****** THE EYES AND EARS OF THE DARK CONTINENT ******
I was born as the only son of a cabinetmaker on 11th May 1850 in a Flemish town, amidst the cotton mills. Thanks to the unending efforts of my parents I was fortunate enough to be permitted to continue my education long after most of my friends started slaving in the mills, and this spared me from becoming a worker in the textile industry for the rest of my life. At the age of 18, I had my diploma in my pocket and the future seemed bright and full of promise. The first six years of my career I worked in the stuffy offices of several local mills and worked my way up to the position of assistent bookkeeper. In my rare spare time I took up reading, concentrating on lavishly illustrated books on Afriboria,"The Dark Continent". I was not only striken by the magic of this new world, the wonderful plants and strange animals, but first and foremost by the adventures of the brave men who explored it.
My fatherland (Belgium) was still a young country itself and had only recently been created as a neutral buffer between Europe's main players. On 21st July 1831, Franz von Saxen-Coburg-Gotha (a German prince) was crowned King of Belgium and on 17th December 1865, Franz II (second son of Franz I' second wife) became our second king. Was it because Belgium had always served as "the battlefield of Europe" or was it just the uncontroled ambition of Franz II, or simply 19th century imperialism that influenced the decision that he could no longer live without claiming a part of The Dark Continent for his country (and himself)? This is a matter for the historians to pursue, but also a fact that would influence the rest of my life...
In the newspaper of 18th March 1874, I noticed an advertissement from the "Société Commerciale de Brazzaville". This overseas trading company in Afriboria had an opening for an accountant. This was the opportunity I had been waiting for! Two weeks and a trainride to Brussels later, I leaft the offices of SoCoBra as their newest employee. I had untill 1st June to say my goodbyes; on that day I would board the transport "Ville de Liège" and set sail for The Dark Continent.
Benghazi is ruled by a governor of one of the major powers: England, France or Germany (countries that signed the Treaty of Lisboa). Office changes hands every other year. The High Council - assisting the governor - consists of 6 members (2 of each major power). This creates a multilateral balance of power on the island. Fortunately, my stay in Benghazi gave me the opportunity to recover from my adventures on the ocean: the steamer "Geneva" that was to carry me to my final destination had not yet arrived. When I finally boarded this ship, I was immediately confrontated with the harsh reality in this part of the world: the "Geneva" did not only carry a gun and machineguns, but also a contingent of British Marines. En route to Brazzaville we would have to make several stops to bunker fresh water and appearantly this was not going to be without peril...
Once we were sailing the "Benghazi Straights" we spotted the North Cape of the Upper-Nile region, my first encouter with the mainland.
Endless dunes lost themselves in an ocean of sand, with the occasinal palmtree popping up.
The number
of palmtrees steadily increased, growing into the palmwoods of Igdi,
an unhospitable land with a capital named Timbuktu. Igdi is nominally
part of the Nile-territories and home of the Mahdists: religious fanatics
best avoided by Europeans. Therefor our ship did not venture into
the bay of Timbuktu. Every time our captain steered his vessel a little
closer to the shore, armed camelriders emerged from the palmtrees.
I guess they hoped that our ship would run ashore, but this did not
happen. The next morning the palmtrees gradually disappeared and made
room for the wooded grass plains of Bangala and Urundi, a view that
would remaine unchanged untill our arrival in Brazzaville. The rest
of the trip would prove as uneventful as the landscape. We anchored
several times to bunker water, a ritual always guarded by the British
Marines, who (fortunately) remained unchallenged by the natives. At
last, Ben Adjmir - a fellow passenger who had made this trip on several
prior occasions - informed me that we would dock in Brazzaville the
next morning. Around 4.30 pm I suddenly awoke: the sound of the ship's
engines had stopped. I arrived on deck just in time to witness the
docking. Brazzaville had nothing in common with Benghazi: it was a
collection of mostly wooden structures and huts with the looks of
a mining village. This was to become my new home.
Once ashore, I was welcomed by Lieutenant Michel Véru, commandant
of the askaris of SoCoBra. Trade here is appearantly firmly connected
with soldiers and arms. Two askaris took care of my luggage and Michel,
chatting away, introduced me to the town and the company. Brazzaville
is an international community that houses mainly trade firms belonging
to countries that do not (yet) have a stake in Afriboria. This was
also the case for my country, Belgium. Trading was only possible with
the cooperation of the King of Irundi, which made this gentleman a
pretty penny. Business is business... Next to the town square were
one hotel and a few pubs of doubtful reputation. On the outskirts
were many huts belonging to natives hoping to gain a living as employee
of one of the trading firms, or the ultimate: joining an askari-platoon!
Finally, we arrived at the bungalow that I was to share with Michel
Véru and Frans Venstermans, a quiet man in his fourties and
in charge of SoCoBra's warehouses. The only other white employees
of the company were monsieur Alain Trébuchet - our director
- living with his wife in a villa next to the offices and George Rooster,
an scrubby Irishman, leading the inland SoCoBra expeditions in search
of rubber and copper. He schacked with a native girl downtown.
After being introduced to my colleages, I turned in for an early night:
the following day I would meet our director and I wanted to be at
my best. The next morning, much to my surprise, I did not only find
breakfast waiting on a little table next to my bed, but in the other
room a bath tub was being filled with steaming water; all this thanks
to Simba, my personal "boy", and part of my salary!
At 09.00 am sharp I entered the villa of monsieur Trébuchet.
I was shown into his office by one of his servants. I did not have to
wait long: after a few minutes a little energetic man with piercing
eyes entered the room and with a kindness that belied his appearance,
he welcomed me. It immediately struck me why SoCoBra had choosen this
man to look after their interests in Afriboria: he was not only a born
leader, but also a natural diplomat, essential qualities when negociating
with the local chiefs and in keeping the frail balance between other
(competing) trade firms and our own operation. In his typical style
- short but clear - he outlined my duties. The warehouses were still
empty, so apart from salaries and the like there was little bookkeeping
to be done at the moment. I was to spend my time getting to know my
way around town and undergoing some military exercise under the guidance
of Michel Véru.
In the afternoon, I started my first lesson in soldiering. Michel introduced
me to "his" askaris (twenty stocky young blacks) who were
target practicing with their Martini-Henrys.
(pictured here without moustache).
After two days of sailing, the appearance of the coastline changed dramatically and for the first time I saw the imposing Tafelbergen rising from the plains. Michel told me that we were now passing Zululand. We had bunkered water just prior to the border, because even the combined force of our own askaris and the British Marine contingent of the Geneva would be no match for these fierce warriors. Sending a landing party ashore would be suicide. We never spotted a Zulu, but the sergeant of the Marines assured me that we were constantly being observed by several hundred pairs of eyes. The captain did not even risk to enter the harbour of Georgetown, the only white settlement in the land of the Zulus, but instead continued his voyage to Pretoria (Suid-Kolonie). After rounding the Cape near Georgetown we entered the Straights of Heligoland, but a thick fog prevented us from spotting the Heligoland capital of Kaisersheim. What a pity!
THE BATTLE AT COPPLESTONE CABIN