The
Congo River
Canoe Expedition
2008
Expedition Report
AIM
To make what I believe to be the first descent of the 2922 mile Congo river
from source to sea, following the Chambeshi, Luapula, Luvua and Lualaba
tributaries to the Atlantic Ocean, whilst learning as much as possible about
the river and its people.
AUTHOR
Phil Harwood.
EXPEDITION DATES
17.5.08 –15.10.08
LOCATION
Zambia & the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
CONTACT
Email – [email protected] Website – www.philharwood.co.uk
REPORT PUBLISHED :
30.04.09
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CONTENTS
1. INTRODUCTION
2. MAP
3. PREPARATION & PLANNING
4. JOURNEY
5. FELLOWSHIP CONCLUSION
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INTRODUCTION
I remember once saying to my mum, “Don’t worry, I wont do it on my own
… That would be suicide!”. Two years later those words came back to haunt
me as I was on a flight to Africa on my own.
In 1994 with some friends I drove a Landrover from London to Capetown,
and passed through Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo)
where I first laid eyes on the Congo river. It was there in Kisangani that the
seed of thought was first planted to canoe it from source to sea, and fourteen
years later, it all came to fruition.
I’ve never been financially motivated, but I love Adventure and Challenge,
and all the positives and benefits that go with it. And through working as an
Instructor for Outward Bound in Wales for three years, which helps young
people to discover their potential through challenging outdoor activities, it
also taught me a lot about myself. Every week I’d be telling groups things
like ‘ only by getting out of your comfort zone, will you experience growth’
and ‘ you can do anything you want, if you believe in yourself enough and
are prepared to work hard’ and the old favourite ‘the only way you’ll
conquer fear is to face it “.
Through teaching the above values, which I wholeheartedly believe in, and
being brutally honest with myself, what became clear to me was, the reason I
hadn’t yet paddled the Congo was because of fear.
So I made a decision! I’ll do it in 2008 …. NO EXCUSES! Besides eight is
my lucky number!
Fortunately for me I was awarded a fellowship from the Winston Churchill
Memorial Trust for which I’m eternally grateful, but if I hadn’t been, I’d
have done it on a shoestring.
I’ve spent years researching the Congo river, and to the best of my
knowledge, its never before been navigated from source to sea. According to
the encyclopedia brittanica, the Chambeshi river in Zambia, being the
longest tributary, is the true source.
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Henry Morton Stanley was the first to explore the middle and lower river in
1877 following the Lukuga tributary and Lualaba river to the Atlantic
Ocean, and in 1975 John Blashford Snell led a very successful Army
expedition from the source of the Lualaba river to the Ocean. Until recent
years the Lualaba was always thought to be the source of the Congo, as it
was said to be of larger volume, but with my hand on my heart, I can
honestly say when I joined the Lualaba from the Luvua, the Luvua was three
times the width. Various people have navigated lower sections of the
Lualaba, but as far as I know, none from the Chambeshi source to the Ocean.
This was my motivation, to make a first descent, paddling as many of the
rapids as possible, only portaging when I judged it too dangerous.
At 2900 miles (4700km) long, the Congo is Africa’s second longest river
after the Nile, and the eighth longest in the world, with a flow rate second
only to the Amazon. It rises in the highlands of northeastern Zambia
between Lakes Tanganyika and Nyasa as the Chambeshi River at an
elevation of 5,760 feet and at a distance of about 430 miles from the Indian
Ocean. Its course then takes the form of a giant counterclockwise arc,
flowing through savanna, swamp and dense tropical rainforest crossing the
equator twice before finally draining into the Atlantic Ocean at the village of
Banana.
Due to generations of foreign exploitation, political instability, corruption
and civil war, not to mention the crocodiles, hippos, swamps, mosquito’s
and huge white water, the river seems to have been given a wide berth by
outsiders.
‘ Continuous effort – not strength or intelligence – is the key to
unlocking our potential. ‘
Winston Churchill
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Central Africa and the Congo River
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PREPARATION AND PLANNING
‘Prior Preparation and Planning Prevents Poor Performance’
EXPERIENCE
To prepare myself for this expedition, amongst other things, canoeing
various rivers around the world seemed to make sense. To this end I’ve
paddled rivers in Canada, Alaska, Mexico, Borneo and Europe both solo and
with friends, favouring wilderness above all else. I’ve also spent a lot of time
in jungle environments, and particularly enjoy living and travelling very
simply, with no fancy water filters, sleeping bags, cookers or tents. You
don’t need them. As much as anything else it gives you a closer
understanding of local people, breaks down barriers, helps build a rapport,
and gains respect. On this trip I made fires for cooking, filtered water
through my T-shirt (with Iodine), and slept in a bivi bag mostly under the
stars. I did however allow myself a mosi-net! and a comprehensive medical
kit.
‘Always hope for the best, but be prepared for the worst’
LANGUAGE
For me, to get the most out of any travel experience, learning the local
language as best you can is time very well spent indeed, and when on
expedition on your own, in a country with virtually no English, its absolutely
essential!
The languages I encountered were Bemba in Zambia, and Swahili, French
and Lingala in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
When I would arrive at a riverside village in the middle of nowhere, with
teenagers running away screaming at the sight of there first ‘whiteman’, it
was one of the highlights of the expedition to sit down around the fire with
the elders, and chat as best I could in their own language, hearing their
stories and offering mine.
CORRUPTION & BUREAUCRACY
Preparing for and dealing with government officials within D.R.Congo was
an exercise in patience, and tested my commitment to the full.
The earlier you get your visa the better, and although technically you don’t
need any other paperwork other than a stamped passport, in reality it would
be foolhardy to travel off the beaten track without more.
I found the following useful (with the letters laminated):
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- A letter from your own country/embassy explaining your purpose and who
you are. It must look official, the more stamps the better.
- A letter from the highest authority possible within the country giving
permission, also with lots of stamps in the necessary languages.
- A photo permit for the whole country, in the local language.
- A vaccination certificate.
- Lots of small denomination notes in dollars and local currency.
In the past I have completely fabricated my own letters, which out in the
bush are fine.
THE JOURNEY
THE CHAMBESHI RIVER
Distance : 288 miles
Main Hazards : Rapids / Strainers (thick foliage/trees in water) & Crocodiles
After five days of bureaucracy, extracting my canoe from customs in Lusaka
and then taking a train to Kasama, I hitched to the village of Masamba, thirty
miles southeast of Lake Tanganyika in the highlands of northeastern
Zambia.
Armed with the Bemba word for source, I managed to find a couple of locals
to take me to the source of the Chambeshi river, a couple of hours walk and
bicycle ride through farmed bushland. Arriving at the tiny spring, amidst a
mini tropical forest was a significant moment for me, the magnitude of the
task ahead hitting home, but I also felt tremendously exited.
The next job was to find the best place to put the canoe in, and I obviously
wanted to start as high up as I could. Back in Kasama I hired Francis who
owned the best trial bike in town, and we spent a day on and off road,
searching for the best spot. The trip was nearly over at one point when we
crashed in soft sand and the bike landed on my ankle.
We found a spot in the end, and after three hours in the back of a
landcruiser, courtesy of ‘Thorntree Safaris’ from Kasama, I met the Chief of
a tiny village fifteen miles East of Rosa Mission, and we arranged for some
guys to help me carry my Canoe for an hour and a half through the bush
down to a tiny stream that was the ‘Upper Chambeshi’. I felt I could have
started a bit higher, so paddled and poled upstream for a couple of hours
before turning around and going with the flow towards the Atlantic.
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It was a beautiful fast flowing little stream, crystal clear water, kingfishers
everywhere you looked, eagles circling above, the sun was shining and it felt
great to be finally on my way. There were lots of rapids for the first couple
of days, mostly easy but some not so easy, the main concern being fallen
trees and thick bushes, with the main water flowing straight through the
middle of them, occasionally requiring the machete. A couple of times when
faced with a blind bend with white water, I had to scout ahead on the bank,
but all in all a very enjoyable couple of days in a pretty wild area with no
people.
Next up was the Chambeshi flats, a vast wetland area with the by now gentle
Chambeshi river meandering wildly through the middle of it. The meanders
were enormous and I must have been paddling three miles from side to side
just to make one mile going forward, which along with a headwind that
always seemed to be blowing in my face regardless of the direction, became
quite frustrating after a while. As there wasn’t an abundance of firm land,
the villages were few and far between, but it was great to finally meet the
local fishermen going about their business of putting out and checking their
fishing nets. It was also the best time for fishing at that point as it was just
after the wet season with the water receding, and channels dug in the banks
would be filled with conical fish traps to catch fish as they retreated from the
surrounding fields. Many of the fishermen were only there for ‘the season’,
and actually lived in larger towns and villages further away, living here for
a few months while the fishing was good.
As English was the official language of Zambia, even in the remote areas I
would occasionally meet somebody who spoke English and could teach me
some Bemba. Most locals were very hospitable and I would often be invited
to spend the night, with some great evenings chatting around the campfire.
Occasionally as I paddled around a bend, teenagers would leap from their
dugout into the water abandoning it before running into the bush screaming,
clearly having seen there first whiteman.
Only once in Zambia did I experience any serious hostility. A guy shouted
for money from the bank, I tried to talk to him but he only got angrier, he
then ran along the bank for about twenty minutes still shouting before firing
rocks at me with his catapult, he then jumped into a dugout and gave chase.
When he caught me up and I turned to face him I simply picked up my
machete and laid it in front of me. In the end I threw a packet of biscuits in a
bag onto the bank shouting “Chakula” (food) and paddled off, he seemed
satisfied.
A common piece of advise I’d get would be never to swim in the river.
Apparently there were a few hippos about, but the main danger was
crocodiles, and after a few days I had my first sighting. I was paddling quite
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close to the bank when two big crocs exploded off of a four foot bank and
bellyflopped into the water before swimming directly under my canoe! I
remember cringing as I imagined them coming out of the water and
clamping there jaws around me, I reckon they were about 12ft long.
After about the tenth crashing croc experience however, I realised they were
probably more scared of me, as they were often hunted for food. Though I
was woken in the middle of the night a few times by heavy splashing /
thrashing noises.
BANGWEULU SWAMP
Distance : 74 miles
Main Hazards ; Navigation
Bangweulu swamp covers an area approx 9000sq km, and lies just to the
south of its cousin Lake Bangweulu, the word meaning ‘where the water
meets the sky’ in Bemba. Its fed by about seventeen rivers, the largest being
the Chambeshi, and is drained by the Luapula river (also part of the Congo
river).
My biggest concern here was the difficulty of navigation, and to that end in
the first couple of days after arriving in Lusaka, I arranged to have Ed
Farmer, a bush pilot, fly me over part of the swamp to get a birds eye view.
Apart from spotting hippos, crocs and large herds of Lechwe (aquatic deer)
to the south, it became clear that there were hundreds of tiny channels
meandering in all directions, some drying up with others opening into small
lakes. I decided to initially try to cross on my own, but if I got lost to hire a
guide.
I had a temperamental G.P.S, but as my map was insufficiently detailed it
didn’t really help. I realised I was in the swamp however when I was faced
with ongoing choices of which channel to take, sometimes it would close in
and peter out requiring retreat, and others times a fisherman would inform
me I was going the wrong way.
Occasional crocs didn’t help, especially when I dropped one of my video
batteries in the water and spent half an hour naked in the water looking for it
(to no avail).
After a day of double-backing and going nowhere, I hired George, a sixtysix year old fisherman to take me to Bwalya Mponda, the only major village
on an island in the middle of the swamp. After a day, even he had to ask
directions and admitted he had forgotten the way, but finally after a couple
of days we arrived.
Cut off from the outside world and with no guaranteed access other than
dugout canoes, Bwalya Mponda was struggling to keep up with the rest of
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Zambia, though it did have a rudimentary health centre and school. Only in
high water were larger motor boats sure of bringing in essential supplies.
Under the Ramsar Convention of 1991, it was designated as a Wetland of
international importance, and is home to the Bemba people who still live off
the land through hunting and fishing. Its also home to a wide variety of
wildlife, the biggest attraction being the unusual and rare shoebill stork
which stands up to 1.5m tall.
The reason I love canoeing so much, is that theres so much to it as a means
of journeying, and in the two days it took to get from Bwayla Mponda to the
Luapula, my poling ability was tested to the full. Often too shallow, or too
thick to paddle, standing up and pushing myself along with a long pole was
the only way of making headway. A nice change from sitting down but quite
hard work if your doing it all day.
This area south of the swamp was where Dr Livingstone died in 1873 whilst
searching for the source of the Nile, and though his body was carried back to
the east coast, his heart was buried here at the village of Chipundu.
THE LUAPULA RIVER
Distance : 350 miles
Main Hazards : Waterfalls / Rapids / Snakes
The Luapula river drains the Bangweulu wetlands, and is transnational,
forming the border between Zambia on the right bank and D.R.Congo on the
left bank.
I had previously read reports of armed bandits on this section, and on the
first day I came across a fishermen who seemed quite concerned for my
safety, he kept waving me over to the Zambian side, then pointing to the
Congo side and shaking his head, it was enough to make anyone paranoid.
Soon after I found a lovely little camp spot, and had a nice chat with a one
eyed, hardy looking but friendly fisherman whose hut was a hundred meters
along the bank, we were neighbours! surely he wouldn’t sit by and let his
neighbour get robbed!
As it turned out over the next two weeks, the D.R.Congo bank was totally
wild and undeveloped! The hardest thing was when the river would simply
dissappear into a wall of jungle, with a myriad of tiny channels from which
to choose. My inadequate maps were useless at these times and it was
simply a matter of guessing! the trouble being that often the water would
speed up resulting in a series of rapids and sometimes waterfalls. Not
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knowing what was around the next corner was the worst thing, and I would
often be forced to jump out into waist deep water and drag my canoe back
upstream, looking for a better route. All good adventurous stuff, but when
crocodiles were sliding into the water, and I was having to fend off snakes
with my paddle, along with hearing the nearby roar of a waterfall
somewhere downstream, it took its toll on my energy levels.
Zambia is famous for its abundance of waterfalls, and one of its biggest and
most remote was ‘Mumbolututa waterfall’ on the Luapula river. The day I
expected to arrive, there wasn’t a soul to be seen, and the water was getting
quicker and quicker, and the banks thicker and thicker. Not ideal really! As
with all the waterfalls and serious rapids on the expedition, I didn’t want to
portage any further than I had to, but I learnt an important lesson on this day.
Basically I ended up a hundred meters from the edge of the falls, tucked in
behind an island in the middle of the river, not good! I saw the spray, and
heard the roar and felt very stupid indeed. After half an hour however, I
waved down a fisherman in the distance and he showed me a sneaky way
through to the bank. The portage took a couple of hours even with help, and
was the first of many, sometimes they were short and easy, other times they
were exhausting through difficult terrain.
Though only two waterfalls were shown on my map, the rapids inbetween
were numerous and ranged from easy to dangerous. In Europe and the U.K
there are guidebooks for most rivers, but here there was nothing and I didn’t
know what to expect from one day to the next. Exiting but mentally tiring.
Although I was warned about hippos, I didn’t see any on the Luapula, but
what I did see were loads of otters and snakes. One snake actually swam up
to me and reared a couple of feet out of the water.
Before I reached Lake Mweru and the town of Nchelenge, I took a shortcut
and headed through a section of the Luapula swamp on a compass bearing.
This area was supposed to be overpopulated with hippos and crocs, but I
didn’t see any, apparently the locals hunt them with spears. It was like
something out of the film ‘African Queen’, lots of mosquitos and so thick I
even snapped my pole as I tried to push my way through the walls of
papyrus grass.
LAKE MWERU
Distance : 68 miles
Main Hazards : Wind & Waves
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Lake Mweru was about seventy miles long and thirty miles wide, a relative
inland sea, and at night was lit up with fishing boats, oil lamps blazing. In
the early morning the netting boats would paddle out furiously, dragging the
nets off the beach and forming a circle before paddling back in hoping to
land a bumper catch. The men would then man-haul the net in, carefully
pulling up the last section, which was more of a fine mesh. The catch I
witnessed hauled in a couple of buckets full of tiny fish called kapenta, no
bigger than your little finger, enough to feed three or four families for the
day.
During the four days it took to paddle the lake, the wind was both a blessing
and a curse! I’d be up and on the water by 0600, and by 0900 the wind
would pick up from behind, up would go my improvised sail of a giant rice
sack on two wooden poles and I’d be off. I could lie back, put my feet up
and steer with my paddle, bliss! Steadily the wind would get stronger until
waves started breaking into the canoe, then the wind would start to change
direction, down would come the sail, and it was down to paddle power to
stop myself getting blown onto the shore. To get the best wind it was
necessary to be at least a mile off shore, and after a couple of hours of
paddling, my strength would waver and I’d eventually get blown ashore in
the early afternoon, exhausted, often to be greeted by a whole village. On
one occasion, so keen were the locals to help drag up my canoe, a fight
broke out whilst trying to get a hold, but at no time did I experience any
hostility. Often they would insist on feeding me with salted fish and Ugali,
and explained there respect for me paddling in the windy conditions. Only
once near the border was I woken in the middle of the night by soldiers, but
they soon chilled out when I showed my papers.
On the last full day I decided to cut off the corner of the lake, and ended up a
few miles offshore when the wind picked up. It was probably as rough as I’d
ever paddled, and when I finally surfed onto a beautiful white beach lined
with grass huts, there must have been a hundred people who came to see me.
What I couldn’t get over, was how happy they all were. Something I’ve
noticed a lot in Africa.
THE LUVUA RIVER
Distance : 216 miles
Main Hazards : Waterfalls / Rapids
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The entrance to the Luvua river itself was the outlet of Lake Mweru at the
Congolese town of Pweto. The surrounding hills here were littered with
abandoned tanks, as apparently a year before it was in the hands of ‘Mai
Mai’ rebels. A couple of weeks earlier I was told there was still fighting here
now, which may have explained the large military presence, but after a
couple of days of chatting with the locals it became clear there was now
peace, and they were all very happy about it indeed.
This next section was very wild indeed with numerous falls and rapids, and
the landscape would often vary between enormous rocky canyons and flat
forested plains. There were many occasions where as before the river would
dissipate into a labyrinth of channels, sometimes I would try to find my way
alone and others times I’d find a fisherman to show me the best way
through. One thing which I’ll never forget were gigantic spiders webs, often
covering an entire tree like a sheet of white silk. On one occasion while
sneaking past a dangerous rapid, I inadvertently brushed against one and was
horrified to discover I and my canoe were covered in thousands of tiny
spiders. It was so bad I had to jump in the water to get them all off.
The day before I set off to paddle down the Luvua river, a South African
pilot asked me what I was doing, before explaining that the area into which I
was heading, due to it being incredibly wild, was one of the last refuges of
the ‘Mai Mai’ rebels. Who two years earlier had tortured two Belgian
Catholic priests, before cutting off their genitals and eating them, they then
cut off their heads and stuck them on poles outside their village! He strongly
recommended I don’t go.
This was the last thing I wanted to hear, and thought he must be joking, but
he fetched over some local officials to confirm the story, and they all looked
very serious indeed. They also told me how three South African kayakers
had drowned a few years previously.
Three weeks later however, arriving at the town of Kongolo, and after
travelling through some truly wild country, my genitals and head were still
intact, and more importantly I had developed an almost maniacal, resolute
determination to make it to the Atlantic Ocean.
Of all the sections of the Congo river, I am most proud of having paddled
this section, as some of it was true exploring. There was some occasional
hostility, but I think that’s to be expected in a country that’s been so
brutalised and exploited. Most of the hostility was really fear of the
unknown, and after they realised I was friendly and willing to sit and chat,
they relaxed.
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Where the fishing was good, the locals were heavily muscled and very
healthy looking indeed, but occasionally I’d come across a village miles
from anywhere, that was teetering between life and death. On these
occasions I’d end up giving away food and medicine, as they needed it a lot
more than I did.
THE LUALABA & LOWER CONGO RIVER
Distance : 1926 miles
Main Hazards : Rapids / Whirlpools / Hippos / The Criminal Element
From the confluence with the Luvua, the Lualaba runs all the way to
Kisangani before officially becoming the Congo river and flowing towards
the Atlantic Ocean. It crosses the equateur twice in a giant anti-clockwise
loop, and unlike the Chambeshi, Luapula and to some extent the Luvua
rivers which are largely surrounded by bush and scrubland, the Lualaba and
Congo rivers become increasingly tropical lower downriver and run through
some of the worlds last untouched rainforest. The river is largely flat apart
from three sections of rapids.
- Kongolo (the gates of hell) to Kindu. Approx 180 miles.
- Ubundu to Kisangani. Approx 70 miles.
- Kinshasa to Matadi. Approx 180 miles
Only after much deliberation did I finally decide not to paddle between
Kinshasa and Matadi, as the rapids and whirlpools here are immense, and
often relentless, I honestly don’t think I would have survived.
The Democratic Republic of the Congo (formerly Zaire) had gained
independence from the Belgiums back in 1960, and in 1965 General Mobutu
seized power, and ran the countries economy like his personal ‘piggy bank’
till his demise in 1997. Because of this kleptocracy, the countries
infrastructure crumbled, and the town of Kongolo, just upstream from the
notorious ‘Gates of Hell’ rapids, was a perfect example of this.
The shore was littered with the rusting, decaying hulks of giant river barges,
reminiscent of a bygone age, a large tree growing out of one of the holds
serving as an example as to how long they had been there. The film ‘The
African Queen’ was filmed a bit further North in the Town of Ubundu, and I
found a similar sized boat overgrown by long grass that I swear was an exact
replica of the one in the film! Whilst further inland I discovered an
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enormous roofless warehouse with three perfectly intact, albeit rusted solid,
old fashioned steam engines abandoned to the elements, along with a
multitude of overgrown machinery.
I paddled the ‘Gates of Hell’ on my birthday, where I was spun around like a
cork by the powerful whirlpools as fishermen shook there heads and waved
there arms from the bank. I only portaged two rapids further downstream,
but soon realised the biggest danger was not so much the rapid itself, but
more the powerful boils and whirlpools. Scouting a rapid from the bank gave
you a pretty good chance of planning the best line, but when the entire
Congo river was squeezed between a rocky gap, sometimes no more than 20
meters wide, the resulting conditions were quite frightening in a canoe. It
was sometimes a case of hanging on for dear life, and just trying to stay
upright.
Unfortunately corruption by officialdom is rife in the Congo, and generally I
tried to avoid towns and stick to the smaller villages, but whilst trying to
sneak past the Town of Kabalo one day in the early morning mist, I was
ordered ashore by AK47 toting soldiers who had paddled out to intercept
me.
Waiting to greet me was a selection of Kabalos finest, all chomping at the bit
to get their pound of flesh. Unfortunately for them I wasnt in the mood to
take any crap, and after finally agreeing to let them search my canoe, I drew
the line when they told me to empty my pockets and take my shirt off. I had
$3000 in cash hidden in various places on my body, and flatly refused.
Luckily they backed down, but an hour later in the immigration office the
boss put my passport in his back pocket, and said I wouldn’t get it back until
I paid him $100, then got up to walk out. Instinctively I put my foot across
the doorway and said “you aint going anywhere mate!” . If there had been a
mirror on the wall, I would have looked into it to make sure I didn’t have the
word ‘MUG’ written on my forehead.
“Arrest this man” he shouted to the police waiting outside, “No, I want you
to arrest him” I countered as they turned up “he’s stolen my passport!”.
Again they eventually backed down and returned my passport, but after a
couple more hours decided to arrest me anyway and took me to the jail,
complete with bars, and full of prostitutes, where a particularly large
breasted woman in a mini skirt very kindly offered me a seat. Two hours
later I was released.
Another time whilst trying to sneak past the small town of Kasongo, all hell
broke loose. A group of men became very aggressive, ordering me to come
ashore and give them money, and when I tried to engage in conversation
they ran into the water and tried to grab my canoe. As they were all shouting
and working themselves into a frenzy, my gut feeling told me to get the hell
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out of there, so I waved goodbye and put the power on. As I paddled off all I
could hear was the word ‘Mazungu’ (whiteman) being shouted and repeated
along both banks. I felt like a big bad wolf that had inadvertently wandered
into a farming community and needed hunting down.
Half an hour later, it was like something out of an ‘Indiana Jones” film, I
was being chased by eight men in two dugout canoes, paddling standing up
like men possessed, still shouting for money and they were catching me. I
felt the fear building demanding an answer to the age old question, fight or
flight. Sensing real venom in their voices I quickly made a decision and
grabbed my machete, and as I stood up and turned around to face them I
morphed into a raging mad man, screaming at the top of my voice. I don’t
remember exactly what I shouted, but it wasn’t complimentary, and along
with waving my machete around like a lunatic, it seemed to do the trick and
they stopped in their tracks, collective jaws dropping in the process.
Stanley falls is situated just upstream from D.R.C’s third largest city,
Kisangani. Here expert Wagenia fishermen perch on their wooden structures
in the midst of the roaring waters, using a multitude of different ways to
catch fish, from giant conical fish traps to hand held scoop nets.
Below here the river runs flat all the way to the capital Kinshasa, and
because the Congo’s road systems have been neglected for the past four
decades, the Congo river has remained the sole trade artery, channelling a
heavy traffic of barges. The river here has become the umbilical cord of the
nation as people travel and buy and sell everything from fish hooks to live
crocodiles. As there are often no landing points in the thick jungle, the locals
will paddle out to the barges in great numbers to trade goods.
Due to collapsing from a bout of malaria in Kindu and subsequently feeling
as weak as a kitten, I had decided to employ the services of ‘Janvier’, a guy
who I met shovelling gravel, and who agreed to help me paddle to
Mbandanka. Luckily he was about five feet tall and fitted perfectly at the
front of my canoe, but more importantly he was a great character who also
spoke fluent French, Swahili and Lingala. As it turned out he was also a
‘Pastor’, and every night having bought an enormous fish that day, we’d
sleep in a riverside village church, which was often a simple straw hut, and
share our fish with the village pastors family. Usually in the mornings we’d
all stand around and sing a religious song, before Janvier and I would be
blessed by the village Pastor. I thought it best not to tell them I was an
Atheist!
Between the towns of Lisala and Mbandanka, I was advised not to travel on
my own, as this was a stretch of river notorious for bandits, brigands and
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cut-throats. Not too many years ago it was also known for it’s cannibalism,
where the ‘Engombe tribe’ would paddle out to the barges at night and throw
homemade ‘gaffs’ onto the decks before dragging off people sleeping on
deck, and presumably cooking them in their pots!
As being cooked in a pot tended to bring me out in a terrible rash, just before
the town of Lisala I also decided to take further security measures, and due
to us taking shelter in a tiny fishing community during a monstrous
rainstorm, we had the good fortune to meet four brothers! Leonardo,
Valatay, John and Maurice. My gut feeling told me they were good people,
and they all had wives and kids. They also had a shotgun and more
importantly were keen to accompany us to Mbandanka. After buying an
enormous dugout canoe to which I lashed my own, we cooked in it, slept in
it, paddled together and drifted through the night, not touching land for five
days till we arrived in Mbandanka where we all parted company. They were
great company and great human beings.
Often along this stretch they would translate for me the almost daily death
threats, from passers by, “Why don’t you slit his throat when he’s asleep, if
you don’t I will and we’ll share his money”. On one occasion this even came
from an old woman.
A few weeks later after portaging the enormous rapids below Kinshasa, I
arrived at the port of Matadi, and with Angola on the left bank the end was
in sight. I spent my last night in the middle of a mangrove swamp, amongst
humble fishermen in a village built entirely on mussel shells, and as the
Chief was one of the nicest old guys I had ever met, I decided to give him
my canoe. It felt like the right thing to do, as much as a token gesture of
thanks towards the Congolese fishermen, whom without there help, I don’t
think I would have made it.
The Media has given the Congo more than its fair share of bad press over the
years, resulting unfairly in a virtually extinct tourism industry. But if like
me you have a great faith in humanity, and like to get out of your comfort
zone, then it could be a positive life changing experience not to be missed!
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FELLOWSHIP CONCLUSION
First and foremost I would like to give my deepest thanks and appreciation
to you the ‘Winston Churchill Memorial Trust’ for believing in me and
giving me the opportunity to fulfil a lifetime ambition. I think its great that
you encourage and help people to push the boundaries and challenge
themselves, even with considerable risk involved. A rare thing in today’s
health and safety obsessed, litigious society.
In Febuary 2007, UNICEF published a report entitiled “An overview of
child well-being in rich countries”. It was the first comprehensive
assessment of its kind. The United Kingdom came last out of 21 countries.
Adventurous journeys can be a voyage of self-discovery, and in the words of
Kurt Hahn, the founder of ‘Outward Bound’ :
“We are all better than we know,
if only we can be brought to realise this, we may never again be
prepared to settle for anything less”
I’m no academic, I didn’t do well at school, I’ve never been financially
motivated, I have no house, I’m bald and my car’s falling to bits, but I do
have a passion for challenging adventurous experiences and the benefits they
can bring. Though academia is important, I feel there are others things
equally as important, like the development of human qualities. I don’t
remember having any lessons on moral courage, respect, humility, facing
fear, determination, self-belief, integrity or empathy at school.
I believe far too much emphasis is placed on academic excellence and
material gain in this country. We could learn a lot from the people of the
Congo, after all ‘there is no education like adversity’, it was as far
removed from the U.K as you could possibly imagine, yet I witnessed
incredible hospitality, dignity, character and inspiration from a proud and
brave people long forgotten by the western world. I’ve no doubt some
Congolese would literally give their right arm to have the opportunities we
experience, yet we are all too ready to complain about our lot! If I’ve learnt
one thing, it’s this:
‘To Struggle, Builds Character’
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Brothers Leonardo, John and Valatay. Fine companions.
I believe we should all practice what we preach, and I now want to continue
working for Outward Bound as an instructor, hopefully inspiring and
motivating young people to believe in themselves, and to achieve their goals
in life.
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LESSONS LEARNED FOR DEALING WITH DODGY OFFICIALS:
1. As a general rule, getting angry doesn’t help, but sometimes, as a last
resort, it does!
2. Smile, maintain eye contact and shake hands firmly, whilst at all times
exuding an inner confidence and calm.
3. Breaking down the ‘them and us’ barrier can work wonders! Try to
make them laugh, make amicable conversation.
4. Try not to hold a grudge, they probably haven’t been paid for a year!
They’re probably family men, just trying to feed their kids.
5. Think of it as a game, where they win if you give them money! If you
give everybody money who asks, you’ll be skint in a week. Cigarettes
are a great gift.
6. There are times where it pays to lie through your teeth, and times to
be brutally honest.
7. Are you a Lamb or a Wolf? A fearful Lamb tends to get eaten,
whereas a big bad Wolf, regardless of how fluffy and cuddly he may
look on the outside, you know at the end of the day he might rip your
throat out!
8. Developing a ‘thousand yard stare’ might come in handy when
coming up against unsavoury characters!
9. Not all officials are crooks! Sometimes they can be your best friend.
10. At the end of the day ‘its only money’, you can always return to the
U.K and earn some more, they can’t!
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