette catching. It was amazing to see them catch dozens of prawns with their hands, as if it were the simplest thing on Earth. Later on, Jandro, who tried to help, found out that it wasn't as easy as it seemed. As a result, the villagers were in for a lovely dinner and I must say we were rather jealous!

Imparting wisdom
On our way back, we were given several important tips on how to survive in the jungle. My favourite one is about snake bites. Apparently, when bitten by one of the several venomous snakes of Gabon, you must act quickly. You will have no time to get to the hospital but do not despair! Here's what needs to be done: you take some of the liquid from your ear (!), which is also poison, and which can kill a man in no more and no less than five minutes, and you put it on the bite. One poison will neutralise the other, and you can go back to your plantation. To be on the safe side, Jandro and I decided unanimously not to clean our ears the night before a jungle trip.

We were also offered a lot of advice on hunting in general, and specifically on how to catch the huge walking sum of money in the form of an elephant (which is of course illegal in Gabon). I will spare you the cruel details of setting a trap and letting the poor animal starve to death. Let me just tell you that for one kilo of ivory a villager is paid 500 000 CFA, which amounts to 750 euro.

Lifelong learning
Even though we only hung out with the villagers for one day, we could observe a lot of things about their lives. And I think this was the most interesting part of this experience: we saw the village houses from the inside, we could ask all our silly questions, we went fishing, we were introduced to the génies de la fôret... We've been in Gabon for more than a year and we constantly discover new things. Don't you think it's fascinating?

More pictures from Fougamou here and here.

AS MYSTICAL AS IT GETS: THE SINDARA MISSION

On our way to Fougamou we made a little detour and visited the Sindara Mission. Over one hundred years old, semi-abandoned but well taken care of (apparently, these two are not contradictory), it is a lovely complex of buildings, well worth a visit, if only to feel the overwhelming peace which emanates from the place.

We parked our car next to Our Lady of the Equator church, and began exploring. There was nobody around but you could see the presence of people in the trimmed garden and the general cleanliness. After looking around for a while, we found an amazing path, with huge monumental trees on both sides, which led to the other Mission buildings: a school, a library and another church, from which the sound of prayer reached us. Two security guards explained that the school was still running, even though the Mission was indeed less and less frequented by priests and teachers. As we expressed the wish to see the river, one of the guards, saying that he had nothing to do anyway, offered to be our guide.

Heading for the river, we chatted to the guard, who patiently answered our questions. We were about to reach a village, when we ran into an agitated old man, a friend of our guide, who told us the following story:

My wife and I went to the plantation. I stayed a bit longer, while my wife went back to the village. To my surprise, as I came back to the village to pick her up, she was dancing and having fun. I got angry. I broke my wife's basket and left her in the village. I am walking home alone.

Believe it or not, the broken basket was still there, carelessly tossed to the side of the road, when we got to the village, and the wife, most probably full of shame, was nowhere to be seen. There was loud music coming from one of the buildings (the village bar, we assumed) but the dancers must have called it a day.

We reached the river and saw the rapids, misleadingly referred to as waterfalls by the locals. On our way back we made a little stop in the village, to get a cool drink. The drinks, however, turned out to be the very opposite of cool, which bothered us greatly, but had no effect whatsoever on our guide, who could've competed against the world champions in fast beer drinking. As we sipped on our D'jino, all the children gathered in the bar, sucking on their big red lollipops, a selection of at least ten pairs of eyes staring at us almost without blinking. I smiled and waved, and felt I was expected to do something amusing, I just couldn't figure out what.

We left Sindara, slowly walking under the towering trees and following the church choir, who sang and advanced slowly, burning candles in their hands. A truly mystical sight, I thought, and three minutes later I fell down, scratching my hand, and hurting my elbow. As mystical as it gets.

Later on, when we came back to the car, our guide insisted on exchanging phone numbers, so that we could stay in touch. We consented, and were shocked to receive a phone call from him yesterday, asking if we'd got home all right. He's planning to come to Libreville next week, so maybe we could meet up. Well, maybe we could.

More pictures from Sindara here.

LOST AND FOUND

Initially, I planned a series of posts on our eventful trip to Fougamou, but the most extraordinary thing happened to me today, and so I feel inclined to write it up and tell you the story, thus interrupting the travelling theme.

It all starts with me being an excellent housewife, never ceasing to look for opportunities to spoil her little Chouchou (that's Jandro, in case you're wondering). This morning, excellent housewife that I am, I decided to make a pizza for lunch. By now you probably suspect that I excel in pizzas, and, consequently, you can imagine what a wonderful prospect it was for Jandro and myself.

As I needed to pick up a few things from the supermarket, I took a taxi there and back and set to work. The pizza turned out - surprise! - excellent, and we were both in high spirits when Jandro asked me to give him some change, as he had none. I opened my bag to take out my wallet and... well, my wallet was not there. To make matters worse, I quickly established that it was not to be found anywhere in our flat, and the last time I'd seen it was in the taxi. Either it had been stolen from me or I'd simply dropped it - whatever the scenario, the result was that I lost my treasured, my one and only, my precious carte de séjour. The thing I dreaded ever since I came into possession of the invaluable document became reality. I was now illegal. I had no option but to beg for mercy at CEDOC.

We were advised that the best way of going about the begging was to report the robbery and show the report to CEDOC. We were thus on our way to the police station (me having my third heart attack of the day), when Jandro's telephone rang. It was the EU Chief of Administration's secretary, informing us that somebody had called him saying that... they'd found my wallet. They left a phone number and we called back, rendezvousing with the man tout de suite. Heading for the church where we were supposed to meet him, I received a phone call from the receptionist of my gym, who had also been called about my loss. Both my gym card and the Chief of Administration's business card were in the wallet, together with my carte de séjour and around 40000 CFA (60 euros).

It turned out that a young Togolese man saw a wallet in the ditch by the road and picked it up. There was no money in it but he found two phone numbers which he subsequently called. He is not Gabonese, and so he knew what a nightmare it was to obtain a carte de séjour. Because of this, and because he is an honest man, he decided to take the trouble and find the owner of the wallet. He probably knew there was some money in it for him (we reimbursed the money he'd spent on the phone calls with 5000 CFA or 7,5 euro, which will also pay for a good dinner) but I will be eternally grateful that he didn't just give the pretty wallet to his wife, throwing all the unnecessary papers away.

All's well that ends well. And this particular experience makes me believe in people. And a little bit in the spirits of the forest. But that's a whole different story.

The picture comes from here.

LA VIANDE DE BROUSSE

Last weekend we went on a little road trip. Our final destination was Fougamou, well over 300 kilometres from Libreville. Once again, we came to the conclusion that travelling by car can be, well, extremely cool. You get to see lots of things on the way, you meet very nice people and, in my particular case, you take plenty of pictures to torture all you friends with as soon as you come home.

The road to Fougamou is in a surprisingly good condition. Apart from huge holes around Kango and an unasphalted bit between Lambaréné and Fougamou, the quality is absolutely European (leaving Poland far behind, I'm sad to say). All this thanks to the Chinese and a Spanish construction company Acciona, which is based in Fougamou itself (they actually went as far as putting road signs on the bit of the motorway they built!).

The nice, asphalted, holeless road made driving much more relaxing - this coming from the eternal co-pilot - and we could focus on observing our surroundings. All along the road, which is normally rather busy and leads to the very south of the country (Mayumba), there are villages and, consequently, villagers and village life. Merry anthropologists that we are, we were glad to be able to take a look at the Gabonese reality away from Libreville.

The first thing you notice when driving through the countless villages, is that nearly every house has a little wooden stand (or just a metal barrel), where they present whatever it is that they currently want to sell. The goods vary: it may be just fruit, palm wine, a basket or a traditional instrument, but it may also be the very popular viande de brousse, venison also known as the thing I managed to kill last night. This could be a gazelle (8000 CFA = 12 euro), a python (15000 CFA = 22,5 euro), an antelope (40000 CFA = 60 euro), a porcupine (10000 CFA = 15 euro), a crocodile (15000 CFA = 22,5 euro), but also little things, such as turtles, squirrels and dried monkeys, which accidentally look like dried babies. Yum!

Of course, I wouldn't have been myself if I hadn't taken pictures, even if it is of smelly dead animals (the lack of a fridge doesn't help...). Instead of just stopping the car and stealing the photo before anybody could react, we took a different approach: each time we would get out of the car and ask the hunters for their permission. At first, we were slightly uneasy: half of the village is usually sitting outside, extremely fond of any distraction that might make the day different from all the other ones, and there we were, two whites with their camera.

While some villagers were open and laughed good-naturedly at our curiosity, explaining how you hunt for a python and letting us take the pictures, others must have felt our nervousness and were not as kind at first. When we approached a group of men selling a particularly impressive selection of game, they looked defensive. We asked if we could take a photo and they said no. Disappointed, we asked if they were the hunters. They confirmed and their attitude started changing: now it was 1000 CFA for a photo. We told them that we respected the effort that hunting constituted and thus were ready to pay for the pictures. As I turned to the car to get some money, they stopped me and said: You were very polite and talked to us. You didn't just steal the photo. Due to all this, you don't have to pay. Jandro continued chatting with them while I took a few pictures, and they said that it would be their pleasure to take us hunting whenever we felt like it. They made sure I took pictures of all the animals and we exchanged phone numbers in case we felt like hunting one of these days. We parted as friends.

I must say that we really enjoyed breaking the invisible wall between us and the villagers. Both parties distrustful at first, after a short conversation we would all smile at each other. I think they enjoyed our interest, our silly questions about how to cook a crocodile or catch a python, and we definitely had fun talking to everybody.

On our way back, as we passed through the village of Agricole, the hunters who'd offered to be our guides were sitting at the very same table. They eagerly waved at us and I waved back, smiling. Jandro, however, did not notice them and felt guilty. The following exchange of text messages followed:

Hello! I'm sorry I haven't noticed you! But my wife did wave. Have a good day! Alexandre, Union Européenne

No problem, you were concentrated on your driving. Have a good day, too! Etienne, bridge of Agricole

I can only tell you one thing: we are seriously considering going on that hunting trip!

More photos of viande the brousse are here.