Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
river. There were a few fishermen here and, more than once, we had to pay for the use of
their dugout canoes to cross tiny crocodile-infested tributaries. We were practised at this
now, and managed to barter a regular price to only a few cents. Slowly, I was getting used
to using the precarious craft too. Though Boston was able to slide into the narrow slit of
the boat, I was much less supple and had to kneel up, making it more prone to capsize.
The only moment I saw anything close to a smile grace Selim's lips was when he saw me
concentrating on keeping my balance while he and his brother floated effortlessly past.
By midday on Christmas Eve, the sun was unbearably hot and we stopped to rest in the
shade of a marula tree; it was eighteen metres tall, in full leaf, and it was pleasingly cool
beneath the branches. Selim and his brother settled down in the roots and, almost at once, I
saw their eyes begin to close. A second later, Selim was asleep. The rope by which he had
been holding the goat slipped out of his hand and, sensing his opportunity for escape, the
goat took one look at Boston and disappeared into the undergrowth.
When I cried out, Selim's eyes snapped open. They seemed to track the goat as its back-
side disappeared into the foliage. Then he looked at me. Muttering something in Swahili,
he was about to close his eyes again when Boston let fire with a string of invective.
I think, if Boston had screamed at me with such vehemence, I too would have obeyed.
In seconds, Selim had dragged his brother to his feet. Muttering darkly again, they took off
after the goat.
'You should never have hired them, Boston. They're bone idle.'
'No,' said Boston. 'They're scared.'
'Scared of what?'
'They don't know I speak Swahili, but I've been listening to them. They talk of bandits
and robbers and Rwandan rebels. I think that's part of the reason they resent us. Because
we came out of Rwanda. They're certain this place is haunted too.'
'Haunted?'
'It's because of the bodies that came down the river. Rwandan ghosts washed up all
along these banks.'
I wanted to dismiss the notion as African superstition but, when I recalled the sensation
of walking over Rusumo Bridge, there was something dangerously familiar in what Boston
was saying. Africa is a continent that gets under your skin and never had I felt it more than
that day.
Selim and his brother returned over an hour later, dragging the goat behind them.
Without word, they sank back into the roots.
'Up,' I told them. Then, with my hands, I made a walking gesture. The looks I got were
more withering than the one the goat had on its face.
By the evening we had reached the shores of Lake Bisongu, a remote, virtually unknown
water source that borders Rwanda to the west. As Selim and his brother made camp, stak-
