Angola, “O’Grande Desafio”…

BRRRRUM...BRRRRUM!
The sound of 12 BMW motorbike Boxer-type engines kicking into life is enough to make any heart skip a beat... or two.
The oil pumping through the mechanical machinery could be likened to the adrenalin circulating through the veins of participants and bystanders alike.
With family and friends making one last futile attempt at waving and participants too animated to notice...one by one like a column of Matabele-ants, we rode out on high expectations.
Each individual fostering vastly different psychological objectives and perspectives, yet all on the same physical journey.

It is a freezing winter’s morn on 30 June 2002.
The usually deserted parking area in front of Tours For Africa (TFA) is strangely bustling with activity this particular Sunday just before sunrise.
A total of 12 motorbikes, five 4x4’s and one logistical back up truck all aligned, ready for departure.

Our destination...Luanda, Angola! And hopefully back again.
A distance of about 10 000 km will be covered over the next 25 days over terrain almost as unfamiliar as our capacity to endure this challenge.
With the dust of a 25-year civil war not settled yet, this expedition was a tourism initiative by TFA on invite by Pres. Dos Santos of Angola.

Being part of a 5km long convoy, drawing attention from everyone within visual range is an experience that instils a sense of belonging and purpose to even a “drifter” like myself. Perhaps it’s the ability to maintain contact with the same group of people but yet explore horizons beyond most imaginations. The comfort of support and company coupled with the freedom of the road!

Before I get ahead of myself, let’s start at the departure.

Leaving Gauteng behind, we headed northwest towards the Botswanan border.
The unpredictability of such adventures manifested itself in the form of an incident involving Don Good on his F650 GS Dakar and a motor vehicle. Fortunately there were no serious injuries and the damage cosmetical. Everyone suddenly realised how easily and fast these things happen, a lesson that was to be repeated in a magnitude none of us ever could have anticipated.

Entering Bots and still steering northwest we rode off into the sunset on the very, very long and featureless A2 Trans-Kalahari-Highway. From Lobatse, Kanye, Sekoma and on towards Kang we progressed until it was decided to camp down for the night.
Our campsite...100m off the road in the semi-desert sand under some shrubby acacias and a star spangled night sky.
The interesting part was to get a 4x2 17-ton truck across the sand.

Collecting firewood way after dusk with scorpions possibly having settled in logs for the winter chill...exciting!
Dinner was prepared as we lit a bonfire second to none. Not only was the fire going to cook our meal, it’ll provide some light and most importantly...heat! It was freezing, especially out in the desert where the exposed earth radiates and looses heat much faster than vegetated bush.

After hotdogs and salad we sat around the fire contemplating after-dinner-issues such as the definitions of “love, happiness, hate and how much is enough money”.
The only thing deeper than our thoughts and conversations that evening was our sleep. Too exhausted to pitch a tent, some of us settled around the fire with sleeping bags hoping to keep warm through the night...alas to no avail!

Like a serpent, the iciness slithered across the featureless landscape and encircled our camp in its coils. Squeezing ever tighter until at 0400 it became so cold that we all woke and stoked the fire for coffee-water.
Being winter the sun had not started tainting the horizon with its warming colours yet, and the bone-chilling blackness was unforgiving. Life looked slightly rosier after a dose of hot coffee which assisted in breaking camp and lining up on the road again.

Setting off again I got such a bad case of the shivers that I was nervous of loosing control of the bike! Tightening and relaxing every single muscle in my body in 15 second intervals seemed to work well and the kilometres started slipping under tyre.
After about an hour or so we spotted a small herd of Roan-antelope and decided to stop and thaw a bit.

Crossing the border at Santa Clara (Oshikango) we are escorted by the Governor of Kunene Province to pay homage to King Mandume at his burial site. The proud king was a thorn in the flesh of the Portuguese but eventually lost his life in a battle against them and was buried in this spot in 1917. Paying your respects entails carrying a single Mopane tree leaf, walking counter-clockwise (to the right) around the monument and then laying the leaf at the foot of the grave.

Just north of Ondangwa we encountered the first of what became a common and continuous sight throughout Angola, an ambush site with shells of blown up trucks and armoured vehicles. An incredibly eerie atmosphere surrounds these skeletons and if you sit still long enough you can actually smell the sulphurous explosives, hear the maniacal screams and feel the buffeting percussions of repeated bombardment. Everyone developed a macabre fascination with the sites and for me it re-emphasised the brutality of war, of men in opposing forces yet with the same fears and unwillingness to end the life of someone they have not met and have no argument with.

One of our escorting drivers was the driver of a tanker truck in that specific ambush, but survived, some of his friends were not so lucky. I realised again how privileged I was not to have been exposed to the “fortunes of war”.

This first day in Angola was one of the most challenging and busiest of the expedition. Sunset saw us at a village called Cahama where everyone awaited our arrival to honour us with song and dance. One of the ladies dancing was barely half my size and strapped to her back was probably one of the smallest babies I have ever seen. With eyes so wide one could almost believe we were the first ever white people this child has seen.

With festivities over we departed into the night-chill with thick cold dust indicating where the leading vehicles went.
Cold, dark, very bad potholes and lots of dust were our companions way into the wee hours of the morning.

With eyes swollen and red from all the dust we arrived in Lubango at 0130 in the morning, exhausted all collapsed on sleeping-bags and got some well earned rest.
At 0830 that morning, we visited the escarpment formed by the Serra (mountains) de Leba at a place called Tunda Valla. Reminiscent of our own Drakensberg escarpment at God’s Window and the Blyde River Canyon except for a drop of 1200m from top to bottom! Rumour has it that anyone who voiced his or her disapproval of the government of the day, was brought to the canyon, though not for sightseeing.

Another feature, the Christo Rei or statue of Christ, of which the Portuguese erected three (Rio de Janeiro, Lisbon and Lubango), is guarding over the city from an elevated part of the escarpment.
Heading directly west from Lubango we descended the escarpment via one of the most impressive passes I have ever travelled. The serpentine pass drops 1200m and is 27km long.

This pass was heavily bombed during the South-African/Angolan war as it’s the quickest access route to the coastal town of Namibe.

The south-western corner of Angola is an extension of the Namib Desert, and more breathtaking than I ever anticipated. Stark contrasts between barren desert and oasis-like freshwater inland lakes, inundated with fish, water lilies and water birds that seem as out of place as an oasis in the middle of the desert.

Rock and sand formations sculpted over eons by a great tug of war between desert and coastal winds manifest themselves as abstract reminders of our own insignificance. Tombua (south of Namibe) is a fishing village and used to have a flourishing harbour that provided employment for hundreds of people, until disrupted by the civil war.

The whole coastal area is similar to the Skeleton Coast in Namibia, undeveloped and sparsely populated.
As we left Namibe on one of the best-surfaced roads in Angola, the unthinkable happened...an accident involving four 4x4’s and one motorbike (me).

On day number 7 leaving Namibe and heading East, I was riding 2nd from the back of the bikes, just ahead of the vehicles and truck. Absorbing the spectacular desert landscape stretching from horizon to horizon, I managed to fall about 1km behind.
As I entered a descending right hand turn heading down from a plateau towards an ephemeral river way down below, I noticed the doctor & his wife on their bike heading in the opposite direction!? At this point I was doing about 100km/h. As she frantically signalled with her hands for me to reduce speed, I immediately anticipated a stationary obstacle just around the turn and touched the brakes..........

The next thing I know I’m viewing my bike sliding on its right hand side down the road away from me! Spinning like a merry-go-round I immediately used my hands to control my slide so that my feet face downhill. With my speed not reducing rapidly I realised that there was not a hell of a lot friction and then smelt the diesel fuel.

A fuel tanker had passed hours before and spilt diesel all over the pass.

My thoughts were interrupted by the realisation that there are vehicles behind me!
The first to pass me, while sliding on my ass, was “Senhor Biggot”. Theo managed to pass to my left and avoid the diesel, and then I heard the screeching of tyres...the 4X4’s were on their way!!!!
Consciously I can’t recall all the vehicles, 4 in total, sliding out of control past me.
What I can remember is watching (whilst sliding) the Pajero (passing on my left) swerving out of control, turning onto its side and smashing into my bike against the gravel embankment. Then the Landy followed, crashing into the belly of the overturned Pajero, followed by the Hilux, smashing into the Landy! At this point in time my speed reduced and I pushed myself onto my feet and continued with the momentum, running up

towards the Pajero to establish if anyone was injured. While running I heard more tyres screeching and a Land Cruiser flew past, on my right this time! They missed the pileup by inches and I carried on up the embankment. It would be tragic to survive to now and then get run over!

With most of the danger out the way, I ran to the Pajero and help open the door for Terry to get out, no injuries, just dazed!
As I cautiously glanced uphill around the Pajero, I was treated to a spectacle only seen in movies....

The Isuzu bakkie with a TV crew from ATP, sped onto the scene and in an attempt to avoid colliding into all the emerging occupants, wildly swerved to their right, straight over a 7m drop!!! Like in slow motion, they flew 15m through the air before nose-diving onto the rocks below!! Nothing in life prepares you for situations like this! Running with a desire to help and save on one hand and a complete sense of trepidation about what you are going to find upon arrival, I made my way towards the Isuzu. The doctor was already at the bakkie and assessed that miraculously no one was seriously injured! Everyone were discharged from hospital that same night and slept at home.

As for me, I walked away with minor abrasions on my right calf, right butt cheek and a bruised shoulder from the impact with the road!
As if that is not unbelievable enough, I managed to go through all of that wearing shorts, T-shirt, sweater, shoes, light riding gloves, and wait for it...NO HELMET!!!!!!!!

So all in all I came off @ 100km/h, slid for about 50-60m, was passed by 4 out-of– control vehicles while down, was not wearing a helmet and survived with minor abrasions!
How lucky can you be?

I was devastated by the prospect of not being able to complete the expedition on the BMW R80 GS KALAHARI, especially the leg from Namibe to Lobito.
This section is not even traversed by the locals, as it is REALLY bad! Exactly what we came to Angola for, and also the name of the expedition...

“O GRANDE DESAFIO” or The Great Challenge!
The incredible ingenuity of the panel beating squad is nothing short of phenomenal as they worked around the clock to get all the vehicles mobile. By 15:00 the next day all has been completed with the most rudimentary of tools and equipment.
Again we leave Namibe town behind us as we head North towards Bentiaba and Lucira, but this time with a slightly more tattered looking convoy.
As we progress north, there is a noticeable deterioration in road condition, which has been “fairly good” so far. Now, to try and explain good and bad roads...
The majority of people in the modern western countries are blessed and used to perfectly surfaced tar/asphalt roads with no or very little rough sections. We are outraged if a couple of “potholes” the size of a dinner plate, are encountered in a 150-200 km stretch. Having worked in the bush the past 10 years, I consider myself well versed in the language of rough tracks, difficult conditions and having to improvise.
Most of my experiences have been being stuck in either sand or mud for a few hours and then it was back to camp for a hot shower and an ice-cold beer.
What we were about to experience over the next couple of days was refreshingly different and exactly what I was hoping for.

Waking at 0430 and departing our bush camp at sunrise has become second nature by now, but the crimson dawn was an early promise of an even more colourful day. Progress was very slow as the road started to become very sandy and rocky in some areas. Undulating was not only the terrain, but my emotional state as well. The one moment I’m on crest of adulation, the next in a dark valley of frustration and despair not being able to ride my bike through this challenging terrain.

The same “angels” that saved most of my skin during the accident, answered my cry for relent.
One of the participants was Don Good, an extremely adventurous man aged 76!
He has done many ludicrous things in his youth, but Angola at his age got the better of him. In his own words” I’m Good, but not that good!!”

You can imagine my elation when I was asked if I minded taking over his bike!!
With a new zest for life I tried to restrain myself from careering off, front wheel in the air. Riding very cautiously as I’m not familiar with this particular model, we cover km after arduous km. Eventually we enter a narrow gorge leading to the town of Lucira. Upon arrival we were treated to a boat trip to see some of the “attractions” it has to offer. A spectacular cave that opens up to the ocean, huge schools of big silvery fish could be seen through water with about a 5-8 m visibility.
Beautiful inaccessible beaches surrounded by barren rock cliffs dot the coastline and if it wasn’t for the water temperature, we would all head back for a beach holiday.

Back on dry land we continued north, only to find the road deteriorating and slowing us to walking pace. During the previous two years of excessive rain, the roads have been reduced to deep, sandy riverbeds in the low laying areas and hard rocky tracks over the crests. At sunset the whole convoy came to a halt on a reasonably hard crest and we camped right in the middle of the road out of fear of getting stuck.

Around the fire that night we calculated a total distance covered for the day of...27 km!!
Exhausted and filthy we ate a dinner of beef fillet, sweetcorn and chips before collapsing onto our sleeping bags. Drifting off to sleep saw all of us having vivid visualisations of battling with handlebars and trying to fall as gracefully as possible.

0500 came way too soon and on the go we were.
With a “Good” nights rest, Don was up to attempt another day in the saddle, which meant ... passenger in one of the vehicles for me.
The bikes set off first and as we were about to get mobile, the radio call came requesting my assistance as Don had come off and wanted out.
Back on the bike, I quickly caught up with the pack and started winding my way to the front, as I have some experience riding on difficult terrain. Heading towards the town of Dombe Grande, it became more and more mountainous. Steep descents on loose rock on two wheels, is not amusing and with a 36 oC day things got very interesting as tempers flared. Fortunately it was only at our own inability to control heavy (250+ kg) bikes through the sand and rocky passes. The only thing dirtier than us after no showers for 3 days and battling through the sand and dust, was the vocabulary emanating from someone falling down, picking up and pushing his bike for the umpteenth time.
Having been subjected to this for days on end, humility has become part and parcel of everyone’s personas...a great equaliser.

After one particularly rough stage, we stopped on a bridge in order to stabilise our now tremulous vision, when I noticed an old lady sitting in the riverbed at an excavation. Drawing upon bush knowledge, I realised that it looks exactly like a pit dug by elephants, making sub-terrainean water accessible. At that moment a half naked young girl of about 13-15 years entered the river with a bucket on her head coming to collect the daily ration of precious liquid, probably having walked a km or two to reach the pit. Sipping away at our beers, cool drinks and bottled mineral water, I suddenly felt overcome with a sense of ignominy at what we take for granted. Walking towards us in the late afternoon light, she presented us with a spectacular photographic opportunity.

Upon passing the bridge, she and two of her sisters (5 and 8 years) obliged us by posing. Some of the most intricate beading and ornamental wizardry adorned their hair, even an old broken zip was platted into one’s piece. Their reaction to tasting western sweets for the first time was a mixture of disgust (too sweet) and trepidation (fizzy sherbet). We were amazed to discover that they have never seen a mirror before. Lifting them up to catch a glimpse of themselves in the vehicle mirrors, I was astounded to feel the texture of their skin. In complete contrast to the surrounding desert, they have the softest yet supple and strong skin due to the animal fat and ochre mix they use. Hours thereafter I could still feel and smell the pleasant concoction on my hands.

The memory of the three sisters, still fill me with admiration and a realisation that people (yes, us included) can survive and be happy with much less than we allow ourselves to believe.
Maybe their minimalist and simplistic lives is the answer to the confidence, integrity and inner peace they radiate.

On yet another dilapidated bridge we encountered an old man of about 80 in the shade. Ray, our expedition leader gave him a T-shirt upon which tears of appreciation streamed from his face as he embraced Ray. The gratitude, visible in his eyes, was from the heart and overwhelming.

With this food for thought we descended the last pass into the town of Dombe Grande.

Back on tar roads, we passed through Benguela and on to Lobito where we camped right on the beach.
After a civilised dinner, we headed into town for a bit of nightlife, as Lobito is reputed to have some of Angola’s most beautiful women. Great was our disappointment when we discovered no nocturnal activities, specifically dancing, on Thursdays anywhere in Angola!!

From here on through to the capitol, Luanda, will see us travelling on tar and through the

2 Quisamma National Park, an area of roughly 12 000 km .

Leaving Lobito and heading North to Luanda, I was quite excited over the prospect of travelling through Quisamma National Park.

Great was my disappointment though, when I was told that all the game that used to occur there, have been shot and used as rations during the war.
The landscape however, consisting primarily of baobab and euphorbia trees, is in pristine condition due to the lack of any commercial activities. In a warped sense, the war has contributed to the preservation of the habitat, albeit the slaughter. An attempt to reintroduce some of the key species is in progress and lead by South African specialists. The main species that has been returned are, elephant, lion, zebra, blue wildebeest and giraffe. The elephant, originally from Kruger National Park, are under constant surveillance by armed guards and are adapting well.

Arriving at the Quanza River saw a spectacular change in vegetation.
Colossal evergreen trees and mangrove forests line the banks of this slow flowing green snake.
We were invited to breakfast with the minister of tourism of Angola, and the decadent assortment of fare was received with mixed emotions. Having just travelled through some of the remoter regions of Angola and witnessing the poverty and harsh circumstances, the delicacies left quite an awkward flavour in our mouths.
Towards the end of breakfast I herd a sound that causes an instantaneous quickening of my pulse, the unmistakable buffeting of rotor blades from a helicopter!
As the Dauphine (Eurocopter range) circled overhead I barely excused myself from the table before running out to take a closer look. The craft belonged to the oil company Sonangol, the sole fuel supplier in Angola.
To my astonishment I was nominated, maybe due to my obsessive urge to fly helicopters, as one of 4 of our group to be treated to a flight.
Hovering above and following the convoy en-route to Luanda city, I was in 7th Heaven. One of the most amazing sights was that of an area named Mirradura de Lua,
a mini escarpment leading down onto the coastal plain only about 1 km wide.
What makes this so picturesque is the Ferro-magnesium (iron oxides) minerals exposed by erosion, causing a two-tone colouring in the soil.
A bright red top horizon of 10 m overlaying a lighter creamy coloured sub-layer of 20 m.
At this point our flight, sadly, came to an end.

Half an hour later we entered the outskirts of the capitol. Like many major African cities, Luanda is a bustling centre of trade with huge potential, but suffers from a dramatic breakdown of basic services like sewerage, running water, solid waste disposal, electricity etc. etc.

Not allowing the damage to my bike ruin the rest of my trip, I entered Luanda sitting on my bike, tied down on top of a trailer towed by one of the vehicles.
The procession took us through most of the city, and ended 120 min. later.
That night we were hosted at one of the Island resorts belonging to a technical assistance company named Jembas. The sudden contrast from having bush camped for 10 nights, with rudimentary facilities, to the luxury of hot water on tap and electricity, was a welcome one. Finally we could shower and rid ourselves of the “dust mite” appearance.

The next two days we spent exploring the city and its offerings, dinner with the First Lady, Trade shows and a night on the town with live Latin influenced local music. On the last day I started feeling awkward, but was fit enough to ride.
Due to a bridge that washed away on our intended route, we had to make alternative arrangements.

Although having to take the same route from Luanda back to Lobito is not ideal, we were at least elated that we knew what to expect regarding the road conditions.
Upon reaching the turn-off to Huambo, heading due east, we regrouped and then proceeded on a 320 km stretch that took us the better part of 14 hrs! After passing refugee villages, burnt wrecks, beautiful granite outcrops and almost driving over a landmine, we reached at a small town where the residents have been awaiting our arrival for 3 days! Even though we passed through at midnight, they were all dancing and singing. At this point I started feeling odd, but thought nothing of it.

Two hours later I couldn’t focus, felt nauseous and almost came off the bike again!
My wounds from the crash had become infected and I was incapable of riding the last 60 km to a hot spring where we camped.
Doped up with anti-biotics, the next morning, I felt strong enough to soak in the warm water and attempt some riding.
Disappointed to leave the spectacular mountainous springs, we pushed through to the town of Huambo.

This was one of the hotspots during the recent war, and it showed.
Not a single building is unscathed, all are raked by bullet holes from 50 mm guns mounted on armoured vehicles. Some even show evidence of tank projectiles having been shot directly into them.

Huambo is a phenomenal city in the respect that despite the devastating evidence of the war, the people are very friendly and determined not to allow history to affect their fervour to get back on their feet. A brilliant example of this is the Agricultural-centre just outside of town.

Basically destroyed during the war, there is very little remaining of all the research done on pests and diseases affecting crop production etc. With international funding and local fortitude the broken puzzle is being pieced together again.
In the centre of the grounds a simple building was pointed out.

This was Jonas Savimbi’s hideout towards the end, where secret passages, chambers, underground bunkers and an old rusted tank, guarding one of the exits, are grim reminders of the tumultuous times that reigned only a just a few months previously.

What used to be the epitome of prosperity is now in ruin. Some of the buildings have collapsed in totality where others bear indication that tanks drove into the city-centre and randomly opened fire. Despite the lack of structural integrity of 90% of the buildings, people desperate for shelter have taken up residence, apparently oblivious to pending catastrophe. It’s quite easy to criticise and condemn these actions that seem to be blatantly disregarding safety when we live in opulence.

The most emotional experience for the majority of the participants was without a doubt the “Huambo paediatric hospital”. Arriving at the hospital we were welcomed by the chief-surgeon and escorted through. First stop was an introduction to one of the patients who is having moulds made of the amputated leg in order for the prosthesis to fit perfectly. We then progressed to the production line of all the latest synthetic prosthesis. The most disturbing was the presentation of a scale replica to the expedition leader by a 4-year old girl who lost both her legs in a mine explosion. Not only the acceptance of her predicament, but her determination was something that stirred everyone deep within. The accompanying doctor promised to donate a new X-ray machine to the hospital and with that we departed, all experiencing varying degrees of turmoil.

Riding back into town our spirits were soon lifted by all the children running alongside us, laughing, shouting and pointing. Feeling slightly self-conscious when realizing Theo and myself were the laughing-stock of Huambo, we just smiled and waved. Once back at camp we were told by an interpreter the cause for consternation. Theo is a big guy with a huge red moustache, something Angolan kids have never seen. Myself, I’m not the smallest, 6’1 and 270 lb with thighs 4 times that of the average Angolan. The sight of the two of us on one motorbike must have been a spectacle providing some entertainment wherever we went.

Too soon we had to “rock-n-roll” and started what turned out to be the second most arduous leg of our expedition, the 420 km back to Lubango.

I could write pages on all the types of obstacles we encountered along the way, good tar, dismal tar, good dirt, hell and thick sand. Never before have any of us including the organisers, been so taxed from a technical and endurance perspective. Making good time, we struggled into Lubango after a 14 hr ride.

Comparing our perceptions of luxury from our first visit to Lubango not even two weeks before, we found it an absolute paradise.

From Lubango we traversed the same route back into Namibia but turned east to follow the old military road through the Caprivi-strip to the Botswana border at Ngoma-bridge. Entering Botswana we crossed through Chobe national park where we encountered elephants by the dozen.

We passed on to Zimbabwe and stayed over in Victoria-falls for one night only.
The next morning at 0600 we headed south all the way into South Africa to overnight at hot-springs and from there back to Johannesburg.

To describe this expedition as a life-altering experience is apt and was worth every exhausting second. Angola is definitely an awakening jewel for those prepared and interested in adventure travel.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who followed this article as well as Bernie for allowing me to share this with you.