World first humanitarian expedition succeeds

24 July 2008

Friends this is your last expedition update, the final account, of the long and sometimes dangerous journey that has tracked the outline of Africa through 33 countries. The battered expedition Land Rovers roar towards the Cape of Good Hope finishing point. “It’s a race against time, we want to empty the much travelled calabash back into the cold south Atlantic on Madiba’s birthday.

The great man has been such an inspiration to this odyssey, his picture with our family and his handwritten message in the Scroll of Peace and Goodwill, has encouraged thousands of others who live along the outside edge of Africa to endorse its pages. Without your support this journey could never have happened so please join us in the final countdown to the longest and most exciting humanitarian journey ever undertaken.

Day 447 – South Africa’s beautiful coastline!

Up before sunrise Bruce’s voice crackles over the radio. “Is this the second to last morning on expedition?” Yes, comes my reply – day 447 says Ross. From Koppie Alleen we look out over a bay that stretches from Cape Infanta to Rys Punt just east of Arniston. The view is reflected in Peter Chadwick’s sea specks sunglasses. Peter is with the World Wildlife Fund marine programme and knows this coast like the back of his hand. We look out over the bay excited to see breeching, tail slapping, Southern Right whales – they are in every direction. “Up to 40% of the world’s population of Southern Right Whales breed in this bay,” explains Peter. “It might be just a small piece of the South African coastline but in a world context it’s huge and shows the burden of what we as South Africans carry on our broad shoulders in terms of protecting these special places.” This is one of the greatest places in the world to observe this incredible marine life spectacle.

We follow the sand dunes, white against the green fynbos through the missile testing area to the fishing cottages at Kassiesbaai, the Bay in Arniston named after an 1815 shipwreck and Waenhuiskrans, named after a massive lime stone cave close by. Outside the shipwreck museum in Bredasdorp hundreds of local school children line the road to welcome the expedition and sign the Scroll of Peace and Goodwill. Tables groan with the weight of koeksusters, melktert and sandwiches, and once again we’re overwhelmed by good old fashioned South African hospitality. With flashing lights and a wailing siren a red and yellow National Sea Rescue Land Rover escorts us into Struisbaai, more school children sing and wave and at Cape Agulhas, where the two oceans meet, we hand over three conservation stones taken from the most Westerly, Northerly and Easterly tips of Africa to Ettienne Fourie, manager of Agulhas National Park and Richard Mitchell, the mayor. We have a long list of lighthouses that we visited and photographed on the outside edge of Africa but the lighthouse at Cape Agulhas is surely one of the most beautiful on the entire coast of Africa. Completed in December 1848 it is styled on the famous Pharaohs Light of Alexandria in Egypt. In the early years fat from the fat-tailed sheep in the area was burned to fuel the light.

Day 448 - Madiba’s birthday – 12 hours to go

Early morning, the Cape Agulhas lighthouse still flashes a warning out to sea. School children at Elim message the Scroll with the words: “Happy Birthday Madiba”. A mole-hilled track bounces and shakes the overworked Land Rovers through the fynbos down to Quoin Point. “There are these small abalone poachers tracks everywhere,” says Alwyn Engelbrecht, a wonderful local character who’d spend time with us at the beginning of the expedition and is now helping us at the end. It’s a race against the clock. We’re still determined to empty the calabash at last light today. It must be on Madiba’s birthday – we owe it to the great man. At the Danger Point lighthouse Land Rover owners flash their lights in a greeting – they’ve heard we were coming and gather around to wish us well. It was off this point that the Birkenhead, then the largest ironclad ship in the Royal Navy, came to her famous end on the night of 25th February 1852. It was a wreck that immortalized the words: ‘women and children first’. All together 445 people died on the Birkenhead, but every women and child was saved. Alwyn phones ahead for fish and chips at Gansbaai. We eat them as we hug the coast – chip fat all over the steering wheel. Hermanus, Onrus, Kleinmond, Betties Bay – the beauty of this piece of Africa’s outside edge is truly remarkable. You have to have gone the full circle to appreciate the splendour of our own coastline. On to Gorden’s Bay and the Strand where more Land Rovers of well wishers join the convoy. It’s 4pm on day 448 – looking across False Bay we can see the outline of Cape Point – so near but so far. Already late afternoon clouds are covering the sun. Headlights on. The wind howls and tugs at the Landies. Down Baden Powel Drive, the shacks of Mitchell’s Plain on our right. The waves break a few meters to our left – we couldn’t be closer to Africa’s outside edge if we tried. There’s a traffic snarl-up in front. A police van has crashed into a car. “Phone the gate,” I say to Mashozi, “see if they will stay open.” Into Muizenberg, past the colourful beach huts, the railway line on the left. Men in yellow reflective jackets wave red flags. Bloody road works. On through St. James and picture postcard perfect Kalk Bay. The Cape Point gatehouse phones back. Yes, they’ll stay open. Our tyres squeal through the curves. On through Fish Hoek and historic Simon’s Town. “Slow down,” warns Mashozi as we climb up through the curves with cliffs falling away to our left. The Cape Point Nature Reserve officials urge us through the gates with waves and smiles. There’s a long line of Land Rover lights behind us. “We’re all together,” comes Ross’ voice over the radio, “let’s go.” Just a few minutes left before sunset the convoy turns hard right and drops down to Cabo da Boa Esperanca, the Cape of Good Hope. Ross shoots ahead and sets up the camera. The team bundles out of the Land Rovers. We slip over the rocks and the long tubes of black green kelp. We all place our hands on the calabash as much travelled water taken from this point 448 days ago glugs slowly back into the cold South Atlantic. With great jubilation we hug, kiss and shake hands and line up behind the Cape of Good Hope sign. Captain Morgan is tapped from the secret tank under my Landie. We raise our mugs in a salute to Mama Africa – WE’VE MADE IT.

Ilha de Mozambique

June 2008

Beautiful women with the look and feel of the Swahili coast, sing and dance to the rhythm of the drums – more than 300 mums with babies have gathered for a massive malaria prevention day. Each one of them will receive a life saving mosquito net.

Ilha is steeped in history. It was a major Arab port and boat building centre long before Vasco da Gama visited in 1498. The Portuguese established a port and naval base as early as 1507, and built the Chapel of Nossa Senhora de Baluarte, in 1522, now considered the oldest European building in the southern hemisphere.

During the sixteenth century, the Fort of Sao Sebastiao was built, and the Portuguese settlement (now known as Stone Town) became the capital of Portuguese East Africa. The island also became an important missionary centre and is now a World Heritage Site. It withstood Dutch attacks in 1607 and 1608 and remained a major post for the Portuguese on their trips to India. It saw the trading of slaves, spices and gold.

With the opening of the Suez Canal, the island's fortunes waned. In 1898, the capital was relocated to Lourenco Marques (now Maputo) on the mainland. By the middle of the twentieth century, the new harbour of Nacala took most of the remaining business.

Reaching this historic island is a yardstick for this expedition. Richard and his team of volunteers are back with us but he’s limping badly on a swollen ankle, fortunately the prickly pear flesh has pulled out much of the poison but an ugly open wound remains on the bone. Then it’s Ross’ turn. Whilst on the Lurio River a sharp burnt stick had gone right through the sole of his shoe and well into his instep. Now it’s gone septic, his groin is swollen and a fever has set in.

Anna his girlfriend feeds him antibiotics and soaks the foot in a basin of hot salt water. These veld sores or tropical ulcers are very much an unfortunate part of expedition life and if one looks at old pictures of previous adventures there will always be one or two people wearing a wide stretch of sticky surgical plaster coloured with seeping Betadine ointment. Sometimes these suppurating sores get so bad that we heat up an empty Captain Morgan bottle, place the mouth over the sore, then wrap the hot bottle in a cold wet cloth so sucking out the poison.

Two days later Ross is able to walk and we take the causeway back to the mainland and south down the rutted bush track to the old trading port of Angoch. As always the challenge is on to follow the outside edge. The locals tell us that since the last rains no vehicles were able to travel down to Pebane, south of Angoch.

There are no bridges and there are two rivers that are still running too high to wade the vehicles across. Just north of Angoch in an area hard hit by the last tropical cyclone we climb up to the old Portuguese lighthouse of Sangage. Built in 1934 it no longer works but the views down the coast are endless. We are feeling the pace, running on adrenalin but our determination is to keep as close as possible to the outside edge remains – we’ll keep you posted.

Fim do Mundo - It means ‘End of the World’ in Portuguese

Veld Sore

“Use the flesh from green prickly pear leaves,” says Arthur between sips of 2M Mozambican beer. “You just bandage it over the wound – it sucks out all the poison – works wondrously,” says Arthur Norval who with Sarah, owns and runs a delightful camp and restaurant called Fim do Mundo overlooking Baia de Vernão Veloso near Nacala, the deepest natural port on the east coast of Africa. Arthur is referring to a cure for tropical ulcers which next to malaria is one of our expedition’s biggest health problems.

Richard Chapman, who has joined the expedition as a volunteer, is going through hell at the moment. Blood poisoning has set in and he has such a fever that we’ve even treated him for malaria just in case. Richard does not complain. He’s a great asset to the expedition but now he’s man down and the antibiotics are taking time to work. We use peroxide – it bubbles white on contact with the putrefying flesh.

Warwick, Richard’s son straps on the prickly pear flesh but there’s no way that they will move south today. We fire up the Landies and say cheers. We’ll next meet at the World Heritage Site of Ilha de Mozambique. With us is Robbie Brozin, the CEO of Nando’s and some of his mates, they are great and have also come along as ”Malaria Warriors” to assist in the One Net One Life distribution of mosquito nets to pregnant mums and to children under the age of five, all part of our objective to save and improve lives through this adventure.

It’s amazing how the simple things in life still hold true. Robbie and his mates are all highly successful businessmen, champions of commerce and industry, well able to afford the best in life, but here they are driving Landies, camping under the stars, barefoot on the beach eating simple food cooked on the coals, brushing their teeth in seawater and unselfishly assisting with our humanitarian efforts.

Bagamoyo – coast of Tanzania

May 2008

We’ve come from Tanga in the North – the ferry at Pangani is down, Ross and I take our rubberduck south down the coast. We camp on a deserted beach under the palm trees.

The sand fleas jump a metre high so we take our enamel mugs of Captain and stand in the waves. The phosphorus swirls like birthday sparkles from between our toes. We sleep under the shooting stars. Next day we bounce against the Kusi trade wind – the Land Rovers meet us at Bagamoyo. We are stiff and sore and have to take Voltarin tablets.

The District Commissioner tells us that the word Bagamoyo means “where you lay down the burden of your heart.” Can you imagine how it must have been for the tens of thousands of slaves that were driven here like cattle, yoked and chained, being forced to carry elephant tusks to the coast. It was the first time that they’d ever seen the sea, ahead of them lay the slave markets of Zanzibar.

The famous Victorian missionary explorer Dr. David Livingstone called this trade in human flesh “the open sore of the world.” In a humanist turnabout we distribute life saving mosquito nets to mums and babies at the church where his sun-dried corpse was carried to before being transported to Zanzibar and Westminster Abbey, where he is buried in the floor of the nave. Old professor Samahani, the local historian, looks us up and down.

“Many expeditions have come this way,” he says. “Burton, Speak, Stanley and Livingstone – but yours is the first one that has travelled through 32 countries to come and help my people fight malaria.” - We’ll keep you posted.

People we met along the way

Somali war lords

May 2008

Gerhard Botha – a boerseun from Durban who manages Djibouti’s busy container terminal, becomes the expedition’s guardian angel.

The survival and success of our journey often depends on the friendly and supportive South Africans we meet along the way. Gerhard is phenomenally helpful. He puts us up in his villa – a fridge full of beer, there’s clean sheets and soft beds, TV, air-conditioning and good old South African braais. After the intense heat of the Danakil it’s as if we’ve stepped into another word.

Suddenly we get the green light and race the three expedition Land Rovers down to the Port. The big 130 Defender has to have the big rolled up Gemini inflatable boats off-loaded from the roof-rack before being reversed into a container. The two Defender station wagons fit snugly one behind the other in the second container. The vehicles are tied down to the container floors with cables and turn buckles in case of a rough sea. And then we get the news that a Spanish trawler has just been taken by Somali pirates.

Seems like they might be operating from a disguised mother ship. We learn that they have sophisticated equipment that picks up the radar of passing ships, they even have bank accounts in Dubai through which they channel the ransom money. It’s big business and right now there seems to be a spate of hijackings. It would be a shame if our Landies ended up as transport for gun toting Somali war lords – we’ll keep you posted.

Loading landies onto container ship

A buzz in Djibouti

April 2008

The french frigate that rescued the hostages

There’s a buzz in Djibouti city on the Gulf of Aden. Khaki coloured Hummers and lots of military in over tight camouflage and short haircuts.

Stories of how the cruising schooner Le Ponant was recently taken by Somali pirates, the French Navy frigate that then freed the hostages and the crack helicopter unit that got back the ransom money. Now it's our turn to brave the pirates around the Horn of Africa - Zim Integrated Shipping Services, friends of our Grindrod sponsors in Durban, come to the rescue.

They will sponsor the loading of the three expedition Land Rovers and the kit. A conservation stone will be dropped off at the most Easterly point of Africa and the calabash filled over 300 days ago with Cape Point seawater will get to round the Horn of Africa.

This morning there's a bit of a panic as Eritrean troops are said to be massing close to the Ethiopian and Djibouti border. Seems like we made it just in time – will there ever be peace in this troubled area!

In the cool of the afternoon there’s a buzz on the street corners – the daily plane that carries the bunches of fresh thin green stems and leaves called khat has arrived from Dire Dawa in Ethiopia. Money changes hands and the traditional chewing of this calming hallucinogenic begins. There’s the evening muezzin’s call to prayer, French soldiers walk in groups, frazzled businessmen clutch mobile phones to their ears.

Tall sinuous Somali girls hang around the clubs – Djibouti protected by the French and American military is an oasis of peace and prosperity on the troubled Horn of Africa. At the beautiful old French colonial white washed palace, the president Ismail Omar Guelleh endorses the expedition Scroll of Peace and Goodwill in support of malaria prevention – he’s really a friendly character and we all get taken out to lunch – big pieces of goat.

The lowest point

Right now the battered Landies are covered in mud and dust, snatch blocks, recovery straps and rope still tied to the bull bars.

Bruce Leslie sampling khat in Djibouti

Nando’s who are part of our Fight Malaria campaign have flown in a team of South African journalists and old friend David O’Sullivan from Radio 702 – we gather on the salt encrusted moonscape shores of volcanic Lac Asal, at 155 metres below sea level, it’s the lowest place on the African continent, temperatures are over 40 degrees, a volcano has recently erupted and the Djiboutians with us point out a huge recent crack in the earth’s crust called the Afar Rift – it’s said to be the Northern most point of the Great African Rift Valley. Afar nomads use camel caravans to carry salt from here through the mountains to Ethiopia.

Djibouti Port is land locked Addis Ababa’s thousand kilometre lifeline to the sea. The road in is a dangerous nightmare of dodging dodgy Ethiopian trucks, hauling fuel and goods up from the coast. Its dark by the time we limp into Djibouti city, dog tired but jubilant. 29 Countries behind us, four still to go. The last 16 days have been tough.

We’ve survived a 1000 km journey through the Nubian Desert and then the Danakil coast of Eritrea – one of the hottest places on earth and an area inhabited by the wild nomadic Afar who, in the past, had the nasty habit of castrating their enemies and wearing the dried genitals around their necks as trophies. I get a nervous twitch in the groin when we come across them in the desert with their ornate daggers and camels.

Of late it’s been just tracks or a Garmin GPS course - dry, rocky river beds as roads and then tyres down to 1 bar as we race the desert dunes along the Red Sea coast. Hell for the Landies, murder for the Cooper Tires, tough on the team. But the deserts and coastline of Sudan and Eritrea are some of the last frontiers of adventure. Dramatic unspoilt wilderness and coral reefs in areas seldom, if ever, visited by tourists.

At the tank cemetery

March 2008

We have to wait for Eritrean government travel permits, we can’t go anywhere without them and they have to be checked out by military security.

Because of the war and the closed borders with their sworn enemy Ethiopia, few foreigners visit the country let alone try to follow the coast. Today is the funeral of a military war hero and all government ministers are in attendance. We find them gathered in a big white tent outside the tank graveyard.

Acres upon acres of wrecked military tanks, armoured vehicles and other relics of war, captured by the Eritreans or left behind by the Dergue while evacuating Eritrea. “We keep this place as a reminder,” says Peter from the Department of Tourism. We walk through the masses of mostly Russian vehicles, tanks and piles of spent shells.

In a normal country this place would be a scrap metal merchant’s dream, but here in Eritrea it remains as a symbol of pride and victory over Ethiopia – it was the longest African war of the 20th Century lasting for over 30 years it cost more than 65,000 lives. In 1993, 99.81% of the voters said ‘yes’ to independence and Eritrea became one of the youngest countries in Africa.

But in late 1997, the two old rivals started squabbling again, first over Eritrea's rejection of the old Ethiopian birr in favour of its own new currency (the nakfa), then over bilateral trade relations, and finally and violently (in May 1998) over a ridiculously small piece of dirt on their common border called the Yirga Triangle.

Fierce pride from both sides seems to be the problem. Eritrea and Ethiopia welcomed back the bad old days by proceeding to kill tens of thousands of each other's soldiers and civilians, with the grisly encouragement of such countries as Somalia and Djibouti. Now there’s a ceasefire but the formal demarcation of the border is still pending and things are tense.

At the Lion Hotel we eagerly await travel permits. If we succeed they will allow us to follow the Danakil coast, considered to be one of the hottest places on earth. We are all on edge, if we don’t succeed in getting permissions, the expedition to track the outside edge of Africa will have failed – Hold thumbs, we’ll keep you posted.

Crumbling ruins of Suakin

There’s Captain at the Lion Hotel

A climbing 300 narrow steps to the top

The Catholic father allows us to climb the 300 narrow steps to the top of the 25 metres high tower of the old Italian style cathedral that was built in 1923.

We all squeeze into the top of the tower between the eight massive bells each of which weigh over 100 kilograms. Below us is Asmara – it’s delightful and for me it’s a dream come true. The first thing that strikes you is that there’s no litter, streets are clean and there’s an air of orderliness.

The city was built as the capital of the Italian colony of Eritrea between 1890 and 1940. Following the defeat of the Italians in WWII Britain administered Eritrea from 1941 to 1952. Then there was the Ethiopian occupation which resulted in the beautiful city being neglected. Nonetheless, following the liberation of Eritrea in 1991, the capital has regained its old charm.

It seems wonderfully free and Western after Islamic Sudan, palm trees line wide boulevards, the packed sidewalk cafés have a mixed Italian and Eritrean cosmopolitan feel and the art deco architecture creates the sense of a city frozen in time. The people are lovely.

Thomas Rambau from the South African embassy recommends the Lion Hotel. It’s cheaper than the others, he says, and it’s got a bar, good food and even Captain Morgan.

She gives me a wink and pats my belly

February 2008

Out of Islamic Sudan and we’re dying for a drink. We cross wide yellow grass plains with scattered flat topped acacias. It’s like the Serengeti but with far pavilions of dramatic mountains.

We get into a town. Old Fiat trucks everywhere – you can tell the Italians had been here. Bruce and I walk into a rough place that says “Hotel”. Immediately the two bar girls start touching us up – the chubby one pulls at Bruce’s t-shirt and rubs his hair, the other tall and Somali looking, feels my beard, gives me a wink and pats my belly. We point at the fridge. “Beer?” we ask. “Yes, beer,” the girls nod and giggle.

The fridge is full of large brown bottles with no labels. They point to some plastic chairs. There’s no doubt that they want us to stay. “How much for beer?” we ask. Their English is limited – 10 Nafka for one bottle. ”We’ll take a case,” says Bruce with a grin. I am already changing some Dollars into Nafka and can already imagine the fireside scene tonight somewhere out in this beautiful countryside: Landies, tents up, camp chairs in a half circle, but now for the first time in ages, ice cold beers and the chance to unwind after “dry” Sudan.

“Let’s try one quickly before we go,” Bruce grabs two glasses off the counter and opens a big brown bottle with a flourish. We pour the contents into the glasses. It’s bloody carbonated water – our disappointment is boundless. “Oh beer,” says one of the goofed bar girls with a lopsided grin. “You’ll only get beer in Asmara.”

It’s better underneath the water

A woman fetching water in the danakil

The word Red Sea conjures up romantic tourist brochure images of bikini beaches, palm trees and aquamarine water.

This is true of some of Egypt’s Sinai resorts, but now we’re on the Sudanese coast of the Red Sea. It’s extremely harsh with dramatic mountains and in some places mud flats or desert dunes running down to the water’s edge, making our progress extremely difficult. It’s one of those afternoons where progress is slow. We winch the big 130 Land Rover out of the mud and at sunset find a totally deserted stretch of beach.

It’s a shame about the litter. I count over 100 empty plastic and other bottles washed up in a ten metre stretch. God forbid, some of them are empty grog bottles – wish there were a couple of full ones, we’ve been dry for days. Booze is absolutely illegal here. We’re a little disappointed having expected to find a decent beach for the night. There’s no doubt that in many places the beauty of the Red Sea lies beneath its waters and the best way to explore is from a live aboard dive boats.

Dive sites include the wreck of the Italian cargo ship, The Umbria, deliberately scuttled in 1940 to prevent surrendering the 3000 tons of bombs it was carrying from falling into the hands of the British. We get a small charcoal fire going and Mashozi and Anna cut the chunk of mutton we bought off a street side butchery in Port Sudan into chewable bits for the stew pots.

The liver is cooked on the grid for a snack. Stew with rice, spiced up with Nando’s sauce, everybody goes for seconds but we have to “passop” for the bone chips. In the night a howling sand storm threatens to blow the rooftop tents off the Landies. Sleep is impossible and next morning visibility is almost down to zero. Sand in the eyes, mouth and nose, but fortunately the sand storm is blowing in the right direction, pushing the Landies towards Eritrea.

The authorities demand we enter Eritrea via Kasala in Sudan. A change from the desert, the town has fruit trees and mountains, bizarre sugarloaf jebels that can be seen from miles away. Kasala is a favourite destination for honeymoon couples from other parts of the Sudan. I open the guidebook to learn that in these parts it’s considered extremely erotic for a woman to show her chin.

Once again there’s a ridiculous amount of paperwork and hassles and outside Kasala a roadblock that sends us back into town for yet another police clearance. Even in leaving the country the Sudanese have managed to make things as difficult as possible. But we make it across to the few mud huts that make up the Eritrean border. The friendly Eritreans are hugely surprised, not many foreign travellers come this way and they claim we are the first South Africans.

Filling in the puzzle – off to the Saharawi refugee camps

11 February 2008

Western Sahara was a Spanish colony for over one century. In the early 1970s the Saharawis began to organize against Spanish colonialism and formed the Polisario liberation movement.

In 1975 the Polisario was on the verge of gaining independence from Spain. Then, in secret negotiations, Spain signed a clandestine deal with Morocco and Mauritania. The three countries agreed to split the territory of Western Sahara between Morocco and Mauritania, instead of granting independence to the Saharawis as promised. This illegal annexation of Western Sahara in 1975 was the start of the war with Morocco and Mauritania.

Tens of thousands of Saharawis fled their homes in Western Sahara as Morocco dropped American napalm and phosphorous bombs on civilians. Facing aggression from countries both north and south, the fleeing Saharawis turned east, to Algeria. There, they were granted asylum and began to build refugee camps in an area of the desert considered uninhabitable. It’s a place where temperatures reach a scorching 135 F in summer and plunge below freezing in winter. Sandstorms, called siroccos, rip through the refugee camps without warning. Flash floods wipe out entire tent neighbourhoods, destroying everything in their path. Here, in the southwest corner of Algeria, nearly 200,000 refugees are struggling to survive in this inhospitable part of the great Sahara Desert.

Some weeks ago when we had journeyed up the coast of Western Sahara, it had been impossible for us to properly meet the legitimate citizens of the country. Now thanks to the efforts of our Department of Foreign Affairs and invitation from the Saharan Arab Democratic Republic (SADR) in exile in the South of Algeria, we find ourselves loaded up with soccer balls, learning materials and spectacles for the poor sighted as in a heavily armed escort (there has been a recent upsurge of terrorism activity in Algeria and the authorities don’t want us killed) we head off at break neck speed in a 3000 km there and back dash – an opportunity for us to fill in the puzzle, all part of our crazy journey to improve and save lives through adventure – we’ll keep you posted.

Come what may – destination Algeria

9 February 2008

We’re on the night ferry from Alicante in Spain to Oran in Algeria. People on foot trading with bundles and bags, second hand shoes, babies feeding bottles, cartons of cigarettes, nappies, toilet paper, blankets and mattresses.

Those with vehicles have loaded fridges, washing machines, bicycles, furniture and TV sets. Others were trading in brand new cars. Some had cabins, some slept on the decks – the weather was bad and the toilets overflowed.

We stole into the Algerian Port of Oran at sunrise. It was a customs and immigration nightmare. Vehicles being stripped and searched – there’s a terrorist scare on the go and a travel warning. Several bombs have gone off recently and the UN Headquarters in Algiers had been targeted. We are nervous as all hell. But what a welcome. Aah! Afrique du Sud – South Africans – you are most welcome.

There’s security everywhere – flack jackets and automatic weapons, an Algerian security lady – she’s pretty and speaks English, explains: “You’ll need security wherever you go. Foreign visitors are not allowed to move without it.” The boom goes up and we follow the flashing lights of a police escort – one in front of our three Landies and another guarding the rear.

Sirens screaming we zigzag through the streets of Oran. Plain clothed men usher us into a parking garage. The gates closed behind us with a clang. Then it’s through a side door with our bags. Djamal the manager of the Hotel Adef speaks delightful English. “Welcome to Oran, we haven’t seen tourists for years.

We hand over our passports – mothers name, fathers name, date of birth, passport issued when and where, and what your occupation. Djamal in his mustard coloured jacket grins broadly. We have a restaurant, we have a bar, we have room service, we have the best nightclub in town. Mashozi and you Papa King – we’re giving you the biggest room in the hotel with a view of the sea. We pull back the curtains to reveal a grain silo, a scrap metal loading dock, hundreds of shipping containers of different colours, a tall brick chimney, the ferry that’s just brought us from Spain and beyond that the Mediterranean.

We bang on the gurgling water pipes and run the tap. Finally there’s the hissing of steam and hot water. We are the only people in the dining room, the staff are delightful – Welcome to Oran.

A detour across the straights of Gibraltar

6 February 2008

It’s a dark 5 am in the morning and the Moroccan customs are a bit edgy. The Rif area of Morocco grows one of the worlds largest hashish crops and Tangier is renowned as a smuggling port.

An icy cold wind blows across the Mediterranean. The three South African registered Landies nicknamed John Ross (after the little shipwrecked fellow who had been led by Shaka Zulu’s Impi to Delagoa Bay in search of help), this one obviously driven by Ross Holgate; the Landie Mary Kingsley (she was a great Victorian lady explorer who single handed explored the rivers of West Africa), this one driven by Kingsley, the Greybeard and Mashozi; and Lady Baker (the great woman explorer who was freed from slavery by the explorer Sir Samuel Baker who she accompanied up the River Nile to Lake Albert) were all lashed down onto the bottom deck whilst the expedition team rams coffee and ham sarmies on the top deck. How ridiculous, here we are prisoners of North African politics, having to detour through Spain so as to get to Algeria – it plays hell on our bloody budget, but at least we get to visit the Rock of Gibraltar where under a Union Jack with a Battle of Trafalgar billboard on the wall we’re served big glasses of pale ale and plates of fish and chips at the Lord Nelson pub. We ask ourselves – what the hell are we doing in this little British outpost when we’re supposed to be circumnavigating Africa? – But that’s the Zen of travel and you have to roll with the punches.

Central African Gold supported expedition tracks the raw edge where the Sahara meets the North Atlantic

January 2008

By now the Moroccan military, forever aware of security in this battle scarred region, would have noticed three little specks, one behind the other, moving slowly across the vast desert expanse of Moroccan controlled Western Sahara. Zooming in on their binoculars they would have picked out that these were not camels but rather three-battered South African registered Land Rovers. “Right hand drive, it’s those South Africans that have just crossed the military check point out of Mauritania,” probably mumbled the sergeant. “It’s the man with the big beard, they’ve got the flags of all the countries around the edge of Africa on the side of their vehicles, they’ve come all the way from Cape Town - must be bloody crazy.”

They’re bloody right, we are crazy. Nine months into the journey with 20 countries now behind us. It’s foot flat, 3rd and 4th gear against a howling head wind. The big 130 long wheel base Landie, driven by KZN adventurer Bruce Leslie, nicknamed “The Stomach” because it carries all the grub, is also loaded up with outboard engines, and two large rolled up inflatable boats and wooden floor boards ratcheted down onto the roof rack. The other two Landies are standard TDi 110 station wagons that carry personal gear and camera equipment. The one is nicknamed John Ross and is driven by Ross and Annelie with Ross’ 7 year old boy little Tristan on board for a while, the other Landie, nicknamed Mary Kingsley after that great woman Victorian explorer who explored the rivers of West Africa, is home to Kingsley and “Mashozi” - the other seats are kept open for local interpreters and guides - Eben Human from Die Burger picks up on the story from a Bgan Satellite phone call recorded in Kingsley’s words:

All the way up the coast from Dakar in Senegal there’s been a bit of a buzz around the forthcoming Paris-Dakar rally, which this year is going to take place from Lisbon to Dakar. There’s also a bit of a controversy around an event that has so much glitz and money thrown at it but travels through some areas that are desperately poor. The area that we’re now travelling through used to be called Spanish Sahara. Spain was going to hand it back to the locals but then the Green March happened in which Moroccan troops followed by King Hassan II and 350 000 unarmed Moroccans, waving flags and copies of the Koran, marched into the territory to claim Moroccan sovereignty. Spain was eager to avoid a colonial war and so handed the administration of the disputed territory to Morocco and Mauritania. What followed was a long drawn-out war between Morocco and the Polisario Front, who claimed independence for the area. Now fortunately there is a cease-fire whilst the UN tries to organise a referendum, so giving us the opportunity to inch up the coast. Here there’s no turning off to camp in the dunes. Beware Landmine-signs line the road and there’s frequent police checkpoints and so we decide to head on through the night, stopping only to shine our torches onto a small pile of rocks that mark the Tropic of Cancer. To keep me awake Mashozi reads me pieces out of the food section of the Moroccan guidebook and in turn I feed through these tasty morsels of gastronomic information by radio to the other Landies. One of the dishes that have us all salivating is a sort of Moroccan potjie, which is called “tajine”. It’s a basic beef or lamb stew with vegetables in an earthenware dish with a conical lid that slowly simmers over a charcoal fire. There are also some very refined variations: barrogo bis basela, a lamb stew with prunes; safard-jaliyya, beef stew with quinces; sikbadj, lamb with dates and apricots; and tajine bel hout, a fish stew with tomatoes, ginger, saffron, and sweet and hot peppers. Black olives are invariably added to the honey flavoured sauce; apples and pears may also be thrown in. We’ve been living a bit rough lately, following the coast of Mauritania, riding on the beach where the Sahara flows down to meet the North Atlantic, camping in the dunes at night, constant sand storms, sand in the food, in the coffee and between your teeth. By next morning we’re through the landmine fields to arrive in the garrison town of Ad Dahkla. Past the police checkpoints and into the old town, a street lined with pavement restaurants. “Look at the Basotho hats” comes Ross’ excited voice over the radio, referring to the conical earthenware tajine stew pot lids that have the distinctive shape of a Basotho hat. We pile out of the vehicles. What a pig-out. Fresh fresh tomatoes, carrots, avocado, olives, cucumber; plates of lamb chops, just like those little Karoo ones with the crisp fat on the side; then came the tajines. A gasp of appreciation as each conical pot lid was lifted to reveal a steaming lamb potjie served with bowls of couscous. Bread, which accompanies every meal, is considered sacred and you will see people kiss it in reverence. Never wasted, it is gathered up at the end of a meal to make breadcrumbs for sweets. It’s as if we’ve arrived into another world.

Then we hear the bad news: Four French tourists gunned down on the side of the road in Mauritania, the area that we’ve just come through. The Mauritania interior minister blamed the senseless killing on a regional al-Qaida terrorist gang. The sole survivor of the attack, the family’s father, was seriously injured and flown to a hospital in Dakar, Senegal.

We all think back to what sitting targets we could have been: the three Landies with their rooftop tents, a simple fire, our little grandson Tristan with us. Ahead of us is Algeria where 37 people have just been killed by a suicide bomber. A few days later, as a result of death threats, the Lisbon Dakar Rally is cancelled. Across the water from us are the Canary Islands and up the coast Casablanca and Tangier, across the water the Rock of Gibraltar and Spain - North Africa here we come - we’ll keep you posted.

Mauritania

Tracking the edge of the largest desert in the world

We’re caught in the eye of a sandstorm, sand in the hair, eyes, mouth, nose, ears and beard, sand in the food, in the bottom of our battered enamel mugs of early morning coffee. Sand in the canvas bedrolls and in the engine oil. But sadly no sand in the Captain Morgan, it’s impossible, not allowed here, strictly forbidden. We’re following the outside edge of the Islamic Republic of Mauritania where the wind blown sands of the western Sahara are arrested by the North Atlantic. After the storm it is unimaginably beautiful, the dunes washed smooth by the wind and at night, the stars and the distant cry of jackal. Balaclavas, beanies, socks and jackets, the freezing desert nights bring back memories of Namibia’s Skeleton Coast. But that’s 19 countries and 7 months ago.

In the morning on the low tide thousands of seabirds rise like clouds in front of the three expedition Landies. Wild camels on the dune tops are silhouetted against the sun. We pass by big men in blue robes and white turbans riding in old Landies. Footflat in 3rd and 4th, engines growling against the headwind and sand we finally crawl into Nouakchott, largest city in the Sahara. The muezzin call to prayer has the blue robed men gathering outside the Grande Mosque. Old .190 Mercedes Benz diesel taxis hoot for business, the drivers in turbans and sunglasses drive as if they are wandering on camels through the desert with no thought to indicating or hand signals. We ask a pedestrian for directions, he shrinks back from us as if we are the devil. ‘Americans’ mumbles another aggressively. Afrique du Sud we say proudly pointing to the South African flags on the Land Rover bonnets and then uttering the trademark byewords Nelson Mandela and Bafana Bafana. The mood changes and we are ushered into Le Prince restaurant for the biggest schwarma sandwiches you’ve ever seen. Nouakchott in the local Arabic language means place of winds – an apt name for a city that is sjamboked by sandstorms for more than 200 days a year. Maybe it’s a good thing because when the wind stops the bloody flies come out. Fueled up and loaded with supplies, Cooper tyres down to one bar and all water tanks full we ride the tide North, determined as always to follow the outside edge. On past Cape Timiris, around the massive bay of St Jean with the barren sandstone islands of Cheddid, Touffat, Kiji and Tidra to our left. At Cap Tagarit we sleep, out of the wind, in a desert nomad’s tent, hard mattresses on the floor, lamb and fish on the coals, small glasses of sweet tea, not a footprint on the beach. Next morning Ross sets a course on the Garmin GPS N20°20.481; W16°15.140. We’re trying to follow a coastal track through the Sahara but the windblown sands have obliterated any signs. There’s a feeling of wild freedom just three battered Landies and a little South African expedition team against the backdrop of the largest desert in the world.

12 days after taking the ferry across the Senegal River into Mauritania we reach the high cliffs of Cap Blanc. We’ve survived the desert coastline of the least populated country in West Africa – ahead of us lies recently war torn Western Sahara, now part of Morocco where in the South we’ll have to be aware of the danger of unexploded landmines - we’ll keep you posted.

Senegal - Africa’s most Westerly point

December 2007

Back in Dakar we meet with Lovely Thembi Majola, South African Ambassador to Senegal, Cape Verde, Mauritania, Guinea Bissau and The Gambia and her competent staff members Derrick Williams and Andre Jacobs, who have been exceptionally kind and helpful with the ambassador writing these words in the expedition journal:

To my fellow compatriots. Your epic journey along the Coast of Africa to bring awareness and to physically distribute treated mosquito nets to expectant mothers and mothers with babies up to five years is clearly a noble act... A very personal experience that has touched many people in a most direct, personal life saving way. I salute this noble expedition and want to express my deep respect and pride in the humanitarian work you are achieving at a great deal of personal cost. I wish you Godspeed on your journey, and am proud that you fly the South African flag, representing South African resilience, a caring spirit and a will to succeed. Hambani kahle!

We are also carrying a scroll from South African National Parks with a message encouraging a conservation partnership with its neighbours in Africa. With it they have sent three stones to be taken by expedition Land Rover to the three corners of the continent where we will collect stones to be placed at Cape Agulhas, the southern tip of Africa. And so at a ceremony facilitated by the South African Embassy we place a stone and pick another up at Les Almadirs, the most westerly point of Africa.

Ile de Goreé - place of dreams and legends

Our journey to track the outside edge of Africa would be incomplete without a visit to tiny Goree Island just off bustling Dakar, the most westerly city in Africa. We park the Landies and take the chaloupe from the ferry station off Boulevard de la Libération near the beautiful old French colonial railway station. Just 20 minutes out into the Atlantic and we get our first sighting of this colourful historic slave trading island, now a UNESCO World Heritage Sight just 900m long by 300m wide. In the North is Fort d’Estrées, perched on top of a high sheer basalt cliff face, below which is a town bristling with pastel coloured old colonial buildings, draped with bougainvillea and shaded with palm trees and giant baobabs. We round the stone built castle in the South and tie-up at the jetty near a small sandy beach. There’s a wonderful buzz, the Ile de Goreé art and music festival is on the go, Jembe drums, blues, jazz and rap. Girls in braided hair and tight jeans, Rasta men in ethnic outfits.

The first Europeans on Goree were the Portuguese who used the island as a trading base in the mid 15th century. Dutch adventurers captured it in 1588 naming it “Goede reede” (good roadstead). Then the Portuguese regained control but lost it to the French in 1678. Thereafter the island was repeatedly captured and recaptured in war games between the French and the English intent on controlling the trade in spices and humans. Today Goree remains a place of dreams and legends, dotted with batteries and canons, vestiges of the battles that shook the island.

We wander through the cobbled streets past the old colonial homes of the slave traders, merchant men and administrators, – some of the buildings were slave warehouses, others were compounds or residences, home to love affairs between famous historical figures (who were not allowed to bring their wives to Senegal) and beautiful slave girls who were called signares from the Portuguese word “senhora”, dame. These love affairs lead to a golden age in which the signares of Goree, daughters of white colonists and slave women wielded extraordinary power on the slave trading island.

There’s the smell of ganga in the air and row upon row of stretched canvases of bright Senegalese art, splashes of colour and a line of pygmy baobab trees interspersed with market stalls and mama’s selling beads, baubles, bracelets, colourful cloth and clothing. Up near the top of the hill we find Rasta families and artists living in the old gun emplacements and bunkers. One particularly colourful character, quite stoned, has a tame monkey called Booboo. There’s the soft low whistle of circling yellow billed kites, cats of every description at every corner, big white tethered goats with twisted horns and long elongated testicles and glancing into courtyards through narrow doorways, we see families squatting around basins of rice, fish or goat meat, eating with their fingers, smiling and happy, music playing.

The Dakar skyline is in the distance and all around us the Atlantic ocean across which, in a despicable trade in human flesh, 10’s of 1000’s of souls were exported from here never to see Africa again. Now their relatives move out from their luxury Dakar tourist hotels to come and see – there are tears at the thought of what happened but most are happy to now be well dressed, well fed and American.

Down at the jetty the music continues – Ile de Goree is a place of happiness and unlike the other Gates of No Return places we have visited on the West Coast of Africa, it’s colourful inhabitants seem more intent on celebrating the present then crying over the past.

You never quite get used to it

9 November 2007

With us is Isaac Kekana, South African Ambassador to Guinea. Dressed in a t–shirt branded with the South African flag he makes us feel proud to be South African as he assists us in giving each and every child a long lasting mosquito net and a pack of exercise books and pencils. All this activity are part of our humanitarian expedition to circumnavigate Africa in Land Rovers and inflatable boats. Then with a police escort we’re off to the general hospital where every mother and infant receives a life saving net.

You would think that we’d have become battle hardened by now – but still the emotion hits you in the stomach. The desperate poverty, children dying from malaria because the mums cannot afford a mosquito net. In the children’s ward we place a net on each bed. Bed by bed down the corridors, the smiles of appreciation and handshakes from the parents is heart warming. Poor electricity supply with constant power cuts has little premature children’s lives, two and three to an incubator, hanging on a thread – now there is a mosquito net for each mother and infant. At least they will be safe when they get home.

A ministry of health official makes a speech. The minister of lands and mines endorses the Mandela Scroll in support of malaria prevention. The media scribble in their pads, local TV and radio are present. The Ambassador writes… “Viva the expedition, viva.”

A journalist pulls me aside: “Congratulations,” he says in his French accented English. “Hand by hand, it’s the only way. If you gave the bales of nets to the officials they would sell them in the market – and these poor people would never get.”

Next day with local malaria prevention volunteers we make our way past the notorious camp Boiro where many anti government supporters were tortured and killed and some even hung from a bridge over the highway. Careful not to be seen taking pictures of the bombed out palace and loaded with mosquito nets we launch into the Atlantic – our destination is the islands of Roum, Kassa and Tamara – small island village communities that need mosquito nets.

That’s the nature of the expedition – saving and improving lives through adventure – tomorrow we load up the Landies and head up the coast for the ex-Portuguese colony of Guinea Bissau. Like Mozambique and Angola it had a long war of liberation followed by bitter civil war – We don’t know quite what to expect.

Greetings from Cote d’Ivoire

28 September 2007

Greetings from Cote d’Ivoire or the Ivory Coast as it is known in English. Our travel guide reads “You are ill advised to travel here.” That’s because of the recent civil unrest during which time the large French expatriate population were evacuated. Here in Cote d’Ivoire it’s referred to as the crisis.

We get off to a bad start. The border is a “dogfight” with seven bales of the expedition’s life saving mosquito nets being impounded by customs. This means that 700 pregnant mums might go without. Out comes our Scroll of Peace and Goodwill and the negotiations continue into the dark. Finally thanks to the assistance of the South African embassy in Abidjan the nets are loaded up, passports stamped and we are on our way. Flack jackets and tight fitting camo outfits, sunglasses and red berets at an angle, French style, automatic weapons at the ready, the frantic blowing of police whistles. Twelve roadblocks in the pouring rain. Tyre bursting spikes and logs across the road. It appears that this is a major smuggling route out of Ghana and to be fair the large bales of mozzie nets could be contraband. To make things worse Anna goes down with malaria. It’s her first time and we dose her immediately and take digs in the original French colonial capital of Grand Bassam, a place of crumbling old French buildings, palm trees and a massive lagoon that stretches all the way to Abidjan and beyond. The heavy rain continuous and at times the humidity is unbearable. The truth is that an expedition like this is certainly not always easy, but I assure you that we’ll not loose our sense of optimism. After all there are still 21 outside edge countries and 7 months to go – we’ll keep you posted.

What’s ya mission in Liberia?

26 September 2007

Trying to cross into Liberia. Virtually no travellers come this way. Cote d’Ivoire Customs and Immigration are friendly and we even share a Captain Morgan together, but oh my god, Mr Big of the military is a hard nut to crack, he’s demanding 15 000 CFA’s just for permission to use the ferry across to Liberia.

There is tension here. Ross uses the old trick of taking out the satellite phone and pretending to phone the embassy. I see a flicker of concern in Mr Big’s eyes. He is not the sort of bloke you mess with. I turn to John Segbo who’s assisting us with our One Net One Life malaria programme “Please plead with him John. Explain again that we’re a humanitarian expedition, that we’re born and bread Africans – not rich foreigners.” Ross pretends to have the embassy on the line. Mr Big agrees to 5 000 CFA’s. I jump at the chance. We wave goodbye to John Segbo and its low range first gear onto the crumpled ferry and into Liberia. It’s getting dark. We’re feeling a bit uneasy. On the Liberian side everybody a bit rag tagged and speaking a crazy Rasta type English. “Haya all do’in. Welcome to Liberia.” They look at the Land Rovers and the 33 flags of the outside edge that run down the sides of the vehicles. “Yaah come from Saa Africa – what’s ya mission in Liberia?” People crowd into the immigration office. It’s a shak on the river. There’s muscled dudes in tight t-shirts, sleeves cut off. A boss man appears. Mashozi is in agony with stomach cramps and we have to shoot her off into a nearby rubber plantation.

The boss man stamps the passports: “You’re going have to go into Harper to see immigration and customs.” “But it is dark,” says Ross. “Roads baad, rainy season,” says another. “War’s over,” says the boss man, ”yah’ll be safe, Wilfred here will go with yah.” And so we rumble into the bombed out port town of Harper, capital city of the county of Maryland – never seen so many UN Peace Keepers in all my life. Sandbagged sentry posts, blue helmets, flack jackets and guns at the ready – will keep you posted.

CAG One Net One Life – Mali

25 October 2007

In a massive Central African Gold supported One Net One Life effort, the expedition detoured from Conakry on the coast of Guinea inland to Djenne in Mali where as part of the end of Ramadan celebrations, hundreds of mosquito nets were delivered to the maternity clinic and river side homes – all within close proximity of the Djenne mosk World Heritage Site, the largest mud building in the world. After Djenne the expedition followed the Niger River through its 20 000 square kilometers inland delta to mythical Timbuktu. With the highest rainfall in years the delta has “swallowed” many villages and as the waters now recede malaria is rife. Using the expedition inflatable boats we travel from village to village, placing long lasting nets in the hands of pregnant mothers as well as spectacles to the poor sighted.

Back in Bamako the expedition continued to distribute life saving long lasting PermaNet mosquito nets as recognized by the World Health Organization to over 2500 pregnant mothers and to children under the age of five. This distribution took place at one school and five maternity clinics, all situated in the poor and most needy areas of the city. Each venue held malaria question and answer quizzes, colourful dance competitions for the kids, practical demonstrations on how to use the nets and speeches of support for malaria prevention and thanking CAG and Mali Goldfields. Greg a huge amount of effort and support was put in by your CAG/Mali Goldfields team in Bamako, and we would like you please to thank Richard Dahl and his team for all the professional assistance. Apart from the 2500 mosquito nets that were given out on the river and in Bamako, a further 500 long-lasting nets were handed over to Richard to be distributed in the area of exploration. The campaign was followed with interest by the media and went out on national TV whilst we were in Bamako. Greg you'll be pleased to know that in Ghana and Mali alone we distributed over 6000 long-lasting nets under the CAG banner. At an average unit price of around 10 USD per net (we went for the best quality that can last for 21 washes and over four years).

The CAG supported One Net One Life campaign will now continue up the coast of Guinea, Guinea Bissau, The Gambia and Senegal. Further north we move out of the malaria belt, but will continue with the Right to Sight and Teaching on the Edge. One Net One Life activity will continue next year in February, March and April down the East Coast of Africa.

Final Ghanaian greetings...

21 September 2007

Greetings from the gold coast of Ghana we have great success in using the historic forts and castles as distribution points for the One Net One Life campaign.

Each pregnant mum and those with children under the age of five gets a stamped Africa Outside Edge ticket which they exchange for a life saving mosquito net. It's a great humanist turn about giving out these nets in the same courtyards and on the same steps from which tens of thousands of slaves were exported to the new world, part of the horrific trade in human flesh, so its good that we distribute life saving nets from these same historic locations.

J.K.W. Kwaw, the officer in charge of the world heritage site Elmina Castle, build by the Portuguese in 1482 (10 years before Columbus discovered America) adds this note to the Mandela scroll: “Elmina Castle, the first of so many European settlements on our coastline is proud to receive the One Net One Life expedition. Malaria, the scourge of sub-Saharan Africa ought to be eradicated completely. Your expedition is an outstanding example of human endeavour.” But it is not always easy.

The humidity is as thick as golden syrup and we have to dodge the constant rain storms – we are on our way to the Ivory Coast and have been warned about security and armed roadblocks. Its back into Francophone Africa – I know we’ll miss the friendly hello’s of English speaking Ghana.

The Venice of Africa

10 September 2007

After the madness and chaos of Lagos and Nigerian roads, little Benin seems like an oasis of calm.

Sure the sprawling city Cotonou has 10’s of 1000’s of mopeds but gone are all the roadblocks and outside the city we find what is considered to be the largest lake village on the continent. It is the Venice of Africa with over 20 000 people living above the water in huts built on stilts and people commuting in dugout canoes. The name of the village is Ganvie – our boatman tells us it means place of safety because during the slave trade people there were safe from invasion by the Dan-homey slavers because for religious reasons it was forbidden to extend their attacks over water. Malaria is rife in Ganvie and it is a fascinating exercise as we distribute life saving mosquito nets to mums and babies who arrive at the little hospital by dugout canoe, tiny babies strapped to their backs. Most of these Tofinu speaking women make a living from trading in fish which are grown and trapped in a network of branches that make up the underwater fences known as Akadja.

Ross has gone down with a terrible bout of malaria. Its crazy isn’t it? How sometimes we risk our lives to save lives. Tomorrow if Ross is well enough we’ll go down to the voodoo stronghold of Ouidah where, through the 'Gates of No Return', slaves from Benin took the voodoo religion to the distant America’s, the Caribbean, Brazil, Cuba and Haiti – we need to know more – it’s all part of discovering Africa’s outside edge. The humidity is thick as golden syrup. Ross is struggling – he’s puked up the first four pill dose of Coartem, so we give him anti nausea tablets, wait a while and re-commence the malaria treatment. It’s scary.

Brown rains in Cameroun

28 August 2007

How many times have you heard the words “Africa is not for sissies”. One does indeed have to be hardy of spirit and mind to survive this one. We’ve hit the rains in Cameroun and we’re covered in baby shit brown mud from the tops of our heads to our toes.

Dashboard, steering wheels, gear knobs – all covered in goo, not to mention the outside of the Landies which in the mist look like forest monsters as they creak, groan, roar and shudder, being winched, pushed and pulled along some of the most difficult jungle track we’ve ever experienced. Some mud holes are deeper than the Land Rovers and we have to pay a bribe on a toll to stroppy pygmy type characters, many of them full of palm wine and the tree of knowledge, to help cut us an alternative path through the forest. It’s ongoing – the tents and kit all mouldy and smelling of damp. The constant wet of a place where rain is measured in metres. But even in these shocking conditions we’re able to continue our One Net One Life mosquito net distribution to pregnant mums with babies, mobile libraries to schools and spectacles to the poor sighted. This consignment of mosquito life saving long lasting insecticide treated mosquito nets has been made available by Grindrod Limited, shipping and logistics company based in Durban. Humanitarian Ivan Clark personally provided funding for the expedition’s Right to Sight programme. This humanitarian work gives our Africa Outside Edge expedition a cause that is a great a challenge as that of tracking the outline of the continent.

Gabon

18 July 2007

Greetings from the coast of Gabon. Following the outside edge of Africa, this CAG supported humanitarian odyssey is proving one of the greatest challenges of our lives. In Gabon the Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS) do excellent work in providing logistical and management support to the national parks. And so we have linked our world first attempt to circumnavigate Africa by land and sea to their conservation efforts.

In a school in Mayumba children gather excitedly to participate in the expedition's Teaching on the Edge programme. The geography lesson is a giant map of Africa that pulls down from the side of the CAG branded Land Rover. The children recite the names of the 33 countries that make up the outside edge of Africa, then there's a competition in which the pupils read off the countries’ names and flags that run down the length of the expedition vehicles. Next on the programme is a delightful theatrical skit arranged by Aimee Sanders of WCS. Little actors dressed in the costumes of sharks, jellyfish and giant leatherback turtles. The theme is about conserving turtles in the coastal nesting grounds of Gabon which are some of the best in the world. Don’t kill the turtles and don't steal their eggs is the clear conservation message and there's even a little fellow dressed as a tourist in a big straw hat and safari jacket. He points a mock cardboard camera, "take pictures only and leave nothing but footprints" - is his conservation message.

The CAG supported expedition then distributes mosquito nets, pens, pencils, exercise books, stop malaria stickers and a pair of reading glasses to the albino principle who suffers from poor sight. He grins with joy and gratitude - no longer does he have to read at arms length. The English lesson to these little French speaking children is simply the chanting of “Please don't kill the turtles - S'i vous plait ne tuez pas les tortues”. Quevain Makaya, a 29 year old Gabonese conservationist with the WCS is now traveling with the expedition as French interpreter and conservation educator, with his help we will keep up the good work as we continue north up the beautiful coast of Gabon.

Walvis Bay, Namibia

20 May 2007

The Africa Outside Edge expedition’s objectives are clear, its to circumnavigate Africa in a clockwise direction by Land Rover and inflatable boats and at the same time to improve and save lives through adventure.

Up to a few weeks ago these were just words but now it’s for real. The filing of the Zulu calabash and the launch of the expedition from the Cape of Good Hope with a world record 347 Land Rovers escorting us out of the Mother City has set the scene for one of the most challenging expeditions of our lives. With Bloubergstrand, Langebaan and Lamberts Bay behind us we soon got into the real adventure using farm and diamond mining tracks to take us North into the Namaqualand strandveld. As part of the CAG supported humanitarian adventure we have been able to distribute mobile libraries to remote schools. This initiative is aptly called “Teaching on the Edge”. There’s also a “Right to Sight” programme in which readers are distributed to the poor sighted and the big one of course is the CAG supported One Net One Life campaign in which tens of thousands of long lasting nets will be distributed to pregnant mothers and to children in remote areas where there are no regular health authorities. This malaria prevention work will only begin once the expedition reaches Angola. For now the challenge has been the “Teaching on the Edge” programme and then into the wilderness of the Sperrgebiet, the forbidden coast, only made possible special permissions from De Beers and the Namibian ministry of Environment and Tourism. It’s been an unbelievable privilege, old German diamond mining ghost towns, wrecks in the mist, tens and thousands of sea birds and Cape Fur seals. Sliding the overloaded expedition Landies down the slip faces of some of the highest dunes in the world then clawing our way, sometimes digging, pushing and winching and always with engines screaming to the summit of the next one – then sliding down to the cold South Atlantic again, hugging the dunes the waves washing against the tyres and then to help things along an East wind sandstorm. What a great adventure, black backed jackals around the fire at night, brown hyena feeding on Cape Fur seal pups, more whale bones and shipwrecks, Gemsbok in the desert and finally the 1915 lighthouse at Pelican point now its time for a hot shower – thanks again for all the support.

The next challenge is to reach the Kunene by following the Skeleton Coast – then its Angola – will keep you posted.

Port Nolloth, South Africa

4 May 2007

The expedition has now reached Port Nolloth on the West Coast. Media coverage of the launch had been really strong and as we travelled up the coast support from the public has been incredible. You will be pleased to know that mobile libraries were distributed to a number of needy schools up the West Coast. After the media hype of the launch, it was great to get back to grassroots and to be able to deliver on our humanitarian promises.

Launch, Cape Town

28 April 2007

The Cape Peninsula winter rains had come early but the miserable conditions failed to dampen the spirit of hundreds of Land Rover owners who now dressed in an array of bush jackets, balaclavas and gumboots, danced in the mud in a vast paddock at De Grendel wine estate near Milnerton. Adventurers had travelled all the way from Namibia, Gauteng, the Eastern Cape and Durbs. Earlier that week an email had been sent out — it read “Dear friends in adventure, we’re expecting lousy weather but Land Rover owners aren’t whoosies — see you as planned.” Now enamel mugs of the Captain’s rum are raised in a victory salute — it had been an incredible day as bumper to bumper a record breaking 347 Landies of every shape, colour and vintage had braved the weather to join the longest humanitarian Land Rover convoy ever to leave from the Cape of Good Hope. In the week of Africa Malaria Day this has been a massive act of solidarity in the fight against malaria. Nobel Prize laureates Archbishop Desmond Tutu and Madiba himself, together with thousands of well-wishers have endorsed a Scroll of Peace and Goodwill in support of malaria prevention that the expedition is now setting off to be carried around the outside edge of Africa.

That morning at the Cape of Good Hope media cameras flashed as Kingsley Holgate, one of Africa’s best known adventurers, with his trousers rolled up to his knees filled a decorated Zulu calabash with cold South Atlantic seawater.

“It’s fitting that we launch our yearlong clockwise circumnavigation of the African continent from this — the most South Westerly point of the continent,” explained the Greybeard of African adventure as he held up the calabash for all to see. Kingsley and his family team are off again on what he calls “their greatest humanitarian adventure ever.” Linked to a Central African Gold supported One Net One Life campaign in support of malaria prevention this Africa Outside Edge expedition will distribute tens of thousands of life saving mosquito nets to pregnant mothers and children under the age of five. The shocking statistic is that for every minute of every day and night two babies die from the bloodsucking bite of the female anopheles mosquito. It’s a killer disease that affects 3.5 million Africans annually — killing more people than HIV/Aids. “Thanks for helping make a difference and showing that you care for Africa,” shouts Kingsley through a megaphone as he competes with the roar of the waves, shrieking seagulls and distant cracks of thunder and lightning.

Other humanitarian efforts linked to the expedition are a Central African Gold supported Right to Sight programme in which “readers” are distributed to the poor sighted in remote villages and there’s an innovative Centurus Colleges / Rotary initiative called Teaching on the Edge in which hundreds of mobile libraries will be distributed to needy schools. For a moments the sun peeps through the grey storm clouds as South African National Parks officials Gavin Bell and Christa Stringer hand over to the expedition three symbolic Cape Agulhas stones and a conservation scroll tied with a thin piece of kelp. A stone will be dropped and another picked up at the most Westerly, Northerly and Easterly points of the continent. If the expedition survives, these stones together with the Zulu calabash of seawater will be brought back to the Cape of Good Hope in a year’s time to coincide with Africa Malaria Day, 25th April 2008.

The Land Rover revellers continued to dance into the night. Nando’s — one of the supporters of the expedition provided a peri-peri feast. There was Kingsley Holgate’s Captain Morgan flambéed steak on the spade and t-shirts that read: Longest humanitarian convoy ever. “Sure we’re nervous,” said Kingsley standing next to his Central African Gold branded Land Rover with the colourful flags of 33 African countries decaled on the side. “Tomorrow we’re on our own – three Landies and two big Gemini inflatable boats ready to circumnavigate Africa. We know it will be tough but there seems to be a window of opportunity for us — peace has come to Angola, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Liberia and Sierra Leone. It’s now possible to cross Algeria and Libya, but how will we round the Horn of Africa — I know that from Djibouti we can get to Berbera in Somaliland and we will have to suss it out from there. But with all this incredible goodwill behind us and great sponsor partners how could we possibly fail. Central African Gold is supporting a massive malaria prevention campaign in Ghana and Mali. Following the edge won’t be easy but there are some wonderful challenges ahead – the ancient Namib’s Skeleton Coast, the Congo, Niger, Nile and Zambezi rivers, the equatorial jungles of West Africa, the Sahara – largest dessert of them all, the islands of Sao Tomé, the Dahlak and Lamu archipelagos, the Quirimbas, Zanzibar and Mafia — it all promises to be a wonderfully exciting odyssey, using adventure to improve and save lives — we will keep you posted.

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