Taste of Eden

In December, a student friend described an area he used to work as a logger northwest of Beni. I told him I was itching to get out of Beni and see the lush forest that my eyes were hooked on as I flew in. From the air, the canopy reminds me of “broccoli” bunches at a food store. The forest floor is hidden from sight, leaving one to wonder what lies beneath it’s protective ceiling. So, last Saturday we decided to take a motorbike to Mambasa.

The plan was to leave at 7:00AM. I left any necessary preparations and plans to my friend. He has traveled the route many times…however, this included a mzungu. We borrowed a Senke motorbike from his friend; the poorly built, Chinese brand that has invaded the towns. It was 10:00AM by the time we departed and I gently asked my companion, “Do we have time to make the trip?” He answered, “Yes.”

The road we would take to Mambasa was in poor shape. The type of trails a mountain biker enjoys; fast, filled with potholes, dips, rocks, and dried-up rainwater routes. We traveled through the outskirts of Beni and a local village called Magina. At a check point I registered with the “immigration office”, a thatch hut with its title written in chalk on a wood panel. My friend had forgotten to retrieve the documentation for the motorbike, so we persuaded the local authorities for understanding and a written, notarized note allowing us to continue. We would go through a similar exercise at other villages and specifically the border to the Orientale province, where I had to convince the immigration officer and officer of tourism that I lived and worked in Beni, and I wasn’t…well, exactly a tourist. My friend had also left his driver’s permit at the first stop, requiring me to drive into the other villages with my “International” license.

We continued on and villages became sparse as we entered the sea of forest. I was selfish, leaving thoughts of the darker realities of Congo and my responsibilities as a volunteer and teacher behind. I rarely even lifted my camera. This trip was for me…to experience a Congo…free of any predispositions and matter that may taint the experience, as if stripped to my organic being. While we sped under the canopy, I breathed in the sweet aroma of the jungle as my skin soaked in pockets of cool and warm air. Orchids lined the road as colorful birds and insects danced through the little space available between the arms and hands of vegetation. When we stopped to stretch and admire the rolling, green carpet, I listened to chatter of monkeys in the distance and calls of countless avian. The forest was saturated with uncontaminated life. It was a taste of Eden.

As we drove my call-name of “mzungu” changed with the change in language and local dialects. The people watched keenly and with astonishment, quitting whatever task they were doing as I entered their frame of vision. Their faces often carried smiles and their body language showed an appreciation for a wave or nod. With my naked mind, I envied the simple way of life here in the forest and found it hard to imagine the scene with violence.

We arrived in Mambasa around 3:30PM. At this time, I was somewhat annoyed with the poor estimation of kilometers and time I left to my friend to disclose. We had a decision to make…find a place to stay in Mambasa or push for the river on the road that cut west to east to before nightfall. The bridge here was destroyed months ago by heavy rain. Travelers now crossed by boat. Appreciating the unpredictable experience thus far, I decided we should continue. We had about two and half hours of sunlight. We could reach Komanda, the next town just across the river, and then head south to Beni.

The road to Komanda was built with the assistance of the Chinese and very good in comparison to the previous road. My buttocks welcomed the break from the violent bouncing suffered earlier. We raced on the wider road and made good time. Nonetheless, we arrived at the river crossing just in time. My friend greeted old friends from the days he worked in timber. We pushed the bike into a boat that had a good 4 inches of water at the bottom. His eager friends pulled quickly on the ropes that connected the two banks and we were across within 5 minutes. I thanked and paid the men for their assistance and we again took off…this time our bike needed a bit of a push, a little encouragement perhaps. Komanda was not far from the river crossing and we entered the town with a half hour of daylight left. Unfortunately, when we stopped to greet the “mother” of my friend during his days in the area, we noticed a bulge in the front tire and had it replaced to assure a safe journey back to Beni. We left Komanda just as night began to set. My friend was tired, so I took the driver position. We had about two and half hours until we reached Beni. Normally, I would not have made such a decision, and realized we probably should have stayed the night. Something told me to continue on…as careless as it might seem. I would never encourage it however.

We began the last trek as the temperature dropped and the night insects came to life. There was something peaceful about this part of the trip. Perhaps it was the solitude of freedom from curious eyes, though my white skin probably glows enough for those walking the road to notice. Insects pelted my forehead and chest, fortunately my eyes escaped unharmed. We stopped once…long enough to value the sounds of the night and the stars shining bright at the equator. There was one check-point along the way, where the guard noticed my features, and actively approached. But, when he saw my dust covered clothes and face he realized we were exhausted and trying to get back quickly. With a salute we carried on.

After 400 some kilometers and almost 12 hours on a motorbike we arrived in Beni…exhausted from the elements of travel and exhilaration. I laughed with my good friend and noted that was “simply crazy”. At the house awaited perhaps the best warm, Congolese meal I could eat after such a journey.