Darkness

by David Fletcher

  Nevertheless, it was one thing to saddle some innocent birders with an entirely undeserved name; it was quite another to eschew their company on what was the only real “activity” of the day. Accordingly, Dan and Kim joined their companions on the threshold of mud-land for what Dan hoped would be only a brief sally into the elements, and very soon they were all trudging off, although not before Dan had inspected the track down which they’d driven. He’d peered as hard as he could through the gloom, and he’d seen nothing coloured red.

  Twenty minutes later – all in the party having caught sight of one disappearing fulvous babbler – Dan was back at the minibuses, and again he was peering up the track. Still, there was nothing. He began to feel almost reassured and maybe just a little bit silly. Then he began to feel that he would really like to be at their destination for the evening, and a good deal warmer than he was just now.

  He would have to be patient. His little group of travellers was due to stay at a hotel in a place called El-Kelaâ M’Gouna, and El-Kelaâ M’Gouna was further along the Dadès Valley. Indeed, it was a long way further along the valley, which meant another hour and a half through a corridor of block-and-compound houses and more of that all-pervading drabness. For mile after mile there was an almost unbroken line of brown or terracotta dwellings, all of them with big metal doors and tiny barred windows, and many of them with the air of decay about them. For, despite their apparent solidity, many looked abandoned or the walls that adjoined them were all but collapsed. It was all pretty unedifying and, for Dan, quite demoralising. This was supposed to be a desert, but it was nothing of the sort.

  Kim could not have failed to notice his mood and she tried to lift it by reading him extracts from their guide book, all seemingly written with the intention of denying any sort of unpalatable reality. Ouarzazarte, for example, received a glowing review. Their hotel in El-Kelaâ M’Gouna, on the other hand, did not. Intriguingly, it received no review whatsoever. What this might mean, they would only discover when they arrived there, and this they did just as the unofficial gloom was turning into official twilight and Dan was turning into an inconsolable grump. He really had had enough.

  ‘My God,’ exclaimed Kim, ‘this looks like the real thing!’

  These were the words with which she greeted their hostelry for the night. Because it did indeed “look the part”. It was a handsome, clay-built edifice which, unlike any of the buildings they had passed on the way, looked as though it had been designed rather than just built – and designed to impress. It was the sort of place that both Dan and Kim would have imagined in a genuine desert setting, and even though within sight of the rest of urban El-Kelaâ M’Gouna, it held out the promise of a genuine “desert experience”. Neither of them could wait to get off the bus and check out its charms.

  Kim was first off and first to realise that the approach to reception was muddy. Dan then noticed that the hotel’s swimming pool, although not illuminated in the gathering dark, was definitely green – and it was also the source of a chorus of frog noises. Next to it were some large boulders sitting in the middle of a flower bed, and in the centre of two of the largest boulders were holes through which one could see their hollow insides. It was at this point, as Dan was wrestling with what this could mean, that Kim drew his attention to a buttress on the wall of the hotel just by its entrance. Part of it was missing. Or at least part of the make-believe clay had dropped off to reveal the breezeblocks beneath. Just as part of a nearby “classical ruined column” had come away to expose the metalwork and chicken wire within. It had clearly been put together in exactly the same manner as those big boulders in the flower bed – probably, thought Dan, by some of the set builders back in Ouarzazarte, hired by this ersatz hotel to complement its own ersatz breezeblock-covered-in-pretend-clay construction.

  Dan was lost for words. Kim just started to giggle. And then a number of the birding party began to register their reaction to this remarkable place – ranging from apparent mild fascination to all-too-obvious, out-and-out amusement.

  Dan, when he found some words again, used them to tell Kim that this one might have to be put down to experience, and at least there’d be some food and a bed. What’s more, he’d checked with one of the guides, and this place did serve beer. That would earn it a couple of stars on TripAdvisor, no matter what the hotel itself and its boulders were made of.

  He also liked the absence of red Peugeots in the car park. He didn’t mention this to Kim, but that on its own might easily earn it a further star.

  ten

  The elephants had sung again. Dan had been aware of them in the early hours as he’d drifted into and out of sleep. However, despite this punctuated night, he awoke feeling refreshed and more than ready for the morning’s activity – which was to be a walk down a river. In particular, it was to be a walk down the river that ran through the nearby baie.

  In most situations such a walk would have entailed using an established path at the edge of the river. It certainly wouldn’t have meant walking down the river itself. However, in this Lango situation, that is exactly what it meant. This was because in this part of the national park, as in the rest of the national park, there are virtually no established paths, and if one wants to observe the wildlife in and around the river, one needs to use the river itself as a route. And one is easily able to do this here because the river that skirts Lango camp is both clear and shallow. It is therefore usable even by bipeds.

  Connor was to lead the party. Directly after breakfast he gathered up all eight visitors – including a very wary-looking Svetlana – and invited them to follow him. He first took them down a flight of steps and then along a walkway that ran from below the restaurant to the very edge of the baie. Here he instructed them to step into the water and to acquaint themselves with the sensation of standing in the river’s gentle flow. Then he instructed them to start walking – downriver. And so began an exercise filled with anticipation, tension and, ultimately, water…

  This was all to do with footwear. Connor had none. He was barefoot. Both Mike and Dan had opted for a pair of water-resilient trainers, a breed of footwear that can withstand immersion in water but cannot, of course, prevent their wearers’ feet from becoming wet. However, this was hardly a problem. The water in the river was just pleasantly cool and, indeed, agreeably refreshing. The other members of the party, however, had all chosen wellington boots for this watery expedition. Accordingly, their feet remained dry. The depth of the water at the end of the walkway was just inches-deep and it remained this shallow even when the walk got underway and the initial downriver route took the party through the river’s muddy edge. In fact, all was still dry for the wellington wearers as they then moved to the middle of the flow, albeit the crystal-clear water here was now becoming almost imperceptibly deeper…

  Dan could see that Connor now had a smile on his face. So too did Mike. They both knew, he realised, that no one in wellingtons had ever completed this river walk before with dry feet. It was just a matter of time – and just a matter of embellishing what was an excursion into paradise with a little bit of fun. So when the water began to overtop the wellingtons of the doomed half-dozen, those without wellingtons were treated to an impromptu comedy performance, and even those undertaking the performance were provided with a little slice of merriment. Or at least five of them were…

  As they tried to avoid the inevitable – but failed – all four Spaniards found it highly entertaining. So too did Bruce. Indeed, he found it hilarious, and never more so than when Svetlana’s footwear was finally overwhelmed. He could hardly contain himself, and he laughed so much that he nearly fell over. Needless to say, Svetlana did not share in his enjoyment. She gave the appearance of someone whose wellingtons were being filled not with moderately cool water but with red-hot lava, and when she’d overcome the initial horror, this caused her to give Bruce the sort of look that must precede many acts of domestic violence. If she’d been armed
with a gun, thought Dan, she would undoubtedly have shot her nearly doubled-up partner without a second’s pause.

  It made Dan think of how Kim would have reacted, and how it would not have been like Svetlana. There again, she’d not have chosen wellingtons and would probably have copied Connor and gone for bare feet. The prospect of rocks or other hazards on the riverbed would not have concerned her, and neither would the possibility of encountering a snake. Her confidence had bordered on the reckless, and Dan could not imagine her missing out on an opportunity to clock up another new experience, especially if it entailed being no more reckless than the group leader. She would also, thought Dan, have relished every aspect of this morning’s jaunt. Just as he was doing himself.

  The river ran through a stretch of pristine open woodland. There were birds and butterflies everywhere. There were some quite magnificent trees to enjoy. There were the sounds and the smells of the Congo to savour. And there was some of its animal wildlife to admire – very close at hand. Soon after the party had left camp, Connor had been obliged to persuade a group of buffalo to let them pass, and they had done this by retreating, but only by a few yards. Another group were awaiting their arrival when, at the furthest point of their downriver march, the walkers left the river for a welcome rest – and, for those with wellingtons, a session of mid-walk footwear-emptying. Here there were elephants as well, a small herd of them a few hundred yards away, feeding on vegetation and quite unconcerned by the appearance in the distance of a band of upright interlopers. They must have observed these sorts before and learnt that, unlike in much of the rest of this continent, they didn’t represent a threat. They were, inevitably, spellbinding.

  Dan was certainly spellbound. But as the elephants moved away and the spell was broken, he paused to register his feelings. He was, he decided, quite elated by this exposure to such an unspoilt part of the world. It thrilled him that there were still places like this to enjoy and that he was here to experience this enjoyment. He was even happy to have been witness to the amusement provided by those wearing wellingtons – which, as the party was now preparing to retrace its steps, was about to be repeated. But at the same time, he was still chronically morose. Kim was not here to share this experience with him. Furthermore, it was just an ephemeral experience, soon to be overtaken by a rather more longstanding reality. He was still pained, still fastened to that persistent torment that was now his life, and that would remain his life until his life ended. Then he became aware of something else. This was that he was not just indulging in his persistent pain but also in an overdose of melodrama. He would have to stop it now and focus on where he was – and enjoy it for what it was while he still could. It was no more than this fragment of nirvana deserved and no more than he owed to himself – and to Kim.

  Walking back upriver proved significantly more demanding than walking with the flow. For those wearing wellingtons, this was apparently even more so. Or, if Svetlana was to be believed, it was essentially impossible. As the party plodded its way back upstream, her protestations became more and more vociferous – and Bruce became more and more exasperated. Maybe, thought Dan, he had expected to be berated for bringing Svetlana to a spa-deficient destination, but he had not anticipated the sort of scolding he was now getting – for no good reason. Having to cope with a little enforced exercise in the middle of paradise was hardly a trial, and everyone, it appeared, knew this other than Bruce’s red-headed shrew. She just went on and on, to the extent that Dan would have been less than surprised to see Bruce carrying her on his back – or pushing her onto her back, in an attempt to dissolve her grumbles in the water. However, in the end, she seemed to run out of steam and used whatever reserves she had to walk – in total silence. Everyone was greatly relieved.

  Subsequently, the entire party – other than Svetlana – turned up for a well-earned lunch and more of that Roquefort than ever. Mike had seated himself next to Dan and, as soon became apparent, had plans to use their morning walk as some sort of restorative therapy for his doleful friend. He began by praising what they had witnessed this morning.

  ‘It’s heartening, isn’t it? I mean, that you can still find places like we’ve seen this morning. Nothing less than truly beautiful and truly idyllic. And I suppose you could say “untouched”, even though, in truth, it has been “touched”, probably for centuries, but only in the gentlest of ways…’

  ‘You mean by the Pygmies?’ responded Dan.

  ‘Yeah. Those guys with the delicate footsteps. Those archetypal hunter-gatherers who leave barely an imprint. And they have been around here for generations. But you’d never know it. I mean, that stretch of river could be the Garden of Eden. You know, well before Adam and his rib were installed and started to screw it all up…’

  Mike had made a mistake. By making that reference to mankind screwing things up, he’d dropped his uplifting theme before he’d even developed it. Dan, of course, exploited his error immediately.

  ‘Yeah, and he and his descendants screwed it all up by turning their back on their hunter-gatherer existence.’

  At this point, Connor, who had been listening to Mike and Dan, made a contribution of his own. It wasn’t well judged or well researched.

  ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that’s what’s called “development”. You know, moving on from hunting and stuff and starting to build settled communities on the back of agriculture…’

  Dan responded with a question.

  ‘Ah. So you think those early agriculturalists were better off than their hunter-gatherer forebears?’

  ‘Yes. They must have been. Otherwise, why adopt agriculture?’

  Dan responded to this question gently but firmly.

  ‘Because they had to. Because most hunter-gatherers were just as rapacious and just as fecund as us modern humans, and by their over-exploiting both the animals and the plants on which they depended, they buggered things up big time. And I mean that they destroyed their traditional food sources and so had to turn to agriculture to survive.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow…’ offered a perplexed-looking Connor.

  ‘Well, just think about it. What would you do if faced with the choice of having a rich diet at the expense of only a modest effort – say one hunt with your mates every two days – or a much poorer diet and a hugely increased burden of work? And I mean all that clearing of ground, all that planting, all that watering, all that tending and harvesting. In fact, all that stuff that would guarantee that you’d spend most of your waking life in a field and that you wouldn’t live very long either. You see, the early farmers had much poorer health and much shorter lives than their hunting and gathering forbears. And if you doubt that, then I can assure you that even now those few remaining primitive types in places like the Kalahari are known to have much better diets than many of the people in the so-called developing world. In fact, it’s now reckoned that a greater proportion of the world’s population is chronically undernourished than in Neolithic times. Basically, nobody in their right mind would have chosen to abandon hunter-gathering in favour of farming. It’s just that they had to…’

  Mike winced. Dan’s demolition job on Connor hadn’t been intentionally hurtful but it had been conclusive. And there was more to come.

  ‘Of course, one of the ironic things about farming is that although it is seen as a settled occupation, it is in fact dependant on constant movement.’

  ‘Ah,’ interjected Connor. ‘You’ve got me on that one as well.’

  ‘Well, think about the Pygmies. They and all other “successful” hunter-gatherers who haven’t managed to bugger up their patch tend to stay on that patch. Because that’s where they know where to find the plants they need and where to trap the animals and birds they depend on. Conversely, farming is inextricably tied up with an inexorable increase in numbers. You know, to sustain all that effort that farming requires. And an increase in numbers, as we all know, means we need to put more
land under the plough and therefore we need to move on, to colonise new land for agriculture – and if necessary, to drive any remaining hunter-gatherers to their death – or, if they’re very lucky, just to the margins. Like the San people in the Kalahari and the Pygmies around here. Agriculture is the vehicle we have used to impoverish not only our own existence but also the whole world. So now, places like this, places where you can walk down a river and see no manifestation of mankind and none of his ubiquitous works are rarer than a dodo’s doodah. And getting rarer all the time.’

  Connor was now looking a little wide-eyed, but he was still able to find his voice.

  ‘Yeah. I see what you mean… at least I can understand how we’re using more and more space for ourselves – and how we’ll keep on needing more. But I’m still not sure about how a hunter-gatherer can have a better life than someone who farms…’

  ‘I didn’t say he had a better life. I said he had a better diet – for less effort. And considering how the few remaining hunter-gatherers are treated by the rest of us, I don’t think anybody would be too envious of their life. But the fact remains that there are hundreds of millions of undernourished subsistence farmers in this world who, if they could, would swap their diet with that of a Pygmy before you could say drought, drudgery or famine. And remember, there are now countless scientists around the world, beavering away with GM crop research – not to improve farmers’ lives but just to enable them to survive in greater numbers. Hunter-gatherers don’t need it, but that growing number of subsistence farmers do – just to avoid mass starvation. Or, one could even say, to avoid mass starvation in the short term. Better to defer it for a couple of generations and hope for the best.’

  Mike looked at Dan, and Dan could feel him looking. He also had a pretty good idea of what he was thinking. It would have been something along the lines of: How does he turn even the most uplifting topic – in this case their good fortune to be in an idyllic environment – into another bad-news bulletin that contains not one iota of cheer? When, and if, they were alone this evening in the bar, Dan knew he would probably get a dressing-down, and he would deserve it. In the meantime, however, he thought he should apply some ointment to that wound he’d inflicted on Connor with his forceful but unconsidered remarks. So he changed the subject – completely – by asking his host about memorable-for-the-wrong-reasons guests. Most guides, he knew, always had a list of such people, and so it proved with this one across the table, who was only too eager to respond to Dan’s welcome enquiry.