304 AFRICA SPEAKS 



Victoria Nile, which starts at the Ripon Falls, empties 

 into Albert Nyanza. From the bay in the north- 

 eastern extremity of the lake, the true Nile, the storied 

 river of antiquity, flows forth on its romantic journey 

 — past village and modern city, through papyrus 

 swamp and desert, flowing by the ruins of a bygone 

 civilization and the monuments erected by departed 

 kings, to mix its yeUow flood wdth the blue waters of 

 the Mediterranean. Thus meditating, I gazed toward 

 the Congo mountains and wondered what lay beyond. 



With ourselves and the equipment on board and the 

 trucks in tow on a hghter, the "Samuel Baker" started 

 across the twenty-seven miles of lake to Mahaji Port. 

 Albert Nyanza is no mill pond; the waves roUed in 

 long sweUs like those on a rough sea, causing the 

 little boat to pitch and toss and making the hghter 

 perform aU sorts of stramge antics. After four and 

 one-half hours we reached Mahaji Port — one grass hut 

 and a shaky pier covered with a black mass of human- 

 ity constituting the entire town and population of 

 this place. 



During the crossing. Captain Fisher proved himself 

 to be a fine fellow, willing to accommodate us in every 

 reasonable way. Now he came to me, accompanied 

 by a native official, with the information that a large 

 bridge, spanning a deep canyon, had been wrecked by 

 floods, and if we landed here it would be impossible 

 to proceed into the back country. Upon asking this 

 smihng Congo Negro when the bridge would be re- 

 paired, he ambiguously replied, "In six months per- 

 haps, or maybe in six weeks." This left no choice 

 but to remain on board and travel down the Nile to 

 the next landing. 



