Congo

The never-ending, impregnable jungle finally gives way to a twisting silver snake of the river. My first view of the Congo is not as earth-shattering as I expected, but it is thrilling none the less to be looking on that legendary waterway immortalized in so many writings feeding central Africa with its numerous tributaries and irresistible tug towards the ocean.

I am crammed tight in the left rear seat of a Cessna 172. Gary and Jeremy have flown me straight from Bere down to Moundou and across Central African Republic and over the Democratic Republic of Congo where I get my first glimpse of its mighty river. There is a water jug between my feet and provisions stacked to the ceiling next to me forcing me to curl up almost in the fetal position. My only relief is to turn from my right to my left side occasionally and immerse myself deep into an absorbing book…in this case, “Seabiscuit”.

We descend across the Congo River and into the tiny airport of Kisangani. The immigration officials look fierce and determined to shake down these foreigners for some “tea money” until Gary starts speaking to them in Swahili and explaining that he grew up in Eastern Zaire (as DRC was called then). We are then whisked through the formalities and taken into the Congo Frontline Mission compound by the Mosiers.

Over meals rich in pineapple, bananas and avocados—a feast for this fruit starved Chadian—we hear about their efforts to start a medical mission program to meet the scandalous medical needs of the outlying villages. For now, a simple canoe with an outboard motor and a local doc takes them a few miles outside of town to provide basic malaria, malnutrition and parasite treatments. As they come face to face with burn victims, people maimed for life through various accidents and the incredible infant mortality rates they realize that much more needs to be done.

As the stories unfold around me, I am taken back to the three and a half months I spent on the Amazon River working with the Luzeiro mission launch program back in 1994. I remember reading the stories of Leo Halliwell and his wife as they opened up the Amazon basin with their little medical launch and handfuls of quinine for malaria. As I mention this outloud, Keith walks over to the bookshelf and pulls off their story, “Light in the Jungle”, which I hadn’t read in 15 years.

I start reading that very night as deep longings I had buried inside over the years start to be awakened. The river is calling me.

The next day Gary and I go to help Keith and his dad try and negotiate with the Ministry of Public Works for the use of a bulldozer to clear the jungle from the land they want to build their school on. Things are rough for a while and negotiations tense until I mention that I am a doctor and we are interested in opening a medical river boat program.

Suddenly, the scowling Minister stands up and stretches out his hand with a big smile on his face.

“I’m a surgeon too. I’ve operated on everything. Welcome, colleague. If you ever need any papers or authorizations to get this project through to the right people, just bring it to me and I’ll accelerate it right through.”

We finish and head out the next morning for Brazzaville, Congo. There we happen to meet up with the president of the West Africa Division of the Adventist Church and the Secretary General of the General Conference as well as one of the under secretaries of the GC. As we are given the tour of the mission compound we come across a map of Congo.

There, again, the River jumps out at me.

Running all the way up the border between Congo and the Democratic Republic of Congo it then branches off into the interior of DRC. However, another major tributary continues up the border until it reaches Bangui, the capital of Central African Republic and then curves eastward across the border of CAR and DRC. Hundreds of smaller tributaries pour into the River from the Congo side making it possible to reach most of the abandoned little villages with a medical launch.

Sunday, I finally get to touch the Congo River. We have somehow managed to get all the stamps and pay all the fees to get in a boat crossing from Brazzaville to Kinchasa. Nowhere else in the world are two country capitols this close. As the motor starts up and we start weaving our way through the slalom course of grass and reed floaties scattered across the breadth of our course, I dip my hand into the cool water and lean back to smell the river air and absorb the majesty of its greatness.

We are given the tour of Kinchasa by the honorable Bahati, a member of the House of Representatives, and find ourselves at the Adventist mission station. Years ago, the church had built a hospital boat that never got off the ground thanks to the civil war and was finally sold for a pittance in 2003. We wanted to find out what happened to it. The president of themission escorts us up to his office and spreads out on his desk a wad of
pictures of the boat under construction and the all-but-finished product. It is almost exactly what I’d been imagining and looked remarkably similar to the boats I’d worked on in Brazil.

The next morning our Hewa Bora flight takes off from Kinchasa bound for Lubambashi as the early morning sun casts a warm glow across the River as it spreads out in a flood plane filled with islands above the falls downriver. It is beckoning…