21/2/12 Every shithole has a friendly animal

 

21 February, 2012

I have finally arrived back in Onal after a gruelling 3 nights away and some frustrating flying. My earlier blogs liken Banio camp to the devil’s sweaty ass crack, so it was with anything but delight that I was informed I’d be flying up there one day, SPENDING THE NIGHT (I tried not to groan when William said that but I can’t guarantee he didn’t hear me) before returning the next. I would then spend two lovely nights in town, flying to Banio and back in one day (usually the way we do it) in between.

The night in Banio was uneventful, I was prepared, took laptop, iPad, book and cellphone with me to ensure I would always have something with me to make the time fly. It is such a mouldy, rank, rundown place with revolting toilets that I chose not to shower but rather to sleep in my sweaty clothes from that day and double-hit the deodorant in the morning. So a little more sticky but with freshly brushed teeth at least, I headed back to PG the following day and spent the night in the hotel.

Next morning I was due to fly back to Banio to change more crew. Now it was a bright, sunny day, the entire flight could be done along the coast (so even if the weather got really bad I could still happily fly along the beach and land anywhere if I really needed to), and I was intending to refuel, reload the new passengers and return just after lunch. Consequently I decided rather than lug a bag with all my stuff backwards and forwards, I’d leave everything in the hotel to be waiting for me when I got back that afternoon. I wouldn’t have time for any of it anyway as I’d be flying all the time.

Upon arriving in Banio I immediately began the refuelling with the help of the fire personnel. But this time something wasn’t right. We could hear the fuel running into the helicopter, the petrol pump was running along at top speed, but the fuel gauge wasn’t increasing on the dashboard. I really hoped the fuel gauge wasn’t faulty – you don’t want to be flying over dense jungle with no real idea of how much fuel you’re carrying. I kept telling the fire guys to check their fuel pipes, taps etc. because something was wrong. Long story short, they finally looked into the fuel bowser itself and it was bone dry! I didn’t have enough fuel to get back to PG. I wasn’t 100% certain that I even had enough to detour to Onal to pick up some more. And apparently they weren’t happy sending the fixed-wing to a runway on the way home and decanting some fuel for me.

Guess who got another night in Banio!!! The new bowser was apparently on a barge and would be there the next morning. Oh happy day. No fresh clothes, no toothbrush, no soap (not that I’d want to shower), no computer, no iPad, not even a book! And it was 12pm. I wanted to cry. If I wasn’t such a manly man I’m sure I would have!

To add to my misery the camp puppy was delighted to see me back again and proceeded to jump up at me, showering me with wet beach sand. Poor dog has one glazed over eye and some nether region infection that is very unsightly. But she is very sweet.

And there I sat. With over 24 hours to wait and without even being able to watch TV in English. Purgatory! As I sat feeling decidedly sorry for myself the Camp Boss came over to ask me if I’d like to come with them to the river. “Just to see it”. Sure, I’m not exactly busy and this would at least give me something to do.

The “dock” on the banks of the lake – if you look very carefully you can see the town across the water on the other side	The villagers fishing boats

We took a 15min drive the 5km down to the banks of the river, bolting along thick sand roads in a Toyota Land Cruiser. Being such an important person I got to sit up front so at least had a seat to cushion me as we bounced insanely over tree stumps, boulders and big sand ruts. The boat I quickly realised we’d actually gone to meet was late, so we drove back to a tiny nearby village (literally just a few huts) to wait for it. I took plenty pictures in the village because this is very typical of what I’ve seen along the river banks while flying from camp to camp.

The small village – that’s it!	Wooden houses and corrugated iron roofs

It was 6pm, starting to get dark, and the white boy’s skin was exposed. Anti-mozzie spray in PG. Malaria drawing in around me like a cold, evil fog. I started walking around the village. Around and around. If I don’t stand still long enough, the bastards can’t bite me! The village had a few chickens, two very cute little goats that kept climbing on top of each other when lying down to sleep, and someone’s little kid who took a long time to get used to all the strangers that just showed up in his playground. He settled down in the sand and started playing with a big nail and the cardboard tube in the centre of a toilet paper roll. Which was when I noticed he wasn’t wearing a nappy but was wearing a small pair of filthy underpants, and he’d very recently shat himself and it was all squeezing out the sides and getting coated with sand. When he wandered over to his mom, digging at his bum to try to show her what was wrong (she had her head buried in a cellphone and never looked at him) he was flinging little globules of sand turds with every step. So much of lovely!

This seems to be the campfire room – kitchen/dining room	Wooden homes and solar panels for lights – no normal electricity

Chilling and waiting for the pirogue – and the malaria	Two very cute little goats

Finally the boat arrived, but instead of picking the passengers up and heading back, the Camp Boss told me to get on it. As I followed him on I did think for a moment that if I was being kidnapped I was probably the most willing captive they’d ever had! We shot across the water of the lake to a small town across the way where the Camp Boss got me to follow him through the huts and buildings as it grew dark. We stopped at a small store where he bought some toothpaste and soap (which I later discovered was for me), before continuing deeper into the town, him pointing out different buildings along the way, until we ended up at a shebeen where he bought us each a beer.

They’re collected in the forest and look and taste like Hazelnuts	Camp Boss – waiting for the boat. Not sure what the pursed lips pose is for…

Such a decent guy who was obviously well aware of the fact that I wasn’t thrilled to be staying in Banio, not that I tried to make it obvious – they live there and I would hate to be rude and make them feel I can’t stand their crappy camp. After the beer, which I explained I couldn’t pay for as I had no money (again, sitting in my hotel room in PG) we headed back to boat in pitch dark, he called the boat “skipper” and we pelted back across the dam at full speed. I really have no idea how they know when we’ve reached the other side cos I never saw it until we started to slow down to land at the jetty!

Small town of Ndindi – cash store	And shebeen store

And that was that. Not quite as painful as it could have been, especially with nothing to keep me occupied. I had a massively long lie-in the next day, fuel arrived at midday and by 1pm we’d left for the flight back to PG.

Just relaxin, havin a Bud (or Regab in this case)	As a welcome back to Onal we finally had our swan pastries again!! Not nearly as good as the first ones.