ONE SWAMPY DAY IN APRIL

Would you tell the origins and character of a man by the piece of cloth he hangs around his neck? Nor would you, by the way he polishes his boot? 

 Not until you get him to talk about himself. Otherwise, you will be judging a book by its cover.

In this post, I digress from telling you about the how to of fishing, just to break the monotony. I present to you a bite of my true story having grown up in two spheres of one Bangweulu Swamps. It’s a portion of hardships, probably not so different from any other Unga and Bisa child brought up in a poor rural setting.

Ng’ungwa lies at the very edge of the Bangweulu Swamps in the east and is famous for hosting coveys of black lechwes, sitatungas and the famous shoebill stork. It forms a boundary between the Bu-Bisa main land of Chief Chiunda Ponde and the Ba-Unga swamps of Chief Bwalya Mponda. It is home to Chikuni, a Ramsar Site , recognized as a Wetland of  international importance;  and also as an Important Bird Area by Birdlife International.

Bisa folklore has it that the place derives its name from the huge tuskless elephant, Ng’ungwa, found here by first settlers. Many know the area as Muwele, which is the name of the most famous village headman who was among the first to settle there. To date, most important institutions located here are named after him.

It’s at Muwele Primary School that I was in my sixth grade when my nephew Eddie Mwanda from Chafye Island in the heart of the Bangweulu wetlands, within the chiefdom of Bwalya Mponda, came to join me as a first grader. Chafye had no school then (1979). We were under care of my uncle, Bayama, (brother to my mother). I had lost my mother early 1974, prompting my sudden, unexpected change of custody to Bayama; and had never been to the swamps since that year.

Schools had just closed in April when I requested Bayama that Eddie and I wanted to go for a holiday in Chafye, about 70 Km. I had yearned to see my sister, (Eddie’s mother) and with my nephew’s presence, I had become extremely nostalgic and needed to go and rekindle the long-lost nuclear family affection.

“Do you think you can manage to voyage to Chafye, at your age?”  (Eddie was 8, I was 13.)

“Yes, Bayama. We can,” I said while Eddie nodded in agreement.

It’s far than you think. More than nine hours of serious paddling.”

“We’re good at paddling, we’ll manage within a day,” I insisted.

“No, you can’t. If you’re really that desperate, get a lift from adults,” Bayama said.

 But because of the way we became gloomy, adamant and detached from everything at home, he reluctantly gave in and allowed us to leave the following Monday.

Lukulu River before floods

We set off on a bright sunny day; no wind on that warm, exciting Monday morning. The sky was clear and the water was still surging all over, saturating the banks of Lukulu river. Lukulu was heavily pregnant. It appeared menacingly evil for two young inexperienced paddlers. The rising water was coffee brown as a result of ash from dry season burnt grass which was later washed into the river. Even the grass flood plains between Chafye and Muwele were overwhelmed as water was omnipresent.

Armed with only our two paddling poles and a small short spear, we started off in a short, heavy, semi- finished Mupundu canoe (Mukondo). We travelled light. We only had a bag, few bananas and some mealie meal in a plastic.

Off we went down strong currents of Lukulu which was, at the time, said to have had several pods of hippos and basks of crocodiles lurking all over the overflowing river. The fierce current of Chikuba, a man-made canal adjacent to Lukulu, also helped us propel the canoe faster in the initial stages of our journey.

Eddie was born lame with no fingers on his left hand. He was such an intelligent boy and radio fanatic that he could recite the entire popular Cibemba radio drama, Ifyabukaya, at the age of four. He was thus nicknamed Mwansa Kapeya, after the veteran broadcaster who was the producer and presenter of the program at the time. (Former Member of Parliament for Mpika central). The name still lives on as Eddie’s mother is popularly known as Mother of Mwansa Kapeya. 

Because of his physical handicap, I did not expect him to help me much in paddling. Alas! He proved me wrong!

“You can rest now, I’ll paddle,” I said.

“Not until I get tired. After all, if I sit, we won’t reach Chafye in time. This canoe is too heavy,” he answered, with astounding determination.

“But it’s better you rest now, so you can help when I’m tired,”

“No, Bayama, we better move faster now when there’s light than when it’s dark.”

The stump did not make him any worse at paddling. Not until he got tired after a long distance. That was despite his tender age! We followed the river as it meandered down, sticking to the route Bayama defined for us. After we had passed a small island and fishing camp called Kaleya, Lukulu angled left but we took an almost indistinct creek that arched right, leading us into the inundated, crossing-caterpillar ridden flood plains. As expected, there was no clear channel to follow and so we relied on the not- so - clear chart of landmarks drawn by Bayama.

We sang Catholic hymns as we went boosting each other’s morale, passing landmark after landmark.  Both Muwele and Chafye were getting remote as we got into the middle of all green dense vegetation. We would flush some birds and animals as we progressed; which were just as scared of us as we were of them. We even crossed a track of elephants that had just passed, telling by fresh steamy dung.

Once, we saw vultures in murmuration near a termite mound which meant that there could have been an animal carcass nearby, but we couldn’t dare go anywhere near. We feared the raider could possibly be there; which was why vultures were just hovering about. With such thoughts, we dabbled faster. At times we found adorable flocks and throngs of various birds such as white storks, geese and ducks in shallow waters or in meadows.

At around 14:00 hours, we saw a fishing camp nearby.  We decided to go and have lunch from there. We found two fishermen who generously cooked and gave us game meat for our Nshima. We didn’t have a fancy for meat so much as we would have loved a red breasted tilapia; because Bayama was unofficially a supplier of meat. He was an accomplished poacher and his home was nicknamed “Safari.” We had meat almost daily, substituted at times only by catfish. However, we were grateful for the men’s generosity.

We had to eat as quickly as we could as we were at a place called Mulimbule, almost halfway to our destination. Though we could see the tallest Eucalyptus trees from Chafye over clear plains, the distance was still significant. With renewed energy, we set off.

We were advised against following the direction of alluring trees and cut across because some areas, though visibly clear from afar, had dense sedges that wouldn’t allow a canoe to pass through. We were shown a beaten waterway to follow until we reached the channel to Chafye. We paddled uneventfully until we were slowed down by the tall bulrush sedges that preceded a sitatunga covert made of papyrus and phragmite reeds.

 “It’s all grass here Bayama, we can’t pass,” Eddie told me as I tried to propel the canoe forward.

“Where did we lose the way? It seems we’ve followed directions given by the men at the camp,” I said as we started to reverse the canoe.

“This thicket must be the overgrown Lumbatwa river they talked about,” Eddie said, recalling what one man had said.

“Yes, then what do we do? It seems there’s no short cut here. We’ve to find the one and only waterway, “I said as we pondered whether to go up or down along the blocked river.

“Let’s go down,” he said.

The sun seemed to be on a cruise to set. My arms had started to ache.  Birds chirped merrily and a soft wind blew across the bulrush sedges making them swing rhythmically back and forth. We could see several bird nests of different sizes hanging on reeds’ plumes. It was no time to watch these fascinating woven works of art by birds. We had to move on, or else get lost in the night.

About thirty meters away, we found a wide waterway (Lucheta). We broke into ecstasy as we followed the creek between thick beds of bulrush sedges (kabele). We had crossed Lumbatwa river. This is a long and deep river from Senior Chief Kopa chiefdom that flows and opens into the swamps of Bwalya Mponda.

The creek was a short one which led us into an open swamp which made the beaten waterway invisible once more.  We had to follow the direction of trees from Chafye which were getting closer and closer, as the reliable and evident guide. We were in high spirits and so thrilled that we would be celebrating our maiden long-distance travel on our own. It was a feat we would boast about. We would prove to Bayama that we were grown up enough. We would win respect with this expedition! Our constantly downtrodden egos boosted. We were full of confidence that we would be celebrated by my sister, which to us, was more important than how wayward Bayama alleged we were for insisting on this voyage.

 But we had to really earn that because our biggest test was yet to come.

We saw the sun peer slowly and silently into the horizon as we paddled from meadow to meadow, over colourful spread and blossoming tropical water lilies. The deep green appearance of fresh grass covered the water like a huge blanket giving an outstanding elevation to the not-so tall trees of Chafye island. Schools of fish swam freely as they foraged on emerald green grass leaving some floating and lying like woven mats over water. Flocks of birds had started going back to their habitats as familiar humming of nighthawks called in the evening.

By then, Eddie was tired and I was paddling alone. As we got closer, again the grass got taller and the water, though shallower, became marshy. Movement became slower. There was no clear Lucheta, again!

 In search of the way, I turned left following deeper waters toward less sedges. No way in sight! Swarms of mosquitoes had started to feast on us. Their stung tingling like pricks of sharp needles. The deeper I went, the more difficult it became to find the way.  I was exhausted. Both my feet and chest felt heavy.

We decided to turn back and search from the other direction, up north. The situation was the same. It was now evening.  We were becoming very desperate. We could faintly hear people’s voices and other noises from Chafye. The clamor of drums was inviting. But we couldn’t find Lucheta.

“Get into the blanket, Eddie,” I said. “There’s just too much mosquitoes here.”

“It’s time to help you, Bayama. How can I see while covered in a blanket?”

“It’s Okay, I’ll navigate the way,” I said, overcome by guiltiness of disobeying Bayama.

“We’re into this together,” he said, picking his paddling pole.

As we went further up, we grew more and more demoralized. Our excitement vanished. It was getting darker and darker. The night caught up with us. There was no moonlight. We were in the thick of trouble.

 We decided to try and cut across the thick grassy patch that dauntingly stood in our way. As we pushed forward, the canoe could not move an inch. We disembarked, pushed and pulled harder until we found a relatively clear pool. It stretched from Left to right with little grass here and there. Water was very deep. As we moved further, we saw grass tottering ahead followed by intermittent pow, pow, pow, noises. We could see waves in all directions, but there was neither current no wind.

Then as we got nearer to more vegetation, the noise of fish splashing and gasping for fresh air from the surface grew louder! It was a huge school of catfish! The quantity of fish was so large that some of it could dare hit into our paddling poles. As we continued going forward, we came to a solid, marshy and overgrown floating island.  

“This is the end, Bayama,” Eddie announced, stunned, as our canoe came to a full stop on compact mud. “It’s a floating meadow. It’s Chitali.”

“How do you know?” I asked, getting despondent too. My hope of getting to Chafye that day almost shattered.

“Because we come to fish here with dad. It’s quite a distance from the village.”

“Can they hear us if we shouted for help?”

“Only those in transit. Not people in the village.”

“From which direction d’ you normally come?”

“From the east. But this floating meadow is long,” Eddie said in despair.

“Okay, then we go back a little, follow the pool and head east,” I said, encouraged by my illusory joy of seeing my sister that evening.

“L-e-t’s try,” Eddie said reluctantly. He was at the verge of breaking down.

We reversed and turned right. Just after about ten meters, we stormed into the middle of Lucheta, which was as wide as a cycle path.

Lucheta leading to village - Picture by A. Kafuko

“Finally!” we shouted in unison!

We went into jubilation! Our hopes regained.  We enthusiastically sang “Twakulumbanya We Mfumu”, Eddie’s favourite praise song. We were sure of reaching our coveted destination in no time!

 Twenty minutes later, we arrived in Chafye to a mixture of emotions. People were surprised that we had made it from that distant place all by ourselves. Tears of joy rolled down my sister’s cheeks as we reunited, five long years after the death of my mother. Our joy was indescribable.

We told my brother-in-law about the catfish as we narrated our day’s ordeal. Men went early the following morning to spear the fish, and the catch was amazing; in hundreds per person.

With gained confidence and experience in navigating the swamps we, later, frequently came to spend our holidays with my sister; though not for long.  When I went to Secondary School, Eddie transferred to Bwalya Mponda and, unfortunately, died a year later. His death devastated me. It was hard to believe his charisma had gone.

Nevertheless, from that day in April 1979, my numerous voyage adventures between Ng’ungwa and the islands of Matongo, Kasoma Lunga and Bwalya Mponda began. Like philosopher Epictetus correctly observed, “Lameness is a hindrance to your leg, not to your ability to choose, unless that is your choice.”   I learnt this, fortunately, from Eddie’s determination and refrainment from seeking sympathy, whatsoever.  So, even when we are  in neckties with polished shoes today, we recognize the struggles of those poor children in Bangweulu Wetlands facing very difficult choices; because whatever our station, we are all  Tubulus with similar childhood experiences.