Note: Africa Days is a series of posts based on journals and letters from my years living in Kinshasa and traveling across Africa, beginning in 1974. You can read previous posts below.
It was December of 1975, and we were close to realizing a dream we’d had for a year: To climb as high in the Ruwenzori Mountains as non-technical climbers could go, and see the snowy massif known as Ptolemy’s Mountains of the Moon. The third and highest cabin sat on a slight rise (at an elevation of 13,779 feet). It was built of stone, while the others had been wooden, and it was a bit simpler and rougher. We’d been pleasantly surprised by the cabins, expecting the ruder sorts we had encountered on Kilimanjaro, with wooden plank beds and lots of cracks for bitter whistling winds to enter. These were solid and equipped not only with mattresses but blankets, sheets, a stove for those who wished to bring diesel fuel, lanterns, and many cooking and eating utensils.
The plan for the top hut was to wait until 5 p.m. or so, when the weather often began to clear, and then start out on the walk to the look-out point — the 14,639-foot Wasuwameso, with its panoramic view of the taller peaks arrayed before it. (The Ruwenzori range encompasses the third, fourth and fifth highest peaks in Africa, topping off at 16,762 feet. Those require technical climbing.) Since it was about 3 p.m. when we arrived, we began settling in and making tea. Suddenly Kisenge rushed in: The skies had cleared. We hurried out — and caught our breath at the portion of the massif now visible.
We began our climb. Not long afterward, Kisenge pointed to a huge rock jutting out of the top of the peak we were scaling: This would be our viewpoint. When we came at last to the bottom of the rock, that primal expectancy you feel when a view is about to break open before you seized me. I pulled myself up onto the summit, and I felt something very close to pain: There it was, the whole glorious expanse.
We stayed at the summit for about an hour, comparing our guidebook’s charts with the shifting portions of the massif coming in and out of view (only when we first arrived was the view completely clear). One by one, the dancing clouds singled out the delights: silvery glaciers, jagged peaks above, lakes below, snowfields and icy slopes everywhere — until, gradually, the clouds had covered them all.
As we embarked on our descent, snow began to fall.
We were cold that night and felt the claustrophobic pressure of the altitude. (I found myself, both there and at Kilimanjaro, taking desperately quick and deep breaths in a frantic effort to make up for the lack of satisfaction in the oxygen-poor air.) We woke with headaches and were glad to start down. (The mountains were not visible to tempt us in the other direction.) It was a long way down that fourth day, skipping hut number two. The enchanted forest was muddier than it had been and we told each other at least four times that we had finally begun that last horrible descent to the creek which would mean we were close to the bottom hut.
We finally DID begin it, in reality, and we enjoyed our last pork dinner back in hut number one.
We never saw the peaks again.
As soon as we passed Kisenge’s lodge, which meant to him that we were “off the mountain,” he told us that the spot where we had made tributes to the mountain spirit is administered by an old man who lives in Mutsora (a town we’d passed through on our way to the base). He makes annual pilgrimages up the steep trail to ensure the continued upkeep of the little huts. Kisenge added that the many people who have died climbing in the Ruwenzoris had failed to make any offering.
These were not awful spirits, he said. You just needed to treat them right.
From the Ruwenzoris, we headed west to explore the Ituri Rainforest, home to the people known as Pygmies and to the rare okapi, the giraffe’s only relative. This trip was not the success that most of our adventures had been.
January 1, 1976: Epulu Station: “We’ve been sitting in this two-okapi town, as Mike called it (there are two okapis in a pen here) for hours. I’m balancing on three legs of a wooden chair on an uneven earth floor. The springs of a detached car seat are on my left. Mike is asleep on a flat bench. Above us is a leaf roof. (Pygmy influence — they build huts out of leaves, two of which we saw nearby). Three children sit by me, elbowing each other to get a peek at my writing. They have flowers in their hair. Is that because it’s New Year’s Day?”
We had finally made it to the Ituri headquarters late the evening before, after a long ride atop a Mercedes truck. A guard had come rushing out, telling us to set up our tent by his fire (in the midst of huge ants, most of whom bit me).
“He lured us to stay here today with tales of a foray into the jungle led by Pygmies, to see okapis, duikers and chimpanzees. We fell for it — and spent the early morning aimlessly wandering with some fool who finally admitted he didn’t know what he was doing.
“Now the various people who’ve been sitting under the shade with us have gone into their houses to get out of the heat and to rest. And here we sit, waiting to find a truck to take us toward Kisangani.”
January 3, 1976, Kisangani airport: “We have made it and are checked through for the plane. We got a truck from Epulu Station, a comfortable ride atop another Mercedes (this one carrying empty beer cases), with three inevitable breakdowns. We arrived in Bafwasende toward 9 p.m., got someone to lead us on foot to the Catholic mission and then received permission to camp in the vicar’s yard.
“Next morning, we were back in town by 6 a.m., eating a pineapple and waiting for the trucks. We got a ride about 10, all the way to Kisangani. It was a good one. We saw gorillas running across the road, guinea hens flying above us, a huge green lizard starting slowly across the road and, hearing or seeing us coming, curving his head way around and turning back. Mike saw a 6- to 10- foot fluorescent green and black snake. In the end, the only okapis we saw were those two penned up in Epulu, and we caught only a quick glimpse of a couple of Pygmies. Both these lovely beasts and these oft-maligned people are secretive and cherish the rainforest’s seclusion. Hard to blame them.
“Pulling into Kisangani brought the keenest bush-to-city feeling I’ve had. Seeing the lights and traffic, the big buildings and just the number of people struck me powerfully after these many days deep in the interior and short on comfort. When we arrived at the driver’s destination, we set out on foot for downtown. After a couple of kilometers a Belgian picked us up in his camionette and delivered us to our hotel, a shabby Holiday Inn-ish place. But it had hot water and a sort of double bed made of two twin bed mattresses. For dinner, we walked to the Stanley Hotel for steaks-frites and cold beers. Then to bed. We will be home by early afternoon. What an adventure.”
Back in Kinshasa, we would from now on aim our sights (and every free moment) on buying and equipping our vehicle and on all the attendant planning and purchasing required for the big trip out of Africa that we hoped to launch when school ended. That one would bring half a year and at least 15 countries worth of adventure. A lot of pieces would have to fit together to make it happen.