Chapter 1: Into the Heart of the Kasai
The Kasai River greeted me like an old, secretive friend. Its waters, a rich brown, moved with a rhythm that was at once gentle and untamed, carrying the scent of wet earth and forgotten stories. Every curve seemed to whisper secrets of travelers who had dared to enter its embrace.
I leaned against the railing of our small steamer, feeling the humid air cling to my skin. Behind us, civilization was already fading wooden huts gave way to the dense green of the forest. Ahead lay the Congo in all its wild glory: endless trees, vines dangling like green serpents, and shadows that seemed alive. For the next two years, this place would be my home, my teacher, and perhaps my trial.
"I still can't believe we're really doing this," I whispered to myself, clutching my notebook.
Beside me, Henri, our guide, gave a quiet chuckle. "Most who talk like that never make it past the first week," he said. His eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the river. "But you… you look ready."
I forced a smile. "Ready or not, I have to try. Two years here… it might change everything."
The engine hummed beneath my feet, the steady vibration a reminder of human persistence against the wilderness. Occasionally, a fisherman would appear on a narrow canoe, gliding silently over the water like a shadow. He would glance at us, curiosity in his eyes, then vanish into the green veil.
Every mile we traveled felt like stepping into a different world. Villages emerged suddenly, small clusters of round huts with smoke curling from cooking fires. Children ran barefoot to the riverbank, wide-eyed, some daring to wave. Women balanced baskets of cassava or fish atop their heads, pausing to stare at our steamer. Men stood tall, spears in hand not with hostility, but with the calm pride of those who belonged to this land.
I opened my journal, letting my pen chase every detail. Their faces. Their music. The quiet rituals of daily life. Every gesture seemed alive with meaning.
As the sun sank, the river transformed into a ribbon of molten gold. I felt a shiver run down my spine, a mixture of fear and exhilaration.
What will I find in these forests? I wondered. Tribes that had never met an outsider? Songs passed down for centuries. Rituals older than any book I had read?
Henri's voice cut through my thoughts. "Keep your eyes open. Not all that you see is what it seems."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
He only shook his head. "You'll see soon enough."
The river's slow murmur seemed to agree. There were stories here hidden, waiting. And I had come to find them.
Arrival at the Village
The steamer slowed as we approached a small clearing by the riverbank. Smoke curled into the sky, and the scent of cooking fires mixed with the musky aroma of wet earth. Children laughed and ran in every direction. A woman balanced a heavy basket on her head, pausing to eye us carefully.
Henri raised a hand in greeting. "We come in peace. We only wish to trade knowledge… and perhaps stories."
The villagers watched us cautiously. A man stepped forward, tall and broad-shouldered, with eyes that seemed to pierce right through me. His spear rested lightly in his hands not threatening, but commanding attention.
I felt a flutter of nerves. This is it. My first real contact.
Henri introduced me. "This is our guest. She wishes to learn from your people."
The man studied me for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Stories are free," he said in a low voice, "but understanding comes at the price of respect. Do you respect the forest?"
I swallowed. "I… I hope to learn."
A smile flickered across his lips. "Then stay. Watch. Listen."
First Night in the Kasai
That evening, I sat near the fire, watching the villagers prepare food. The crackle of flames and the scent of roasting fish mingled with the calls of nocturnal birds. Children played in the shadows, their laughter a melody that felt older than time.
Henri leaned toward me. "Remember, every action matters here. Even a glance can speak volumes."
I nodded, feeling the weight of his words. I realized that in this place, stories were not just told—they were lived. Every gesture, every song, every ritual held meaning.
I opened my journal once more, writing feverishly. Faces, music, customs… the way the firelight dances on their skin… Each word felt inadequate. Words could never capture the life pulsing through this village.
As I wrote, a quiet tension settled over the forest. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a feeling that I was not alone not in the human sense, but as if the forest itself were watching, waiting.
Henri's hand rested lightly on my shoulder. "Tomorrow, we walk into the deeper forest. Be ready. It is beautiful, yes, but it is also merciless."
I looked up at the starlit sky, feeling a mixture of fear and excitement. Two years here… can I survive? Will I truly understand this land?
A drumbeat echoed from deep within the forest, slow and steady, calling to me.
And in that moment, I understood: the journey had truly begun.