It turns out that these street highwaymen that block the roads to politely request money, while brandishing sticks and machetes, are actually funeral mourners. Really. To raise the costs for burial, after having mourned and drunk all night, they gather by the roads, block them, and ask the passing drivers for a contribution.
You'll be pleased to hear that I sourced some beer (a supermarket on the way back to the staffhouse) and so bought 48. Not all for me, I've allowed some of the other boys to have a little drink too. I had a big discussion with the Fox News supporter, instigated by him. It was a less a discussion and more of a stand up rant by him complaining about the liberal media. He was, you may not be entirely surprised, a big Sarah Palin fan. Everything I may have heard about her, it seems, is liberal propaganda.
But he's ok actually, as are the Halliburton bunch I seem to be lumped with. We're all in the same boat of hanging about the Halliburton yard all day with little to do, before cramming into a minibus at the end of the day so we can drink cheap Turkish beer in a distant staffhouse.
Tomorrow it's going to change though. Cabinda, and the army camp that is Malongo, are a mere toedip into Angola; tomorrow I get pushed right in as I fly to its congested, infested, infected, unrested capital Luanda. Which so far, I've heard not one good word about yet.
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