Central African Republic
Map
July 2–5, 2013
Yet another dictator has ousted the president, so the country is in turmoil. There isn’t a single tourist to be seen. The new president has recruited French soldiers to train his army of illiterate villagers, which is why there are so many French soldiers without insignia confidently strutting around everywhere—they’re the new regime’s military instructors. Meanwhile, the airport is guarded by French soldiers in uniform who were hired officially. They get paid a fraction of what the mercenaries do.
You can already see that the country is a permanent mess as you fly in. They can’t even line the fields straight.
Never mind the fields—rural areas lack even the concept of streets. Houses are haphazardly scattered among the trees, connected only by pathways.
The former French colony inherited its colonizers’ language and baguettes.
Eggs are also carried in tall stacks.
A license plate.
Taxi doors are decorated with some sort of number that identifies the car, but differs from the number on the plates.
The taxis are for big city high-rollers. Normal Central Africans carpool with 20 other people.
The most interesting cultural detail is the locals’ special method of tying wood onto a cart. A lot of wood needs to be transported, but no one has the money for a car or gas. The solution is this banana-like bundle.
The bundle can be rolled fairly easily by pushing it from one end, which is precisely what all the villagers do to get their firewood to the market.
This area is inhabited by pygmies, an ethnic group known for their unusually short height. Their homes are built by the women. The few tourists who come here can watch them perform a dance in exchange for cigarettes and cookies.
The boy on the drums is from a nearby village and not a pygmy.
A well-rehearsed move.
After the performance comes to an end, the dancers all fall to the ground. Mosombo tugs on Ngale’s balls to the delight of the audience. Everyone cheers.
Villagers burn cooking fires right inside their homes. The idea of chimneys hasn’t occurred to anyone yet; smoke is supposed to waft up gently from underneath the thatched roof.
Bangui
Map
Bangui is a city of contrasts.
Black.
White.
A city trash can.
One of the central squares.
One of the central streets.
A bus stop.
Dress forms.
Advertising.
Children.
The pedestrian crossing signs are magnificent in their primordial artlessness.
White people can go into a supermarket with their bags and backpacks, whereas blacks have to check their bags, which is interesting. Peanuts are sold in bottles.
The hippo raising his hat and the elephant in a suit are popular subjects in local art. They frequently appear as lawn ornaments in public places.
A monument at a gas station.
A monument to the presidents of the Republic. Each of them ousted one of the others from the throne in his time.
A street sculpture.
A dove of peace.
A hand. Not bad at all for Africa.
A hair salon.
There are people selling mobile minutes everywhere.
A sidewalk.
Let’s scratch this guy’s armpit farewell.
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