Sat in the crows' nest until we reached the town of Bumba (name reminiscent of tribal drums), where the riverfront was lined with colonial era Belgian brick buildings in disrepair are now inhabited by locals. (Belgium granted independence to the Republic of the Congo in 1960, but conflict followed and continued between black and white civilians, and tribal and ethnic groups, central government and secessionists, until 1965, by when the country was essentially under the control of infamous leader Mobutu Sese Seko, in change while we were there, who renamed it Zaire in 1971. President Kabila formally changed the country's name to the Democratic Republic of Congo in 1997 after overthrowing Mobutu's regime.) Visited an inadequate market before landing in a riverside bar to eat peanuts and watch Kel, Vicki, Ben, Bill, Julie and Marcus drink Primus beer and pirogues and floating hyacinth islands drifting downstream.
We stopped for lunch in an empty primary school, Nikki lying sick on the floor, the rest of us sitting like good children in the desks and Kel playing the teacher, local children obviously thinking we were silling for clowning around, smiling as they watched up through the open-air walls.
It's been quite a change hearing children yelling “tourist” as we drove past these last few days, rather than "cadeaux", "stilo" and "dirham".
The influence of Christianity, the legacy of missionaries like Dr David Livingstone, has become more and more obvious over the last few days with increasing numbers of churches and graves.
We made a welcome washing stop in a brown fibrous but fast flowing creek, with an intent black audience watching our whole strip off procedure.
Late drive through numerous villages barely missing goats, chooks and ducks, our passing producing frantic flurries of feathers and fur. In one village I glimpsed a quintessential African diorama: an L-shaped compound containing two buildings and a gathering of adults, children, ducks and dogs around a fire.
We camped in a clearing littered with felled trees and rotting fruit, among pawpaws and grass, with another friendly local audience complete with a dog. A youth played his handmade four-string guitar for us. The rock hyrax was vocal, too, Bob aptly describing it as sounding like a woman being bludgeoned to death with a pickaxe handle.
Feeling down, I welcomed a cuddle from Vicki because it gave me the comfort and contact I needed. Then I joined Ben and Vicki around the fire and smoked some of Ben’s "strange tobacco" with a little pipe and got stoned for the first time. My skin tingled vaguely like the build up to an orgasm, then I felt a rushing sensation as if I were on a fast ride; that got almost too much but I pulled myself out by concentrating on controlling it. The wonderful sensations came on suddenly and I must have had a smile on my face because Ben and Vicki started to laugh at me. Asked what it was like I said it was the second most wonderful thing I’ve ever done!
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