It wasn’t. It was just a gloomy, sparsely furnished room, populated by a number of old men. They were all drinking coffee and doing nothing to promote a sense of Moroccan hospitality. They looked at the restaurant’s new customers as though they were unwelcome intruders. And, in their eyes, they probably were. Which is why somebody, who must have been the restaurant’s owner, was soon encouraging the sons and daughters of Britain to ascend a staircase to the side of the room. This took them away from the hostile atmosphere of the ground floor and into what was the dismal atmosphere of a private upstairs room, and here they would apparently be served a meal. And it was desperately dismal. It was more like a high-ceilinged corridor than a regular room, with at one end of this corridor a large filthy window, which, together with a small filthy overhead light, provided the room’s only illumination. And, as it was now raining outside that window and the overhead light was no more than a sixty-watt bulb, that illumination was minimal to say the least.
Dan and Kim took their seats for the promised repast. These were on a padded bench that ran all the way along one of the corridor’s walls and faced a trio of low, narrow tables. Initially nothing happened, and Dan and his fellow travellers were left to contemplate the dreariness of their surroundings – and the ambient temperature of their surroundings. It wasn’t a great deal warmer in this room than it had been outside, and with this region of Morocco currently experiencing a spell of unseasonably cold weather, it was noticeably chilly outside. The Brits had entered the restaurant wearing fleeces and jackets, and all of them were still wearing them – as they would be when they left the restaurant.
Finally, some food arrived. It was in the form of a series of tajines. They were no more than vegetable stews and they were awful. Dan and Kim ate hardly anything. And they drank nothing. The restaurant offered no drinks whatsoever, not even bottles of water. Indeed, all it could offer to accompany its tasteless tajines was a man with a banjo and a repertoire of tuneless wails. He had entered the private room uninvited towards the end of the meal, and had proceeded to assault the assembled company with the sort of noise that he hoped might earn him a few pennies, but served only to expedite the company’s departure from this dreadful eatery. Dan and Kim were not alone in wanting to be away from this place, and from the bloodied sheep remains that were still on its steps.
Back on their minibus, Dan and Kim exchanged their views on the trip so far. The overnight accommodation in Marrakesh, they agreed, had been OK but not great. The weather had not been OK, and was now getting worse. What had started out as a light drizzle in the middle of the morning was now a veritable downpour – and it was getting colder than ever. Then there were their travelling companions – on this minibus and the one following – and they all seemed… well, rather earnest and more than a little humourless. That meal at the restaurant hadn’t just lacked good food, something to drink and convivial surroundings, it had also lacked convivial company. This was a shame. In places where “independent travel” had been a problem and where a guide was more or less essential, Dan and Kim had participated in a group trip on a number of occasions before. Fortunately, these groups – of predominantly amateur naturalists – had, by and large, proved to be excellent company. They always included one or two over-zealous types, but the majority were quite normal and were prepared to take an interest in everything they saw and in their fellow travellers. But this lot were different. They had already displayed an almost fanatical interest in just birds, and that, thought Dan, could become somewhat tiresome.
His fears were reinforced when the two minibuses arrived at the top of the Tizi n’Tichka Pass. They had driven into this pass as soon as they had left the restaurant. It comprised a continuous zig-zag ascent into the Atlas Mountains, and on this day it was taking all those who were making this ascent into the sort of rain that could not be ignored. It was not just pouring from the sky but, with the help of a violent wind, it was lashing against the sides of their vehicles. Indeed, it was so intense that the Atlas Mountains themselves were being obscured entirely. No stunning vistas and dizzying views today, but just a curtain of water making it impossible to see even the side of the road. Right up to the top of the pass…
There was a modest plateau here, a small, litter-strewn stretch of ground that would provide some temporary parking for the two minibuses and an opportunity for their occupants to stretch their legs – if they didn’t mind getting soaked. Dan and Kim eschewed this opportunity. Others didn’t. And when one of these others reported that he’d seen a few choughs flying off, the minibuses were left empty – other than for Dan and Kim. Neither of them had any desire to catch a glimpse of a handful of disappearing corvids at the expense of getting cold and wet, and while their companions did just that, they stayed seated inside their transport and gazed through its open door.
They looked at their fellow Brits, water running off their binoculars as they peered in vain into the rain-filled pass, and it seemed their worst fears were being confirmed. Their companions were displaying excessive zeal and no common sense, and that was really bad news. Dan could barely believe their behaviour. No more than he could believe that he hadn’t seen that car before…
It was visible through the open door of the minibus, a red Peugeot parked on a patch of level ground on the other side of the road. Dan could just make out that there were two men in it, and he thought that he had seen them before as well. In fact, there was no doubt in his mind. That car had been parked just beyond the entrance to Restaurant Dismal, and those two men had been standing by it – as the party of travellers had entered the restaurant and as they had left it. But so what? If the two of them had been there and they weren’t on their way to Marrakesh, then they’d be coming up this pass. There was no other route to take. And when they’d got to the top of the pass, they’d probably want to stop for a rest. There was nothing peculiar about that.
But even so, Dan had this feeling, a feeling of real unease. He didn’t relay it to Kim. After all, it was just a feeling. And anyway, within minutes, all the wet members of the party were back on board and the minibuses were commencing their descent of the southern slopes of the Atlas Mountains, and it was time to forget about red Peugeots and irrational feelings of unease. It was time to discover whether the rain was about to clear.
four
Brazzaville was looking a little less chic on this new Congo morning. Dan knew he would be pleased to leave it. He was no fan of cities and no fan of manic traffic, of which Brazzaville had more than its fair share. He was therefore relieved when his taxi arrived at Maya-Maya Airport, and even more relieved when he and his taxi companion, Mike, had checked in for their flight.
He had eaten breakfast with Mike and had found him just as uninquisitive as he had been the night before, and just as unforthcoming on any details about himself. The conversation had been restricted to a little more of the history of the Congo – and particularly its tribal-kingdom pre-history – and the merits of a buffet arrangement for breakfasts as opposed to any that involved waiters, and particularly so when the waiters operated in a regime where pizzas took sixty minutes to reach one’s table.
Now at the airport, Mike was being entirely uninquisitive. He had excavated a copy of Private Eye from his somewhat battered rucksack and had begun to read it assiduously. Dan suspected that this was in part due to his desire to catch up on some reading and in part due to his recognition of the rather uncommunicative nature of their fellow passengers for the flight to the Odzala-Kokoua National Park. Of the six other travellers to the north, four were Spaniards, who either knew no English or were not prepared to speak it, and the other two were a “self-contained” couple. He was a tall middle-aged American and she was a blowsy-looking Eastern European, a woman half his age and one who was probably a great deal more sexually active than the woman he’d no doubt left behind in the States. One might also say that she looked like a whore.
Ultimately, however, Mike was required t
o abandon his magazine. A young South African woman had arrived and had invited the assembled travellers to leave the small domestic departures lounge and make their way on foot to their awaiting plane. She spoke only in English, but the quartet of Spaniards all seemed to understand her and accepted her invitation straightaway. They and the other four were therefore soon walking across the apron of the airport in the direction of a low-slung, two-engine aircraft, which Dan would subsequently discover was a still-flying example of something called a Dornier 228-200. It didn’t look state of the art, but it did look serviceable (its engines were already turning) and it was very clean. Dan had certainly been in older, smaller and scruffier aircraft than this and, like all the other prospective flyers, installed himself on board without a second’s thought. Inside, its age was a little more apparent, as were its modest proportions. In addition to its two crew, it could carry only sixteen people or, on this occasion, eight people and an assortment of bottles, foodstuffs and other provisions. Clearly, no opportunity to ferry essential supplies to the two camps in the national park was ever missed, and with eight spare seats the opportunity on this occasion was significant.
Dan had barely strapped himself into his seat, when he heard the cabin door being closed and the plane’s idling engines being throttled into active service. He then realised two things immediately. The first was that he had before him one and a half hours of solitary travelling (the plane’s single seats were positioned on either side of a central aisle and the engines were far too noisy to allow any conversation across this aisle). The second was that he felt hugely relieved. He was now on the threshold of his journey to the virtual emptiness of northern Congo, and on the threshold of his goal. He closed his eyes and relished the moment. He only opened them again when he felt the Dornier moving. It had started to taxi rather more promptly than many aircraft do at airports – something, Dan suspected, that was not unconnected with the lack of activity at this particular overgrown aerodrome. Maya-Maya Airport might have an impressive terminal building, but it didn’t have a great deal of business. Dan had not seen a single aircraft landing or taking off since he’d first arrived here this morning.
There were, however, some aircraft to see. Out of his window he counted six other stationary aeroplanes on the apron – and four more not on the apron. Instead they were where they’d been abandoned months, or more probably years, before – beyond the outer edge of the runway. It seemed to be an almost universal feature of African airports: an exhibition of redundant and rotting planes, put in place either to remind the airport’s clients of their mortality or as some sort of totem to keep the airport safe. Or maybe there was a more prosaic reason. Maybe there were just no facilities available locally that would allow their dismemberment and disposal. But whatever the reason, Dan was quite happy to see them. It confirmed in his mind that he was now a long way from home and close to his destination.
The Dornier had now completed its taxiing and was readying itself for a dash along the runway. Then, with an intensified roar of its engines, the dash was underway and within seconds, long before the end of the runway, the aircraft was airborne. Soon it was banking to pick up its northerly course, and this manoeuvre gave Dan and all those on his side of the plane a remarkable view of the city they had just left. It was a little hazy, but down below was the sprawl of Brazzaville – and the far-from-chic townships that made up its suburbs – and beyond the sprawl, the impressive stretch of water that separated it from Kinshasa. Indeed, Kinshasa was just visible as well, reminding Dan that these two cities were unique in being the only two country capitals that faced each other across a river – and that this mighty Congo River down below divided the two countries themselves for hundreds of miles upstream of the conurbations. It was quite a sight.
So too was the replacement of the urban landscape below with a green landscape within only minutes. It confirmed Dan’s understanding that the vast majority of the Republic of Congo’s modest population was located in and between its two principal cities in the south (Brazzaville and Pointe Noire), and that the rest of the country was deficient both in infrastructure and Homo sapiens. It was just a pity that this view of the largely untouched Congo was soon obscured by a gathering of clouds. It was even more of a pity that these clouds continued to coalesce until the Dornier’s pilot found himself in the middle of a storm system and his passengers found themselves in the middle of a Disneyland ride. The plane was being thrown around like a toy, and as far as Dan could tell, it was being thrown downwards rather more often than it was being thrown upwards. Dan could see that most of his fellow passengers found this disconcerting. The Eastern European lady clearly found it more than disconcerting. She started to whimper, and her American partner, seated behind her, dealt with this by studiously ignoring her. Maybe, thought Dan, he was terrified as well.
This “extreme turbulence ride” went on for some time – and it made the consumption of an on-board packed lunch quite a challenge. However, it eventually came to an end and Dan began to notice breaks in the clouds, then bigger breaks that furnished him with more views of green, and of only green. There appeared to be nothing down there other than the natural world, and somewhere within that expanse of natural world was the Odzala-Kokoua National Park – and hopefully an airstrip.
Dan looked at his watch. They had been flying for over one hour and twenty minutes. As he then looked at the landscape again, he felt the plane descending. Despite that highly agitated episode on the way, they had lost very little time, if any at all, and they would soon be landing. This was confirmed within seconds as Dan caught sight of a small ribbon of green in the patchwork of green below. It was a landing strip, and the pilot was now banking his plane in order to line it up for an approach from the north. Dan suspected it wasn’t the first time he’d done this.
The ground was now approaching rapidly, with that palette of green below resolving itself into individual trees and bushes. Then some of these trees were just metres below – and then, from the ends of the aeroplane’s wings, just metres away. The aircraft was now being eased down into what was a corridor of cleared vegetation. Within seconds it would be landing on the runway, a runway that was no more than a long swathe of grass. Whether it was maintained by grazing or by mowing was uncertain, but it certainly hadn’t seen a roller for some time. This was apparent to all those on board when the Dornier’s tyres made contact with the green sward and then carried their burden for what seemed like minutes before the aircraft came to a stop. But it did come to a stop. And Dan was now in the Odzala-Kokoua National Park and in a state of some anticipation. Would it be as he’d expected?
The answer was ‘yes’. The landing strip’s facilities comprised an air sock and a couple of fire extinguishers in a cabinet beneath a tree. This was very much a backwater facility designed for a backwater part of the world, a place visited by very few people – and inhabited by very few. It was just as he’d hoped, and there were even two open-sided Land Cruisers waiting to take the airstrip’s new arrivals to their first destination within the national park, the private camp by the name of Lango.
These vehicles would be driven by Kate and Connor, two of the park’s resident guides. They were both South African and both very young and very small. Kate was no more than five foot three and came with a pretty face and long blonde hair fashioned into a ponytail. Connor was only marginally taller, noticeably thinner than Kate, and he had long frizzy hair, also fashioned into a ponytail. Maybe, thought Dan, it was just a function of there being no barbers hereabouts…
It took a little time to unload the aeroplane – and to leave a pile of supplies at the edge of the airstrip to be collected later – but it wasn’t too long before the Land Cruisers had been loaded with their human cargo and were being fired into action. Connor led the way – with his complement of four Spaniards. Kate followed with, in her vehicle, Dan, Mike, the American and his now surly-looking floozy. Maybe, thought Dan, she had just discovered that ther
e were no spa facilities within the national park, and she was less than impressed. Hell, what was the point of going anywhere if they didn’t have a spa?
She was probably unimpressed with the road as well. In the first place, even though it was the “main road” to Gabon hereabouts, it wasn’t really a road at all, but just a very uneven track. And in the second place, when Kate and Connor had taken the spur off this thoroughfare that would deliver them to Lango, “unusable” took over from “uneven”. This was because this branch-track had been carved through a very undulating, rather open landscape, and whenever it rained, the rain clearly carved it some more. The downpours here obviously used the track as a watercourse and had caused so much erosion to the man-made route that on a number of occasions Kate and Connor were obliged to abandon the track and make another route through the bush. In fact, Kate had informed her passengers that the camp’s pickup truck had failed to make one of these necessary detours just the previous day, and as a result had become wedged into one of the track’s deeper gullies. It had then required the pulling power of her Land Cruiser to get it out. There were, of course, no recovery vehicles in the park – or indeed any vehicles other than the pickup and the two Land Cruisers. As Mike suggested to Dan, whatever problems one would encounter in this environment, they would certainly not include any serious congestion.
This wasn’t the only exchange between Mike and Dan, but it was one of only a very few. Dan wanted to take in the environment – one of a hilly sort of savannah – and clearly, Mike was happy to do the same, even though he had been here before. Furthermore, there was some wildlife about, and this captured the attention of all on board – other than Svetlana. (She and her partner, Bruce, had been obliged to provide their names to Kate back at the landing strip). There were various monkeys, a good selection of birds and, much to Svetlana’s disgust, a group of forest buffaloes in and around what smelled like a buffalo latrine. At this point Mike did initiate another exchange with Dan, and he did this with the whispered question: ‘Do you think she’ll want to leave tomorrow?’ Dan responded with, ‘She might want to leave tonight.’
Darkness Page 3
