Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'First, we pray!' he barked, and led us back into the light. Outside the chief's hut, it seemed
the whole village had assembled. There must have been two or three hundred people here.
As Boston and I faced them, I had images of how it had been for Baker, Stanley, Living-
stone and Speke when they had first come across remote villages like these. Their journals
are filled with stories of the contrasting hostility and welcome they received across inland
Africa.
Around me, everybody lowered their head and folded their hands in their lap.
As the village pastor launched into his prayers, welcoming us to his village, Boston and
I looked at each other in mute disbelief.
'Lord!' the pastor began. 'Let us pray. We pray for our guest, this Muzungu who comes
across the lake from the land of England. We pray for his health, that he does not catch
any bad diseases. We pray that his children are big and strong and that he has many more.
We pray for his goats and his chickens, and if he is a fisherman that his lakes are full of
tilapia. We pray that he will have lots of money so that he may return to Kiga and give us
some of it. Lord, we pray too for this Congo man, who is clearly not of sound mind, that
he survives this great journey and may return to make more children with his wives . . .'
Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in my side. I looked round, to find Boston's elbow be-
ing driven into my ribs. The faces in the crowd were all staring into me. It was time, it
seemed, to add my own voice to the prayers.
'Chief,' I began, acknowledging each man with a nod. 'Pastor. James. People of Kiga!'
Boston nodded in approval, but the more I went on the more foolish I felt; my skin was
turning an unmistakeable shade of crimson. 'My name is Levison Wood.
Tembula Muzun-
gu
from over the water. And this is my companion, Ndoole Boston of the Congo. We have
come from Kampala and beyond - from the mighty Lake Victoria . . .' In spite of myself,
I realised I was actually enjoying this. Beside me, Kiga's collected dignitaries were nod-
ding away, while the faces in the crowd were rapt. A flash of inspiration struck me, and I
remembered the copy of the
New Vision
magazine in my rucksack, in which the journal-
ist Matthias had written about our trek. As I produced it and Geoffrey handed it round, I
continued my tall tale. I spoke of the greatness of the Ugandan people, the kindnesses we
had come across in our journey, the beauty of the land and generosity of the tribes. As I
concluded my spiel, rapidly running out of superlatives with which to describe the people
of the north, the pastor translated the article and, at last, the chief's face seemed to brighten
up. Once we were done, he stood and surveyed the crowd.
Now it was time for a speech of his own. With his white string vest, fat belly and ragged
trousers, I did not expect the voice that came out of his throat to be so bold. Yet, in seconds
he had the village transfixed. James whispered in my ear, translating as he went.
'The chief welcomes you to Kiga. We are blessed by your arrival, and may God bring
you safety on your great journey. For the moment, Kiga is yours and you must feel at
