Inland Congo
John and Vikki slung their backpacks in the rear of the Land Rover and slid into the back seat. Both were wearing cargo shorts, but knew they would need long pants for the jungle. They were still several hundred miles and at least a week away from worrying about clothing options. The meeting with Sony last night had gone well except that everything he said was an abbreviation of normal speech between humans. He spoke in a sort of linguistic shorthand where sentences started in the middle, were almost void of adjectives and ended where most people would just be getting cranked up. His speech patterns gave John and Vikki fodder for a new style of short humorous sentences.
“John, got water—snack—need sex—maybe later—hand job then—bug spray—condoms—nice day—might rain,” said Vikki quickly before Sony got to the vehicle.
“Wait for real sex—no snack—rain for sure—got pills—hate condoms—hope rains—hot here,” John said as he worked hard on the imitation.
The couple reverted back to normal speech as they saw Sony approaching the car. This time the shotgun position was being occupied by the geologist and mine engineer, Marcelin Fofana.
“Good morning to you two. I hope you realize the comfortable bed you were in last night was your last for a long time. Hotels are primitive until we get to Stanleyville. Our tents with cots and mosquito nets will do just fine though.” He seemed cheery enough and actually spoke in full sentences which they knew would clash with his seat mate.
“Off to Kenge—rain may slow us—next stop for petrol—three maybe four hours—need to pee—just yell and I’ll pull over.” John Wayne had to be smiling somewhere.
“Marcelin, tell us, what type of mine work have you done in the past.” asked Vikki.
“All kinds, but call me Marc,” he said. “I worked for a while in the big Haut Katanga copper mine, and then I worked gold, diamonds, and even on a little small uranium oxide surface mine. You know the Congo has trillions of dollars of mineral resources that are untapped. From what I have been told about the quarry we are looking for, there is a good chance it was never mined properly,” he said with a big smile across his face.
John and Vikki knew about the giant mountains of mine tailings that were piled up by the world famous Katanga operation and hoped that wasn’t the fate of their little quarry.
“Sony?” Vikki was trying to get his attention.
“Yes, darlin’.” He tried to be cute.
“Did I hear you right last night at the meeting that the trip just to Stanleyville is 2622 kilometers or about 1600 American miles?” She knew the answer but couldn’t wrap her mind around it.
“Try to do about 300 to 500 ’merican miles a day. Gas up when we can. Some towns have small guest houses—other places we’ll camp. Should be to Stanleyville five…six days. Is a shorter route but roads piss poor. 2622 kilometers not bad for Africa—big fucking country,” he said, laughing.
John and Vikki were getting to where they liked the amount of information Sony would give them in such a short amount of time, but nonetheless they looked at each other and smiled like crazy every time he spoke.
John whispered, “Sony could have written War and Peace in two chapters.” Vikki couldn’t hold back the laughter.
Marc turned around. “You two kids are having way too much fun.”
“Well, this trip would be long and boring if we can’t have a few laughs,” John said while trying to compose himself.
“Marc, you have seen the write up on the old quarry from Stanley’s expedition, and you’ve seen the lab reports on the sample ores. What do you think we’ll find there?” John asked.
“The fact that there were four diamonds in a small ore sample speaks volumes. All the diamonds were excellent specimens although three of them were small. The large pink one made up for flaws in color and clarity. For pink ones to exist in the ore is something to be excited about. What has happened there in the last eighty years? We will just have to find out if it has been mined during that time,” Marc said.
“Is there any record of mines in the Ituri region?” asked Vikki.
“There is no record that a claim was ever formally introduced through the Minister of Mines, the Mining Registry or the Directorate of Mines. But, smaller mines usually don’t get registered and operate until someone in the government finds them. It’s unlikely they would ever find this place. Since much of the area around this location is unexplored, it’s not on anyone’s mining hot spot list,” Marc explained.
John asked, “Do we have clearance for exploration from the DRC?”
“Yes. We have a permit which is subject to an environmental impact study and the rights of indigenous or aboriginal people. Both of these issues may come into play since the area is next to a river and according to Stanley there were native villages in the vicinity.”
“And the uranium ore?” John inquired.
“Rich…very rich. Since trees were stunted inside the enclosure, it makes me wonder if there might be ‘pitchblende’ which is black in color as opposed to the orange colored ore in your sample. There has never been ore as rich as the sixty to seventy percent pure uranium that was used for the first American atomic bomb. The Manhattan Project got that ore from the Shinkolobwe Mine located right here in the Democratic Republic of the Congo,” Marc said.
“Where is this mine?” John asked.
“Near Katanga. I worked at the Haut Katanga copper mine for a while, and we mined a little uranium as a by-product of the copper. The Shinkolobwe, however, is just a shadow of its former self, and I think it shut down in 1960. Mines shut down and then new techniques come out and they reopen. Vikki, kind of like your dad does with the fracking on the old oil wells,” he said, looking back at her and smiling in the hope he said something of interest.
Conversations about various mines and their history would continue for much of the long trip. Sony stopped in Kenge for gas and a meal break, and then on to Kikwit for an overnight stay at a small motel which looked like someone’s private home. They would spend the night in Kananga, Kabinda, and Hindu before arriving in Stanleyville. They pulled up late at night in front of a real hotel for the first time since Kinshasa.
“Wow! It is so nice to be in a town that doesn’t start with a ‘K’,” John said.
“Hate to bust your bubble—natives call it Kisangani,” Sony laughed as he spoke. “Planning meeting—morning at seven—private dining room. Gets rough from here.”
Vikki entered their hotel room and smiled when she saw a queen size bed. John explored the bathroom and found a huge shower lined in colorful tile featuring African animals. No search for snakes and insects were needed in this room. Being bounced around in the back of a Land Rover would soon be forgotten after a hot shower. They stripped and tossed the dirty clothes all over the room.
As they adjusted the water to a heat level that was a few degrees below what would remove skin and boil body parts, they stared in each other’s eyes. Vikki elected herself as the one in charge of soap. She applied it to herself and then rubbed her body against John. Steam fogged the glass doors of the shower. John reached over and wrote “save me” on the glass with his finger. Vikki worked up a great deal of suds on John’s groin which resulted in a full erection. She smiled as she explored it with her fingers. John could wait no longer and picked Vikki up and pressed her against the back of the shower. She eagerly wrapped her legs around him and helped him enter her. Warm water ran over their bodies as they made love. Afterwards they stayed in the shower kissing each other until the water started to cool.
The whole crew was up at around six for breakfast, at which Sony would give the abbreviated version of whatever fate would befall them on this day.
Sony was shoveling down eggs and following up with gulps of orange juice and coffee. He buttered an oversized biscuit and worked it into his mouth on top of the eggs. He ate in a modified wood chipper style much like he talked. He was a big muscular man who looked as if he could take care of himself in a bar fight. A scar above his right eye was a souvenir from his time in the Congolese Army. Sony had attended a community college in New York. There he likely learned to talk fast and appreciate John Wayne movies. Once John and Vikki learned about the Duke factor, they would quote lines from John Wayne movies to see if he could name them. He appeared to be another strong, black Congo native, but there was much more to Sony than one saw on the surface. He spoke both English and French, but his choice of language was the John Wayne version of combat-cowboy talk because it was comfortable for him. Sony, however, was the real deal.
Once everyone was seated and Sony had failed to choke himself to death on breakfast, he began his talk.
“Best I can tell our island is 185 miles back from the Ituri’s meeting the Aruwimi River. Stats given on longitude-latitude places it dead center between Bafwasende and Bunia on the river. Topo maps show pig trails for a few miles near the river, but we’ll have about seventy miles of wild-ass jungle. Some native villages—’bout the same ones Stanley found. Things don’t change in the jungle. Zuka—take point—Ernie the rear. Hand guns for all. Wear your big boy pants. Gonna be rough. Not up for it—stay in the hotel. Pick you up on the way back,” he said looking directly at Vikki.
No one blinked. After breakfast everyone headed to the vehicles and a strange quietness settled over the group. As they headed out of town towards Bafwasende, the road started turning into an enlarged rut between the trees. It wasn’t a road as much as a large drainage ditch. The Land Rovers were in four wheel drive constantly as they slid from one side of the road to the other. The drivers hit big mud holes hard and fast so the Land Rovers wouldn’t realize they were actually submerged. To relieve the horrible conditions the road would turn to gravel for a few miles lulling the crew into thinking the bad road was behind them. No sooner had everyone relaxed, the roadbed would turn to quicksand and the whining of the engines and transmissions could be heard fighting against sinking below the surface. Occasionally a Land Rover would get hopelessly buried, and either a winch had to be used, or another Land Rover with a cable had to pull them out. After six hours of this on and off travel and mud crawling, the expedition pulled into Bafwasende.
They ate a meal described as pork, but most felt it was of a dubious origin. The gas tanks and five gallon spares were filled, and they were off again in an attempt to get to the jumping off place and set up camp. Two hours of bad road later, Sony found the pig trail that ran along the Aruwimi. The trail had a solid rock bottom for the most part and the group made good time. In about three hours the road ended at a large rocky cliff going skyward about one hundred feet next to the Aruwimi River.
The group had passed a couple of villages along the way and except for some t-shirts with American movie heroes and European soccer stars, the villages had not changed since time began. One such village was located where the group set up camp for the night. Ernie found he could speak their language and said they wanted to trade with them. Trading had been done for thousands of years so the travelers expected it would be the custom in this village.
Five native women for John’s blonde woman was the first offer. He made a motion to Vikki as though he was seriously considering it but backed off. The villagers had contraband such as ivory and leopard hides to trade. They had a hard time understanding the group couldn’t accept them. Then they brought out a small beautifully decorated basket that had a top piece with a handle. The chief, who was the principal business man in the group, removed the top and reached in the basket. He held his hand in front of the group until everyone was gathered around. As his hand opened, a huge rough diamond the size of a hen’s egg appeared. Marc, John and Vikki passed it among themselves and marveled at its size.
John spoke, “Vikki, if they want you for this diamond—it’s been nice knowing you.”
Vikki hit him hard on the shoulder, and hoped she wouldn’t be sleeping with the old native chief that night.
Ernie began addressing the chief in a kind, slow manner, bowing all the time. “I told him we didn’t have anything to trade that would match the object he had shown them. I told him to keep it because it was very valuable.”
The chief reached back into the basket and pulled out a smaller but still very nice diamond, and said to Ernie he really wanted to trade since the group had been very honest.
Sony brought out beautiful blankets and cloth. Then he displayed sacks of costume jewelry and cooking utensils. They made a trade and the natives seemed deliriously happy. The villagers helped to set up camp and talked with Ernie and Sony about the route they were going to take. Both groups shared food for the night. Vikki and John went to their tent after dark and lay on their cots.
“Vikki, I overheard them telling Sony there were still native villages along the river that used poisoned arrows. We need to stick together like glue and watch every movement in the jungle for anything that is out of place. Are you sure you want to do this?” John feared for her safety.
“John, I knew this was going to be dangerous from the start. I’m in no more danger than you, or Sony, or Marc. You know the natives wouldn’t kill me since I’m too big a prize for any chief who wants another wife. You on the other hand would find your head on a stick in a New York minute,” she said, laughing, but John knew she was probably right.
They kissed each other good night and suddenly realized there would be no cots after this night. Just small tents and thin sleeping pads which they would be carrying on their backs as they walked through the steaming jungle dodging poisoned arrows. Sleep did not come easily.