大象传媒

Mountains of the Moon - Chapter 3

Vision to the sides was restricted too by dense growths of every description - poison thorn, bushes, creepers, all growing in indescribable profusion and confusion, whilst here and there could be seen the livid white streak of some forest giant stripped of its bark by some unknown agent, given support by the very creepers and parasite plants that it once supported and to which it probably owed its death. Another truly wonderful sight this Ituri Forest; another that will live in my memory for many days to come; and then some.

Five times we crossed columns of moving ant armies which appeared as black bands about six inches across and stretched from one side of the road to the other and disappeared into the forest again. Out of curiosity I took especial note of the positions of two of these armies and I was amazed to find them still crossing the road with undiminished intensity when I went round next morning. Some army! Another thing that struck me was the huge numbers of butterflies of all sizes, colours and varieties that we saw in the sunny patches along the road. I have never seen so many, nor such wonderful colours. It was certainly a butterfly collector's paradise.

Finally we reached the village we had set out for, Bundibugyo, a number of neat mud and grass huts. Here the truck branched off from the road we wished to take so we continued on foot for about half a mile or so until we reached a collection of large huts which immediately spelt "White Man", and we found ourselves at one of those outposts of civilisation from which we often benefit so much and think of, and in fact hear of, so infrequently. It was a Yellow Fever research station, one of the Rockefeller Institute offspring. There we found a young Glasgow doctor who has, for the past three years or so, been studying Yellow Fever from all points of view, studying the effects on the local inhabitants - "local" in this sense meaning anywhere within fifty miles radius in that steaming forest region, more than fifty miles from the nearest white man, and with a small army of native boys as his only companions. Needless to say we were very welcome, and yarned and yarned and inspected his laboratory, animal huts, surgery, living quarters etc. all of which he was naturally very proud. In short we asked and answered so many questions that he had enough exercise in talking English for a change, to last him a month or more. We three asked him about the pass over the Range and he agreed to let us have his own personal tracker to show us over, provided we gave said tracker no more than 50 cents for a present. Otherwise, he told us, the bright lad would just go out on the binge if we gave him, say, a shilling. Some binge! Anyway, we were all genuinely sorry when the truck appeared to take us back round the Passes.

On the way back we were fortunate enough to come across a small colony of pigmies, consisting of three or four groups of squalid little grass and stick huts and about fifty of the Little People, the most comical little creatures you ever saw, all highly amused at the interest we evinced in them. I was the stooge who volunteered to stand amongst them for comparison of size in the photographs and soon realised the wisdom of the old naval saying "Volunteer for ----- (nothing)" for those little pigmies belonged to the legion of the great unwashed and literally stank to high heaven. Ten minutes of close contact was just about all I could stand, by which time the reek had reached even those remote from them so that no-one else could be persuaded to take my place. However, by that time all the snaps had been taken, so with more haste than dignity I hopped aboard the truck and off we went once more, leaving behind us a heap of struggling, diminutive humanity, screaming with excitement, young and old alike, over the handful of small copper coins I had flung into the road as we moved off.

The driver, for some reason known best only to himself, was anxious to return to Fort Portal early and made the return journey even faster than the outward one, with the result that we had another hour of thrills. On our return to the hotel, just after dark, we followed the familiar routine of a bath, dinner and bed.
Next morning, a party of us were up bright and early, got a lift on the same truck and, letting Old Len sit in front with the driver, so that he would get all the thrills (he is a notorious back-seat driver) we once more set off for Bundibugyo and arrived there with the attendant thrills en-route. Here we three persuaded an askari, whom we took to be the doctor's tracker, to show us the way and set off, while the others carried on by foot to the Station. After half an hour's stiff climbing, our "guide" assured us that there was only one track for the rest of the way so we dismissed him with the usual "sumuki" and a few cigarettes. Needless to say, a further half hour's climb soon showed us our folly, for the track forked in several places and we had at last to admit that we were lost, so we sat down on a fallen tree trunk to consider our situation. It seemed though that we had parked ourselves in somebody's kitchen garden, for presently I became aware of two sharp eyes scanning us with anything but friendliness and certainly some anxiety, from the cover of a mass of tall elephant grass. I gulped, but kept the eyes in view until, observing that he was himself being observed, the owner of the eyes stepped into full view and proved to be a slight but extremely wiry looking fellow just over four feet high. There was nothing "slight" about the knife he carried with such obvious familiarity though. It was a wicked looking instrument, all blade, about thirty inches long about a hand's-breadth wide and sharpened to a razor keenness. No amount of smiles or persuasion would cause him to part with this formidable weapon even for a moment's inspection, so we all three decided to be extremely civil.

Well, to cut a long story short, we managed to convey by signs that we wished to cross the Range, and by still more signs, this time with some difficulty, that we wanted him to act as our guide. At long last we drove our point right home and with a few grunts to his (presumably) wives, we at last got mobile again.

There followed four hours of the most gruelling exertion it has been my lot in which to participate. Up, up and up we went, over rocks, up rock-strewn streams, up again through tangled masses of elephant grass, through which our Little Man slipped like a rabbit and through which we ploughed like an old tramp steamer against a head-on gale and a rising sea. Up still again over slippery, almost non-existent (to my eyes) pigmy paths that I am certain no white man has travelled before, until, utterly exhausted we called a halt at just over 8,000 feet. On a rocky, barren outcrop, we gazed around, drinking in the wonderful view spread out before us. Behind, and on either side was the Ruwenzori Range. Below, the tangled mass of the seemingly brooding forest that was Ituri; beyond the swamps and the winding Semilika and in the dim blue of the distance was the piled grandeur of the ranges of the Belgian Congo, with Lake Albert gleaming far away to our right. Above us, as yet unnoticed, storm-clouds gathered and they were rolling down the mountainside around us. Over all, there was the subdued hush peculiar to the mountainside. Then, far out to the left and rear, we heard the tiny taps of drums and the weird chanting of shrill little voices in some village festivities way up in the mountains.

All three of us could have sat there, I think, for hours but our clothes wringing wet with perspiration and beaded all over with globules of mist, struck chilly and we reluctantly recommenced our climb. Our wiry little guide was off like a shot while we toiled behind, and as the gradient became steeper we were at last obliged to go on all fours up an almost sheer wall of loose rock. Then came the first flash of lightning of the approaching storm whilst the thunder that followed rolled around the mountainside, echoing and re-echoing, and the first few drops of chilling rain began to fall; the little chap started to mutter to himself and flinched every time there was a flash or clap. Then Lofty gained the top of this particular bit of the climb and stood looking down on us as we climbed to join him. Pausing to speak to him, I stood too long on a piece of insecure rock which gave, whilst I literally shot by poor old Tex, about ten feet behind and below me, to finish up amidst a pile of loose rubble, clinging to a stunted sapling some twenty feet or so below. O took one look at what lay beneath me and promptly reached the side of the other two in record time, much to their amusement and my secret relief. Looking upward we saw that we had another 800 feet or more still to do before we even thought about the climb down the other side and had to very reluctantly admit that we were beaten, for the storm-clouds had now almost completely covered the peak for which we were making and even then rolling down, slowly, towards us. Further progress, however was definitely vetoed for us by the mother and father of flashes of lightning which was followed by a deafening roll of thunder which caused our guide to scuttle, muttering, back towards the downward track, so that settled it out of hand for us.

So we started on the downward climb after six hours of the hardest work I, for one, ever hope to do. Going down was naturally much faster but, if anything, more tiring than going up, and absolutely flaked out, we reached the doctor's place and flopped down on the little cement wall surrounding his veranda without a word, while he just stood there laughing until his sides ached. Recovering somewhat, he called for lemonade and his houseboy produced about half a gallon or more of iced lemonade made from the doctor's own grown lemons. Naturally we protested at the extravagance in lemons but he assured us that the total cost, including labour was something well under sixpence so we finished the refreshment off with easy consciences. Then came the question of our return to our hotel, some fifty-odd miles around the two passes and we were stumped but without a moment's hesitation the doctor offered us the loan of his own utility car and his native driver provided we arranged with the D.C. about the petrol coupons. Needless to say we saw to it that he was amply repaid.

Well, three times we'd made that trip and had thrills each time, but this our fourth was beyond a joke. The storm that had driven us off the mountain broke soon after we left the Station and by the time we had reached the Buranga Pass the road was little better than a river of mud. Unperturbed, the driver kept up a decent whack of speed all the way and , being light, the car was all over the "road" and on two occasions the offside rear wheel went over the edges of particular nasty drops. Quite frankly I was not expecting to get out of that damned car in the normal manner, if at all. It was a wonder that my hair was not completely white. Seventeen miles of dangerous corners we did in a minute or two over half an hour and I was more than glad when I got my two feet firmly on good solid earth.

The hotel was reached anyway, and the usual routine of bath, dinner and bed was carried out although on that night the process was rather stretched by reason of the number of questions we were asked and the amount of leg-pull we had to deal with, not having accomplished what we had set out to do. Still, we made bed at last and believe you me I was asleep before I hit the pillow. Five seconds (?) later that blighter of a houseboy was shaking me with one hand and indicating a breakfast tray with the other.

Of the next two days I can tell you little. Anyway the food was all that could be desired whilst the freedom from camp life and a really comfortable bed LESS bugs was a very pleasant change indeed.

Before we left we had the opportunity to visit a tea factory and of course grabbed at the chance and accordingly rolled up at the factory and followed the production of the commercial article right from the field to the packet and very interesting the whole affair proved to be. What followed after appealed to me most though for the manager, having shown us everything, then invited us to sample a brew of his own particular blend. I'll leave you to imagine my reactions. Well, after the fourteenth cup..........!

Anyway, they did manage to drag me away at last and we returned to the hotel where, learning that there was no fish for dinner, we three "mountaineers" as we were now called, decided that here at least was a chance to redeem ourselves at least a little, so we set out for a crater lake nearby; there with a boy each to do the rowing, we each with a length of twine, a stick and a small hook spent a couple of hours fishing and more by good luck than judgement, managed to get sufficient fish to fill the bill for that evening at least and once again returned to the hotel. Imagine our disgust therefore, when, on going in to dinner, a little late I must admit, we found that the fish had petered out just before we arrived. Now I ask you, and with no liquor left in the bar either.

Next morning, having no plausible reason for staying any longer, we said goodbye to the Mountains of the Moon Hotel and, just as we were putting our kit on board the filmy mantle of mist slowly lifted from the Twin Peaks, remained clear for a short while and slowly descended again, a very rare occurrence all the local residents present informed us. So altogether, we had covered some ground in that district. Regretfully we climbed aboard for the last time and by 9 am. were on our way on the last leg of the trip by road. Two hundred odd miles back to Kampala were accomplished in just under thirteen hours without any unusual incident, and in any case, we were all, I think, beginning to feel the effects of so many days unusual activity and were a trifle tired as a result. Most of us dozed quite a large proportion of the time on this leg, and I must confess to being one of the culprits. Arrived at the hotel for the last time, we again went through the ritual of bath, dinner and bed in quick succession but this time neither Maurice nor I kept awake long; a muttered "Goodnight" and we were both in the Land of Nod.

The following morning we rose to a first-class breakfast at about 9 am. and after wandering around the shops for awhile, caught the train at about 10.30 am. back to Nairobi. This journey, too, was uneventful...... we passed the Equator at about 4 am. so Old Len was allowed to sleep peacefully..... and we arrived back at Nigh-Robbery at about 4 p.m. where the party broke, each to go his own way. As for Maurice and me, we went straight for Big Eats, then back for a bath, NO dinner, and bed.

Right the way throughout the entire trip Old Len "dripped" about every thing under the sun, and was continually going for Maurice and me on every conceivable occasion, and believe you me, we retaliated in like kind and with interest. Had we not had that "Old ......" with us the whole trip would have lost much of its enjoyment. As it was we had a ripping time altogether.

Naturally this is only a brief outline of the whole trip, so I am very much afraid you will have to wait until I get back for the rest of it. I'll apologise now for taking so long to tackle the job, but I first had to tackle our Censoring Officer first and this is the result. Actually I have been allowed to put in more than I had thought permissible. However, as I have purposely given no address, that leaves considerably more scope.

As it is this has taken quite a time, so perhaps you will excuse me for using the quicker and more convenient typing and also for sending a very similar one Home. Writing it again, although the correct thing to do, would have been just a wee bit too much.

Your loving husband

O
With sincere apologies for the "typing"

OTC

42 Photographs Enclosed also 2 doz. hairclips and 2 doz. safety pins

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