Bush Wacked

The grass parts before me like the sea. Long blades of grass, so recently arching elegantly above the single track of road, slash my arms as we blow by. I'm holding, with cramped fingers, onto the back of a motorcycle as the driver tears along the trail. As much as I'm getting stung by greenery, the poor driver is taking a whole lot more. I'm ducked into his slipstream, and only catch the occasional branch in the face as he ducks his head at the last minute. I'm fully concentrated on every dip and twitch of his head, since I can't see the single track in front of us, and we will unbalance and jump from the 6-inch-wide trail if I so much as twist to look over the driver's shoulder.

We spent 4 hours on the road in the 4x4, then another two hours finding, validating, and negotiating with the motorcycle drivers. We are an hour and a half into the bike ride, and still about an hour away from the village where we will spend the night. It's a long way to go just to do a health center evaluation, but this is the data we are here for.

A vista opens up in front of us, and the route widens to a luxurious 4 feet. I take the opportunity to swivel around like a tourist. I grin at the 3 motos behind me, slip my phone out of my pocket and take a few pictures. The rolling hills of jungle and savana against a backdrop of cloud-dotted sky is breathtaking. The Congo is beautiful, that is inarguable.

We are on a ridge, at the top of a rolling hill. We start to descend a bit, and our moto pulls ahead. It takes me a second to realize the motor is off, and we are coasting. It's only natural sounds as we bump along the die-straight track. Wind, a million insects, birds. Amazing.

The engine starts, I renew my deathgrip and return to the slipstream. One hour until the river, where we will take a local canoe across. Then the health center is apparently walking distance. We shall see. On verra.