Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
My flat was a godsend because as I was repairing the bike, a heavy downpour hit
and didn't relent for an hour. The road ahead seemed to be a garden of sharp rocks which
could have torn more holes in my front tire.
When I pushed off, I only managed one more kilometre on the bike and started to
walk through the rock garden. When I finally cleared all the rocks to resume cycling, I ar-
rivedatthecrestofahill.Istoodtherewithmymouthopened.Atthebottomofthedecent,
the entire road disappeared into a sea of mud. I was too tired to attempt it. Next to the road
slightly ahead of me, there was a small hamlet. I cycled up to it and asked for the chief.
When he arrived, I asked if I could stay the night and without hesitation, he welcomed me
to stay with his son's family.
Forthefirsttimeinmylife,Irefusedtoeatsomethingthatwasgiventome.Iknew
Iwaseatingbidya(madefrompotatoflour)andvegetables butwasunsureofthecuriously
shaped meat. The following conversation ensued:
In French, I asked him, “Qu'est-ce que c'est la viande?” (What is the meat?)
He replied, “C'est la viande de la brousse.” (It's bush meat.)
I then asked, “Oui, Je sais. Mais, quoi sorte?”(Yes, I know. But, what kind?)
He replied, “C'est une souris.”
“Une souris? Qu'est-ce que c'est 'une souris'?” (What is 'une souris'?)
EventhoughIknewwhat'unesouris'wasIaskedhimanywayjustincasehisword
had a different meaning than mine. He looked at me puzzled and proceeded to describe it
as a little animal that runs in the bush with a long tail and big ears. Just as I suspected, it
was a mouse. If I hadn't inquired, I would have eaten it but since I knew what it was, I
couldn't get over the mental image. I politely told him that I was full and thanked him for
his kindness. He seemed not to mind and I only ate the vegetables and the bidya.
During the night a lot of tucks passed by heading to Kananga. My host told me that
they were filled with refugees who were being forcibly moved from the Shaba province
in the south (recall I mentioned this earlier when I was being treated for malaria.) These
refugees originally came from the northern Kasai province many generations ago. They
were easily identifiable because of the cultural ritual of scarring infants on their face with
tribal markings. Even though some of these refugees were intermarried with the Shaba
people, the resistance movement still wanted them out.
The next morning, I gave the chief's son a pin and by 6:15 a.m. I started my day's
journey. I slowly passed through tough stretches of mud, deep ruts and large puddles.
I crossed into the next provincial region called Kasai Oriental (East Kasai) without any
hassles. The 50-year-old guard who had his machine gun in front of him just said bonjour
and I responded in kind. I bought 8 bananas from the market and ate them rather quickly.
Shortly after I resumed cycling I arrived at Lake Mukamba. Since I had recently taken a
break, I didn't stop to take in the views but just cycled along its edge. I pushed on until
I arrived at a village called Cha-Cha-Cha and met a seminarian who was overlooking the
Search WWH ::
Custom Search