The last white man (3) - The visit to BigTown

Tariq and Inga have yet to return from BigTown. Over a month has passed and they were due back in a day or two at most.

Without them I have been unbearably lonely. Though the Oblongu are friendly, I speak barely a word of their language and they know ever less English. We make ourselves understood through gestures, facial expressions and plain guesswork.

The whole village has been concerned at their failure to return, for as well as bringing back news from the outside world for me, they were also due to bring back provisions for the village. Our food supply has dwindled to nearly nothing.

I was woken early this morning and after much frantic gesturing and grinning from Jumbo I understood that we are going to BigTown. For me this is a much needed opportunity to return to civilisation. Big Town has mobile reception, I will be able to check my emails and find out what has been happening in the world during my two months with the Oblongu. I will also find out what has happened to Tariq and Inga and will be able to decide what I do next. I have recovered enough from my fever to make the journey from BigTown to civilisation. I hope to discuss the options with Tariq, who knows the region well.

I had expected a small party, but amazingly the entire village is preparing to make the journey. From what I can gather this is the first such expedition for over a year and every single villager is preparing goods to trade, and doubtless a shopping list of what they will buy there. The artworks I have watched the old men carve are piled up in handcarts. They will be traded in BigTown from where they will be sold on to a larger city merchant, eventually they will reach the tourist areas where they will sell for many hundred times the few American cents that will be traded for each one here.

I ask how many miles it is to BigTown but am told “Umga” which means five. The Oblongu never count beyond “Umga” and it is not clear whether he means five miles, five kilometres, five units of a local measure that I will never know the distance of or just “think of a number over five, any number, that may be right, or it may not.”

The organisation of this expedition is achieved through noise, there is no one person in charge and every step is accompanied by a verbal barrage from all around me. I have brought my rucksack containing everything I own, in case I decide to stay in BigTown or move on from there. I am also carrying a pair of baskets for Mrs Jumbo, who is herself laden with a half dozen more baskets. I worry for a while how she will ever get them back when they’re full of goods, until eventually I realise that some, if not all, of the baskets are being taken to be traded.

The constant banter eventually evolves into something of a chant and before long I find myself singing along to a song I know neither words nor tune of. I am not alone in this ignorance as the sound drifts randomly along, at one point sounding uncannily like an old Wonderstuff album track. I spend over an hour trying to remember the song's name, but by this time the chant has changed many times over.

We walk for many hours, during which time the singing is relentless, even the goats bleat along. Silence, it seems, is a western privilege I should get used to living without.

Eventually we reach a large clearing and stop. By this time the physical exertion has taken its toll on me and I collapse, delighted that we have finally stopped for a break and hoping it will be a long one.

However, I soon notice that I am the only one sitting down, the only one swigging water from his bottle. Every one else, every single villager, man, woman and child, is searching the clearing like a police forensic team sweeping through a crime scene. Are the looking for food, I wondered, some mushroom or delicacy found in these parts?

I soon realise the truth. This clearing is, or was, BigTown. I can make out markings on the ground where huts once stood, small tracks and paths between buildings that are no longer there.

Getting up I too search for clues as to what happened, but there are no signs of fight, nor fire. It is as if the whole town simply stood up and walked away.

I try to rationalise what might have happened. Maybe the crop failure had been so bad that they had to move. But why slow themselves down with the buildings, wood they would find elsewhere. How, for goodness sake, could they move an entire town a hundred miles or more to the moister regions.

Maybe, in Africa, a rational explanation wouldn’t work. Maybe it was simply an angry God that has lifted the town up and thrown it away for some misdemeanour.

As for Tariq and Inga, there is no way of knowing what became of them. Did they get lost looking for a town that wasn’t there, are they still wandering into nothing. Or did they too disappear with the town.

After a while the search comes to and end and the Oblongu sink to their knees to offer a long howling prayer which I join in. What they have lost I can’t comprehend, from what I can gather BigTown is, was, their one point of contact with the outside world. Without it, they step back into the stone age.

I too howl for what I have lost. Everything. My connection with the outside world, my route back home, the only friends I have, the only people within two hundred miles that speak my language. BigTown was the base from which I could have made it to the next town or village and from there, eventually, back to civilisation.

I am still on my knees howling, the Oblongu, however, have changed mood again. The optimism that drives them through every disaster comes to the fore. One of the village elders has found a goat, another woman has found a bag of Red Cross rice, enough to feed the village for a month. Both are viewed as gifts from the gods. Already their prayer has been answered and the process of forgetting that BigTown ever existed has begun. I may be skeptical, but what other explanation would there be, why would you drag you house with you but leave behind food.

Belongings are gathered together and the slow trudge back to the village begins. This time, for once, there is silence.

I walk with them, having nowhere else to go. Tonight I will talk to Jumbo, ask his advice about my long-term options. Until then all I can do is trudge, step after weary step through the afternoon sun.