Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
wards unobstructed by swamps. There, we would find the headwaters of the river where it
emerged from the lake.
It took some time before we found passage over the water, paying for the services of
some local fishermen and their precarious river-boats. Though we set off at midday, by the
time we had crossed Kyoga the afternoon was paling, the light soft and diffuse. We had
spent those hours clinging to the bow, trying not to panic at the sight of the alarmingly big
holes in the basin of the boat, while Boston used a small tin dish to bail out water.
It was with some relief, then, that we came to a landing site on the northern bank. The
village, the fishermen told us, was named Kiga, after the people who have lived in this re-
gion for generations untold, and we had attracted quite a welcome. Standing on the banks
was a crowd of other fishermen, all staring inquisitively at the prospect of a white man
intruding on their routine. A tall man stepped out of the crowd, and introduced himself as
James. I was surprised to hear how clear his English was and, before I had introduced my-
self, he took me by the hand. 'You will come and meet the chief,' he began. 'Leave your
boy and bike here.'
Boston and I looked at Emmanuel and shrugged, but if Emmanuel minded being left by
the lake he didn't say a thing. Emmanuel was already further away from home than he had
ever been, had already accomplished more than he could have done in his old job as a vil-
lage water porter. The money we were paying him was to go towards his dream of one day
owning a motorcycle, and he was happy to wait for us, thinking of the day it would come.
Up the bank, the shacks sat closely together, though there was nothing that could be
easily mistaken for a road. Boston and I followed James through a dirty fishing village -
every house surrounded by bones and fish guts, the huts no more than ramshackle piles
- and came, at last, to a mud brick house. Inside, a middle-aged man slept sprawled on a
wicker bed, his chest rising and falling with every whinnying snore.
At once, the man woke with a start and, barely pausing for breath, ordered James to
provide seats. Moments later, small plastic chairs were arranged in a circle around the chief
and his bed. Some other villagers were arriving, now. I took them to be villagers of note
and, soon, they were introducing themselves as such. 'This is the chief, Geoffrey,' began a
lanky youth in a gaudy red Arsenal football shirt, who had previously introduced himself
as the head fisherman.
Geoffrey's eyes fell on us. 'Before you present yourselves, you must first sign the visit-
or's book.'
If I had expected a grand, leather-bound ledger I was mistaken. A tattered school note-
book was produced and Boston and I scrawled our names inside. 'A relic from British
times,' he whispered from the corner of his mouth.
Once the signing was complete, I prepared myself. Just as I was about to launch into a
speech detailing who we were and what expedition we were on, another man interrupted.
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