Pasé los últimos meses cruzando la selva sorteando un obstáculo tras otro y sometiéndome a una tras otra paliza, hasta llegar al corazón de la misma. En todo el trayecto había arriesgado mi vida más veces de las que prefiero recordar y hasta fui golpeado por un corrupto oficial de inmigración congoleño.
By the time I returned to the village, three days had passed without seeing them and I already missed them. I was happy to return and they were happily waiting for me. When I returned, it was like coming back home, as if I had never left.
While the jungle is a fascinating place, the very act of staying there is exhausting. It is the heat, day after day that never stops pressing, the sticky humidity that does not let you smell good for more than 20 minutes after each bath, the flying bugs of all sizes that overwhelm you by sticking to your body and buzzing around your ears, the lack of good food and basic comfort.
The nights in the jungle are always special. It's like when we go to a theatre and at the moment before starting the function they turn off the lights and everything is in absolute darkness. We, the spectators, at that moment fill ourselves with excitement and enthusiasm for what is to come.
Son las 6.30 am. Los primeros rayos de sol se filtran arrojando puntitos de luz dorada sobre la densa vegetación de la selva. El aire es húmedo pero conserva aún la frescura liberada por las plantas durante la noche. Las mujeres están reunidas en grupo preparando sus redes y canastas.
There are three foreigners living in Bayanga, this ever-so-small remote corner of the Central African Republic. I had come here with the help of one of them, and now I was on my way to meet the second, one of the most special people I would meet in my life.
One of the most frightening days of my life, part of some of the most extreme days that I have experienced travelling, is finally behind. Now I look around, on my first day of rest in a very long time and the fascination overwhelms me.
