PARC NATIONAL THE GABONESE WAY

Yesterday we went on a boat trip to the nearby National Park of Akanda. We'd already visited it a few months before and so we called up the same Nigerian fishermen who took us there in April. Of course, it would be easier and maybe more legal to enter the park through some kind of "official" body, associated with park authorities, such as the Akanda hotel. However, the price proposed by the hotel was a daunting 40 000 francs (60 euros) per person, while the fishermen we found in the port of Charbonnages offer the same services for 70 000 francs (105 euros) per boat, which seats up to eight people. Even if there were only four of us, the final price per person amounted to 26 euros.

The first stop on our way to the Île aux oiseaux (French for Bird Island) was a place we hadn't visited back in April: a tiny little island, entirely occupied by a Nigerian village. We disembarked among the traditional pirogues, and were welcomed by excited kids springing to view from every direction and huge poster saying: Parc National d'Akanda. Accès strictement réglementé. As soon as we touched ground, a big man, dressed in a European way, appeared out of nowhere, brandishing a large Canon camera. He presented himself as le conservateur du parc and officially welcomed us to the little island, scrutinising our fisherman guides. Afterwards, a conversation followed, which held us scandalised throughout the rest of the day.

- So, as you can see the tourism is not yet developed. We are, however, thinking of building a hotel to receive tourists. Of course, we will not bring them here from Charbonnages, its too dirty (meaningfully pointing to the villagers with his head).
- Oh, but we like the Charbonnages market. Where are you going to build the hotel?
- Right next to the Île aux oiseaux. You will be able to book it through the park and we will offer real guides (again, looking in the direction of the Nigerians who were accompanying us).
- But isn't there a village there?
- Well, yes. We will remove it and build a hotel.
- Oh... But it is interesting to visit the villages. We enjoy that. Tourists enjoy that.
- Well, yes... If they were Gabonese we might understand. But Nigerians...

We were at a loss for words. Of course, we knew that the Gabonese looked down on other Africans. But to remove a whole village in order to build another expensive hotel? How will they handle the people? Where are they going to be removed to? And all this coming from a person responsible for one of the national parks. Suddenly I felt strange loyalty towards our Nigerian guides. The conservateur had an obvious air of a bully and I felt sorry for the villagers who had to put up with him on a daily basis. Before saying goodbye, he took a picture of us, which will probably be included in some kind of a useless report. We left hoping that the hotel would end up as so many other Gabonese projects: in the phase of planning.

Pictures from the trip here.

JE RESTE AVEC TOI!

Last weekend we went on a one-day trip to the Akanda park - a small national park north of Libreville, which is mainly a reserve for birds. We took the boat and set off in the hope of seeing some wildlife.

We got to the Bird Island (l'Ile aux oiseaux), a pretty place by the way, didn't really see any extraodrinary birds but there were hundreds of seagulls (or something of the kind) and it was the quantity rather than the quality that made the views special. To go back to Libreville, we had to wait for high tide, otherwise there was not enough water in the river for the boat to pass. Our guides - although this is not the appropriate term, really - were Nigerian and they took us to Moka, a Nigerian village right next to the island.

We were of course a great attraction for everyone. Many people came up to shake our hands, some of them asking to buy them a drink at the local bar. Men tried flirting with us girls and a huge group of kids immediately started following us. At first they kept to the other side of the road, watching us, smiling and giggling. When the villagers offered to take us to the beach, the kids became braver. They came up to me and our visiting friend, Giulia, took our hands and refused to let them go. It would've been much easier if I were an octopus - each of my arms was grabbed by at least three children, two more hanging on to my backpack. In this strange symbiosis we reached the beach, where I told the children to let me go for a second, so that I could find a place to sit. I also took a few pictures of them, which flattered them greatly. They were happy to pose and insisted on my taking photos. I remember thinking that they would inevitably request some money for all the photos I'd taken. They never did.

We sat down on some improvised benches, starving. We couldn't take out our food though - with fifteen kids swarming around us, there was no way to eat without sharing. And we didn't have enough food to share with everyone.

The children were not giving up: as soon as we sat down, they cuddled up to us - a breathing and talking cocoon, impossible to peal off. Je reste avec toi!, a twelve-year-old kept saying. As I had nothing better to do, I took the guidebook and started showing them the pictures. Suddenly, I was drowning among heads and arms and fingers pointing, all the kids crouched beside me, extremely excited. We talked and they taught me the local names for some fish.

When we finished, Giulia suggested teaching them a song. We had some fun with Itsy Bitsy Spider (inspired by a picture of a spider in the book) and then we tried the less complicated I'm a Little Bunny, which they were still singing when we were getting into the boat. They never asked for money or sweets. I had fun with them and they had fun with me. It was enough for both parties. I felt surprised.