PARADISE NEWS' GUIDEBOOK: MAYUMBA

A trip to Mayumba is not the easiest one to plan. Getting there from Libreville is complicated enough (although Mayumba airport is supposed to re-open soon), but organising activities which will let you see more than just the stunning Mayumba beach - that's a real challenge. There is no tourist base in the Park of Mayumba and you can only try contacting the park itself or WCS, who work within its grounds. We were lucky to have contacted the local boss of the latter, who was awfully nice and agreed to organise our stay. Here's what happened.

A day in Gabon profond
We arrived in Mayumba by taxi-brousse, which had left Tchibanga three hours before, making just one brief stop for palm wine, which we dutifully drank. We left our luggage in the Mbidia Kou-Kou hotel, which consists of bungalows located practically on the beach. The place is recommendable, in spite of the obnoxious receptionist, and so are the lobsters, a local specialty, cheap, delicious and abundant. We also took a turn around the town, which proved to be extremely calm. As we walked to the city centre, having been slighted by one of what seemed to be three town's taxi drivers, we felt as if we'd been transported to a different country. This was not the Gabon we knew, where even small towns like Fougamou aspired to something more than a village made up of wooden huts. Mayumba seemed more like São Tomé... peaceful, slow, with sheep trotting down the main street. This really was as far as you could get from Libreville.

Luxury camping
From the town of Mayumba, we were taken to the National Park in a boat belonging to one of the local guides, who works with WCS. In about two hours we reached our destination: a turtle-technicians' camp, consisting of a sleeping bungalow and a kitchen (with a gas stove!), set between a lagoon and the ocean. The bungalow was of course taken by the technicians themselves, but we boldly camped on their terrace, which gave us excellent protection in the case of rain. Having set up our humble abodes, we headed for the beach, the magnificent beach of Mayumba, which goes on and on for miles. Four people in the middle of nowhere, enormous waves and golden sand. Bliss.

Tourist's nightlife
Clearly, however, it was not for the beach that we came to Mayumba. We were after exciting hikes and that's exactly what we got, the excitement increased by the guide's rapid pace: it was so difficult to keep up with him that we were constantly wondering whether he was trying to lose us. Luckily, he did slow down after our third remark on how unbelievably fit African bodies move much faster than only humanly fit European ones.

During our first trip, in the afternoon, we marched - fast - through savanna, swamps, swamps and more swamps, and finally we stumbled upon the beach. Result: one sitatunga and a huge varan, who was peacefully devouring turtle eggs when we disturbed him and made him run away towards the sunset, taking a dip in the ocean. Romantic.

After dinner and attempted rest (too hot to sleep in the tent!), around midnight, we set off for our turtle trip. We walked along the beach for an hour or so and there it was, our first turtle! We saw a huge Maman luth digging her nest. Fascinated, we watched her in the moonlight, a stunning, graceful animal. Soon enough, three more turtles appeared nearby. We strolled from one animal to another, observing the whole process of laying eggs: the struggle when the tortoise leaves the ocean, the digging of the nest, the actual laying of eggs (50% real ones, 50% empty), the covering the nest with sand... the huge effort of reproduction, which takes about two hours. Accompanied by the turtle technicians, we even got to touch the turtles and let me just say that their skin is surprisingly soft.

Enchanted, we continued along the beach. We walked until around 3:30 am, and then we simply slept on the sand - something I'd never done before. Two hours later, at the break of dawn, our guide woke us up, pointing towards two buffaloes which were strolling at the beach, quite close to our improvised campsite. We followed them onto the savanna, where we saw the most beautiful sunrise ever. The walk back was exhausting, I admit. We'd had hardly any sleep and many kilometres ahead of us. But it was worth it, even though I might not have fully agreed at the time!

Back at the camp, we sunk onto our brand new inflatable mattresses and slept soundly for three hours, waking up just in time for our scheduled afternoon visit to the Senegalese village. We'd seen many of these before but here, thanks to the kindness of the village chief, we could take photos to our hearts' content.

At night, we were promised to go and see the crocodiles. That means hours of wading in knee-high waters, surrounded by the musty smell of swamps and complete darkness. The turtle technicians were kind enough to supply us with wellington boots - while our guide walked barefoot - but we soon found out that in each pair one boot had a big hole. Not at all discouraged, we continued, and were rewarded: after spotting a few pairs of eyes, which belonged to gazelles, hypnotized by the light of our torches, the guide told us to wait, only to emerge from the swamp a minute later holding a small crocodile. We got to touch it, photograph it and hold it, before we released it into the swamp. For a moment there I thought: very well then, we are now strolling through swamps full of crocodiles in the middle of the night. Instantly, I made the thought go away. From such silly considerations the road to a very real panic attack is short enough.

Balance sheet
Even though we only spent two nights in the park, the trip turned out to be full of things we'd never done before: We witnessed the actual process of luth egg laying and touched the turtles. We spent the whole night at the beach. We saw the sun rise over the savanna. We were shown the hallucinogenic iboga plant. We saw and held crocodiles. We walked in the jungle at night. We followed a varan. We nearly died of heat and exhaustion. We could not have asked for a better way to say goodbye to Gabon!

Pictures from Mayumba are here.

PEOPLE WITH PEOPLE SKILLS

As a rule, it is said that people from the capital are more haughty and mean and obnoxious - and about ten more negative adjectives - than your regular citizen. Being a capital-city girl myself, I always used to say that it was a big fat lie. Here in Gabon, however, this old superstition gains a new meaning. And I can only say that it is absolutely, utterly and completely... well, true.

Whenever we travelled outside of Libreville, we noticed that the people changed. They would smile, they would be cordial and helpful, and the racist comments where almost non-existent. While the usual librevillois response to Hello tends to be Mhm, the country people are very fond of talking to you. And this was the case in Tchibanga and Mayumba as well.

We had been warned by a Gabonese friend: People in the south are completely different. They are famous for their hospitality! And I must say that we were not disappointed. In Tchibanga, and above all in Mayumba, nearly every passer-by would say Bonjour. The Mauritanian hotel owner (we do recommend Hotel Golfe in Tchibanga) was adorable. Always smiling, he recommended an excellent restaurant and even offered to call and book us a table. To those of you who live in Europe, this might be the most natural behaviour in the case of a person who runs a hotel but do not be deceived - in Gabon in it extraordinary. We politely declined his offer to make the call but we did follow his suggestion and ended up in Les Palmiers (again, we recommend!) for a lovely dinner.

In the restaurant, we were confronted with even more surprises. Namely, the service was excellent. The waiter was quick, smiling and efficient. When we expressed the wish to change our order, he did not frown, he did not complain and just did what he was asked to do. When we were done with our meal, the chef himself appeared to have a chat with us, and he also called us a taxi (again, let me stress that very few people out here will spend their own money for somebody else's benefit). Finally, yet another person came to greet us. We were shocked to find out that we had just shaken hands with the governor of the province, who was dining in the same restaurant. Seeing a group of white people, he decided to welcome them to Nyanga.

We received the same warm treatment from the taxi driver who took us to Mayumba, and his bosses, based in Tchibanga, with whom we had a drink in the Consensus bar (Nous sommes ensemble jour et nuit) before leaving for Libreville. After only a short conversation we became intimate friends, which does not usually happen in the capital.

The only grumpy person we met throughout the trip was the lady who ran the hotel in Mayumba. She was almost caricaturally arrogant, which did not, however, prevent her from openly listening in on the conversation we had with the other hotel guests (she would actually stare and lean on a table to hear better). She was also kind enough to inform us that she had no idea whether there were any turtles in Mayumba, for she'd never went to see them. Here I must tell you that Mayumba is the third most popular place in the world for the majestic luth turtles, and everyone in Gabon knows that. Moreover, the hotel had a little area surrounded by a low fence, which, as we later found out, served as a little incubator for turtles (eggs from destroyed nests were transported there by eco-guards). How could the hotel lady have missed that?

But here I am, telling you about luth turtles... and that's a story for a completely different post. For now, let me just assure you that, if you decide to visit the Nyanga province, you will receive excellent treatment. Moreover, as long as you ask for permission, you may take as many photos as you please. The result of which you will find here (Tchibanga) and here (Mayumba). Enjoy!

TWO PEOPLE, THREE SEATS AND 600 KILOMETRES OR HOW WE WENT TO TCHIBANGA

The trip to Mayumba started a bit earlier than planned. Initially, we were going to fly to Tchibanga and continue to Mayumba by taxi. Our flight to Tchibanga was scheduled for Monday, 27th December, but on Christmas Eve La Nationale politely informed us that it had been cancelled but we were welcome to fly as early as Wednesday, 29th December. We had thus two options left: either looking for an alternative means of transport or staying home.

As far as an alternative means of transport was concerned, again we were presented with two appealing choices: 1) taxi-brousse (bush taxi) and 2) teleportation. Not being skilled teleporters (am I making up words again?), we opted for the former. Now the new plan was ready, all we had to do was to get our money back for the airlines, find out how the taxi-brousse business worked, get a phone number, book ourselves one of these babies, and we were all set! Lucky us that travelling is so simple in Gabon.

After a few phone-calls, we managed to lay our hands on the number of a transport company. We were assured that a comfortable pick-up truck would leave on Sunday, 26th December, at 7 am, heading for Tchibanga, and we were welcome to get on board. We booked our seats and tried not to think about the fact the trip would take ten to twelve hours - if everything went as planned, that is.

On Sunday, we left our house at 6:15 am. We took a taxi to PK8 (or Point kilométrique 8), where all the transport companies and a large number of pickpockets are based, and proceeded to find the man we'd spoken to on the phone. Needless to say, we were the only white people in the vicinity, carefully scrutinized by tens of curious eyes. We paid for our three seats and sat down, prepared for a long wait (of course we weren't going to leave at 7 sharp!).

Yes, you've read correctly and I did not make a mistake when I wrote that we'd paid for three seats. To find out why, you need to ask yourself a simple question: how many seats are there in a regular car? Let's see... The driver. The co-pilot. Three people in the back. Wrong! In Africa, the co-pilot's seat is deux places (yes, two people in the front!), while in the back you can easily squeeze four. There also additional places in the back of the truck, where you can stand holding on to the piles of luggage and get covered in dust and mud for twelve hours. Consequently, we bought three seats out of four, which ensured a comfortable trip not only for us, but also for the gentleman who bought the fourth place.

Now all that was left was to build up the incredible pyramid of luggage. The loading of everything from garlic and manioc sacks to our backpacks took an hour. Then, the six unlucky souls loaded themselves next to the luggage, while we took our luxury seats inside the air-conditioned truck. The third passenger positioned strategically between us (no seatbelt in the middle), we began our 12-hour long journey to Tchibanga.

It was more comfortable than expected. The air-conditioning turned out to be a blessing. We often stopped to stretch our legs. The driver knew the road inside out and drove surely, safely and quickly. Only two things stood between me and full happiness; one was the extremely loud African music that the driver would play incessantly during the whole trip (hits such as Chanter à Libreville and Doucement, vas-y doucement will stay in my mind forever); the other was a horrible cramp in my thigh, which would stay with me till the very next day.

Nevertheless, as I've already said, we were lucky to have many thigh-stretching stops. Some of them, however, were not a mere whim of the driver. During the twelve hours of our trip, the police stopped us around twelve times. Each and every time the driver had to pay a little bribe (between 1000 and 5000 CFA), in order to continue without problems. Otherwise, the policemen might stop us for as long as they pleased, controlling our papers, luggage, the state of the car, etc. If you want to arrive on time, pay up my friend! We were appalled.

We thus arrived in Tchibanga - backs hurting, thighs cramped, mouthing the lyrics of unknown songs - around 6:30 pm, exhausted but satisfied with the trip. The driver was nice enough to take us to our hotel, where we discovered that our bags sported distinct smells. Mine, which spent the whole trip on top a frozen smoked fish sack, was now wet and smelled of - can you guess? - frozen smoked fish. Jandro was even less fortunate, as his backpack had been placed upon a garlic sack. One smelly hotel room that was!

To wrap up, two pieces of advice: 1) Always buy an extra seat in a taxi-brousse! No European back is made for travelling the African way! 2) Put your backpack in a plastic bag if possible. I'm pretty sure my parents will recognise me by the smell of smoked fish when I land in Warsaw two weeks from now!

The first picture shows our Libreville - Tchibanga taxi. The second - the taxi we took to get from Mayumba back to Tchibanga.

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.

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.

THE ONE WITH THE MONKEY OR MUSINGS ON POVERTY

Heading for Donguila, as we passed through yet another Gabonese village, we saw a monkey (a skinny mandrill, to be specific) tied to a tree next to one of the houses. We are tourists, in the end, and an unexpected possibility of taking a cool monkey picture is always more then welcome. On our way home we thus stopped, got out of the car - camera all set in my bag - and approached the three men sitting in front of the house, in order to be issued an official photo permission. Here's what happened.

Three villagers in their thirties, forties or maybe fifties (in the case of African people it's impossible to tell!) were sitting in the yard of what we assumed was the house of at least one of them. They were chatting and drinking palm wine, which they merrily poured into tall glasses from a 10-litre canister they'd placed in the middle. After the usual hellos and howareyous, straightforward as we are, we asked if we could take a picture of their monkey. They laughed good-naturedly, said they had absolutely no problem with the plan but insisted that we sat down and at least had a chat with them, if not a glass of palm wine. Eager to get the photo, we sat.

They told us the story of Eulalie, the mandrill. She's been with us for six years, they said. She's nice if you give her a treat. Right. Poor monkey, I thought, and suddenly, as if reading my thoughts (or rather, sensing the word poor had passed through them), one of the men asked the last question we would have expected: What is poverty, my sister? (for some reason, he directed his philosophical problem at me). Luckily, it turned out to be a rhetorical question, for he soon started answering it himself.

His reasoning was not far from what I had discussed with Jandro a couple of days before, inspired by an article in the Polish magazine Polityka. The article, discussing the situation in the poorest countries of the world, featured a picture of an African man sitting in front of his wooden hut. This scene, so easily spotted in Gabon, was supposed to illustrate poverty and the resulting misery of those who live in similar conditions. And here we were, in the middle of such a gathering, sitting in front of a wooden hut, drinking palm wine from a canister - well, all right, we weren't exactly drinking - and it seemed we were among the happiest people on Earth.

What is poverty?, the man continued. In the media, they constantly talk about poverty. Am I poor, though? No! I have my house, which I like. I have a small plantation, where I work. I love nature, and I've taught myself to work and live on nature. I have palm wine with my friends on Sunday. I'm very happy. He explained how God had given all these goods to man, and how man must learn to profit from whatever God had given him. Because man had received so much from God! Surely, palm wine does make you much more grateful for whatever God has given you, but I suppose that the gist of what he said would not have changed under different circumstances.

This man, mind you, probably has one decent pair of shoes and his wooden hut has no floor. He lives on what his plantation brings him and makes the palm wine himself. Considering his living conditions, income and whatnot, any European would say he's poor. But... what is poverty? And why do we need all those statistics and spreadsheets to define it?

THIEVES AND BAD PEOPLE

Yesterday we visited the Mission of Saint-Paul de Donguila, built in 1878 by French missionaries. Accompanied by Mr Placide Kombila, the catechism teacher and responsible of the Mission, we took a tour around the place and were even allowed to see the school from the inside. We also admired the views, as the Mission is superbly located on a hill overlooking the vast waters of the Estuary. A spirited trip, this one.

Saint-Paul de Donguila rests around 70 kilometres from Libreville (just take a right turn in Ntoum) and is definitely worth a quick visit, which amounts to a half-day trip. We drove for 1,5 hours (the last 28 kilometres are at times tricky but you see lots of nice villages on the way), and arrived at the Mission at 10 am sharp, just in time for the Mass. Villagers were already slowly climbing the hill on which the lovely church stands, looking at us with unconcealed interest, smiling politely and answering all of our bonjours. Most parishioners were the kids from the Mission's boarding school, wearing their best clothes, and taking up the three front rows. As we entered, and were inevitably noticed by the whole congregation, the singing was already in full swing.

The original idea was to listen to a few songs and silently sneak out in the middle of the Mass to take a look at the Mission. However, the church was hardly full (maybe 30 people, counting several toddlers who kept glancing in our direction), and our leaving would certainly have been noticed by all. We thus stayed the whole Mass, and took part it all the proceedings apart from the Holy Communion (that would've been too much, we thought, but were surprised to see that only two people actually took the Communion).

Trapped as we were in the church, we thought we might as well listen. I tuned in just as the priest was starting his sermon, a simple and straightforward one, directed at simple people with good hearts. He talked about a man who new the Bible by heart, and who was self-confident enough to sit in the front of the church and talk to God. He boldly pointed to another man, sitting at the back, who did not know the Bible, and called him a thief and a bad man. (Inevitably, at this point, the whole congregation followed the priest's hand pointing to his imaginary man, and looked at us, sitting at the back. I almost smiled at waved.) The man sitting at the back, was - surprise! - a fisherman, a humble uneducated fisherman, who did not deem himself worthy to look at God. The Lord, in his love and goodness and fondness of simple fishermen, preferred him to the man who new the whole Bible. End of sermon.

And no, I'm not mocking. I have great respect for all believers and I thought this particular sermon suited the context very well, giving people hope and joy. And after a few more lovely songs in Fang, the Mass was over and we were able to wander around the Mission. I'm not sure, though, how many people (kids, especially) kept seeing us as thieves and bad people, pointed out in church by the priest!

Note: there is not much to do in Donguila, so be careful to arrive in time for Mass, which is definitely a cultural experience. Otherwise, here's what you can see and visit.

THE WHALE TALE

July and August are the whale season. Whales come to the Gulf of Guinea to mate and, as their mating ritual includes plenty of jumping, it's easy to spot them. We've heard so many stories from people who went on whale trips (we were right next to it! it dived under the boat! it jumped so high!), that we decided it was worth any price. After all, you only live once and who wouldn't want to almost touch a whale? We signed up for the trip.

We set off at 7 am (practical info: the boat leaves from Michel Marine, twice a day) last Saturday. The day was extremely grey and the sea was rather rough but that was nothing in the face of the adventure that was awaiting us. The trip was going to take five whole hours, during which we were bound to see these amazing animals. Or so we thought.

The waves were huge. It was very difficult to stay seated on the little motorboat, which looked rather unimpressive when on the open sea. We were struggling to stay seated, clinging to the benches with all our might, which resulted in blisters on our hands and bruises on our calves. There were also some pretty scary moments when, on leaving the estuary behind, we were surrounded by huge waves, which were throwing the boat around like a toy... But still, we were optimistic: at the very beginning we saw two whales jumping out of the water on the horizon and it was only a matter of finding them. Or so we thought.

We spent five hours looking for the whales, soaked through with the sea water entering the boat but also with rain, suffering from seasickness and with our bottoms painfully hitting the benches on every wave. Five hours without seeing any animal whatsoever, apart from a stray seagull which was looking at with - I swear! - pure malice. The whales were probably right below us, laughing their heads off (or whatever it is that the whales laugh off) at our bad luck.

The most painful part, however, was not the boat ride, believe me. The trip cost us 50000 francs per person (mere 75 euro), which we had to pay for what proved to be an extremely uncomfortable morning.

Epilogue: The same day we went to visit some friends, who were shocked at our bad luck, as apparently they had seen so many whales it was boring. In the middle of the conversation our friends' little girl came up to me and presented her dummy. It had a cartoon whale on it - yes, the only one we saw that day.

The lovely picture I found here.

BONNE ARIVEE, MADAME!

The trip takes a bit over thirteen hours. I got on the plane in Warsaw at 6:30 am and I got off in Libreville at 6:30 pm Libreville time, which is 7:30 pm Warsaw time. It only takes thirteen hours for your world to go upside-down-inside-out-and-all-African again.

As you get off the plane the humidity envelops you instantly. You become all sticky, just as every single person around you. And then the noise, and the music, and the taximen fighting for your attention. Your car is higher than in Europe and the other drivers are aggressive. The president looks down on you from almost every street lamp. And you feel excruciatingly white all over again.

And then you get to your flat and are greeted by the security men. The flat has a smell, all together a very pleasant smell, the smell of Africa and adventure, the smell you only feel the very first day. You shower in cold water because it's warm anyway. Your hair and skin and nose and eyes are finally less dry.

The internet is slow. You skype your family and you get cut off in the middle of The flight was all right. There's no TV but that's ok. The socket next to your bed doesn't work for a reason only known to itself.

It gets dark at 6:15 pm. You can hear the ocean at night, when there's less traffic. And you hunt mosquitoes before you go to bed - you really don't want to get bitten (which you do, in the end).

You have papaya for breakfast. And the expensive yoghurt.

And then you realise that, on entering the building, you'd heard your last Bonne arivée, madame! And you contemplate the very last time you arrived in Gabon.

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.

PARADISE NEWS' GUIDEBOOK: IVINDO

The trip to the Ivindo National Park was long and exhausting but yes, we managed to reach the Kongou camp in one piece. Accompanied by three guides and a France-based Gabonese tourism student (gladly displaying her bikini to anyone who would look), we arrived at the three little huts the camp consists of. We were excited, embarking on yet another jungle adventure, looking forward to being compensated for the nightmarish journey. Details and tips concerning the trip coming right up!

Transport
A boat from Makokou takes you down the Ivindo river and to the Kangou camp (address: in the middle of nowhere). It takes over three hours to get there, so remember to put on a lot of sunscreen. A raincoat won't be a bad idea, as water enters the boat easily, especially while crossing the wilder parts of the river. The wooden benches are not very comfy but if you're lucky you might see, as we did, a python having a siesta on the river bank, or an elephant feasting on the rich green plants.

Accomodation
Basic but located right next to the waterfalls, so that you can hear their humming at all times. The camp consists of a couple of wooden huts, containing beds and mosquito nets. Clean sheets are also provided. We used a spray which supposedly kills anything that moves on/in your mattress, just in case. No electricity, no running water - instead, romantic oil lamps and a crazy shower in the natural waterfall jacuzzi. You can also view the waterfalls from a wooden terrace overlooking them, and enjoy your meals in the wooden dining-room gazebo, listening to jungle sounds mixing with the splashing river. Food is simple but tasty, abundant in the morning and evening. Lunches are rather monotonous (bread and canned tuna), so it's good to bring some snacks. And the two bottles of wine we'd brought proved to be an excellent idea!

Guides
Finding a good guide in Gabon is never simple. The ones we met in Invindo were average and let me explain why. Of course, they knew the forest and all the plants very well, they could see a python where we saw nothing but branches, and they could hear a monkey from an incredible distance. They would, however, take this knowledge for granted and seemed surprised to know that, apart from seeing the elephants, we wanted to learn about plants, traditions and the like. Getting them to share what they knew proved to be a mission nearly impossible. Morever, they showed little flexibility. No options are offered, as the guides follow the same plan they have been following for years. Finally, they wouldn't eat with us or spend time with us unless specifically asked to. This, however, probably results from the attitudes of most tourists, for which the Gabonese are not to blame. Consequently, you can imagine the surprised gaze of one of the guides when we accompanied him to the river bank to assist him while he cleaned the day's catch of fish!

Trips
We spent two nights in the camp and I think it is the perfect amount. The first morning is entirely taken up by the boat ride and then you go for a short hike in the afternoon. The guides take you through the forest to a spot on the river bank which allows you to see the nearby waterfalls in all their beauty. We got extra-lucky: for half an hour or so we watched an elephant peacefully chewing on the plants by the waterfalls, just to go up them afterwards. A magnificent spectacle!

On the second day, you take a walk through the forest, you cross the river in a little boat and, after another jungle hike, you reach a place right at the top of the huge twin waterfalls called Buya Na Gonde. In Kata, the local language, it means Sun and Moon, and reflects the tradition of giving twins complementary names. Standing on the very edge of the water, just a couple of metres away from the great force of the waterfall, is an unforgettable experience... For a few moments nothing else exists, only you and nature - you can hardly avoid feeling grateful for being one of the few lucky people who get to see it.

After such an eventful morning, we were taken to see the abandoned Chinese camp; you see, a few years ago the Chinese cut through the forest to build a road, all this in preparation to building a dam on Ivindo. Who gave them permission to destroy this place and how much they paid for it remains a mystery to me, but we were relieved to know that the go ahead had been withdrawn before more damage was done. If only Gabon cared more about its natural heritage! If only they bet on tourism instead of ridiculous buisness schemes!

On our third day, another hike through the forest finished our visit of the park. We admired enormous trees and learned something about their role in the traditional medicine. Tired, dirty and extremely happy we got on the boat and went back to Makokou.

Conclusion
Yet again, Gabon managed to stun us with its natural, unspoilt beauty. The whole trip was remarkable and I have hundreds of pictures to prove it. The moment we got on that boat we forgot about the train ordeal and it just got better and better as time passed by. Ivindo is an absolute must for residents in Gabon - it makes you realise what on Earth you are doing so far away from home.

TRAIN TALES

Travelling in Gabon is not easy. Of course, we were perfectly aware of that when planning our trip to Makokou. But we were also very determined to see the Kongou waterfalls, located in the heart of Ivindo National Park. The plan was daunting but simple: seven hours on a train (travelling by night, Libreville - Booué), three hours in the pick-up truck generously provided by a friend based in Makokou (Booué - Makokou), and finally three to four hours by boat (Makokou - Kongou camp). Using three different means of transport implies that a lot things can go wrong. What is more, depending on any other driver than yourself is in general not a very good idea. But here we were, bags packed, Friday night, getting on the train, even though we had promised ourselves that we would never ever repeat the Franceville train experience. Surprises were in stock for us, of course. Nothing is simple in Africa.

Getting on a train in Gabon is a complicated business. Some people (I have yet to discover who and why) must check in their luggage, as at the airport. Then you pass three different control points, where your ID and ticket are carefully scrutinized. Then you are allowed on board. We shared our first-class compartment (six seats) with a big Gabonese lady and a man with VIP airs, holding tight onto his laptop. The train left the Owendo station relatively on time and we put on three sweaters each to fight the air-conditioning. So far so good.

Around 11 pm we reached N'Toum. Falling asleep, I heard a strange noise. The train stopped. Struggling for a comfortable position, I opened my eyes. It must have been a few hours later, the train was suddenly quiet and all the lights were off. Are we moving?, I asked myself and I realised that indeed, we were, very slowly and in the direction of Libreville. Strange, I thought drowsily and closed my eyes again. I was just pulling my shawl over my head when the air-conditioning went off, too. Strange, I thought and sighed with relief. At least I won't freeze my toes off.

I opened my eyes again and pulled the shawl off my face. Everything was perfectly still - the train was definitely not moving, my friends were peacefully asleep... Feeling for my backpack and some water, I realised that the big Gabonese lady was now on the floor, taking up the little space we had, snoring loudly and criticising Setrag (the train company) at the same time (a real mystery to us all). I closed my eyes, hoping that this bizarre picture would be gone when I opened them again.

I dreamed about reaching Booué and was rather disappointed when I woke up at 6 am to find out we were still in N'Toum, fifty kilometres away from Libreville. People on the train were getting restless and started to threaten the train crew. The latter, however, completely unmoved, would only state the obvious: I'm protected and you will go to jail. Go on, stab me in the back. Apparently, there was a problem with the engine and some passengers actually blocked a cargo train that pulled up in N'Toum and demanded its engine to be given up. I do not know how this story ended.

We started moving again around 7 am The air-conditioning was not working, which first made us feel really greatful and then gave me an asthma crisis, as the windows are sealed forever. The gentleman from our compartment spent most of the way to Booué writing a complaint letter to Setrag. When we left him, he was on page four. We reached our destination ten hours late, which obviously must have made the driver waiting for us extremely happy. The pick-up ride was a nightmare, as we were absolutely exhausted and were unable to keep our heads from bumping around as if we had no spine. Finally, around 5 pm we arrived in Makokou. It took us twenty-one hours to get there. Hungry and tired beyond description we found a peaceful heaven at our friend Sophie's. Clutching my cup of tea, I was seriously starting to wonder if those waterfalls were worth it. Were they?, you'll ask. Stay tuned, I'll keep writing.

SOMETHING IS BUGGING MY LEG

On Sunday we took our visiting friend German for a nice long walk in the Forêt Mondah. It's so close to Libreville and yet so magical: a two-hour hike in the forest, which ends with a beautiful, deserted beach, perfect for rest and picnic before going back. Giggling silently at German's doubts about what to apply first - sunscreen or anti-mosquito spray - I packed my backpack, an experienced tropical hiker myself, grabbed the usual shorts, T-shirt and headscarf, and off we went.

We enjoyed the walk and got home safely. When I was getting out of the car, however, I noticed that I had a mysterious bite on the inner side of my thigh, right above the knee. It was rather big (five centimetres in diameter easily), red and swollen but, apart from taking my usual anti-histamine Zyrtec, I ignored it, as there was not much I could do.

On checking my leg the following morning, I was shocked to see that the bite had grown twice its original size overnight. It was now huge, red, swollen and amputation seemed the only solution. Wondering how I would teach Head Shoulders Knees and Toes next term with only one leg, I made our poor friend (who, by the way, having rightly ignored my giggling, came home without a single bite!) examine my thigh every twenty minutes, thus intimating much more than was appropriate and dangerously stretching the limits of our friendly relationship. When Jandro got home for lunch, the boys decided it was time to show the thing to a doctor. Especially as it wouldn't stop growing!

I dutifully went chez le medecin, who gave me a tired You again? look. I explained my problem and he told me to show him the thing, the sight of which instantly made him abandon the usual apathy. Wow, that's huge!, he said animatedly. Huge! Impressionnant! He gave me an injection which hurt a lot, and two other strong anti-histamine drugs to take at home. I am supposed to rest.

What bit me? Funny thing is, I've no idea, as I didn't feel a thing. Probably a spider, and a vicious one, too. Venomous bite, the somewhat vague diagnose was. And again a useful conclusion: Always, always put on long trousers in the forest. Even this close to Libreville.

AWAY FROM LIBREVILLE IS CLOSER THAN YOU THINK

After the Nyonié debacle, we were left with considerably less money and a still unsatisfied need to get away. I wanted to forget about my adorable little students for a while (and it's impossible not to meet them all the time when in town) and Jandro also needed some serious relaxing after weeks of hard work. All we longed for was nature, exercise and peace. It turned out easier than we'd imagined: we got what we wanted for 10000 CFA (15 euros), which is the cost of the boat that takes you to Pointe Denis.

Backpacks: 4,5 litres of water each, tent, sleeping bags, inflatable pillows, raincoats, food, first aid kit, Aspivenin (a complex machine which is supposed to save your life in the case of snakebite), bottle of wine (yes, we did!), book, photo camera, swimsuit, towel and toothbrush.

The navette was packed with people. This included several of my students with their families and a lot of subsequent HelloKasias. We got to Maringa, the part of Pointe Denis which is on the very pointe between the bay and the ocean, and were greeted by three of my students who must have arrived the day before. Fellow Librevillians (I feel linguistically creative today, sorry in advance) were already sunbathing and having relaxing beers - the beach day was in full swing. We adjusted our backpacks and walked away quickly.

The route: cross the savannah behind the restaurant, enter the forest, go through Wingombe (or, better still, around it, as you might be stopped by Ecoguards there), through the forest, arrive at Phare de Gombe, continue until you get to an abandoned Ecocamp and one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. On the way animal tracks: gazelle, elephant, buffalo and chimpanzee.

The wooden huts of the camp were not completely abandoned this time, though. Our arrival disturbed a young man, whose main occupation turned out to be sitting on a chair, reading. Upon mutual questioning, he found out we wanted to camp there and we were informed that he was a "turtle technician" from Gabon Environment. When we remarked that it was not turtle season, he stoically replied that c'est pas grave. He let us stay there and even made fire for us, while we wondered if the job of a turtle technician was to fix turtles when they stop working.

Evening: dinner, wine, silence, ocean, a sunset rewarding the long trek, a deserted beach at night, sitting by the fire, quiet conversations... followed by a terribly uncomfortable night in the tent.

The next day we woke up early and went down to the beach for a swim. We read our books and lay on the sand and listened to the ocean. When we got back to Pointe Denis in the afternoon, exhausted but really happy, it was still full of people and beer and my students. I felt as if I had discovered my own secret garden. And it made me understand why the little girl would not let just anybody on her secret.

A happy epilogue: in the afternoon of day two, one of the best showers we've ever had!

Pictures from the weekend here.

NYONIÉ: A WEEKEND IN THE MERDE

We really felt like going away - after all, Jandro had been working too much and I'd been sick all the time; it had been a tough month. In short, we needed to take a break from the daily grind. For our destination we chose Nyonié: just above three hours away from Libreville, known for its wonderful savannahs, easily spotted animals and a paradise beach. Expensive, clearly, but what isn't in Gabon. We set off last Friday and were supposed to enjoy the wildlife until Sunday afternoon. Three days, two nights and a deep breath outside of Libreville. Or so we'd thought.

The reality, however, decided to hit us right between the eyes: from the very beginning we felt that something was wrong. Namely, the boat that was supposed to carry us to the village was occupied not only by us and three other tourists but also by a group of sixteen French soldiers and their wives, all of whom showed inexplicable liking of cigarettes, tiny shorts and shouting.

It shocked us a little that so many people were heading for the place, as we were used to calm bungalow villages which could take up to fifteen people at a time. When we got to Nyonié our worst fears were confirmed: it was a huge holiday resort, providing accomodation for fifty/sixty (or maybe more) and, given that it was a four-day L'Ascension weekend, it was absolutely packed (with more French soldiers and also several of my students, but the latter I had expected).

Fine, we thought, we'll just get away from these people during the trips and we'll still have a good time, right? Wrong! But to understand why, you need to know how Nyonié works. The first night costs 150 euros (price to go up 15 euros next month) and this includes: transport (boat and 4x4), accomodation (wooden bungalow - no lock - containing two beds, two pictures, four hangers and a window), food (three meals a day), drinks (water, coke, beer available all day with no limits, open bar with all kinds of alcohol starting before lunch) and trips (trekking with a guide in the morning, 4x4 safari in the afternoon). Every following night costs 60 euros.

Upon our arrival, we were greeted by the young Belgian responsible for the place. He addressed us as Konjee... Konjee (damn-what do I do with this C before the K-I'd better skip it-problem solved)... Konjee-ka, which he later adopted as a general group noun, which meant Ms Kasia Koniecka and Mr Alexandre Giráldez Soage (Ahh, Konjeka, there you are, your lunch is ready! or Konjeka, you go in the white pick-up.). He told us that only one 4x4 trip will be available for us, as there were too many guests on the premises. And that the morning trekking started at six am.

Our first Nyonié experience was lunch. Open bar. French soldiers. French soldiers. Open bar. Can you imagine what it adds up to? The military men, together with their ladies, occupied a large table. The talking was loud, the laughing was loud, but all this I consider normal in large groups of friends. They did, however, go way over the line when they thought it appropriate to sing, shout and bang their fists on the table, making it impossible for anyone to have a conversation.

It is with them that we went on our 4x4 safari (What is a termite mound? Is it made of wood? Is it edible?), during which we found an elephant and molested it brutally by cutting off the poor thing's way with our big truck. I must admit that the views were lovely: the picturesque savannah, the undulating terrain, the forest, the birds... Of course, we didn't get to properly enjoy any of this, because the driver would never stop and let us admire the nature. Instead, he was driving like crazy in order to deliver what people had paid for: at least one elephant.

At dinner we decided we were going to leave the next day (a day early, that is): it was impossible to stand the shouting of the merry group, who kept drinking green things and singing idiotic songs, led by some kind of cultural animator, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to organise games and passtimes. It was then that we found out from my boss (who, accidentally, was also there) that it is nearly impossible to enjoy a tranquil weekend at Nyonié, as it is always full of French military men, whose main objective is to win their money back by drinking as much as they can.

Our last hope was the morning trek: we knew that getting up at five am may be discouraging. We had hiked in the jungle many times and we knew the procedures: you leave early, two guides, up to five tourists, you walk silently, you follow the elephant paths... Not this time, however. We left the village a happy group of twenty-one (!) with one (!) guide. From the very beginning we knew we would not see any animals. We did not even enter the jungle properly, we simply took the forest roads. A bunch of people were ahead of the guide, who didn't bother to check if anybody was missing anyway. Oh sweet Lord.

The Belgian guy never asked why we left early or if we had enjoyed our stay. He just took the money. Conclusion: Nyonié is your place if what you're looking for are free drinks, the beach and an extension of Libreville nightlife. If, however, you want to spend a quiet weekend enjoying the nature, hiking and tracking animals, you will be highly disappointed. As were we.

The pictures from our trip are here.