The Valley of Eden
–Not the story I have published on BootsNall earlier, that was written from memory. This is taken from my recently recovered notes:
Central African Republic, March 1984
Later that day we came to a large village but there was no food for sale and the distended stomachs of the children spoke of malnutrition. Many of the children we had seen in RCA so far had shown signs of malnutrition, whereas in the dry steppes of the western Sudan the children had looked healthy.
We stopped by a well with milky water for a rest and to change our right front tyre which had deflated with a loud hiss in the middle of the village square. Then we resumed our journey in the mid-day heat. In the relentless sun, our sweat evaporated instantly, leaving our clothes to burn on our skin. The shrill metallic whine of cicadas drilled into our heads. Breathing the scorching dust, we might believe ourselves in one of the outer circles of hell. We got out of there fast to look for a cooler spot to camp.
The night brought relief from the heat and dust. We were in no hurry to move on. After a long chat over lazy mugs of coffee in the shade, somebody mentioned the time but nobody was listening. Then, no more than a quarter of an hour later, everybody erupted into sudden activity. Somebody was heating dishwater, another was looking for detergent and still others had already loaded the box of dishes onto the truck. Some people went to fill their water bottles to find that the barrels had already been stored. The organised chaos subsided and soon we were ready to leave.
We were driving across a brown, arid landscape with shrivelled grasses and thornbushes interspersed with a few trees. But green plants sprouting in patches indicated that there had been rain recently. The yellow carpet of grass was mottled with black burnt patches. The constant humming of cicadas seemed to eminate from the earth itself. Termite hills punctuated the thorny landscape. Some were grey and shaped like mushrooms. Brown, grainy dirt outlined the shape of branches which had been broken down by the termites.
At noon, we reached the border of the St. Floris National Park and with it yet another checkpoint. Our papers were scrutinised in dark barracks which smelt like a chicken roost. When my eyes had adjusted to the dim light I found that the source for the smell was a large dried fish which lay on a table by the door, along with all kinds of other ramshackle stuff. The building consisted of three rooms. We were in the office while the other rooms appeared to be the lounge and bedroom of the officers posted here. The man who checked our pasports had his back to us, sitting on a huge elephant skull which served as his chair. Other skulls were lined up on a windowsill in front of his desk. It promised to be a long procedure.
Eventually, the chief addressed us, complaining of stomach pains. He wanted us to take him to the doctors in N’deli or else he would be obliged to charge each of us 10 000 CFA (25$) to enter the national park. The problem was that we were unlikely to reach N’deli in a day.
We left Reinhold and Harald to negotiate and went back outside where a little stream rushed over a few scattered boulders. The bridge leading to the checkpoint had not been strong enough for our lorry so we had driven through the stream. It wasn’t deep and perfect for a quick bath. Along with the others, I washed my clothes by jumping into the water fully dressed and soaping furiously. When we were sipping tea, our clothes drying in the sun, Reinhold and Harald emerged from the barracks. They had weakened the chief’s resolve and we were free to continue. We entered our first African national park and saw impalas, baboons, waterbucks,topis even buffaloes. At last we had left behind the arid grass and thornbush with its cattle and camels.
That night, we found the Valley of Eden. We made camp by a little stream with sparkling clear water fringed by dense jungle vegetation. We rushed our chores then walked along the stream into the jungle. The clear water sparkled in deep rock pools. It was a spot which may have served as backdrop for the Barcadi Rum adverts.
A rushing sound enticed us further. The stony riverbed ended abruptly at a steep drop. The stream hurtled down, hitting several rocks near the bottom where it formed natural frothing jacuzzis before winding through a jungle valley, shrouded in a fine mist. Tree roots and lianas dropped over the abyss like a second waterfall.
It was getting dark and we had to turn back. When we returned to the camp we found elephant tracks nearby.
That morning I was woken by drums. The clear, starry sky had become shrouded in a fine web of clouds. The first red glimmer of dawn had appeared in the east, it had to be before 5 am. Leo, a Central African we had picked up on our way, was sitting by the campfire beating the drums which Harald had brought from the Sudan. The rapid swift rythm drilled into my brain ruling out any further sleep.
I turned to Walter who sat upright in his sleeping bag and shouted at the African at the top of his voice to stop the fucking racket.
“What time is it?”
He shot me a withering glance: “Four o’clock.”
I might as well get ready. However, I had barely resolved to crawl out of my sleeping bag when I dozed off again and did not wake up until the sun was up. With considerable annoyance I registered that it was already too late to spot most of the animals which are at their most active around dawn. Leo was still playing the drums. The rest of the camp seemed asleep except for Walter who still tried to shut Leo up, this time by blowing a trumped intermittendly between his shouting. I marvelled that no riot had ensued yet, but not for much longer. The flap of the silver dome tent flew open and Reinhold emerged with a tomato-red face. I thought Leo was in for a beating but Reinhold went straight for Walter and shouted at him to lay off Leo: “Shut the fuck up, Walter! Leo is doing the right thing! He is keeping the animals at bay! This is the African way!”
‘Keeping the animals at bay’ did not bode well for my safari plans. I got up and prepared our usual simple fare of pancakes with flour, water and a little sugar, baked in the ashes under the campfire. That and some jam was about all the food we had left.
By now the rest of the camp was up. I grabbed one of the pancakes and left the others bustling about, walking alone in the direction of our mini-jungle. The ground dropped off abruptly, almost vertically. I had to walk a good kilometre before I found an accessible spot. As I descended, leaves rustled under my feet, doubtlessly chasing away any animals which so far had ignored the cacophony in the camp. After a few minutes I came to a plateau of dry yellow grass criss-crossed with wildlife tracks. The air was pungent with the smell of animal dung. This did not look like the tracks of bushbocks, more like the size of buffalloes upwards. I felt strange stepping onto a path which had not been made by men, nor cattle. For all I knew, no person had ever walked across this ground before.
Suddenly spooked, I froze and listened. There was no sound and no movement. I was completely on my own. Timidly, I walked on. The smell of dung dissipated to be replaced by the dusty hay scent of grass. The sun arched into the sky and began to beat down.
Before long, I had reached the shade of the trees. A rustling above my head startled me. Two colobus monkeys were jumping from branch to branch, their black and white fur flashing among the green leaves. A couple of hornbills allighted on a branch nearby.
I stayed for a while, then decided to head back to camp. I did not feel very safe on my own in the wilderness.
Later that morning, Reinhold came with me and we reached the bottom of the stream. It really was like Eden, an untouched jungle in a secret valley. We sat meditatively on a large boulder in the middle of the pool at the bottom of the waterfall, smoking a pipe. In the intense heat of mid-day, we did not see many animals. After a swim to cool down, it was time to return.
Reinhold reckoned we could climb back up via the wall next to the waterfall, the roots and lianas should offer sufficient hand holds. It was easy over the first few metres but before long I grabbed desparately at bits of vegetation, fumbling for a foothold on the smooth rock. By now, gettinng back down was equally as impossible as climbing up appeared to be. Reinhold calmed me down, and offered a helping hand to pull me over particularly difficult parts. Once at the top I felt as if I had been granted a new lease of life.
After lunch, I persuaded Udo to come with me for a short walk up the stream. We found a tree trunk by the bank and sat watching a group of baboons nearby. At first, just one monkey sat watching us then gradually more emerged from the bushes. Udo slowly crouched down, scratched himself and found an empty pack of cigarettes in his pocket which he pretended to rip apart and eat. The monkeys, a whole group by now, sat lined up in a semicircle and stared at us. After a while, they dissipated and returned to their usual activities. We managed to slowly edge closer but we alerted the alpha male on two occasions. He ran up and down agitatedly, then yawned in a threatening manner, baring teeth that might put a leopard to shame. After that he turned his bottom towards us which is usually a gesture of submission. Before long, the monkeys had grown used to us and did not pay us too much attention as long as we moved with deliberate slowness.
“I’m thirsty,” Udo whispered: “Where do you reckon I get a nice cup from?”
I shook my head, but he plucked two large leaves from a nearby bush, folded them up like coffee-filters and handed one to me. Then he moved to the steam to scoop up some of the clear water after skimming over the surface a few times.
“Leo showed me,” he said.
Leo had shown us quite a few things. He lectured me never, under any circumstances, to walk around without sturdy boots because of the snakes whereas he would wander around barefoot. I thought back to the drumming. It was quite good to have a local with us.
The monkeys had begun to get bold. As some of them grabbed at Udo’s bag we ran back towards our tree stump and sat down for futher observations.
I watched a young male to the right of us and hardly noticed that the other monkeys had disappeared one-by-one. Suddenly Udo grabbed me. The alpha male, the last to stay behind, gave an alarm call and retreated.
“There’s a leopard!”
“Where,” I whispered back agitatedly. I could not see a thing but an unnatural stillness was in the air. I was grabbed by a primeval fear.
“Right there!”
Udos’ intense whisper made my heart miss a beat. I felt the blood drain from my face. Slowly, Udo reached for his bag. I still could not see a thing but I did not hesitate as he turned slowly and crept back into the bushes. Later he asked whether I really hadn’t seen anything.
“The leopard was crouching, ready to pounce!” Of course it had been after the monkeys, not us. But for the first time I had shared the animal fear of the prey.
By the time we got back to camp the truck was loaded and nobody was too pleased at our absence during the chores. We formed a chain to fill the waterbarrels, pouring as much water down our fronts as into the barrels. Before long we were ready to go, but Udo was missing. I had my suspicions and went to look for him. Uschi was the only one prepared to come with me, the others were too pissed off to care much about his whereabouts. We returned to the spot up the river. I had pulled out my knife and Uschi carried her tear-gas spray. Sure, it was ridiculous but we were scared.
Suddenly there was a hiss and a growl. We jumped. Uschi tossed her spray can into her bag and picked up a huge branch, holding it like a baseball bat. Slowly we edged back, resolving to get back to camp as quickly as we could. On the way we called repeatedly for Udo, not expecting an answer, but after a while he hollered a reply from a tree canopy. He was sitting in a branch overhanging the stream from where he had a great vantage point.
“I’ve seen elephants on their way to the stream,” he swooned: “but then you came and made a lot of noise!”
“Did you hear the hissing?”
“Sure, it was me. You were scaring away the elephants!”
Denni