Zaire River

"A Friend Of All The World"

Crossing from Gabon to Cameroon, Central Africa.
(I was on another canoe, convinced my bike would end up in the river!)


ZAIRE

Years ago I had read about the Zaire River in old National Geographics, and now those childhood dreams of adventure would soon be reality - I too would be travelling on this famous river. One of the world's most exciting river journeys lay before me.

Space was now a premium on the boat, and with my three-man tent, shaded area and the motorbike, I took up far too much room for one person. To move out of this area I had to climb over bags of dried manioc and bundles of smoked fish and bushmeat.

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The mama's kids (four, who were aged between eight years to sixteen years) were employed by the big Mama to shell peanuts,but in the heat of the afternoon the four kids would lie under the shade with me.

We would play snap, make rag dolls out of my old sarong, eat juicy pineapples or chew on sticks of sugar cane, spitting the pulp over the side, and finally sleep out the heat of the day. In Lisala I had bought a big bundle of long sticks of sugar cane, and had told the kids to help themselves; it was the Zaire equivalent to a big bag of sweets.

My other neighbour was the money changer and his young wife. Against a stack of timber they had set up a few lengths of cloth for shade. On a stool he had stacks of one, five, and ten nouveaus zaire notes which he would sell, forty nouveaux zaires worth of change for a fifty nouveaux zaire note. Small change was scarce, and he was doing a roaring trade with the passengers, who needed small denominations to buy produce from the villagers in their pirogues.

For a few days the barges travelled close to the bank. I gazed in awe at the thick green forest which mirrored itself in the calm waters of the river as we floated by. In some places, mud and grass roof huts were dotted all along the river. I had been sitting with Eric, a young African who spoke good English and was on his way to stay with his Uncle in Kinshasa. He would continue his higher education and hoped one day to go to University.

"What a peaceful, carefree life the villagers must lead", I commented to Eric, as we glided past a little boy and girl in a tiny pirogue, while on the shore a man sat back in a reclining cane chair.

"No worries of money, no crime, plenty of fresh food, clean air. It would be so uncomplicated; get married, have children, and live a simple happy life with family and friends", I continued.

"Ah, but what about the mostiques, the malaria, getting sick and having no doctor, and all the babies that die", he replied to my idealized comments.

"It is a tough life living in the forest", he said.

As we neared Kinshasa the forests gave way to low hills and flat lands covered with golden/green grass that wavered in the gentle wind. I sat on one of the steel rope pillars at the front of the fleet of barges, enjoying the novelty of gazing out over wide open spaces. The river was now choppy, water washed onto the decks; the crocodiles revelled in this and sat nearby facing the spray, opening their jaws as much as the vines that bound them would allow. I reflected over the journey that was coming to an end. It had been a very long voyage on a very long river. The barges had taken twenty-three days to cover 2500 kilometres to reach the city of Kinshasa. It had been an amazing adventure that I would never forget.
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