Visiting Canhabaque Island

Having decided to spend nine (!) nights at a lodge on Bubaque island, and take our bikes and gear over, we were keen to explore. We initially spent time riding around Bubaque, down various remote tracks, to the port, and across the island to Bruce’s Beach. We did some sightseeing, audio recording and a good bit of relaxing, returning each night to a three course evening meal, lovingly prepared by our hosts.

We’d turned up just after the tourist season had broadly ended, with the rainy season looming large. This meant some activities weren’t possible to organise, such as a trip to Orango. Or at least, it was going to be really expensive to get there and the likelihood of seeing any of the seawater hippos was, at best, remote. Having chatted with our hosts, however, we met a local guide called Iaia (phonetically: ya-ya), who hails from the island of Canhabaque (also known as Roxa) and was willing to take us there, to his village. This is without doubt the most remote and untouched place I have ever visited. There is no port, no shops, no restaurants, and no roads. We decided to head over on the anniversary of the start of our tour, to celebrate. We also decided to take our bikes and tent over, with Iaia borrowing a bike and tent from our hosts. This would turn out to be a thoroughly exhilarating, and mildly exhausting, trip. One where stuff didn’t go exactly to plan from start to finish. This is something we are used to by this stage in our time in Africa…

We started later than planned due to the arrival of the first big(ish) storm of the rainy season. Our host on Bubaque had told us that the first rain would follow some hefty winds, and we awoke to these. The rain also stirred loads of amazing wildlife, which we revelled in before breakfast. The sky was thick with flies akin to mayflies. Something to distract us as the rain set in, delaying Iaia‘s arrival and our onward journey. As someone who grew up in Cornwall, I know that where boat trips are concerned, tides are key. Especially when you’re visiting an island with no infrastructure. We were going to miss our planned window and I knew this could mean issues with loading and unloading.

When we approached the island our skipper and his crew-hand did some clever moves with a combination of the pirogue’s motor and a long—gondola style—stick to manoeuvre us as close as possible. Nonetheless, Iaia and the Skipper had to carry our bikes to shore. The ground beneath our feet was deep, grey mud with sharp scattered rocks and with no shoes on (to keep them dry) it was terrible to walk on. I am a not as strong as I once was, so I was happy to leave them to it. These crew are used to ferrying cargo on and off the islands and nobody dropped, or even dipped, a bike in the sea…to our relief.

As soon as we were fully offloaded, it was obvious we were on a proper desert island. The sand was white and the forest was dense.

Due to the tide, we’d unloaded a bit further down the coast and entered the forest on foot, before the track got a bit more established further up and we were able to ride.

The riding was good. In fact, it’s the first bit of interesting off-road riding that wasn’t too plagued by sand we’d been on for a while. At the same time, given that this is the sole route to the point that boats fetch goods and people on and off the island, it was quite ropey. It was rutted due to water flowing down it after rain and some sections were narrow and awkward. It also had one deep (sea)water section we had to carry our bikes across. I can’t imagine trying to get wheelbarrows of goods or animals in and out of here. Plus, it wasn’t a short ride to Iaia‘s village. And that wasn’t even the most remote place on the island.

The awakening of wildlife by the rain was also evident on the island. In fact, the island was home to lots of wildlife we were none too keen to bump into. Thankfully, we didn’t run into any of the Gaboon vipers, which, aside from having two inch fangs and huge venom loads, also move like a caterpillar (what the?!). Nonetheless, we did see some freaky things. These luminous red (and rather large) tick-like things were abundant. Apparently they are harmless mites, sometimes known as rain bugs due to their appearance to search for a mate after heavy rain.

We passed through one village on our bikes and got greeted by lots of inquisitive children. Of course Iaia knew everyone, so he had lots to discuss with his neighbours on our way through.

Entering Iaia’s village we met LOTS of children. They were asking loads of questions (despite a lack of share language) and we had great fun messing about with them all. Beck and I find this great welcome very exhilarating but the intensity can be a little exhausting too!

After a while we were able to steal ourselves away for some lunch in a cabin, followed by a performance by the men of the village, which was great to witness. We were told it was a ceremonial performance, which seemed to us to contain a good dose of humour.

To be honest, we didn’t have loads of time to ask Iaia about the performance as we were either chatting with kids or being whisked around to meet people and see bit of the wider village.

We visited the school buildings, which seemed to be a mixture of successful and less successful aid efforts. We saw the local agricultural project and the well, which was in need of some repair. We then walked back through the village to see some of Iaia’s family (we ate delicious fish & rice) and watched the kids playing on the football pitch, which was really well used. We didn’t take that many photographs but this ‘soap kiln’ caught my eye. Maybe partly because of the use of an old bicycle frame.

Following our visit to the village we were planning to head deeper into the island to see some crocodiles and maybe some unusual ducks but we were later than planned, due to the rain in the morning, and I was flagging a little due to all the socialising. As a result we decided to pedal back to the coast to set up camp.

Shortly after this, Iaia spotted a pirogue out to sea with some of his pals on and set off along the beach. At this point, Beck and I noticed loads of small flying ‘lights’ in front of the trees behind us. Some sort of fireflies. It was mesmerising. We decided we’d had enough excitement for one day and retired to our tent. Soon after, Iaia and his pals came over and parked up the pirogue before starting a large fire together with much talking (African talking has a certain ‘heft’ to it) until even Iaia decided he needed some rest. We’d awake early the next morning to get the 8am pirogue back to Bubaque.

We awoke at 6.30am, had some breakfast and water, and gradually the spot we had camped at started to fill up with locals wanting to travel to the other island. We are always a little nervous about how full these pirogues might get, so we had a watchful eye on what was turning up. At least we should be able to load directly onto the pirogue at high tide. The boat was due to come from Bubaque and dock at one point on Canhabaque before picking us up from this second stop. As time passed and the pirogue hadn’t even appeared on the first section of its trip, we started to pick up on the fact that it might be late. More people kept arriving and there was a certain amount of chatter. Iaia spotted the pirogue heading across to the first stop in the distance, but then it headed straight back to Bubaque without coming to fetch us all en route. Iaia knows folk, so he called up and was told the pirogue had picked up a number of cows at its first port of call, so it had to go and unload before coming back for us.

It was going to be a (hot) waiting game. Luckily we had taken quite a bit of water, which we could offer around. As we waited more and more people appeared, many of them with products to take to Bubaque including foli, palm oil and local meats. In case anyone doesn’t want to see them, we’ll place the pictures of the smoked rats at the bottom of this post. Everyone was eating them. We were offered some a few times and my instinct was to partake but for some reason I didn’t. Having read up afterwards, it seems they could pose a risk to us, even if people who have eaten them all their lives were fine eating them. One thing is for sure, they smelled delicious and everyone seemed to be enjoying them. I will never forget the kids cutting, gutting and cooking them. Amazing skills. Munching on rat tail was their reward.

As time passed, we realised the tide would probably be out again by the time the pirogue appeared. We all moved along to where we’d loaded onto the island the day before and waited. And waited.

The locals were frustrated too but it was good company as we chatted with the kids and adults, in our usual ‘broken lingo plus sign language’ way. People swam in the sea and there was almost constant music playing on speakers (interrupted by phone calls every now and then).

Eventually, the pirogue came, around 5 hours late. It was bigger than the one the previous day so the load in required an even further walk out to sea. By the time we got up to the boat, the water was up to Beck’s waist and we used a ladder to climb onboard. I am very grateful to Iaia for taking our bikes out and to the people who loaded them on safely.

Once over on Bubaque we loaded out and rode back to our accommodation with Iaia. Our island adventure was over and we needed a lie down. Plans are often pretty movable around here. We are used to it, and we had a magical time. We will remember this trip with great fondness. Thanks to Iaia, his family and friends!

—————

A little note on logistics. We paid for the following items:

• Iaia as guide
• The pirogue to the island (which was expensive as it was a private hire)
• A fee for the performance in the village
• Some items we bought on Bubaque as gifts for the villagers
• The pirogue back from the island (which was cheap as it was a public pirogue)

In total it was about £250, which is considerably more than we’ve paid for any excursion to date. Seems totally reasonable for what we experienced and it all went directly to local folk. When we were discussing this trip with Iaia we mentioned our reservations about turning up like some ‘blanco’ prince and princess to see a performance etc. He assured us it’s not viewed like that, and that the money is needed, especially out of season, and would be put towards sustaining the traditional music.

//// those rat pictures below