Afghanistan (Wakhan Corridor) · Morocco · Norway (Arctic Circle) · Turkey · Australia

Featured Vehicles

Black Sheep expedition vehicle (Switzerland to Dubai)
Matzker MG6-Commando

Events

Introducing the Overland Discovery Expo in Wales

Travel

Solving the 3,000-year-old mystery of the Oxus River (Lake Malang expedition)
Heading east across Eurasia in a Series 2 Land Rover
Waiting for the wind: travel, time, and patience
Morocco: the Chouara Tannery in Fez

Portfolio

Far Above the Arctic Circle

Overland Chef

Road Trip Snacks II

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The post Number 11: Historic Geographic Discovery, Feature Vehicles, Solo Adventure Moto Travel, and Cultural Tradition appeared first on overland-europe.

Australia · France · Spain · Namibia · Norway (Nordkap)

Field Tests

• GWM Cannon Alpha PHEV pickup
• BOXIO Cook (12-month test)
• ARB Skydome (4-year long-term test)

Featured Vehicles

• Land Rover Defender OCTA Black
• Volkswagen Amarok

Travel

• Nordkap in winter with two INEOS Grenadier Quartermasters
• France and Spain in a 1963 Land Rover Series IIA
• A family of four driving from India to Germany
• Cycling across Australia (Part 6)
• Guided self-drive travel in Namibia

Portfolio

• Africa

Conservation

• Australia: Denham & Shark Bay aquaculture project

Skills

• Cordless power tools for overland travel

Overland Chef

• DIY road trip snacks

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Pakistan · Indonesia (Sumatra) · Australia · Nepal · Turkey

Field Test

UrQuelle Outdoor water purification system

Travel

Travel Is Fatal: Pakistan on an Enfield 500 Bullet
Sumatra: Whitewater rafting on the Asahan River
N.E.P.A.L: Never Ending Peace And Love
Australia: Tjuntjuntjara and the Spinifex People

Historic Overland

Magic Bus and the Hippie Trail

Portfolio

Australia’s Hidden Gems

Conservation

Fences, Fury & 4x4s

Overland Chef

Beef Kofta

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The post Number 8: Pakistan, Indonesia, Australia, Expedition Motorcycling, Remote Rivers, and Historic Overland Travel appeared first on overland-europe.

WHO Director-General Dr Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus has determined that the upsurge of mpox in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) and a growing number of countries in Africa constitutes a public health emergency of international concern (PHEIC) under the International Health Regulations (2005) (IHR).

Dr Tedros’s declaration came on the advice of an IHR Emergency Committee of independent experts who met earlier in the day to review data presented by experts from WHO and affected countries. The Committee informed the Director-General that it considers the upsurge of mpox to be a PHEIC, with potential to spread further across countries in Africa and possibly outside the continent.

The Director-General will share the report of the Committee’s meeting and, based on the advice of the Committee, issue temporary recommendations to countries. 

In declaring the PHEIC, Dr Tedros said, “The emergence of a new clade of mpox, its rapid spread in eastern DRC, and the reporting of cases in several neighbouring countries are very worrying. On top of outbreaks of other mpox clades in DRC and other countries in Africa, it’s clear that a coordinated international response is needed to stop these outbreaks and save lives.”

WHO Regional Director for Africa Dr Matshidiso Moeti said, “Significant efforts are already underway in close collaboration with communities and governments, with our country teams working on the frontlines to help reinforce measures to curb mpox. With the growing spread of the virus, we’re scaling up further through coordinated international action to support countries bring the outbreaks to an end.” 

Committee Chair Professor Dimie Ogoina said, “The current upsurge of mpox in parts of Africa, along with the spread of a new sexually transmissible strain of the monkeypox virus, is an emergency, not only for Africa, but for the entire globe. Mpox, originating in Africa, was neglected there, and later caused a global outbreak in 2022. It is time to act decisively to prevent history from repeating itself.”

This PHEIC determination is the second in two years relating to mpox. Caused by an Orthopoxvirus, mpox was first detected in humans in 1970, in the DRC. The disease is considered endemic to countries in central and west Africa.

In July 2022, the multi-country outbreak of mpox was declared a PHEIC as it spread rapidly via sexual contact across a range of countries where the virus had not been seen before. That PHEIC was declared over in May 2023 after there had been a sustained decline in global cases.

Mpox has been reported in the DRC for more than a decade, and the number of cases reported each year has increased steadily over that period. Last year, reported cases increased significantly, and already the number of cases reported so far this year has exceeded last year’s total, with more than 15 600 cases and 537 deaths. 

The emergence last year and rapid spread of a new virus strain in DRC, clade 1b, which appears to be spreading mainly through sexual networks, and its detection in countries neighbouring the DRC is especially concerning, and one of the main reasons for the declaration of the PHEIC.

In the past month, over 100 laboratory-confirmed cases of clade 1b have been reported in four countries neighbouring the DRC that have not reported mpox before: Burundi, Kenya, Rwanda and Uganda. Experts believe the true number of cases to be higher as a large proportion of clinically compatible cases have not been tested.

Several outbreaks of different clades of mpox have occurred in different countries, with different modes of transmission and different levels of risk.

The two vaccines currently in use for mpox are recommended by WHO’s Strategic Advisory Group of Experts on Immunization, and are also approved by WHO-listed national regulatory authorities, as well as by individual countries including Nigeria and the DRC.

Last week, the Director-General triggered the process for Emergency Use Listing for mpox vaccines, which will accelerate vaccine access for lower-income countries which have not yet issued their own national regulatory approval. Emergency Use Listing also enables partners including Gavi and UNICEF to procure vaccines for distribution. 

WHO is working with countries and vaccine manufacturers on potential vaccine donations, and coordinating with partners through the interim Medical Countermeasures Network to facilitate equitable access to vaccines, therapeutics, diagnostics and other tools.

WHO anticipates an immediate funding requirement of an initial US$ 15 million to support surveillance, preparedness and response activities. A needs assessment is being undertaken across the three levels of the Organization.

To allow for an immediate scale up, WHO has released US$ 1.45 million from the WHO Contingency Fund for Emergencies and may need to release more in the coming days. The Organization appeals to donors to fund the full extent of needs of the mpox response. 

Source: who.int

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I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little skeptical of the true intensity that lay ahead. In just a matter of minutes my skepticism would be put to rest. Floating through the soft and sandy two track with the roar of the engine reaching a new level, the steering wheel resisted any sort of instruction as we weaved our way into the bush. No sooner had the words “Be on the watch for elephants” left Anton’s mouth when my knees hit the dash of the Defender.

“Elle! Elle straight ahead!”

My eyes strained to focus as I looked through the windshield, only to see an adult female elephant charging directly at us. As if from a scene in Jurassic Park, Anton calmly said: “Do not move. At all.”

The soft click of my camera lens was all that I responded with. I watched in awe as she came to an abrupt halt, digging in her front heels and shaking the dust off her now fully deployed ears. A few seconds later and the whole encounter was over, leaving the convoy at a loss for words. As Anton put the car into gear again and slowly rolled past the elephant tracks, I had gained a whole new perspective on what the word “wild” meant in Southern Africa.

Pushing through kilometres of increasingly difficult terrain revealed just how important each member of this team would be in the hours and days to come. Karl, the resident optometrist for 4x4Outfar, along with his wife Adi, often held the group together with a mixture of caffeine and light-hearted banter. Keeping spirits up across the radio as the height of water crossings went from lug nut, to over-tire, and at times over the hood, or as they say in South Africa, “over the bonnet.” Cam, our fearless videographer, was often running barefoot at full speed back and forth between rigs to capture the true nature of what we were getting ourselves into.

The farther we crept into the wilderness, the more the road began to turn to mud, Bogging down our extremely well-equipped vehicles and creating hour-long rescue missions. Ivor, a skilful man of few words, and his daughter Megan, took up the role of leading our pack through unknown water. Our routine of “walking it” became an all too familiar occurrence when staring down the 50-meter watering holes on our route. At times we even made the decision to cut a new road alongside the standing water, only to find stubborn mud, stumps, and the occasional downed trees. Hour after hour we made our way through the bush, until a moment came that felt uncomfortably quiet. 90 kilometres into our push, with another 60 kilometres still ahead of us, the engine in Anton’s Defender came to a sputtering halt. We were officially stuck.

The sun was shining down on miles and miles of wilderness in every direction, and we were right in the middle of it. Noticing our journey had gone from a confident yet progressive struggle to a much more serious scenario, Anton reached for the satellite phone to send out an SOS.

Not knowing if help would make its way to us before sundown, we made our best effort to pull the Defender with a tow line through mangled bush road. Ultimately, we realised that the Defender had to be left behind. Grabbing only the bare essentials, we packed Anton, his wife Melita, and daughter Cayla into the remaining three vehicles and watched Anton’s Defender disappear into the bush through the rear view mirrors.

It was clear with one vehicle down, the stakes became higher at each water crossing. Knowing that if something else failed, our likelihood of getting out would be close to zero. Chatter continued to come across the radio as we raced the daylight. As we watched the soggy green landscape pass by, our eyes grew wide hearing the radio crackle. Adi’s voice came through with the words, “rigs on the horizon!” A wave of relief washed over the entire team. We were greeted soon after by two safari patrols sent out from a lodge to respond to Anton’s SOS.

Hopping out of our vehicles we shared a moment of pure gratitude with our new lodge companions. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anton with his head buried in a well-deserved moment of emotion. Knowing our journey wasn’t over yet, Anton joined the safari convoy retracing our path to recover his beloved vehicle. Let’s just say that the radio was full of light-hearted jokes as we pressed on.

On the final leg of our trek to the other side of the Okavango Delta, we found ourselves in another pickle. The safari patrol leading the way home fell to the same fate as we had so many times earlier. Wheels buried and high-centred in the mud. This was almost routine for them, and we watched the locals demonstrate their seemingly effortless recovery skills. In a fraction of the time we would have spent ourselves, they used the surroundings to their advantage and were back in action. As fate would have it, Anton’s Defender was able to be rebooted and he even managed to switch roles, giving an assist to the bogged-down safari patrol… Something I don’t think he’ll let any of us forget any time soon.

The rest of our community vision work with 4x4Outfar went off without a hitch. Each village we were able to visit and provide testing would become a testament to the resilience only to be found in a team that is truly committed to its mission. When all was said and done, this trip would see the 4x4Outfar team provide vision testing for over 2,000 children, and distribute 86 pairs of prescription eyeglasses to some of the most deserving and compassionate communities I’ve ever encountered.

On the return trip to the airport, Anton expressed how grateful he and his team have been for the love and support they’ve received from the iKamper community around the world. How much it means to them to be able to go out and do this work to Love People & Love Nature. I told him that one wouldn’t exist without the other.

As the plane took off, I got one last look down at that line in the wild I saw weeks ago. Returning my gaze to the seat back in front of me, I couldn’t help but write these few words down: “The wrong road for the right reasons…the legend of Anton Poplett.”

Text: Eric Gordon | Images: Eric Gordon, Cameron Stuart and courtesy of Anton Poplett

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As I flew from Seattle to the unspoiled landscape of Botswana, I looked down and saw a single road cutting through one of the wildest places on Earth. Little did I know I would soon be standing in the middle of a road just like that one, thigh-deep in muddy water, wondering what I had gotten myself into.

I first connected with Anton close to a year ago. I had received an email about his work providing life-changing prescription eyewear to children in some of the most remote villages of Southern Africa. After a few calls back and forth with Anton, it was clear this was a story that needed to be heard. As a part of iKamper’s commitment to Love People & Love Nature, we dedicated our 2021 Giveback Giveaway to support Anton’s work with 4x4Outfar (4x4outfar.com). The iKamper community showed its true colours and donated more than US$20,000 to further 4x4Outfar’s work. Fast forward six months, and as I watched muddy water spill over the hood of Anton’s 2010 Defender, there was no doubt left in my mind…this guy, his team, and their positive impact on the community are the real deal.

Leading up to this trip, the word “wild” seemed to find its way into conversations with Anton quite regularly. As an avid adventure seeker in my own right, I took it with a grain of salt knowing that word can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. I know now that I’d be leaving with a whole new understanding of “wild” by the time I left Botswana.

When I landed in Maun, Botswana after a leg-cramping 48 hours of airport travel, Anton was waiting to greet me with what I would come to know as South African hospitality. As we drove, Anton explained that possibly the most important piece of this adventure was situated right next to my luggage. A fully self-sufficient prescription eyewear inventory and diagnostic system that allowed him and his team to do what they do successfully. Over the next week and a half, I learned just how impactful this corrective eyewear system would be. As well as how essential the Skycamp 2.0 was to complete the 4x4Outfar team’s rigs.

We pulled up to the first school and established an order of operations that would become more and more efficient as each day of the trip passed.

• Step 1. Find the best-shaded area in the schoolyard to park our rigs. Almost always under massive trees in the middle of the property.
• Step 2. Measure out a four-meter distance from the side of our vehicles where eye charts were mounted. The classic ones you might recognise from your own childhood eye exams.
• Step 3. Greet the kids who have already spilled out of their classrooms with excitement, and separate them into lines with the help of the school teachers.

Starting with the large “E” at the top of the chart, a chorus of “Good!” and “Well done!” echoed throughout the schoolyard as the testing was underway. Followed by bursts of laughter and curiosity from children waiting in line. Eventually, a small group of children would form a new line for secondary testing.

This is when the real work begins. Often paired with a local teacher, Anton’s crew would take what they like to call the “You See” glasses, and gently fit them on a child’s face. USee glasses have one small opening for each eye with a dial on either side to adjust lenses and identify prescription strength needed. Once the initial confusion was sorted out, the children would turn the dial for each eye and watch as their world slowly came into focus for the first time. After a few minutes to set the prescription lenses into frames, we were handing the children a brand new pair of eyeglasses on the spot.

Like many youngsters, they were often shy at first and would calmly walk away, but as soon as they got back to their group of friends a big smile would appear on their faces and life would pick up right where it left off. Teachers at each school would share with us some of the struggles that certain students had been experiencing simply because they couldn’t see what was written on the chalkboard. Watching children struggle to discern even the largest letters on the vision chart, it hit home that they have been living with this issue every moment of every day. For many of us, an issue like this would be identified and dealt with at a very early age. 4x4Outfar’s work is giving these children the chance see clearly for the first time in their lives.

Anton and his team have been doing this work for close to four years now. They shared a particular story with me that was very similar to the schoolyard in front of me. On a previous trip, they helped a young boy with prescription lenses. After receiving his new glasses, he improved exponentially in school, and along the way even taught himself how to knit. Anton explained to me that over the past two years this young man was able to knit scarves and sell them to support his family. Eventually earning enough to buy himself a brand-new school uniform.

Stories like these, along with so many others, demonstrate the incredible ripple effect of this work. When a community of people comes together to spread love far beyond their borders, that is what it truly means to Love People & Love Nature.

Text: Eric Gordon | Images: Eric Gordon and Cameron Stuart

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More than 60 years have passed since that memorable moment. There were three of us: Collyn, Rex, and myself. We had met at the de Havilland Aircraft Company in Hatfield, England. Collyn was an electronics engineer while Rex and I were apprentices; we shared an interest in vintage cars and had become friends.

Collyn subsequently left de Havilland to join the research department of Bedford/Vauxhall Motors while I, after my apprenticeship, went to what was then called Southern Rhodesia to become a learner miner. Two years later, in 1959, after I had hitchhiked from Rhodesia to Kenya, I was invited on a journey Collyn had planned to drive from England to South Africa and back with him and Rex. There could only be one response to such an invitation.

It was entirely Collyn who conceived and organised the trip, inspired by the lack of solid data about road conditions across Africa—information sorely needed for realistic testing of vehicles being built for that continent. His employer could not justify financial support for such a venture but made available an unused Bedford QLR 4WD truck for a nominal £100.

Collyn set about researching sponsors for what he called the TransAfrica Survey Expedition. The most vital of these was Mobil Oil, which provided political assistance, and fuel and oil for the entire expedition. The British Army supplied 100 kilograms of experimental dehydrated food that proved excellent.

What I brought to the table was some experience of Africa; a rudimentary knowledge of French, Chilapalapa, and Swahili; plus a small amount of money, which turned out to be rather less than my fellow travellers had hoped. Between us, we had a total of about £550, but decided to keep most of it for emergencies—such as how to get home should the truck break down.

The QL Bedford was designed just prior to WW2 as a versatile off-road military vehicle able to carry three tonnes virtually anywhere. With a fully laden weight of seven tonnes, the QL was powered by a 3.5-litre petrol engine designed in the early 1930s by Chevrolet. This provided a rarely attained (and governed) top speed of 32 mph (about 50 kph). Whilst a fully laden QL makes an overladen oxen-drawn timber wagon seem like a Ferrari, it had a meager bottom gear ratio of 104:1. Even a minor gradient would slow it to walking pace. Still, given enough time, a QL could virtually climb the side of a house. Ours was the rare QLR version. It was built in early 1940 as an emergency aircraft runway control hub but was never used. The QLR had a massive centre-mounted winch, a 12-volt, 600-amp dynamo the size of a large garbage bin, and a giant air compressor. Front and rear axles were driven by separate power shafts from the huge centre-mounted transfer box. The spacious but very heavy metal body was heat-insulated, with opening windows protected by sliding bulletproof shutters. We converted the rear into crude living quarters.

The QLR originally had two 180-litre fuel tanks, and we added three more the same size, plus five 20-litre jerry cans. The resultant 1,000 litres (about 1.2 tonnes) provided a safe 3,500-kilometre range for the Saharan crossings and the ability to cross Europe without refuelling. We carried 700 litres of water (another 700 kilograms). Cooking was via a couple of paraffin-fuelled Tilley pressure stoves. Internal lighting was 12-volt electric.

Apart from preserved food and a large quantity of spares, we also carried a typewriter, letter-headed notepaper, and a selection of rubber stamps with multi-coloured pads to prepare suitable documents for border crossings. The issue date for some of the papers had to be within six months of being presented, which was simply not possible given our anticipated travel time to reach that spot.

I joined Collyn and Rex in Paris, where Collyn picked me up at the Gare du Nord in what seemed to me to be a truly humongous truck painted bright blue. I had never driven anything so large and was a bit startled by the sight of it. Obtaining permission to cross the Sahara involved two months of battling French bureaucracy in the Paris Surrete. Hugely assisted by Mobil Oil’s political clout, they eventually relented, and permits were granted, conditional on our driving in Algeria only outside the curfew hours of 4:00 p.m. to 9:00 a.m.

When we reached the heavily fortified border post between Morocco and Algeria, we were immediately directed to an inspection pit where the truck was given a once-over by teams of both police and military. Meanwhile, we were all hustled off to a building where we were thoroughly body searched and our papers examined. The first 100 meters after leaving the post was along a road bordered by barbed wire with a machine gun trained on us for the entire distance. Welcome to Algeria, we thought. A curfew was strictly enforced at 4:00 p.m., and we spent every night in a military camp where we shared an evening meal with the French soldiers—a hearty feast served with carafes of red and white wine that impressed us, the young lads, to no end.

Our route took us through the beautiful coastal cities of Oran and Algiers, which looked exactly like France to our youthful eyes. Along the roads, we passed toppled power pylons and military Jeeps equipped with a wire-cutting device to protect the occupants from being decapitated by wires strung at head height across the roads. Roadside signs in French proclaimed that Algeria was part of France and it was her right and duty to see it remained so.

We contacted the Mobil office in Algiers, without whose help it would have been extremely difficult (if not downright impossible) to obtain our permits to cross the Sahara.

We finally set off south. The QLR was beginning to run very rough with a considerable loss in power, which could not have happened in a worse place as we started the climb up the rugged Atlas Mountains. We passed notices saying it was forbidden to stop and were overtaken by gigantic Berliet trucks driven by Arab drivers banging on their doors with their fists and shouting Vite! Vite! This area was reckoned to be one of the most dangerous in the whole of Algeria. At every bridge was a guard post with an entrance door pockmarked with bullet holes, high up and accessible only by a ladder pulled up after use. In his North country accent, Rex gloomily remarked, “Now I know what a sitting duck feels like.”

Eventually, we reached the high point at 1,200 metres (3,900 feet), where temperatures were only a few degrees above freezing. We set about trying to figure out what was wrong with the engine and concluded that the problem must be internal. We parked in an alley that seemed reasonably secure and removed the cylinder head for the first of what ultimately turned out to be five times. On this occasion, three of the exhaust valves were completely burnt out, with one having a great split. It took hours of work to replace and grind the valves and recut the valve seats. Fortunately, we had the parts and knowledge to diagnose and fix the problem, which would continue to plague us for the rest of the trip.

Not too far south of here, we reached the outskirts of the desert. Just beyond the town of Laghouat, we passed a road sign that read “Capetown 13,000 kilometres.” We were now finally free of security restrictions, and a weight was lifted from our shoulders. Ironically, the great Sahara Desert—covering an area bigger than the contiguous USA and considerably larger than Australia—had become a relatively safe area compared to the settled and developed coastal zones.

At that time, the Sahara was extremely well administered by the French. We had to check in at each oasis settlement or town where our permits were examined. Before continuing, we had to provide an ETA for arrival at the next checkpoint. If we failed to show up within the agreed interval after that time, a search party would be organised to look for us. They would charge for the search, but at least you would be alive to pay for it.

North of the town of In Salah, we crossed the seemingly endless, stony Tademaït Plateau, which, after two days of teeth-rattling corrugations, terminated abruptly without any warning. Here we stopped for the night. I slept outside on a camp bed with my head towards the truck, so it was out of sight, and when I awoke the following morning, I was greeted by a magical view over a landscape imbued by the rosy fingers of dawn.

Further south, at an elevation of 1,320 metres (4,330 feet) set in the moonlike Ahaggar Mountains, Tamanrasset is an important oasis city and the capital of Tamanrasset Province of southern Algeria. Built entirely of mud, it has for centuries been the trading centre for camel caravans from Kano, Lake Chad, Agadez, and Zinder, all of which we would visit. It was originally established as a military outpost to guard the trans-Saharan trade routes, and a relaxed but efficient atmosphere remained.

Once past Tamanrasset, the track gradually lost elevation through rocky terrain and entered an area of sand where there was no defined track—more a preferred direction of travel delineated by slim posts about 10 kilometres apart. Navigating by compass or the direction of the sun in what you hoped was the correct general direction, the next post could usually be spotted via binoculars from the QLR’s handy gun turret when about midway between the two. This was a tricky part of the crossing as it was often necessary to veer to the left or right for several kilometres to skirt soft sand. It was thus vital to remember whether one had veered to the left or the right of the presumed line between the route markers. We still managed to get stuck and had to dig out using our sand mats.

When miles from the nearest oasis town, we would come across small camel caravans crossing our southerly track at right angles. We would always stop at these encounters, and they would often ask for such items as water or maybe matches. These we would supply if we could, and they always gave something in return—perhaps a piece of rock-hard cheese made from camel milk or, on one occasion, an enamel basin of still-warm milk. The unwritten law of the desert was that if you saw another vehicle or person stationary, you would always stop to check on the other party’s condition.

In Niger’s Agadez, which dates to the 15th and 16th centuries, we saw many Tuareg, a nomadic people of the desert who practice a distinctive brand of Islam. Many make daily prayers to Allah, but strict adherence to other religious requirements is rare. Tuareg men begin wearing a veil at age 25, which conceals the entire face, excluding their eyes. This veil is never removed, even in front of family members. It is believed that men began wearing the dark blue veil to protect their faces from the Sahara sands. Tuareg women are not veiled.

The desert gradually morphed into the Sahel, a vast semi-desert area south of the Sahara, stretching from the Atlantic to the Red Sea. We began to see more people and animals even as the condition of the track deteriorated. Driving was arduous, and we worked two-hour shifts. The track would drop abruptly into dry river beds, and after 12 hours of driving, we covered 159 miles at an average speed of 13 mph. Swarms of locusts filled the sky and battered against the windshield. Collyn bitterly complained, “Don’t they know this is the main road to Europe!” Obviously, this matter did not figure very highly in the priorities of the locals.

We entered Niger at Zinder and continued on to Kano in Nigeria. After so many miles in French-controlled territory, it was strange to see road signs in English, and we were unsure which side of the road to drive. The procedure was to drive in the middle and then, depending on which country you were in, swerve right or left when meeting oncoming traffic. Crossing borders was a game of chicken: you let the other guy dodge first and then acted accordingly.

Nigeria was within a few months of independence from Britain, so we had to tread carefully when addressing officials to avoid any hint of giving instructions. This turned out to be a serious problem at the Kano Post Office, where we went to collect our mail. We were initially told that there was none for us, but we noticed that the mail, supposedly sorted by addressee’s name, was all jumbled up in no order whatsoever. Any comment on our part was taken as unacceptable criticism, which resulted in a total lack of cooperation.

Our map showed a direct road going straight to Fort-Archambault, but when we arrived at the banks of the Logone River, we found no bridge, ferry, or river crossing—just a bunch of unclothed villagers not at all pleased at our presence. We were persuaded to seek an alternative route which led us down a track where the grass was higher than the windshield, and we got stuck in a bog.

Along this unplanned diversion with Collyn at the wheel, Rex and I were riding on the roof rack when we spotted an abrupt dip into a dried river bed directly ahead. As the truck failed to slow down, we realised at the last minute that Collyn had not seen it, and we hung on for dear life. We hit the dip at about 15 mph and everything, including Rex and myself, became airborne, resulting in a total shambles inside the truck. After recriminations and sorting ourselves out, we continued for about a mile when I asked Rex lightheartedly whether we still had a spare wheel. Rex crawled back to take a look and reported it was missing. We turned back and spent more than an hour searching for it in the long grass but never found it. According to Sod’s Law, we had our first puncture the following day and were forced to deal with it right there and then. It was very difficult to break the tyre free from the wheel without proper equipment. At one point, the three of us linked arms and simultaneously commenced jumping up and down in unison to try to budge it. That method failed miserably, but we eventually succeeded with the usual hammers and tyre levers.

We encountered many local vehicles broken down along the way, many of which we tried to help. The most serious was a truck with two halves of a broken chassis resting on the ground. We jacked it up, pulled the two halves together with our winch, and fashioned a fishplate to hold the two halves together. We had no power tools, so holes had to be drilled with a “gut-buster” hand drill. The driver was very grateful and gave us two live chickens and some grapefruit and wanted to buy us some beer but the shop was closed.

As we headed south, we began to encounter more rivers. The larger ones were crossed by ferries, two to three boats tied alongside each other and straddled by a platform with a ramp at each end. Other rivers had very dodgy timber bridges. On rare occasions, when a weight limit was shown, it was always much less than the weight of the QLR. We had little choice but to take a chance because a different route would have meant a diversion of over 1,000 miles, and there was no guarantee that other bridges would be any better. Whoever’s turn it was to drive took the wheel; one of us would guide the driver while the other stood by with a camera to take pictures of what seemed likely to be a surefire disaster. One bridge was shared with a railway, and we had to make sure no train was coming.

In the Congo, a direct contrast to the desert we had been in a mere four weeks earlier, we were startled on one of our first nights by a series of disturbingly loud, creaking cries, released at ever-closer intervals, culminating in blood-curdling shrieks that sounded exactly like someone being murdered. We were distressed to be in our truck all alone, surrounded by dense jungle in this forest of noise. The alarming sounds turned out to be made by a small animal called a rock hyrax, about the size of a rabbit. Bizarrely, their nearest relative is the elephant.

We also met some Pygmies who lived in the jungle, whose average height was around 5 feet tall. Armed with tiny bows about 2 feet long with the “string” (a flat strip from bamboo) about 8 inches from the bow, their primitive weapons were surprisingly accurate and could hit a cigarette from 20 yards. Select arrows were tipped with poison. The men spoke some Swahili and explained that they tested the poison’s strength by nicking a leg so the blood ran down, then put a knife edge below the nick, touching the poison to the blood trail below to see if it coagulated. We were struck by the fact that we would have been at a loss surviving in their world—just as it would have been for them to survive in ours.

As we approached the eastern fringes of the jungle, the road began to climb, and we came across plantations of coffee, papayas, and bananas. In the far distance, we caught glimpses of the snow-covered peaks of the Ruwenzori Mountains (also known as the Mountains of the Moon) which rise to heights of over 4,800 metres (16,000 feet). As we emerged from the jungle, it stretched below us like a vast green carpet reaching the distant horizon. A concrete sign marked the equator at 7,200 feet. The truck was not happy at this elevation and began to misfire and splutter in indignation. After climbing 2,360 metres (7,750 feet), the road descended towards the Great Rift Valley and the Albert National Park, since renamed the Virunga National Park. As we turned a bend in the road, the view stretched out below us, a vast plain with mountains on the far side and, beyond them, barely visible through the mist, the shapes of three volcanoes. To our left, the expanse of Lake Edward (since renamed Lake Rutanzige) stretched into the distance. The valley floor was alive with animals, and through binoculars, we could see elephants, buffalo, zebras, giraffes, and many types of antelopes peacefully grazing on the rich green grass. It was indeed the epitome of a promised land flowing with milk and honey.

We crossed into Northern Rhodesia, which became the independent country of Zambia in 1964. In the town of Kitwe, we stayed with another de Havilland apprentice and his wife, whom we had all known in England. He was working at one of the copper mines for which the area was famous and was able to arrange a tour of one of the mines. Donning hard hats, we took one of the three-story cages to descend to 1,128 metres (3,700 feet) below ground at a rate of 1,800 feet per minute. You couldn’t help being aware of the thousands of feet of rock above you, but it really does not matter whether it is 5 feet or 5,000. It is bad news either way if it falls on top of you.

While here, we had to remove the cylinder head yet again to regrind the exhaust valves on the QLR. We had concluded that the ongoing problems might be caused by the cooling system not having a pressurised filler cap. Using a piece of wood and some rubber hose, we concocted a valve based on the Schrader valve principle as used on a bicycle tyre. The overflow was fed into a can fixed to the front of the vehicle, accessible from the cab through the opening windshield. The guy in the passenger seat would reach through and feel the weight of the can from time to time, and when he judged the can to be almost full, we would stop and return the expelled water into the cooling system.

Continuing on, we visited Victoria Falls, double the height of Niagara and a 1/2 kilometre wider, its spray visible from 48 kilometres away. The African name, Mosi-oa-Tunya, translates as “the smoke that thunders,” and its majesty was undeniable. Bulawayo, on the border with South Africa, was our farthest point south. The roads in South Africa were considered better than most in Africa and therefore did not meet the definition of our expedition. From here on, we would be traveling north.

A visit to the Kariba Dam over the mighty Zambezi River proved an interesting diversion. The project was still under construction, but the immense lake behind the dam had begun to fill. What had been dubbed Operation Noah was in full swing, rescuing the thousands of animals and reptiles trapped by the rising waters on trees and marooned on temporary islands.

We passed through Tanganyika to Kenya, along a route I had hitchhiked one year ago. I reunited with friends in Mombassa in a buoyant moment and sailed at the yacht club. While there, the British Embassy informed Rex that his mother was dangerously ill in England. He immediately flew home, leaving Collyn and me to continue the journey. We took the road to Nairobi, continuing north to Nanyuki, right on the equator, to my father’s house on the slopes of Mount Kenya with its snow-covered peaks.

We had planned to return north across the Sahara, taking a more westerly route through Timbuktu in Mali. I had always wanted to say I had been to Timbuktu. Unfortunately, the Kano Post Office let us down, and we were unable to receive the requisite permits that had been sent to us c/o Posted Restante in Kano by Mobil in Algiers. This was maddening as we were quite sure the permits were sitting in a stack at the post office. The visas arrived, courtesy of Mobil, who we had contacted for help, on April 22. With the Sahara closing for the summer effective May 1, we left Kano the following day.

We had just made it into the soft sand area in the southern part of the desert when a series of problems with cooling water getting where it definitely shouldn’t be caused us to diagnose a blown cylinder head gasket. There was no choice but to remove the cylinder head yet again. We had run out of new head gaskets, which had led to this problem, but we had no choice but to remove the head and see what we could achieve using pre-used gaskets. The conditions were far from ideal. We were in an area of soft sand blown around by a strong wind. In the QLR, the engine was between the seats in the cab, providing some protection from the swirling sand. We selected the least worn of the gaskets, slathered it with compound, and hoped for the best. Fortunately, the fix succeeded, and we breathed again.

Despite the setback in Tamanrasset, we took a diversion into the dramatic Ahaggar mountains and visited the hermitage of Assekrem, built in 1911 by Charles de Foucauld. We had to climb the final distance on foot from where, at 9,000 feet above sea level, there was a wonderful view over the otherworldly mountains with our now-diminutive truck in the valley below.

Back on the Tademaït Plateau, ferocious vibrations caused the top corners of the cab roof to part company with its side supports above the windshield, and one of the tyres developed an alarming bulge. That, along with many other parts starting to protest, such as the leaf springs and shock absorbers, left us in no doubt that the QLR was showing serious wear and tear after 24,000 miles of mostly unsurfaced roads, and we still had North Africa and the whole of Europe to cross.

Fortunately, our stalwart vehicle managed to cover the remaining distance without serious problems—even transiting the Pyrenees and the Alps with snow drifts exceeding the height of the cab. Nearly home, aboard the ferry crossing the English Channel, passengers noticed the map on the side of our vehicle and commented that we were very brave to have set out on such a feat. I just said that we only drove where people lived, and that’s the simple truth. We arrived home on June 4, 1960, after a journey of almost 25,000 miles.

More than 60 years have passed since I stood, spellbound, beneath the stars in the Sahara Desert. Looking back, it was a unique and life-altering experience. We were all in our twenties and consequently felt somewhat immortal. Most of the countries we passed through were at the end of the colonial period. Everyone we encountered was friendly and helpful; never at any time did we feel threatened. Our timing was fortuitous. The Congo was granted its independence in June 1960 and blew up on March 26, just 12 weeks after we left it. Since then, almost every country we visited has suffered terrorist attacks of one sort or another, disrupting the lives of ordinary people. I do not believe the same trip could be safely undertaken today, but similar adventures still abound if, perhaps, slightly less ambitious. The important thing is not to be discouraged by thoughts of all the things that could go wrong. It’s always easy to come up with a thousand reasons not to do something. Seize the nettle and just do it.

This article first appeared in the 02 | 2023 edition of @overlandeurope

Author: Tony Fleming

The post TRANSAFRICA 1959 – three friends on a unique and life-altering experience appeared first on overland-europe.

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