the net the two pygmies were carrying.
âAnd it seems that the idea of going to Ngoubé doesnât suit them at all,â commented Alexander.
âIâve heard that they are the only humans able to live in these swamps. They move through the jungle by instinct. It may be best for us to go with them, before itâs too late,â said Angie.
âWeâre already here, and we will continue to Ngoubé. Wasnât that what we agreed?â asked Kate.
âTo Ngoubé,â Brother Fernando repeated.
With eloquent gestures the Pygmies made clear their opinion about the folly of that move, but finally they agreed to guide them. They set down their net beneath a tree, and without further ado took the duffels and knapsacks from the foreigners, threw them over their own shoulders, and started off at a trot through the ferns, so fast that it was nearly impossible to keep up. They were very strong and agile. Each of them was carrying more than sixty pounds, but it didnât hinder them in the least; the muscles of their arms and legs were like reinforced concrete. As the International Geographic crew panted along, near fainting from fatigue and heat, the Pygmies, without the least effort, ran with short little steps, feet pointed out like ducks and jabbering all the way.
Beyé-Dokou told them more about the three persons he had mentioned before: King Kosongo, Commandant Mbembelé, and Sombe, whom he described as a terrible sorcerer.
He explained to them that King Kosongoâs feet never touched the ground, because if they did, the earth trembled. He said that the kingâs face was always covered, so no one would see his eyes. Those eyes were so powerful that a single glance could kill from afar. Kosongo never spoke to anyone, because his voice was like thunder: It deafened people and terrorized animals. The king spoke only through The Royal Mouth, a person from his court who had been trained to survive the power of his voice and whose task it was also to taste his food, to prevent the kingâs being poisoned or harmed by black magic through what he ate. The Pygmy warned them always to keep their head at a level lower than the kingâs. The correct procedure was to fall facedown and crawl in his presence.
The tiny man in the yellow T-shirt described Mbembelé by aiming an invisible weapon, firing, and falling to the ground as if dead; also by making thrusts with his spear and acting as if he were hacking off hands and feet with a machete or axe. The pantomime could not be clearer. He added that they should never contradict Mbembelé, though it was obvious that the one of the three he feared most was Sombe. Just the name of the sorcerer sent the Pygmies into a state of terror.
The path was not visible, but their small guides had traveled it many times and they had no need to consult the marks on the trees. They passed a clearing in the thick growth where there were other voodoo dolls similar to the ones theyâd seen; these, however, were areddish brown, like iron oxide. As they came closer, they could see that the color came from dried blood. All about the dolls were piles of garbage, animal carcasses, rotted fruit, hunks of cassava, and gourds holding various liquids, perhaps palm wine and other liquors. The stench was unbearable. Brother Fernando crossed himself, and Kate reminded the frightened Joel that he was there to take photographs.
âI hope the blood came from sacrificed animals, not humans,â the photographer murmured.
âVillage of ancestors,â said Beyé-Dokou, pointing to the narrow path that started at the dolls and disappeared into the forest.
He explained that theyâd had to make a long detour to reach Ngoubé in order not to pass through the lands of the ancestors, where the spirits of the dead wandered. It was a basic rule of safety: Only a fool or a lunatic would venture there.
âWhose ancestors are they?â Nadia
âAnd it seems that the idea of going to Ngoubé doesnât suit them at all,â commented Alexander.
âIâve heard that they are the only humans able to live in these swamps. They move through the jungle by instinct. It may be best for us to go with them, before itâs too late,â said Angie.
âWeâre already here, and we will continue to Ngoubé. Wasnât that what we agreed?â asked Kate.
âTo Ngoubé,â Brother Fernando repeated.
With eloquent gestures the Pygmies made clear their opinion about the folly of that move, but finally they agreed to guide them. They set down their net beneath a tree, and without further ado took the duffels and knapsacks from the foreigners, threw them over their own shoulders, and started off at a trot through the ferns, so fast that it was nearly impossible to keep up. They were very strong and agile. Each of them was carrying more than sixty pounds, but it didnât hinder them in the least; the muscles of their arms and legs were like reinforced concrete. As the International Geographic crew panted along, near fainting from fatigue and heat, the Pygmies, without the least effort, ran with short little steps, feet pointed out like ducks and jabbering all the way.
Beyé-Dokou told them more about the three persons he had mentioned before: King Kosongo, Commandant Mbembelé, and Sombe, whom he described as a terrible sorcerer.
He explained to them that King Kosongoâs feet never touched the ground, because if they did, the earth trembled. He said that the kingâs face was always covered, so no one would see his eyes. Those eyes were so powerful that a single glance could kill from afar. Kosongo never spoke to anyone, because his voice was like thunder: It deafened people and terrorized animals. The king spoke only through The Royal Mouth, a person from his court who had been trained to survive the power of his voice and whose task it was also to taste his food, to prevent the kingâs being poisoned or harmed by black magic through what he ate. The Pygmy warned them always to keep their head at a level lower than the kingâs. The correct procedure was to fall facedown and crawl in his presence.
The tiny man in the yellow T-shirt described Mbembelé by aiming an invisible weapon, firing, and falling to the ground as if dead; also by making thrusts with his spear and acting as if he were hacking off hands and feet with a machete or axe. The pantomime could not be clearer. He added that they should never contradict Mbembelé, though it was obvious that the one of the three he feared most was Sombe. Just the name of the sorcerer sent the Pygmies into a state of terror.
The path was not visible, but their small guides had traveled it many times and they had no need to consult the marks on the trees. They passed a clearing in the thick growth where there were other voodoo dolls similar to the ones theyâd seen; these, however, were areddish brown, like iron oxide. As they came closer, they could see that the color came from dried blood. All about the dolls were piles of garbage, animal carcasses, rotted fruit, hunks of cassava, and gourds holding various liquids, perhaps palm wine and other liquors. The stench was unbearable. Brother Fernando crossed himself, and Kate reminded the frightened Joel that he was there to take photographs.
âI hope the blood came from sacrificed animals, not humans,â the photographer murmured.
âVillage of ancestors,â said Beyé-Dokou, pointing to the narrow path that started at the dolls and disappeared into the forest.
He explained that theyâd had to make a long detour to reach Ngoubé in order not to pass through the lands of the ancestors, where the spirits of the dead wandered. It was a basic rule of safety: Only a fool or a lunatic would venture there.
âWhose ancestors are they?â Nadia
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