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I’ve escaped from the jungle! Right now I’m in Libreville, the capital city of Gabon, as I wait for my visa to be renewed. It’s not exactly a city of blinding lights but they’re certainly brighter than those in the rainforest and I have to say it’s exciting to be in civilization again.
I travelled here by bus across the width of the country on a journey that took almost 10 hours. The road, which for the most part was paved and very smooth courtesy of the Chinese loggers who seem to be everywhere here in Gabon, extended through many little villages, each one picturesque in its own primitive way. It was a culture shock arriving in Libreville. It was loud, lively, dirty, chaotic – everything the jungle is not.
I’m staying in a guesthouse close enough to the city center. A few days ago I decided to take a walk with a friend to the local market. It just so happened that the Heavens decided to open on that same day but luckily a Nigerian man allowed us to take shelter in his shop. He wasn’t the friendliest person I’ve ever met in my life but we were thankful for the roof. By the time the rain had stopped and we got to the market the ground had turned into a sort of slimy stew and I was in flip-flops, flip-flopping my way through the urban swamp.
People at the market were friendly and only too happy to let us know, from quite a distance, the cost of their goods and exclaim enthusiastically ‘very nice, very nice’. I’m not sure if they were referring to us or to their second-hand clothes but either way we smiled and flip-flopped on.
Somewhere in the zigzag of stalls I met a Malian man who was selling traditional ceremonial items like grass skirts, animal pelts, feathers and hand-made instruments. I asked him how one might use each of these during a ceremony and he replied simply with “we celebrate”. He was a man of few words. I then asked him if he wouldn’t mind having his photo taken with me and he responded simply with a big smile and a gentle nod of the head.
The darker side of the market
At one point we stumbled into the bush-meat section of the market. The entrance to it was a narrow tunnel lined with chicken cages. In them were packed hundreds of chickens in various stages of deterioration. Those that were still alive squawked at us, their feeble little necks poking out between the wire mesh, as we quickly scurried through.
On the other end of this tunnel was a dark, gloomy shed with a long passageway in the middle. On either side of this path were rows of tables and on them were things I’d rather I hadn’t seen. There were stacks of skinned duiker, smoked monkey skulls, flayed porcupines and segments of what had probably once been a crocodile. Unidentifiable innards lay strewn across our path. Flies buzzed from table to table as if they were at a buffet. Worst of all, towards the end of this dank shed was a pile of bin bags with God knows what wriggling inside them. We quickly made our exit.
Finding solace
On Sunday I went to mass at a church called St. Michael with a guy that I’d met at the guesthouse called Theo. It was a beautiful church in the heart of Libreville with an impressive wooden structure supported by intricately carved pillars. I had been to a Gabonese mass before, on Christmas Eve, but here in Libreville the Catholics really upped the ante. The Church was packed, so much so that Theo and I had to sit outside with the other latecomers. There was a band playing in one corner with tambourines, bongos, drums and a few electric guitars. The choir sang one lively hymn after the next.
There was a table beside Theo and I, laden with fruit and juices and other random foods. At first we thought there were going to be refreshments. It would have required a reenactment of the The Loaves and Fishes to feed the whole congregation, but we were hopeful nonetheless. As it turned out though, those were the offerings for the mass and during the procession the altar servers danced their way up the aisle taking with them our hopes of a mid-mass snack. It’s lucky we hadn’t just helped ourselves!
I’m still waiting for the visa. The only things that move quickly in Libreville are the taxis so I may be in for a long wait. I’m not complaining too much though. As I write this I’m sitting on the terrace sipping on a Regab beer and watching the sun dip below the corrugated roves on the horizon. Like pretty much everyone else in this country, I’m in no rush.
More of Megan’s Adventures in Africa:
Adventures in Africa: Why moving to Africa was the best decision of my life.
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