During my last day on the mighty River Congo I realized just how tough the past month had been. I lost three kilos, mostly due to falling ill in Mbandaka after eating a ‘pig of the forest’ washed down with a Primus beer.

After reading the diary I wrote every evening on the boat, while mosquitoes swarmed to the light of my laptop screen, my family is convinced I didn’t enjoy the trip. But that is not the case.

It was important to have made this journey. There is a tendency amongst whites to write about Africa and Africans, without talking much to them. I was worried that I would fall into that trap, but for the past 29 days I have spoken to only one Mundele, the local term for white man in the Lingala language. Fellow travelers complimented me for ‘suffering with the Africans’ and gave me great courage.

Escape to Europe
Although it is over a month ago since we said goodbye on an early morning in Lisala, Gaston called today to check on me. Our lives are totally different, yet we have managed to form a friendship. It was great talking to him and other ordinary Congolese about their lives, thoughts and dreams. There is something contradictory within their stories: Many are very proud of their country, but at the same time they want to go to Europe. The urge to leave seems stronger than elsewhere in East Africa.

The first thing I did after reaching Kin la belle was book a flight to Holland for my wife, Maureen, 18-month daughter, and I. On reaching Uganda’s airport, little Maureen didn’t run towards me, shouting ‘daddy, daddy’ as I expected but hid behind her mother.

Just two weeks in Holland have been enough for me to regain my weight. But while I needed to escape to Europe -unaffordable for fish traders like Paul and Rufin as well as most other travelers- I know that by now they are probably on the River Congo again. For a new journey of at least three months, full of hardships.