Gabon - The Lions on the Road: Cycling London to Cape Town - page 187

pectedthegroundtobemuddyfromthenightbeforeanddamnit,Iwasright.Itookiteasy
until lunch at which time the sun came out. The views reminded me of The Little House on
the Prairie - just lush rolling grasslands in many shades of green all around. It was peace-
ful with almost no traffic, and the only sounds came from the chirping birds who kept me
company.
I arrived in Yombi rather early and passed through the police checkpoint without a
problem. The road did have many puddles but soon I came across dry sections. I reached
the halfway point for my day's cycle but decided to push on further to have lunch. Eventu-
ally I did stop to eat and just sat on the side of the road. As I was eating my packed lunch,
a passer-by stopped his car to warn me that the next 28 kilometres were difficult. I wasn't
sure if I should have thanked him for the heads up or give him shit for ruining my lunch. I
opted to thank him.
As I finished my lunch, I psyched myself up for the challenge. However, as the 28
kilometres of road unfolded, I thought that he must have been joking for it was the best
stretch of road in the day. I guess it's all relative…how do you know what heaven is like
when you haven't experienced hell? I stopped several times on this stretch of road simply
to listen to nature's sounds around me. It was so relaxing and filled me with peace.
About 12 kilometres from Mouila, I came across a police checkpoint. Next to the
police officer sat a government official and his broken-down Jeep Cherokee. As we con-
versed, I explained to him what I had been doing thus far in Africa and said that perhaps
when the tour was over I would come back to Gabon or Mauritania to work with an NGO
on children's issues. He then insisted that Gabon's children were not suffering and didn't
need any help. He recommended that I would best serve the other African countries. I held
my comments to myself but wanted to tell him to take his dark sunglasses off and step out
ofhis jeep once in a while to see the poverty in the small rural villages. Iwondered why he
didn't want to even acknowledge there was a problem. Was it out of willful ignorance or,
perhaps to save face in front of the policeman?
My 12 kilometres dwindled down to zero as I crossed the Ngounie River to search
for Mouila's Catholic mission. I found it rather quickly and I met a priest who welcomed
me. He asked me to return at 5:30 p.m. for the priest with the keys was away. I cycled into