Drums Along the Congo: On the Trail of Mokele-Mbembe, the Last Living Dinosur by Nugent Rory

Author:Nugent, Rory [Nugent, Rory]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Open Road Distribution
Published: 2016-05-03T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

EPENA DISAPPEARS behind the green curtain as we round the first bend. To either side of the motorized pirogue, lianas and aerial roots curl out into the sunlight from the deep shade of mighty balsa, kapok, plane, and barwood trees. Woody herbs tumble down the steep riverbanks, and thin strands of yellow vines dangle above us in the sky. Off to starboard, a seductive flag bush beckons with its delightful red blossoms.

Ahead, the muddy Likouala aux Herbes inhales and exhales, contracting from forty meters to twenty around endless tight curves. As we go, the jungle wall changes as well, touching the water where the banks are steep, then receding into the distance behind the floodplain. The river is calm today; the temperature is already 97 degrees, so Captain Prosper tries to keep us in the shade.

Prosper has been operating the Epena-Boha ferry service since his father’s death exactly seven years ago tomorrow. To mark the occasion, the family will visit the gravesite tomorrow morning; three of his sisters who live in villages along the river will make the return trip with him.

“Only the boys remained in Epena,” Prosper says, throttling back the twelve-horsepower Johnson outboard so we can hear each other talk. “My sisters had to marry whomever my father brought home for them… These days my daughters tell me what to do.”

“How old do you think I am?” he asks.

Prosper looks to be in his fifties; his face is leathery and deeply wrinkled, and I know he has six grandchildren with two more on the way.

“Thirty-eight?”

“Close! Two years off,” he answers, removing his Coke-bottle glasses so I may correct my assessment.

“Gardez! Gardez!” Innocent cries from the bow.

Prosper whips his glasses back on and jams the helm over to a safer heading. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he confesses, “I have bad eyesight.”

He’s thinking about changing the name of the boat from Speedy to something more fitting. When his father launched her, two men could lift the nineteen-foot hull with ease; today she is waterlogged from stem to stem, and it takes three men just to slide her off a beach. The old outboard can barely push her along. Prosper has an eye out for a suitable replacement; patience though, is paramount.

“Only when you find the right tree do you cut it. Don’t rush it. The tree is the important thing.”

“What kind of tree?”

He recites the local names for kapok, sterculia, and ambocensis. “Balsa,” he condemns, “is no damn good … sinks after a few years.” He’d love to purchase a boat rather than make one, but that will require some luck in the local lottery. It’s a weekly four-number game run by Epena’s sole bookie, who pays out $30 to $125, depending on the betting pool.

If Prosper hits the jackpot, he says, “I’ll buy a tin bathtub for my wife and an aluminum boat. Something that won’t drink water.”

Up forward, Innocent chats with Theodore, the newest member of our expedition. We met him yesterday, not long after the police commandant summoned me to his office.

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