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at every noise coming from the river my head automatically tilts around in futile hope of seeing the 'sangha' appearing from behind the bend in the river. from the bungalow-like cabin, one of three that belong to the auberge du ports' restaurant, i have a spendid view over the now so familiar sangha-river and the inpenetrable forrest behind it.
i usually start drinking beer in the morning, in good company of friends who, in their generous nature, make it nearly impossible to refuse the refreshing liquid which descents my throath with a sparkle, causing a monentary dizzyness which makes me forgett the lonelyness that has built up in my heart during the last week.
where is the boat? where are the germans? are they in ouesso, already on board of the 'sangha' wich is only waiting for its departure to brazzaville, bound to arrive here at any moment, any hour, any day? undefined fears are lingering around my stomach. a week on a lonely boat on the congo, in the middle of the african rainforrest. "yes i accept that next beer, my dear friend... and the round after that will be on me".