River Karma

42
With the thwack-thwack of helicopter blades beating against the thick Congo air, Kinshasa
soon faded into the distance. The pilot, a rowdy, pot-bellied Kenyan who divides his time between
fly-in safaris and air-dropping ransom packages to Somalian pirates, steered a southwestern
course along the river. Soon they were flying over the Kinsuka Rapids, the Crystal Mountains, and
eventually straight into the river canyon at Inga.
For many, the word Congo conjures images of impenetrable jungle, wild animals, and cannibals,
as made famous in Joseph Conrad’s novel The Heart of Darkness. But Inga is nothing like that.
Massive deforestation has left the region with mostly wide open rolling hills. Dry yellow elephant
grasses and Savannah-like land dotted with silver baobab trees show little evidence of human
presence. You’d expect to see a herd of antelope or zebra roaming these hills, or a pod of hippos
by the river’s edge, but they’re missing, likely over-hunted and driven from the region.
Careening into the canyon, the team spotted the first rapid: Isangila Cataract – the place where
Stanley’s expedition was cut short. Nearby,
atop a summit overlooking the river, Stanley
and his team laid his trusty wooden boat,
the Lady Alice, to rest. But all the paddlers
could focus on was the whitewater, for
Isangila was to be their put-in.
The raging brown water rolls through the
canyon in huge mounds and haystacks.
From a distance, it appears to be crawling
along like a lava flow. But moving closer,
the river’s immense speed becomes evident.
Flowing a least 30 mph, the Congo surges
continuously – ebbing, flowing, pulsing – a
creature with a heartbeat.
Finally seeing the river firsthand, the
Inga Rapids were becoming something
more than just an ominous name and a
legend that kept the paddlers up at night.
“Just knowing that within these canyon
walls and gorges that other people have
drowned or been killed by locals, creates
a kind of haunting vibe about the place,”
says Sturges.
In spots, the river is two miles wide.
Tiny tree-dotted islands break up the flow,
some with surprising white sand beaches.
Mostly the riverbanks are covered in sharp
striated brown and black rock, leaning
upstream like massive daggers.
Thanks to an arrangement Meredith
brokered with La Societe National d’Electrcite
(SNEL), the government agency that operates
the dams, the team was provided a modest
house and use of the private airstrip and
hangar, all overlooking the Inga Rapids. SNEL’s Inga Village, essentially a company town housing
the families of the workers who run the two large hydroelectric dams, is subdivided into small
plots of land with modest, well-kept homes, picket fences and mango and papaya trees. Locals
spend quiet evenings strolling through their idyllic little town, worlds away from Kinshasa.
Perched atop the airstrip peering over the Inga Rapids, Fisher could hardly believe how well his
dream was playing out. As the helicopter was fueled and kayaks strapped to the skids, the paddlers
rustled around the hangar, zipping camera gear and radios inside drybags, pulling on lifejackets
and sprayskirts. There was a tension in the air. Few words were spoken.
With their helmets tightly strapped and carbon fiber paddles in hand, the team marched onto
the tarmac. The scene was solemn, the feel of soldiers heading off to battle – and particularly
ironic given that actual soldiers, the ones guarding the airstrip, were sitting in plastic chairs
watching it all unfold.