Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Curiosity was driving me but I suspected I could not have backed out, even if I had
wanted. We began by kneeling at a rock covered in a white sheet. This, Mama Fina ex-
plained, was a shrine to the gods of the water, and it was here that she would ask them to
protect me from the evils of the river and the crocodiles who called it home. In a torrent
of words I could hardly understand, she instructed me to pour water upon the ground nine
times, and then to spit on the goat's head a further nine. As I dredged up what saliva I had,
my eyes locked with Boston, who only nodded - whether to compel me to go on, or in
amusement, I didn't quite know.
Afterwards, Mama Fina dragged me to an identical shrine. 'This,' she declared, 'is the
shrine to the gods of white men.' She seemed to believe I would feel most comfortable
here, but I was not sure how I felt, kneeling at this shrine. Again, I lifted a three-headed
vessel, drew up water from the lake, and proceeded to pour it over the shrine.
'Now,' Mama Fina began, 'take off your clothes.'
I looked at Boston and saw, in his eyes, that he knew this had been coming.
'My clothes?'
'Do it, Lev,' said Boston. 'It is better not to argue.'
With Boston's eyes on my back and Mama Fina's implacable glare on my front, I began
to disrobe. I can't say what compelled me to do it - certainly not belief in the gods of white
men, nor in Mama Fina's magic. Perhaps just a morbid curiosity at what was about to hap-
pen. Once I was stripped down to my underpants, Mama Fina directed me to the water. I
was, it appeared, about to have a bath.
At Mama Fina's instructions, I stepped into the lake but, before I had gone a single
stride, she summoned me back.
'What?' I asked. Mama Fina was simply pointing at the poor goat. It appeared he was
going to have a bath with me.
Tugging on the goat's leash, I dragged him into the water. He wasn't impressed. Only
an hour ago he had been happily wandering through the shanties, chewing on whatever
grasses he could find. Now, he was part of a ritual to some intangible gods. I muttered an
apology under my breath and, hearing Mama Fina bark behind me, sank to my knees.
For a moment Mama Fina's enormous body loomed above. Then, she set to work. It
took me a moment to realise what she was doing. Hunkered over me, she was beginning to
scrub my back with tea leaves and the filthy, tepid water of the lake. The scrubbing intens-
ified and, in the corner of my eye, I could see Boston beaming from the shore. Then, as
suddenly as it began, it relented. I heard the splashing that told me Mama Fina was retreat-
ing through the lake. Turning to follow, I realised, too late, that she had only been going to
the shore to pick something up.
I was about to discover what the five litres of milk she had demanded we bring were for.
She was already bringing it up above my head. Seconds later, the whole five litres casca-
