Battlestar Africa may have made it Kribi in an astounding nineteen days but as the sun set on August 16, the day of the official finish party, it was clear that Africa had proved a mercurial mistress indeed for many of the other brave teams. The bush telegraph had been humming in the previous few days with tales of imminent arrival, last-minute breakdowns and cars held together with gaffer tape and camel hair. Yet so far a mere five teams had made it, including team Deathwish, minus their car. Northern Cameroon had proved a breakdown too far for their 40 year old VW ‘deathtrap’ and they had travelled the last 1000 miles by bus and train.
But… with impeccable timing, just as the press conference was underway, the sound of highly untuned engines shattered the peace of Kribi and another four teams skidded under the finish line. Dishevelled, dirty and ever so slightly fragrant they staggered dazedly into the flashing cameras and the party began.
For the next eight hours those that had made it feasted and imbibed palm wine, coconut punch and a barrage of beers. Masked dancers shook their booties and Douala’s finest DJ belted out a medley of African rhythms. And in true style Great Balls of Fur and their cohorts the M-Tak Attack arrived at 3 am, having accidentally driven into a lake in their hurry to make the party.
Amazingly the Great Balls of Fur's trusty Chesterfield sofa made it all the way to Kribi. After drinking the bar at Tara Plage drier than the Skeleton Coast, the fur-balls were forced to swap the fabled sofa for a portion of their bar bill. The sofa now waits in state to greet next year’s ralliers and must surely be the only sofa to have crossed the Sahara in the back of a £21, 21 year-old fur-covered Suzuki Supercarry.
A week later and the executive decision was taken at Adventurist Towers in Cameroon that a second finish party was needed. Teams had been trickling in all week and after the taking on Africa in cars more suited to the weekly shop a party was certainly deserved.
The highlight of the second party was undoubtedly a troupe of dancing pigmies, who emerged from the jungle festooned in jungly finery and danced the night away in the light of a blazing bonfire. Nothing to do with the five litres of gin they had drunk in advance I am sure….