Heart of Darkness

Simon felt the gentle breeze play along his neck as he gazed out upon the low hills of the Malebo Pool plains stretching far into the distance towards the pink sky. He closed his eyes and contemplated his place in a World where such beauty could coexist with such atrocity. The war had claimed the blood of almost five million souls and no end was in sight; truly this was Africa’s, ‘Heart of Darkness’. Twisting the rosary beads between his fingers he turned back towards the large stone building to ready himself for Morning Prayer.

“So are you coming?” Joseph asked as Simon placed his robes in the wooden chest by his bed. “Yes, yes. Wait for me outside. I’ll just grab my bag and we’ll go.” Simon had only arrived at the mission a few months ago and almost immediately Joseph had been harrying him to travel to the lowland forests of the Cuvette Centrale and spread the word of Christ to the pygmy tribes that lived there. To most Congolese they were considered sub-human; at the bottom of the social scale and were routinely raided to provide slaves for the Bantu people. It was the human trafficking rather than lack of religion that had finally persuaded Simon to leave the mission unattended and agree to the trip.

The hypnotic swish of the oars as they drifted slowly downstream lent an air of peacefulness that was welcome after the constant noise and grime of the minibus they had ridden from the town at the base of Mount Mangengenge. The mountain was named after the Lingala word for shining. Did anything shine here? He still could not believe how many people had managed to cram into the decrepit thing and that bloody goat had eaten right through the side of his bag which was now in the steady hands of Joseph as he attempted repairs.  The porters were chatting animatedly with the guide and although he knew a little of the language, the speed with which they spoke meant that he soon gave up trying to find a way into the conversation and settled down to sleep.

The sudden jolt woke him and he found that they were up against a muddy riverbank and attempting to secure a line so he scrambled to his feet and hopped onto the shore to lend a hand. Once they had unloaded, the guide tramped ahead and started off through the forest calling for them to follow. They set up camp in a clearing a couple of hours before dusk and sat around the fire discussing the day to follow when they would arrive at the village. “They will be wary of us all, especially you my friend” Joseph said as he turned the roasting rat. “They will not have seen a white skin before and it is difficult to know how they will react.” Simon nodded as he stared into the flames. “God will find a way” he muttered. In the darkness Joseph shook his head smiling sadly to himself and continued to turn the charred rodent.

The tribesmen stood to one side, machetes in hand silently watching as the group walked into the village. A circle of simple structures with groups of women huddled beside them surrounded a central building where a small man, no larger than four feet in height stood patiently waiting. Joseph moved towards him and muttered something before kneeling in the dust in supplication. Simon felt a flash of anger as he saw the awe in which this man was held but stopped himself as he remembered he was here not to preach but to save. The man softly touched Joseph on the head and beckoned him to his feet. He shouted an order to the warriors surrounding them who lowered their weapons and started to disperse. “The chieftain welcomes us” Joseph said with a smile. “We will feast with them this night and work will begin tomorrow”.

That evening they were offered honoured seats either side of the chieftain and again Simon winced as Joseph bowed and fawned in thanks to the head man. Only God commands such respect. He decided to speak to him about it in the morning. The meal began with the low steady chanting of the village shaman; a spectral image as his naked body covered in a white chalky paste writhed in the firelight. The hundreds of metal rings hanging from his body clashed in time with his voice as he reached for the sky; reached for his God. From all around them drums started to pound; the energy seeping into every person present to become a single throbbing heartbeat. The noise intensified and villagers from the edges of the fire started to spin and contort; their hands clasping long knives as they moved into the light. Moans and shrieks filled the air as they pulled the blades across their glistening bodies; blood smattered the crowd as they twisted and turned, ever faster whirling with the incessant beat as it grew and intensified until at a crescendo…it stopped.

The echo of the beat still sighed gently in Simon’s ears and as he looked around at the expectant faces, he saw the wide eyes focussed on him and him alone. He turned in confusion to Joseph who was now facing him. “Pass me your beads” Joseph whispered “it has always been so.” Fear started to grow in his stomach as he passed over the rosary and watched Joseph place it at the chieftain’s feet. Gnarled hands reached down and placed the beads around a neck heavy with countless others that hung there. The chieftain smiled at Simon and reached for a pair of wickedly curved knives that hung from his belt. “What’s going on? Where’s the food?” Simon asked bewildered.
   
“As it has always been, it shall always be” Joseph said as the group started to advance “The Mission provides.”