Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'Lev, this is the biggest expedition of my life also. It is a very important thing for
me.' He gestured back at the monument to the equator, where some of the journalists still
hovered. 'It makes us heroes of the people. Lev, if I walked all the way to the delta with
you, I would be just as famous as Mr Levison Tembula. I could run my business and make
some money . . . and then, then I could go back to the Congo with a big name. I could
become an MP too!' He finished with a flourish. 'Lev, I want to come to the end. I want to
see the pyramids and the sea.'
I couldn't help but feel sudden warmth for the mad Congolese sitting beside me. If it
had been in my mind that my journey was barely even beginning, it had been in Boston's
that his was almost at an end. Kampala was only two days' trek away, and my original
proposition had been to leave Boston there, with his family, and find another guide to ac-
company me north, across the rest of Uganda and into South Sudan. The thing was - and
perhaps I hadn't realised it until this exact moment - Boston was more than a guide to me
now. It had happened while I wasn't looking, but he'd become a friend. His wild stories
had been the things that kept me going through the first weeks, when my body had ached
and complained at the torture I was putting it through.
'I know I'm not qualified, Lev. I don't speak Arabic, but I can learn.'
'In a few weeks?'
'I can do it.'
'But what about your family?' He had been looking forward to seeing them - and I had
been looking forward to discovering what kind of woman had chosen to spend her life with
Boston, and what kind of rebellious, curious children they were raising.
'Lily would understand,' he replied, with cool steel in his eyes.
For the longest time, I remained silent. I drank my coffee and thought. At last, I made
my decision.
'Come to the north of Uganda with me. Help me get through South Sudan.' I couldn't
promise any further than that, and I was not certain how useful Boston would be as I tried
to cross South Sudan's infamous Sudd marshes. 'How does that sound?'
Boston smiled and said he was happy with the compromise - but there was a twinkle
in his eye, the muted pleasure of a victory quietly won, and before we had started to walk
again I already knew that it was only a matter of weeks before he raised the question again.
On the forty-seventh day of our journey, Kampala came in sight. We were up before dawn,
walking through the pitch black, past lay-bys where lorries were emblazoned with banners
declaring 'God is Great, God Is Good, God Is Everywhere!' and along a road where the
traffic police kept demanding to know what we were doing. By the time the sun came up
we had already travelled ten kilometres, and stopped to find something to eat at a dingy
roadside pub. As Boston and I picked our way through plates of goat liver, a beautiful
