Trou

Hole.

A mini-adventure to ring in Christmas Eve.

After breakfast I went to ‘Gare du Nord’, which is less of a grand structure of cast iron, and more the scorching and dirty side of a road. This is the departure point for Mitsamiouli, the main town in the north of Grand Comore. We all crammed in to a minivan, and I was next to a young man in traditional garb who munched on lychees and then recited Arabic script increasingly passionately as the journey progressed.

I wanted to visit a couple of scenic spots on the northern coast of the island. As is tradition with my style of ‘walking in the general direction’ there were some false starts and dead ends, including fenced off areas of the coast where a huge old hotel complex is being renovated. This stretch of coast was the spot from which dozens of people were rescued in 2009 when a pilot ditched an aircraft in shallow water after a hijacking attempt. Around two-thirds on board died, but it was still a heroic move for the pilot to preserve some lives.

I made it to the serene and blue Trou du Prophète (Prophet’s Hole), accessible down a remote track which was oddly blocked at one stage by a steamroller being unloaded. As I walked, lots of kids shouted bonsoir even though it was 11am.

I continued to a scenic lake next to the coast known as Lac Salé, and then returned to the village of Bangoua Kouni to find transportation back to Moroni. The people gathered in the village were very friendly and could converse in Swahili, even though I’m still probably better at French despite the two decades since I’ve used it. As I waited for a bus or taxi to pass, the men of the village explained about Comorian marriage traditions, encouraging me to move to Bangoua Kouni and settle down with a wife.

In a minivan towards Mitsamiouli and then Moroni, and having flitted around all day, I remarked that for an island where it’s presumably very costly and complicated to import vehicles, there is a very large number of smashed up shells of cars littering the roadside vegetation all over Grand Comore.

In the evening I was shaken out of my solitary stupor as the couple running the guesthouse held their annual Christmas Eve gathering for friends. It was kind of them to include me in the festivities and the night was fun and interesting with games, laughter and whisky (still a low-ranking spirit in my view). Dessert was served at about 1am, by which time everyone was sozzled and ready to crawl into bed.