Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'You must be kidding . . .'
'I'm serious, Lev. It happens all the time. Two or three kids go missing every week in
Kampala. You see it in all the newspapers. Nannies desperate for cash will sell a child for
a couple of hundred dollars and they'll never be seen again. Once a witch gets hold of
them, it's dead.' He lowered his voice to a whisper, so his children would not hear. 'They
murder them, chop off their genitalia, and turn them into lucky charms. People pay a lot of
money.'
'That's disgusting, Boston.'
'Yes, but it's rife. The only way is to have your boy circumcised - that way he's a man
and useless to the witch. Are you circumcised, Lev?'
I decided not to answer.
In the dining room, huge platters of Congolese food were spread out in front of me:
ma-
toke
, a kind of starchy green banana that is cooked and pounded into a meal; baked tilapia,
no doubt fresh from the shores of the lake;
ugali
, with much more flavour than any we had
eaten on our travels; and more rice and steamed vegetables than I thought I would see for
the next several months. Lily was an excellent cook. Boston opened beers, which he insis-
ted we drank from the bottle, and the family all ate with their hands. As I helped myself to
more tilapia, I had a sudden surge of pride; it was an immense privilege, I knew, to be let
into Boston's house and to eat with his family. And, not to mention, the food was igniting
taste buds I thought had died somewhere in the Tanzanian bush.
As we ate, Boston began regaling Lily with stories of our trek. Most of them I recog-
nised, but there were moments here that I felt certain must have happened to somebody
else, or else been plucked straight from Boston's imagination. Lily took it all in with a
healthy scepticism and I was suddenly reminded of the stories Boston had told me of her -
how Lily herself had been tortured for being at his side during the conflicts of the Congo,
how she'd distributed leaflets in an effort to re-take the Congo during its wars, how she
had escaped with him over the border, leaving behind everything she knew to start a new
life here. Was this shy, reserved, excellent cook really the same bold mistress? Unlike Bo-
ston, Lily was not a person to speak of the things she had lived through - but I could tell,
by the gleam in her eye when Boston launched into another one of his tirades, that she had
an inner strength she did not often display. There was no longer any doubt in my mind:
when I wasn't here, Lily wore the trousers; underneath her tiny frame and nervous smile,
she was a powerful woman.
'And I hear, Levison, that you've convinced Ndoole to come with you into South
Sudan?'
I shot a look at Boston, who only shrugged in a noncommittal way. 'He is a great guide,'
I ventured, uncertain exactly how Boston had framed his decision.
'Do you know what's happening in the north?'
