Down Lake Tanganyika on the MV Liemba
Trip Start
Feb 20, 2007
1
23
38
Trip End
Jun 2007
Kasanga,
Tanzania
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Dhow, a boat of Arabic origins
. Forester's 1935 novel "The African Queen", which subsequently was made into a well known film, also called "The African Queen".I waited for an hour or so in a covered seating area, surrounded by hundreds of other passengers, colourfully dressed, with all sorts of luggage, bags of fish and cotton, buckets filled with fruits, suitcases, bicycle tires, and various other oddities. There was an atmosphere of great excitement about the place, this was no ordinary journey for any of us, for many present this was a migration to another country. Eventually the ship's horn sounded, signalling that we could go aboard. There was an almighty scramble as everyone raced on, to find themselves a good place to sit in; I took my time, as I had decided to treat myself to a first class cabin on board.
Once I had climbed aboard I was shown to my cabin, a cosy little room with two beds (a bunk-bed), a table and chair, and a sink. Fortunately no one else showed up to share the cabin with me, so I was to have a haven of privacy for the journey down the lake. As soon as I had settled into the room I went out to explore the ship, eager as a young boy, to learn my way around and get to know my home for the next 36 hours. It consisted of three levels; on the bottom there was room for stoarge, seating for third class passangers, and the second class cabins
Inside the Liemba, chaos
. On the first floor there were first class cabins, a small restaurant, and more seating areas. On the top floor there was a deck with seating, access to the engine rooms below, and the captain's area.I sat outside and watched as we pulled away from Kigoma, sailing off as the sun started to slip behind the Congo's hazy blue mountains to the west. There were six other mzungus on board, two groups of three. The first were a trio of elderly American missionaries, from the Church of God, with whom I chatted for a while that evening, curious to find out what kind of work they were doing here. The second group consisted of two South Africans and a New Zealander. One of the South Africans, Johannes, had driven all the way to Dar es Salam on his motorbike, where he had met the Kiwi, Isaac, and they started to travel together. They were later joined by Koebus, a friend of Johannes' from back home.
The three missionaries were going down the lake to visit a village which participated in a project they oversee called "Children of Promise". In this project they choose seven lucky children from villages around Tanzania, and sponsor them, providing them with funding for food, clothing, education and healthcare. The funding is for the child, and the child alone, and is not to be shared with any of the fellow villagers, or even the child's family
MV Liemba - I'm in the foreground, posing...
. For a child to be chosen to partake in the project it is not required that they are already a member of the Church of God, but they must convert, and attend the weekly services. I think it is quite unfair to give money so freely to seven people in a poor village, and to do nothing for anyone else there. To do this under the precondition of evangelisation is also a disgrace.I spent my first evening with my three fellow backpackers, drinking beers at the front of the ship, under one of the most brilliant starry nights I have ever seen, with the benefit of there being no moon. There were hundreds of little fishing boats on the lake, with twinkling lights that almost seemed to reflect the starlight. The lights on board are used to attract fish, which are then caught. About an hour or two after nightfall the ship suddenly slowed down and stopped, and we noticed two small boats packed with people approaching us, furiously paddling against the current. We excitedly postulated that they might be refugees from the Congo, or maybe that they were coming to sell food (of which they had plenty on board) to those passengers who couldn't afford to eat in the restaurant. Finally we realised that it was nothing as exciting as either of these theories; they were simply new passengers, coming on board. This was the first of many such stops we made on our journey south, where little boats would deliver us with new passengers, and take those who were leaving us to shore
Passenger boat
.After an excellent night's sleep on board I woke at dawn on the second day, hoping to enjoy a beatiful sunrise. I was disappointed, however, as the sky was cloudy, and I could see rain-bearing clouds over the nearby shore. They soon moved over us, and there was heavy rain for the first few hours of the day. I ate a breakfast of a thin, gruel-like porridge, a tasteless omelette and hard bread before retiring to my cosy cabin to read my book until the rain passed. When it did I made my way up to the front of the ship, hoping to read in the sun for a few hours.
Upon arrival there I was greeted by three young Burundians, who were making there way down to Zambia, where they hoped to start a new life for themselves. I spent the next few hours chatting with them, mainly with Jackson, the most talkative of the three. We spoke of religion, and when I told them of my belief in God, but not in any church, they found this to be one of the funniest things they had ever heard. We talked of prayer, then, as I had told then I didn't engage in this practice.
Jackson told me a story of something that happened to him in his youth, which he said had given him his unwavering faith
Sun setting over the Congo mountains
. It is a long story, but I will retell it here, as it is an interesting one. He is an orphan, having lost his parents before his teens. He is twenty now, which makes it quite likely that his parents were lost as a result of the war in Burundi, although he did not say, and I did not like to ask. He was put into the care of his uncle after the death of his parents, a man who he had found to be loving and kind while his parents were alive, but now seemed to dislike him.One day his uncle told him that they would go for a walk, to leave where they lived, and to try to find a new life for themselves. They walked for three days, eating nothing, and drinking only when they could find water. On the third day Jackson grew weary, and asked his uncle, "Where are we going, and for how long more must we walk?". His uncle replied, "You see that hill over there? Just beyond that hill we will find a place where we can make our new life."
Given hope, Jackson pressed on, and walked as far as the hill, and beyond. But there was nothing there, and they still kept walking. Again, Jackson asked his uncle, "Uncle, you said that we would stop after that hill, but we haven't; how far more must we walk?". The uncle replied "Lose not hope, my child, for just beyond that hill yonder we will find a place where we can rest, and there we shall make a new life."
But once more, the uncle's promise failed to come true. Jackson asked again, and the uncle replied in the same manner, several times more. An hour or so later Jackson felt he could go no further, and collapsed to the ground, saying "Uncle, I cannot go any further. I need food and water. You have promised me time and time again that we would be there soon, and we have not yet reached our destination." His uncle replied, "I can see you are tired and hungry Jackson, and I am sorry for bringing you on such a difficult journey. It is not far more until we will reach where we will make our new lives. Rest here, my boy, and I will go to find us some food and water so that we will have the strength to continue our journey."
So his uncle left, and Jackson waited, feeling very weak. An hour passed, then two, but his uncle did not return. He wondered what had happened to his uncle, he should have been back by now. He worried if he had been hurt, or worse, had abandoned him here. He quickly put such thoughts out of his mind, and fell into a sleep.
When he woke, he saw that the sun was low in the sky, and that his uncle had not returned. Jackson's thirst had beocme unbearable, so he decided to search for water, and to then return to this place afterwards to wait for his uncle. After walking for some twenty minutes he found a pond, and thirstily scooped water to his mouth. After drinking he noticed a man approaching, and feeling frightened, he ducked down and hid. The man, however, had already seen him, and called out to him, "What are you doing here, boy, so far from any village or home, with no others taking care of you?"
Jackson told him his story, and the man replied to him, "Poor boy, can you not see that your uncle has abandoned you, he has left you here to die. Why else would he bring you to this place, and leave you with no food or water in such a weakened state?". Jackson refused to believe this, but still accepted the kind man's offer of a bed in his home.
Jackson stayed with this man for days, then weeks, then months, and he eventually came to believe that his uncle had abandoned him. God was watching him, however, as the man in whose house he was staying had a decent heart, and treated him as if he were a son. Some time later Jackson's aunt (his father's sister - the uncle was his mother's brother), happened to pass through the village he was staying in, and saw Jackson playing in the street. She asked him what he was doing here, and if he was well. Jackson told her the story of how his uncle had left him for dead. His aunt could scarcely believe what she was hearing - the uncle had told her that he had left Jackson with a family in a village, with friends who would look after him.
The aunt thanked the man who had taken care of Jackson, and paid him what little money she could afford. She then left for her home village with Jackson, intending to find out what had happened from the uncle. They walked back, and upon arrival she told Jackson to hide in her house, lest the uncle should see him. She went then to see the uncle, and asked him where Jackson was. He told her the same story as before, that he had left him with friends in a village a few day's walk away, and that he was being looked after.
The aunt asked the uncle to being her to Jackson, saying she missed him, and would like to see him. He said that there was too much work to do on the farm at the moment, and that he did not have time to bring her. Again and again she asked, and again and again the uncle refused, saying he was too busy to go. Eventually she asked for directions to the village, so that she could go there alone.
The uncle then finally agreed to bring her there, and so they set off. The direction they went in, however, was not the same as that in which the aunt had found Jackson. He brought her through a deep forest, and, feeling he had no other choice, he cut her throat and left her bleed to death. He then returned to the village, and told the other villagers that he had left the aunt with Jackson, that she had been so overjoyed to see him that she had decided to stay with him for a while. The villagers started to ask more and more questions, however, and the uncle grew increasingly worried that his two crimes would be found out. A few days later he was found dead; he had hung himself in his own home.
I was deeply touched that Jackson had shared with me this frightening story of his youth. He said that he had prayed to God throughout this ordeal, and he feels that God answered his prayers, as he was always well looked after. He told me later that he didn't like to speak to other Tanzanians here in Tanzania, as his Burundian accent when speaking KiSwahili betrayed him as a foreigner. He feared being deporte, or of being robbed. Half way through telling me this long story it started to raion heavily, and he continued telling it to me in the crowded third class seating area, where everyone watched and listened to the Burundian speaking French to a mzungu. He obviously betrayed himself as being foreign in doing this, which further touched me.
Later that afternoon I went for a swim with the backpackers, jumping some ten metres from the front of the ship into the water below, at one of the stops for new passangers. The water was a pleasant, warm temperature, and it was delightful to escape the heat of the afternoon. My joy quickly turned to fright, as I realized that what had looked like lovely deep blue, calm waters from above were actually very choppy, and there was a strong current. Although I am a strong swimmer, I had trouble fighting the current, and freqeuntly ended up swallowing mouthfuls of water because of the large swells that were washing over me. I eventually made my way up to the side of the ship where I could climb aboard, and swam in between the ship and one of the little boats delivering passengers. Suddenly the gap between the two vessels closed, and I found myself trapped between them, the swells throwing me around dangerously. My claustrophobia kicked in then in a way that I have not ever experienced before, and I started to panic. To make things worse, Koebus, who was just ahead of me, had ducked under the water and not resurfaced for more than ten seconds. I dived down to try to find him, worried that he had been pulled under by a current, but couldn't see him. I came up for air, and quickly went down again, scouring deep under the surface for any sign of him.
I came up again, and shouted his name, and thankfully heard a reply; he had come up on the other side of the little passenger boat. I fought the current again and made my way around to him, and we climbed aboard the boat, from where we jumped back onto the ship. Out of breath, I was shaking with fear, panic and adrenaline. It took me a good half hour to relax again, and to begin to enjoy the journey. We spent the evening chatting on the deck, admiring the beatiful shores on the Tanzanian side, lined with golden beaches and palm trees, and the wonderful little dhows, sailboats of Arabic origins, with little white sails, bobbing along the water.
We spent that evening having a few beers on the deck again, discussing Africa's problems. Isaac told me that he had come to Kenya a few months ago to work on an NGO project there, with great illusions of saving Africa. He quickly became disenchanted with the NGO, however, and has come to the same conclusions as I have about many of the NGOs that cover the continent. It was interesting, once more, to meet a traveller who has independently come to these conclusions which I have found shock people at home so much that they simply refuse to believe them.
