Just a couple weeks before my departure from Edéa, I realized that with all the time I've spent with my postmate, Will, that I had only been to his village of Ngonga to help him move in -over a year ago. I decided my last small trip from Edéa would be to visit him for a few days. The day after returning from Kellé-Bitchoka for the first mass, Will called to let me know he was in town and that I should meet him to go out to his village. We met at the bar across from my office (where I spend entirely too much time) and had a beer (which was bought by a friend from the market). This was quickly followed by another beer (bought by the woman who runs the bar, and wanted to thank me for a photo I took of her and her granddaughter).
Eventually, we made it to the "bus station" where we sat for a bit longer waiting for the van to leave - we lucked out and it left before it was full, so we were rather comfortable. Upon arrival, we were met and informed that the weekly football (um, soccer) game was about to start. During the cooler part of the year, there are leagues which pit the young men of small villages against neighboring villages. This was a friendly match- not one that counted towards the regional championship. EVERYONE from both villages was there, and we were greeted by the folks from Ngonga. It was kinda like a small-town T-ball game in the US with folks selling food, watching the game, and cheering on their sons and brothers. Either of these teams could whoop any high school team in the US without trying too hard (these guys were 15-19 years old), but it was the home team that prevailed by a score of 3-1.
We skipped the partying at the local night club (a guy built an empty shed-like structure onto the front of his house and bought some really loud speakers) so that we could get up early the next morning and go hunting in the jungle. Note: animal lovers may want to skip the next paragraph or two...
At 7:00am we met Will's friend and local bush meat hunter for a tour of the jungle next to the village, sliding down hills, crossing streams and visiting his traps. Machete in hand, and camera in bag, we were ready for anything. Coming upon the first of his traps, Ben showed us how to bend over a sapling tree, attach wire, dig a small hole, and set a trap for whatever small animal happened by. The "spring" trap, once stepped on, wrapped the (usually) hind foot with the wire circle and flung him up to hang until he died of exhaustion, maggots, or the hunter's machete, whichever came first.
Soon after starting, we came on a wide stream that was a bit too deep for my not-really-waterproof boots, so Will and I sat down to rest and wait for Ben to check the couple of traps on the other side and continue. He came back with a big smile on his face, and an african porcupine in his hands. He put it in his backpack (he had already killed it and let the blood) and we continued. Not too long afterwards, Ben pointed out the movement through the trees. It turned out to be a jungle rat (about five times larger than the New York variety, but clearly in the same family) caught in another of his traps. This time I took photos of the before, during and after. That too went into the backpack. A bit more hiking and appreciating the beauty of the spoiled forest followed (even here, the woods had been thoroughly harvested about fifty years ago, but were making a good comeback). Having hiked through a similar jungle in Korup with Cathy, I was weary of the biting ants, and they found all three of us too. We stopped to pick them out of our pants, underwear and just about everywhere else as they bit us. It was then that we noticed a third trap had done its deed, this time with the reclusive and scaled pangolin. Unfortunately, it had been there for a couple of days and was already rotting (we had smelled it long before). Ben salvaged the tail (which didn't have visible maggots and which is the best-tasting part) and put that too into his backpack. We headed out of the jungle, having done quite a day's work. It was 11am. That afternoon, we slept and that evening, we had porcupine for dinner. It was delicious.
I wanted to hike to a waterfall that was nearby the following morning, but the rainy season was in full gear and it hadn't stopped raining for almost 18 hours, so we cancelled. We bought our would-be guide breakfast of beignets and bouilée (hot, sweetened starch water). It didn't stop raining for another six hours. I said my goodbyes and headed back to Edéa.
By chance, the driver was the younger brother of my friend Sylvie, so he drove nice and slow on the muddy roads. When we were about halfway there, we came across a bridge under construction. They had made a temporary route down into and then back out of the ravine the bridge was being constructed to pass over. A logging truck, full of freshly cut wood, had slid down faster than the cab was driving, causing a jacknife and blocking the road. Considering myself lucky once again (and swearing that it was the last of my taking chances in this country), I got out with the driver, evaluated the situation, and we started filling in the side of the road with large rocks and then dirt to widen the road to allow us to pass. It worked. I went to sleep soon after getting back, with muddy clothes, large numbers of bug bites and a few photos as souvenirs of my trip.
