Wild Spirit by Annette Henderson Page B

the end, the order filled six foolscap pages.
    Our days, meanwhile, were filled with myriad other practicalities – having blood tests for filariasis, stocking up on stationery and toiletries, filling prescriptions at the pharmacy and buying furnishings for the flat. We also called at the Banque Nationale de Paris, ever hopeful that our money had arrived from London, but it hadn’t. Last thing on Friday afternoon, I went with Roger to an electrical retailer and selected a Philips transistor radio with short wave.
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    Roger invited us for a farewell lunch with a group of his friends on the day before we left. He’d been cooking for three days and the five-course feast lasted all afternoon. Small groups of French expatriates arrived, wearing light summer clothing and talking volubly, and took their seats at the long table set under the coconut palms in his garden. They all seemed to know each other already and barely paused in their conversations when we were introduced. None of them seemed too happy to be in Gabon, and they showed little interest in two Australians destined for la brousse . From their conversations, their lives seemed to be focused on just two things: their next period of home leave,and gourmet food. As I listened to them I thought that Win and I were the lucky ones – we would experience the wildlife and the forest and the indigenous culture, a world their sheltered urban existence would never encompass.
    Roger gave up his double bed for us on our last night, because the Kombi was stacked to the roof with all our purchases. We felt deeply indebted to him. His friendship and hospitality had smoothed our path and made our time in Libreville unforgettable, and the three of us had formed a bond that would last many years, long after we’d all moved on.
    We left early on 21 June, with all the jerry cans full in case we struck petrol supply problems again. But the trip passed without incident: the dry season was well advanced, and the route had dried out so much that we made excellent time, reaching Makokou the next afternoon. Already we had learned that in the vast interior of Gabon, the pattern of the seasons critically affected transport logistics on the ground, by river and in the air. During the long wet season from February to late May when the dirt roads through the forest became quagmires of orange mud, it was not uncommon for dozens of long-haul trucks to become bogged end-to-end up to their axles for weeks at a time. Escape was only possible once the long dry season had set in. This lasted from the end of May until mid-September. In the wet, the rivers quickly rose to foaming torrents; in the dry, they fell just as dramatically. During the dry, thick cloud blanketed the sky most of the time, making navigation difficult and dangerous for aircraft when aviation beacons were out of order. The short rainy season occurred from mid-September to mid-December, followed by a short dry which ran until the end of January. Then the whole cycle began again.
    When we caught up with Kruger, he was full of gloom about our chances of getting the Kombi upriver on the barge. The water level was low and falling fast, so large rock outcrops were already exposed, which meant the barge could easily run aground on sandbanks or rocks. And there were other problems. The last time the barge had been used, someone had forgotten to put oil in the motor and it had burnt out. No-one in town could repair it, and no local suppliers had a new Volvo marine diesel engine available. But he’d devised a compromise solution: two twelve-metre pirogues would be lashed to the barge – one each side – with two outboards mounted on each. With nearly five tonnes of barge and cargo, we could count on an eleven-hour trip at minimum, and that didn’t allow for breakdowns. There was no guarantee we would get there, either. Kruger had allocated his four best pinnassiers to the trip the next day. With these dire