Teaking the piss

The night in Nzara passed smoothly, which is surprising given that the town is usually a harbinger of doom. I've documented this in previous entries.

In the morning, we went to see the County Commissioner, the key person to keep informed of our plans. He was late to the office as his driver didn't arrive with him, and then two ladies were mown down on the road by a speeding driver. The curse of Nzara strikes again.

This is my 1,500th blip and I do wish I'd responded when bananablip first started haranguing me. Ten years ago I was backpacking in Central America and I think I was in Guatemala at this time. That region would have made good blip fodder.

I can't take credit for the blip title; it came from my colleague Ivan. It represents the frustration with logging trucks who are making our project sites inaccessible by churning through muddy tracks and effectively barring the way to anyone on four wheels whose tyres are narrower and axles lower than a tractor's. We forced, slithered, bashed, inched and fought our way through 45 kilometres of diabolical roads, meeting jovial loggers on the way, who couldn't give less of a sh*t that the route will soon be impassable. They're making money from teak.

The Wildlife Service rangers John (our fantastically hardworking driver, mechanic and all round good egg in camp) and Festino dug, chopped, axed, hacked and battled our way through trenches of mud, patches of jungle and stagnant green tractor tyre-shaped pools of water. We gave a young lad a lift from Nzara and he must have regretted asking. I'd joked that payment for the lift was to help us if we got stuck.

At Namama ranger post, where I've stayed before, the evening light is gorgeous. This is a nice camping spot. The latrine has been relocated to a mound overlooking camp so the view as one performs their ablutions is pleasant but privacy is medium to poor and African bees pinged themselves at my bum. We have some activities to complete with community partners here, and are all praying that heavy rain holds off before we make the return journey down the Mashed Up Teak Track.

African women exhibit natural yoga skills that would be the envy of the classes I go to in Cambridge. This lady is sorting out her dried cassava, to be pounded and ground into flour.