CONGO CROSSING

In the second part of his Congo saga, Dan Grec finds unexpected help and more than a hefty share of adrenaline as he moves through this uncertain territory

With my passport stamped (and later signed by myself), we continue south on a severely overgrown motorbike track through the jungle.

We continue south on a severely overgrown motorbike track through the jungle. For kilometre after kilometre both vehicles tear and scrape through the tangle on both sides, and when I snag a guard flare on an unseen tree stump it tears in half, almost completely coming off. I repeatedly ask locals on foot if this is the correct way, and a young boy aged fifteen climbs aboard for a ride into the bigger town. He assures me we are on an actual road, and I feel certain I have never seen a road anywhere on earth as small as this.

When we finally reach the East-West road children again surround the vehicles, smiling, cheering and jumping around as if they might burst with joy at any moment. My passenger spots his sisters in the crowd and they are clearly impressed he is riding in a 4x4 instead of walking today.

Again the town is spotless, without a single piece of trash in sight. I come to the conclusion this must be because the people here cannot actually purchase anything that would make trash. There is no store, there are no Cokes or plastic bags for sale, and I doubt anyone has money for them anyway. For the first time in my life I am so remote there is no possibility for trash.

It’s clear this road sees more traffic, though I quickly realise more traffic means deeper ruts and longer, churned up mud pits. The ruts are extremely deep and wider than the track of the Jeep, leading me to suspect only the largest 4x4 trucks pass this way. Progress is slow as we bump along the severely washed-out track, through deep mud and the occasional river crossing that laps at the hood of the Jeep.

The sun relentlessly beats down long into the afternoon. After a full 14-hour day, we have not yet seen another vehicle in the DRC.