King Congo … Phil poling his way through the vast Bangweulu swamp. Click on the magnifying glass to see the river in the early morning mist. Photographs: Phil Harwood
I was alone in the middle of deepest, darkest Congo. Worse still, I was being chased by eight angry tribesmen in two dugout canoes – and they were gaining on me.
"Mazungu … Mazunguuu!" came the screams from behind. "Give us money!" They were all standing up and paddling like men possessed. The nearest guy had a huge machete at his waist. I had been paddling as though my life depended on it. As though? It did depend on it! The fear was rapidly growing within me, demanding an answer to the primeval question: fight or flight?
The word mazungu, white man, was being screamed and repeated along both banks. It was disconcerting, to say the least. I felt like a wolf that had inadvertently strolled into a farming community and was being hunted down. I had to go faster. But now, after paddling my heart out to the point of near exhaustion, I turned around and saw the nearest dugout canoe was less than 20m away. So close that I could see the whites of the men's eyes and their teeth bared in a contorted, hate-filled travesty of a smile. What was it going to be: roll over and expose my soft underbelly, or put up a fight? It was the venom in the next cry of "Mazungu" that made me decide. I grabbed my machete …
Thanks to winning a travelling fellowship and grant from the Winston Churchill Memorial Trust, I was on my way to making the first source to sea descent of the Congo river through the war-torn Democratic Republic of the Congo. From the true source in north-east Zambia, the Congo river is just short of 3,000 miles long and the eighth longest river in the world, with a flow rate and drainage area second only to the Amazon. It flows through savannah, swamp and dense tropical rainforest, crossing the equator twice before finally draining into the Atlantic.