It was Easter 1979, and I was in hospital in north London where nine of my broken toes were put back together again, and where the surgeon told me I could be back at work in six weeks. He was a little out in his estimation, as one year later I was just getting into normal shoes, and it took some more months to get into the mould of thinking of getting a job. Having been self-employed until then, my options were limited. A friend spoke of Irish Life Assurance opening an office in Manchester. It was a chance to do a desk job, as I was still mentally fragile from my operation, and going back into building small tunnels was out of the question. After two years in Manchester writing policies and being reasonably successful at it, I had reached burnout – I had to get away, and as far as possible.
The decision was quickly made: it would be Africa. A trip to London to visit the South African embassy set the tone, and I quickly organised to ship my car to Cape Town, got my air ticket, and within a few weeks, I was on my way. I had a plan, which was no plan at all, other than that if things did not work out there, I could sell my car for a good profit and head back to Manchester.
That plan quickly morphed into a more adventurous journey – to drive to Nairobi, Kenya, little realising the vast distances or possible problems that might be incurred. With no itinerary in mind, I ambled along as I fancied according to the Michelin map, gradually getting into the mentality of Africa, which changed dramatically the further north I ventured. By the time I had reached the border with Rhodesia, I was beginning to appreciate the scale of distances, and possible difficulties I might encounter, but by that time it was a question of “in for a penny, in for a pound”. There was a war going on there, and several times came near to scrapes of an unfriendly nature. By the time I finally reached Nairobi, I was hooked on Africa.
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It was necessary to make a quick trip back to the UK to clear up my affairs there, and then I decided to give Zambia a try, as I had met quite a few expats there, and knew there were possibilities to make a living in various ways. Having spent a few years there doing currency transactions, dealing in ivory, travelling a lot all over the country, and generally having an interesting time, it was time to move to greener pastures when the chief of State Security “invited me to his office for a chat”.
Zaire (DR Congo) was just north of there, so Lubumbashi, in Shaba, was my next stop. I had gradually been getting used to Africa, but Zaire was a shock to the system, with its lack of basic goods which I had always taken for granted. I quickly got involved in setting up an orbital rocket base, having met an Englishman in my hotel a few days after arriving. He was a pilot of an ex-RAF small cargo plane, working for a German company which wanted to test orbital rockets for commercial purposes. It was an interesting experience, requiring that myself and a German parachute to the chosen high plateau, hundreds of miles from any road. I did a little ivory and crocodile skin exportation, eventually shooting and skinning crocs for several months, got caught up in two Katangese wars, and in general having a “boys’ own” adventure, full of crazy stuff, with enough excitement to write a book or two.
Gradually, I was getting tired of the massive corruption there to try to get even the simplest tasks done, and left for South Africa again. It was while delivering a car to Zambia that I hit a bomb, placed by the last efforts of the Rhodesian army just before independence, which hospitalised me in Johannesburg for several months. Another milestone was reached – nearly broke, not liking the apartheid regime, that was the final straw for me, and I arrived back in London, wondering what next.
Some years later, having spent almost five years in Texas, I arrived by chance in Brussels, and after a little while, opened the first Irish pub there. It was there, while telling stories about Africa, that many people said I should write a book about my travels, and when a cousin said the same after I retired, I decided to put pen to paper. It took two years to get it finished and self-published – the rest is history.
Life Of Brian ... in Africa is available on Amazon
