Sick in the Congo

I was awoken as per usual about an hour before sunrise, to the sound of a rhythmic drum beat not far from my tent. Often it is arguing, loud conversation, or chanting, so the drum beat was as welcoming as a wakeup call can be at 4:30 in the morning in a village of a few thousand.

My 2 month old Chinese made "Toyo" dirtbike had shredded the 4 bolts from the rear tire the evening before. Luckily I was in the village and going under 10 km an hour when it happened so I was able to stop easily and no harm done. Because of this, however, it meant my day would consist of walking almost 20 extra kilometers that would have been much easier on wheels.

I'm here in the village of Bikoro getting forest density/biomass information. We're tracking the rate of deforestation in an area of the same forest type as our project, but with an active logging operation by the same company that would have been logging if our project was not present. The impact of logging here is a stark contrast to the protected land of our project just a short 2 hour boat ride and a long 7 hour dirtbike ride away to the south.

Entering Bikoro

The work is actually a re - visit to "plots" of trees that were measured 2 years ago. By revisiting we can see how fast the trees are growing by species and soil type, but we can also see if the logging operation is removing the forest quickly, and if it is being done sustainably.  The Congolese Forest Practices Code (FPC) is actually quite well written. If followed properly, the DRC should be harvesting at a sustainable rate and be able to prosper in my opinion. Considering the incredible growth rates, and high valued species like Wenge, the forestry sector stands to be one of the strongest in the world if managed properly.

I spoke to someone recently who works for the Ministry of Environment about this. His job specifically is to visit harvest operation sites around the country and rate their sustainable harvest and adherence to the FPC. I asked him if any companies here harvested sustainably and he literally laughed out loud! They’re a long way from “Western” standards of logging, but It is good to see them moving in the right direction.

But now back to my day. Those extra 20kms of walking while my dirt bike was being repaired were compounded by an intense equatorial sun beating down overhead. No shade protection was offered as the walking was on the main FSR ("Forest Service Road" for you non-campers) out of town. By the afternoon we had visited 3 plots (I was hoping for 2 so lookin’ good!) - two of the three had been logged, leaving nothing behind, and no plans for re-planting. These sites were now cassava fields, which is the worst crop out there. lt is full of cyanide -seriously. It must be soaked in water for 7 days before preparing to eat. But also it is the main source of calories for most all Congolese. We've talked about this in other blogs so I will leave it at that.

On the walk back to the village, my legs were getting pretty heavy. The weight of the sun was heavier than my backpack (actually "cruise vest", but readers may not know what that is). I was starting to feel a little light headed and my stomach was unhappy. These were the first signs that I was getting hyperthermia, which is an umbrella term for a number of heat related illnesses including heat stroke (the opposite of hypothermia if you hadn’t pieced that together yet). For the purposes of this blog, I'll refer to it as "heat stroke" from now on.

Not actually my crew from this trip, but a cool pic of the crew
posing on a Riko tree

My crew consists of 4 Congolese and myself. As we walk down the main road, there are many people walking, biking, and motor biking on our same route as it the major road in the area. Most people feel compelled to comment that I am white. “Bonjour Mundeli” – “hello whitey”. "Mundele asimbi kopa ya vert" - “The white man is holding a green cup”. I imagine it's like being a celebrity, except here they feel no need to give the "celebrity" any personal space whatsoever. At this point I'm hot, sweating my a** off, dizzy, and my stomach is churning, but I still need to shake hands and make small talk in French and Lingala to a good portion of the hundreds of people who pass by.

In what felt like days later, we finally made it back to camp. I felt my forehead and it was burning up from fever.  My muscles ached and were cramped. My head was spinning. I've had heat stroke before, and it left no fond memories.

Our camp is right in the village with our tents pitched in the yard of a hotel. It sounds odd, but it's not a hotel that you want to sleep in. No protection from mosquitoes is the main problem. But the other problem for me this evening is everyone who sees the mundeli wants to have a conversation (and ask for money and get angry when I don't give them any). When you’re sick the last thing you want to do is try to explain to someone reeking of BO talking very loudly, and very closely to your face, that you don't feel good. That doesn't slow down the conversation because they need to know your symptoms, give advice, tell their life story, and ask for money.  One fellow came to meet me very aggressively.  He was a Congolese marine who upon hearing I was very sick, wanted me to give him money, and cigarettes, and beer…and money. And he wanted to show me his stereo at full volume.

Camp

Right in my face.

More than once.

One of the mama's showing off her son

I went to my tent at 7pm. The marine had his stereo blasting in the yard next door for everyone to “enjoy”. It was turning into a bit of a party as more people walked through the camp to join. By 9:00, the heat stroke had decided to force the small amount food I had eaten that day back out. Unfortunately the music wasn't quite as loud as I was, and I could hear some of the partiers commenting on my regurgitation and saying "mundeli". Shortly after my purge, the party crowd moved from one part of adjacent yard, to right beside my tent. The music was ear splitting, and terrible.  Some of the Congolese music is really good, but a lot of it is just awful.  And they always blow their speakers with the cheap Chinese stereos cranked to "11".

An hour later the small party of a dozen or so was in full throttle. The overwhelming need to exit my tent and again release what was left in my stomach took over. This time my considerate neighbors turned down the music so everyone could hear. They also began to cheer me on - "Mundeli! Mundeli!". The Cheers where inspirational, as was the laughing and sounds of high fives...assholes. When I was finished I got back in and zipped up my tent. Promptly the music went back up to 11.

Thanks guys. Goodnight.

Kids playing "carry your sister in a blanket"

After being sick through the night and waking with a worse fever, I soon realized that I did not in fact have heat stroke, but rather malaria. Often it is kick-started with another ailment so it is quite likely that I started with something heat stroke, and had malaria in my system. With a weakened immune system, the malaria takes over, and it takes over hard.

I’m happy to say that I of course recovered. malaria isn’t as bad you may have heard, similar to a bad flu. Aside from reeling in my tent, and a motorcycle accident on 300km+ dirtbike trip for a meeting - it was mostly uneventful. I was helped out by my crew and also some very nice locals (or "mama's" as they like to be called), who took care of me even throughout the night. They made sure I had lots of water and was comfortable, and had hot water in the mornings and cooked my meals. The hospitality was much appreciated and I was feeling fine after not too long.

That is of course until the parasite returned a few days later. But that’s all the malaria talk for now.

Made in China - not available in the developed world

Tune in next time for a new story from Jenn.