by Peter Knyte
After stowing our things we made our introductions to Dr and Mrs Reiss. They were an affable and polite couple, who were moving from one mission to another as part of their calling, and were obviously as accustomed to Africa and its ways as we were ourselves. They’d assumed, probably from our rifles and other accoutrements, that we were in Africa for the game, and we did nothing to dissuade them of this at first. But as the day wore on, and we continued to talk, I became aware that we were all avoiding their questions. I didn’t think they’d noticed, but it occurred to me then, just what difficulty we might have later on trying to explain the real nature of our journey. And it wasn’t long before I began to see the same realisation on the faces of my companions.
It was Marlow who eventually set the Reiss’s straight, with a half-truth about going to explore the enigmatic stone ruins known as Great Zimbabwe. This seemed to satisfy their curiosity for a while. But something, possibly our hesitation in telling them we weren’t just travelling for the sport, must have caused them to become suspicious and for the rest of the day as we plied our way across the lake, they continued to politely quiz and question us about our trip.
Eventually we made landfall again, and with good African soil beneath our feet, we turned away from the water and toward the misty highlands to the south.
The Doctor and his wife were a pleasant enough couple at first. But as we made our way, their missionary calling gradually started to get the better of them and it wasn’t long before Mrs Reiss was attempting to give instructional talks to the servants. Including Mkize, who succumbed so automatically as to make me realise he was long familiar with such… good intentions, and knew very well how to best deal with them. In stark contrast, poor Jean made the unfortunate mistake of ‘declining to wear his faith on his arm’ and consequently seemed to be trapped in one long debate after another with the good doctor and his wife.
It was going to take about six days to get to the Reiss’s new mission, and whilst there was no hint of a trail, the going was steady and good. We were able to escape the Reiss’s from time to time to go hunting, often rejoining them late in the day and hence avoiding much of the evenings sermonizing to the servants. But after four days they’d obviously started to get curious about our journey again, and upon returning early from one of our hunting trips, with some plump ground roosting birds and a small warthog, Harry as near as caught them going through his things.
The following day, as we crested the highlands and started to make our way downhill, Dr Reiss and his wife, openly started questioning our motives for going to Rhodesia and Great Zimbabwe. They’d obviously heard about the troubles being experienced there and the lawless mining town culture that prevailed. Either that or Harry’s things had not been the only luggage they’d searched, and they’d found something else, possibly even my journal.
Harry managed to deflect them for a short while by showing off his knowledge of archaeology, whilst Peter spoke enthusiastically of the hunting and game available along the Luangwa and Zambezi. But eventually they couldn’t even be distracted by questions about their new mission or more theological debate with Jean, and we were forced into just repeating the same thing over and over.
By the time we arrived at the Reiss’s new mission and the river that would hopefully take us to Lake Tanganyika, we were all too happy to be getting away from them. There was a small river boat that plied the route every two months. But we’d missed it by a couple of weeks so were forced to hire several canoes instead, which meant spending another night with the Reiss’s whilst everything was organised, and then taking our leave first thing the following morning, after yet another sermon for the servants.
It was a four day journey to reach Tanganyika, which was good going bearing in mind we had to go ashore each night to camp. But it meant four days of cramped conditions and no shelter from the sun and humidity of the open river.
All of this put us rather out of sorts by the time we reached the lake. Not helped, it has to be said, by the Reiss’s, who it turned out had written a letter, outlining their concerns to the police official in the small lakeside port where we’d finally left the canoes. To add insult to injury, the letter was of course covertly conveyed by one of the fishermen taking us down river. Fortunately the official in question was not only a Frenchman, but also a Gascon like Jean, and though they’d obviously never met before, within half an hour they were like brothers.
The following day saw us aboard another barge the Liemba, with the police official’s best wishes and a bottle of Armagnac exchanged for some of our coffee and a few cigars from Jean’s personal stock.
From Tanganyika we next made our way south, back into the more southerly reaches of the Great Rift and over the border to Zambia. From here we travelled just to the west of Lake Malawi to join the recently flooded Luangwa River. The riverboat had been due for nearly a week when we arrived. But it was another three days before it finally came steaming around the bend in the river to the irrepressible joy of the local children and adults who all turned up at the small wooden dock to see what the boat brought.
We were all getting a bit tired of the constant sitting around or waiting for boats by this point, and more than once I wondered whether we might not have been better just travelling back to Mombassa and getting a boat down the coast before travelling inland to our destination. But we’d decided we’d see more of Africa this way, and that we were certainly doing.
The river boat turned out to be an old paddle steamer, which had definitely seen better days. But it was sound and remarkably, quite reliable normally, on this occasion being delayed only by the detritus freed by the rains and now floating in great free-form pontoons down the river.
We made good time down the Luangwa, and got a first rate view of the Muchinga Escarpment as it rose majestically to our right, framed to the fore by a constantly changing landscape of verdant bush, forest and grassland. There seemed to be an equally impressive array of African wildlife coming down to the water to drink or bathe, all with a wary eye to the boat as we passed by.
Despite the size of the boat, the narrowness of the river and the debris that still littered it’s surface meant we weren’t often able to travel much after dark. But occasionally, where the river had broadened out and slowed down a little, we were able to travel through the twilight and see some of the big cats and other night-time predators as they too prepared for the evening.
Being on the boat also gave us a little more thinking time. For while the earlier part of the journey had required our focus to be more firmly on the route ahead and our preparations, the time we now had aboard the riverboat allowed us to work out our plans for Rhodesia.
‘I think the temple lies no more than a day’s walk from Great Zimbabwe.’ Began Marlow, as we tried to make the best plans we could with the sketchy maps at our disposal, ‘I’m not clear on the relationship of the two, but I do know the temple is much older, and lies beneath the ground as part of a cavern complex. I also know that to some extent the entrance to the temple has been destroyed.’
‘And in this place there lies some artefact which holds the secret of eternal youth?’ quizzed Jean, with more than a hint of doubt in his voice.
‘No, I don’t think so Jean.’ responded Marlow. ‘Here, I hope to find a map. As I mentioned before when I was first trying to describe my vision, I simply couldn’t keep hold of all that I was seeing. But, as I lost control, as the images began to race past me in a blur, there was one thing I could take hold of. Through the vastness of time I saw myself looking into the fire, but then I was not alone, there were others, both men and women, who had come before. Some came more than once, and as I saw them, they surely saw me. But there was one man, whose unchanged face I saw again and again. Throughout an eternity of time he returned to stand in the centre of that fire. And as I looked at him, he looked straight back at me, and left a message in the fire for me to see. A vision of his home, and his purpose, a map showing the sites of those that had come before in t
he quest for unending life.’
‘Of the details I can tell you no more,’ continued Marlow, anticipating our questions. ‘But what I can say is this: If my vision is true, then the man I saw at the centre of that inferno, not only held the secret of everlasting life, but was trying to mark the route by which others could also find it. Where that path might lead, I cannot say.’
Perhaps it was just my imagination, but as Marlow was outlining these additional details, I was sure I saw in the faces of my friends, and possibly even Marlow himself, the doubt and foolishness of pursuing such a fantastic goal. Only Harry seemed as doubt free and enthusiastic as ever, and if I had seen other feelings and doubts on the faces of my friends a little earlier, then they each allowed Harry’s enthusiasm to infect them, and brush aside their doubts, at least for a while.
The other details that Marlow could give were sketchy at best. But as we sat on the weather worn and sun bleached deck of the riverboat, we patched what little there was together to form our plan of action, which we could add to and amend as we got closer to Salisbury and Great Zimbabwe.
By the time we left the riverboat on the lower Zambezi, we’d travelled through some spectacular country that I would have sorely liked to stop and explore in more detail. From never-ending misty horizons to awe inspiringly vertical cliff faces and every combination between. But as we entered Rhodesia we came across an entirely different landscape that I’d have been more than happy to pass through with far greater speed than we did. This was a rough country of mines and miners, chasing ever less plentiful precious metals and ores for the promise of easy wealth, and its capital was no different. As big if not bigger than Nyrobi, Salisbury was bustling with life and energy. But here that energy also carried the atmosphere of danger and the menace that always walked hand-in-hand with greed.
CHAPTER 6 – REMAINS
We knew we’d have to be careful making our arrangements once we got to Rhodesia, so as not to attract unwanted attention of either the official or unofficial kind. So we’d decided to spread out the purchases we needed to make, especially of explosives, and excavation equipment between Salisbury and Fort Victoria, our next stop along the way.
It could’ve been a dicey situation, with any kind of mistake immediately making us appear more suspicious, but Peter was our salvation. He’d studied and worked as an engineer for a short time, so was familiar enough with the things we needed to purchase. He knew exactly when to haggle, what to substitute and how to make it look like it was something he’d done a hundred times before. A single day in Salisbury and we were off again with all haste, out once more into the wild.
It was the same at Fort Victoria, look as business-like as possible, get in, find a guide and some more supplies, and get back out into the country before anyone had time to grow suspicious.
With a local guide we were able to make our way to the ruins in just a couple of days. The area had long ago been explored and abandoned by the miners and mine owners, so there were just a handful of officials to get around and then we were on our own.
I think I’d been expecting ruins on the kind of scale you find in England or France. Either a roofless old building, built on a grand scale, that could almost be confused for something that was still being built, or an anonymous grassy bank surrounded by a few scattered rocks.
Nothing prepared me for the miles of overgrown ruins and suspiciously angular rock formations that we now found ourselves wandering amongst. It wasn’t too obvious at first, you could almost mistake them for little stony outcrops, almost but not quite natural, just peeking out through the clumps of brush and acacia or tall grass. But as our guide lead us on; those small stony outcroppings became more numerous, and then started to interspersed with larger pieces of shaped stonework forming architectural features, until it was impossible to imagine how anyone could mistake the massed remains of the ancient city all about them.
From the moment we entered the area I decided to keep an eye on Marlow to see how he’d react as we got closer to our destination. At first, as we began to explore and to get a feel for the sheer scale of the place, he seemed as curious as the rest of us, pointing out the more telling bits of rock or ruin. As we progressed further though, the curiosity in his expression seemed to be replaced by uncertainty and eventually confusion. But then, as we crested the lip of the valley that lay to the fore of the Great Zimbabwe fortress, its silhouette clearly visible on the distant horizon, something seemed to change within him.
The sight of the valley before us momentarily struck us all. Its entire length seemed lined with caves or to be flanked by the remnants of stone structures. The scale alone was breath-taking, but to see such a place in ruins, without another soul in sight gave the place an altogether more shocking impact. But, as much as I wanted to stare and wonder at this incredible place, I pulled my attention back to Marlow. As soon as the valley and fortress had come into view he visibly stiffened, and then started looking from right to left, and back again, as though searching for something.
As I stood there surrounded by those ghostly ruins, the hot sun beating down on us as probably the only visitors the place had seen in decades, I knew he’d recognised the place. Despite never having been there before, he’d looked around and obviously seen features he knew.
After stopping to point out the fortress and caves from our viewpoint on the valley lip, our guide took his leave, and we were left alone in the place. Harry had been musing and enthusing happily to himself when Marlow interrupted him.
‘The place we’re looking for is several miles from here around the curve of the valley and beyond. With luck we should get there before nightfall.’
‘You have memories of this place from your dream Robert,’ quizzed Jean, with a strained neutrality to his voice.
‘Yes Jean,’ responded Marlow, ‘though the ruins of this place are but a shadow of the half remembered image I have in my mind, there’s enough for me to recognise it.’
As we travelled down into the valley beneath the fortress, I couldn’t help but wonder what images from the past might be filling Marlow’s mind. Did he see the ghostly outlines of mighty buildings where now only a few broken walls stood? Or was he jostling and walking amongst the city’s former residents as they went about their long lost daily routines? He seemed quiet as we walked, his face and actions unreadable.
Unlike the rest of the city, the old fortress, as it was thought to be, was still an imposing structure at the top of the valley wall above us, and I knew I wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t have minded making the detour to go and look around it. But it didn’t seem to figure in Marlow’s vision or dream-memory, so we continued on past it, along the floor of the valley and away from the densely packed rocky remains of the city, back into open bush.
An hour or so later, as we rounded the bend in the valley, the ground levelled off and then started to rise slightly, until a few miles distant the valley seemed to bend again, to the east this time, and just on the bend, directly ahead of us, we could see a strange geological feature, for the valley seemed to rise with a sudden step to form a small hanging valley, almost like an enormous seat or shelf from which to look back along the route we were walking. Turning half toward us, Marlow raised his arm to indicate that this giant ‘seat’ was our destination.
The walk wasn’t difficult, and threading our way through the still leafy trees and grasses would have been pleasant, but for the constant incline and lack of breeze, which combined made the walk just a little bit too warm for comfort. Even so, we made it to the hanging valley before nightfall and after a brief scout around found some likely ruins with a small spring trickling out of them, all of which we’d be able to explore more fully the following day.
In all fairness I could see why this site might have been chosen for a temple or even a chieftains dwelling. It was nicely sheltered and easily defendable, both attractive qualities to primitive societies. But more than that, its prominent position at the head of the valley made the ‘seat
’ both very visible from the valley floor, and the whole valley floor very visible from the seat. All of which must have added to the place’s prestige or status.
The sun always seems to set quickly in Africa, but as I finished my quick reconnaissance of the hanging valley, and took a moment to watch the evening shadow as it raced across the valley bottom, I couldn’t help but wonder: Were the animals of this place aware of what was happening as that great shadow swept toward them each night. Did they move instinctually toward the far edge of the valley to escape it’s reach for just a few minutes more, or did they just accept the inevitable approach of the shadow, and instead step gently into it’s cool embrace?
The additional height of the hanging valley, gave us a few more minutes of gloom before the night proper descended, and making my way back to the camp, before it got too dark, I found most of the others already returned and in restful mood. Their thoughts and conversation mirroring mine on the location. Marlow and Jean, who’d obviously also been looking around, arrived back at much the same time as myself and, navigating our way through the thorny barrier that had been gathered around our camp, we all settled down around one of the fires for the evening.
It was an uneventful night. Shortly after the meal I’d found myself nodding off, and whether because of the day’s walking or comparative quiet of our small valley, I slept without stirring for the entire night. In contrast, it seemed Marlow had a restless night and, waking early, had borrowed Mkize and one of the servants to take a look at the site we’d found just after we arrived.
