DJS
04-28-2010, 05:55 PM
The Laughing River
(The following is a reprint of the diary of Albert Monroe, found December, 1964, by a group of Inigwe hunters off the shore of the X River in Eastern Nigeria. It is presented in its entirety, without alteration.)
June 7th, 1953
In the interest of keeping some documentation of the trip on which I am about to embark, I have taken up this journal to record the sights and adventures of this trip into the wild, untamed jungles of Eastern Nigeria. My parents had actually wished that I would not take Sebastian upon this trip, considering his condition, but I feel that the experience will grow and mature him into a man. I hope that the trials and obstacles that we will overcome will be something of a bonding experience between us, and I look forward to the challenges we will face.
We arrived this morning in a sad little plane after nearly thirty-some hours of travel. We were exhausted. Sebastian seems to be keeping himself together quite well, despite the strain this has no doubt put on him. His autism does not lend him to be the most pleasurable of travelling companions, but the beauty of the African countryside over which we flew I think may have had some pacifying effects on him. I take this to be a good omen.
The flight here was an adventure in itself, and if we were to turn back now I would be satisfied.
As I write this, the seriousness of the African climate begins to convict my mind that perhaps I was a bit brash in taking on this tour, especially with young Sebastian alongside. The rain beats hard on the roof of our small hut, and the constant whine of mosquitoes makes sleep near impossible, despite my fatigue from the day’s events. What a world of difference this is from our estate in Richmond. So here I end for the night, hoping to regain some small bit of energy for tomorrow’s preparations.
June 8th
Nearly everything is squared away to set off for the bush tomorrow. All that remains is to pack and secure our necessities and provisions, which we will finish in the morning. Our guide, Mboku, seems a very reliable chap. He stands a good six inches over most of his fellow tribesman, quite muscular, and has the most forceful dark eyes, which dart back and forth surveying his surroundings. He speaks well enough pidgin English so as to be understandable, has a very intimate knowledge of the countryside and survival methods, and has the air of a quiet contemplation. I trust that he will serve us well.
Sebastian is much more restless today. Some of the tribesmen misunderstand his condition and take his unresponsiveness for disrespect. Having gone off to purchase some melons for our lunch, a few of the tribesman approached Sebastian, to what end I know not. I returned to find one of them, an older and apparently important man, working himself into a fit over my brother’s apparent rudeness. Mboku, who had been not far off watching over our supplies, must have seen the situation escalating, yet perhaps for fear of theft, did not leave our camp. I quickly moved myself between the tribesman and my brother, doing whatever I could to placate the man and defuse the situation. Having placated the tribesman with one of our melons, I called Mboku over and sternly reprimanded him for not having taken care of Sebastian. I told him that if he ever failed to watch over my brother again, then he had better find himself a different job. I had half a mind to be rid of him on the spot, but as I had already paid him partly in advance, and wanting to get on with the trip, I decided that he had learned his lesson and that our trip would go more smoothly in the future.
June 9th
How exhausting it is to travel through this bush! The heat is absolutely unbearable. The terrain is so dense that we have hiked most of the latter part of the day, yet feel as though we made little progress. And the insects are just horrid. Mboku tells me that once we make it through the valley, the jungle will open up some and travelling will be somewhat less taxing. I hope he is correct.
At the start of our journey I gave to Sebastian some small gift that I had been saving for the occasion. It is a compass I had bought for him some months ago when we began to design our adventure. I had it engraved with the words “It is our passions which show us human” on the inside of the cover. Sebastian is very fond of this trinket, and holds it up in front of him as he walks, oblivious to the entirety of his surroundings, intently focused on the needle, afraid that if he takes his eyes off it for even a moment, it may vanish.
Despite the trials and difficulties of travel through the bush, it is a very magnificent country. The massive trees stand unchallengeable, their sprawling roots seeming to grasp hold of their own patch of soil, squeezing the life out of it. The grasses and plants carpet the ground, and we feel like ants weaving our way through the dense undergrowth. All manner of strange bird calls we can hear in every direction, and at times I imagine as if they are warning us to turn back, not to proceed any further, that our lives, our very sanity may depend on it. It is a silly notion, no doubt, but I cannot help but be reminded in this strange, primitive locale.
June 13th
There seems to be no end to this. The more we hike, the farther into this ancient dome we go, the further away we go from civilization, from everything we know and are comfortable with. The days are not getting easier, as I had hoped they would; the harder we push in, the harder the land pushes us back. I feel like a parasite which this grand body is collectively working to expel. Even Mboku, the native-born, seems on edge in this imposing place. His eyes have lost something of their confidence, and though they continue to jump back and forth, they seem to have given up the will to fight, and merely search out of curiosity of which direction disaster may strike. Sebastian has not looked up from his compass in three days, and I am beginning to wonder that it may be for dread of this jungle, not affection for the piece itself. Still, we must press on, and I know that we both will be the better for it when we finish this expedition.
June 19th
Sebastian is missing! When I woke up this morning, I stepped outside of my tent only to find his unoccupied, nothing missing except for the clothes which he wore to bed. Even his boots he left! All day I have spent calling for him and wandering about outside of the camp as far as I can, still remaining within eyesight of our camp, unless I should become lost myself. Where could he have gone? Had he woke in the night, perhaps frightened at something, and fled? Is he trying to make his way back home on his own? Why has he not returned? Has he fallen into one of these pits and become stuck? Oh, the thought of him at the bottom of one of these pits, tied down by the earth, screaming for me to rescue him. The dense vegetation of the jungle seems to swallow any shouts I can offer. Or had he been attacked by some wild animal? I shudder to think of it, yet I must consider the possibility. What a fool I have been.
Mboku is also missing. I wonder if he woke before myself and found Sebastian missing, and went out to search for him, in hopes to bring him back before I had noticed his absence. Is he still out searching for my brother, or has he met with the same fate as him? Perhaps he is only lost and will return shortly. He may be afraid of me, as I scolded him rather harshly the first time he lost track of my dear Sebastian. I fear that he may be determined not to return without Sebastian, and not ever finding him, will never return to me. Yet how much more effective we would be in tracking Sebastian if we worked together! I would forgive him in an instant if only he would return.
June 21st
Still no sign of Sebastian or Mboku. I have decided to pack up what is absolutely necessary from the camp and make my way back to the airfield. I have decided that most likely Sebastian has become frightened and has attempted to return home on his own. Also, if I can make it back safely, I may be able to organize a search party to return with me. Sebastian’s compass I have with me, but mboku has taken the map. What good is a compass without a map? Still, I know the general direction of the airfield, so perhaps I will be lucky enough to stumble upon some friendly tribesmen or some other signs of civilization. The weather is especially violent today, and I cannot help but feel as though the jungle has claimed me for her own, and will not let me leave. Even the grasses which we cleared have seemed to grow back, closing in around me, holding me down.
Mboku has not returned either. The coward must have fled when he woke and realized that Sebastian was gone, fearing punishment. But let him go. I would rather work on my own than have a coward to guide me. How could anybody be so heartless as to completely abandon those whom he has pledged to protect? He may as well have been an agent of the jungle itself, bringing my brother and I deep within and abandoning us, as a sort of passive human sacrifice. What a vile, wretched creature he is.
June 25th
I am lost. Nothing looks familiar. As I was walking today, Sebastian’s compass slipped out of my hand and fell against a rock. The glass has cracked, but it still functions. When I picked it up, my gaze became fixed on the crack. As I stared into its contours, I felt as though the jungle was staring at me. For some time I dared not look up, afraid that some beast or monster was standing right behind me, waiting for me to move, so that he could strike me down and eat my flesh. I stood completely still, not daring even to move a finger or turn my eyes away.
I then awoke to find myself on the floor of the jungle, still clutching the compass. I must have feinted for lack of blood circulation. Yet, instead of rising to my feet, I lay there for some time. The jungle, I felt, was comforting me. Her mosses she offered as a pillow, her ants gently caressing my neck, drops of dew falling onto my cheek, as a mother who cries over a sick child. The pulsing of the heat was the rocking of my cradle, leading me to that endless slumber. I felt calm, at peace, like everything was going to be just alright. I was home.
Then I remembered Mboku. I could not let that scoundrel live after what he had done to me. I jarred myself awake and climbed up from my bed, with the slow, deliberate movements of someone who was determined to accomplish what he had set his mind to. I must press on. There can be no turning back, no giving up, no surrender. The savage will die by my hand if I must sacrifice my own life to see it done. He had committed a most heinous crime not only against me, but against mankind itself. He should not be allowed forgiveness, not allowed to go free. He must pay for what he has done, and it will be my pleasure to bring that judgment upon him.
I pressed on in search of the savage.
June 29th
Vengeance sustains me. Every day I struggle and fight my way through the arms of the jungle, which can no longer contain me. Thoughts of the revenge I will have on the savage consume my mind. His death will not be a quick or painless one. All of the pain and evil that he has caused to me he must experience in full. There can be no mercy for such a heartless, despicable savage as himself. Every wound that he has inflicted on me I will return a hundredfold. As I imagine beating him raw, the club I use has been replace with my own fists. He must know my pain intimately, and he must know that it is because of his evil and disgusting soul that this punishment has come upon him. There will be no mercy.
I have come upon a river. The rains have caused it to swell up into an unstoppable force of nature. As I stand in this clearing, I can see across to the far bank. I know that the savage awaits me on the other side of this great barrier. I can smell his cowardice. The waters churn and swish, laughing at me, daring me to cross at once, to take the risk, to see if I will survive. It’s mockery only incites my rage to even higher levels. This jungle cannot contain me. I will stay in this clearing a while and regain my strength, and then I will conquer the river.
July 4th
Today in preparations to cross the river I found a compass in the small pocket of my pack. As I picked it up, a strange sense of wonder came over me. I held it in my hand like some relic of an ancient civilization, which a forgotten people may have used as some sort of divining charm or object of worship. Something had been written on the back, but it was too faded to make out. There was a long crack in the center glass. As I looked into the glass, I caught the reflection of myself in it. I could see the hatred and the malice in my own eye. This seemed strange to me, but then I remembered the savage, the hateful and wretched being who had inflicted so much pain on me. I could not even remember what that pain was, but I knew he was guilty of it. I was convinced of his guilt, and as the only one who knew the truth, it was my duty, my privilege to see that justice was done.
The compass began to burn in my hand. I tried to cast it away from me, but my attempts were in vain; my fingers would not release their grasp on the object. It began to burn even more, and it seemed as though it weighed a thousand pounds in my hand, to the point that I had fallen to my knees to avoid passing out completely. I tried to look away, but my eyes would not let go. I began to curse them for disobeying me, until at last a queer type of serenity came over me. Every muscle in my body instantly relaxed, and I felt as though an immense weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Everything around me faded away, until there was nothing else in the entire universe except that compass, and my soul which looked into it. Even my own body seemed to dissolve under the intense power that compass seemed to have. I no longer knew where I was, what I was doing, or even who I was. My life had been shaken, and everything that was impure fell away, until only that compass and the small, dull spark that was my soul remained.
At this point a fierce wind began to blow. It picked up all manner of loose earth and tossed it about, and the once mighty trees bowed down before it, as a disobedient servant bows down before his executioner. The howl was maddening, and I feared that if it continued much longer, I would go deaf. But suddenly the wind died down, and its howl was replaced by the deep thundering of an earthquake. The jungle itself seemed to split in two, and all around me gigantic boulders were heaved back and forth like marbles. But just as suddenly as it came, the earthquake was stilled, and a blistering fire consumed the entire land, until it was completely scorched and not one living thing remained. Only I was not afraid. I felt detached from the events; it was as if I existed in a different dimension from these things. I felt surreal, transcended. Then I heard, neither from the fire nor any other being, nor from within myself, but rather speaking directly into my mind from a different world, a whisper. I cannot describe it, but it had the most peculiar effect on me. The whisper told me to go back, back into the jungle which had nearly taken my life. To what end I did not know, but I felt as though I must go. After hearing the words, the most intense desire to go back welled up within me. The words themselves created the desire in me; they ordered my actions, directed my steps. I began to feel dizzy, and fell into a deep slumber.
When I awoke, the word “Sebastian” was on my lips. At first I did not know what this meant. But after regaining my senses, the thoughts came flooding back into me, all at once. I remembered my brother, I remembered Mboku; I remembered the panic I felt at losing my brother, and the anger I felt towards Mboku for failing to protect him. But then I began to realize my mistake. Mboku was not my enemy; he had not taken my brother – the jungle had. Mboku was a man, the same as Sebastian and I. To hate him was to play right into the schemes of the jungle. How foolish I have been! Rather than destroy me outright, it had turned me against my fellow man, my former companion. But now I saw its plotting for what it truly was. My eyes have been opened; I have been set free.
I will go back. Every bit of reason and logic within me tells me that my brother is dead and that Mboku has gone back to his village, but still I must go. I cannot abandon my brother and my fellow man even if the tiniest possibility of my being some aid to them remains. I have felt death before, and I no longer fear its sting.
//Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I appreciate your interest!//
(The following is a reprint of the diary of Albert Monroe, found December, 1964, by a group of Inigwe hunters off the shore of the X River in Eastern Nigeria. It is presented in its entirety, without alteration.)
June 7th, 1953
In the interest of keeping some documentation of the trip on which I am about to embark, I have taken up this journal to record the sights and adventures of this trip into the wild, untamed jungles of Eastern Nigeria. My parents had actually wished that I would not take Sebastian upon this trip, considering his condition, but I feel that the experience will grow and mature him into a man. I hope that the trials and obstacles that we will overcome will be something of a bonding experience between us, and I look forward to the challenges we will face.
We arrived this morning in a sad little plane after nearly thirty-some hours of travel. We were exhausted. Sebastian seems to be keeping himself together quite well, despite the strain this has no doubt put on him. His autism does not lend him to be the most pleasurable of travelling companions, but the beauty of the African countryside over which we flew I think may have had some pacifying effects on him. I take this to be a good omen.
The flight here was an adventure in itself, and if we were to turn back now I would be satisfied.
As I write this, the seriousness of the African climate begins to convict my mind that perhaps I was a bit brash in taking on this tour, especially with young Sebastian alongside. The rain beats hard on the roof of our small hut, and the constant whine of mosquitoes makes sleep near impossible, despite my fatigue from the day’s events. What a world of difference this is from our estate in Richmond. So here I end for the night, hoping to regain some small bit of energy for tomorrow’s preparations.
June 8th
Nearly everything is squared away to set off for the bush tomorrow. All that remains is to pack and secure our necessities and provisions, which we will finish in the morning. Our guide, Mboku, seems a very reliable chap. He stands a good six inches over most of his fellow tribesman, quite muscular, and has the most forceful dark eyes, which dart back and forth surveying his surroundings. He speaks well enough pidgin English so as to be understandable, has a very intimate knowledge of the countryside and survival methods, and has the air of a quiet contemplation. I trust that he will serve us well.
Sebastian is much more restless today. Some of the tribesmen misunderstand his condition and take his unresponsiveness for disrespect. Having gone off to purchase some melons for our lunch, a few of the tribesman approached Sebastian, to what end I know not. I returned to find one of them, an older and apparently important man, working himself into a fit over my brother’s apparent rudeness. Mboku, who had been not far off watching over our supplies, must have seen the situation escalating, yet perhaps for fear of theft, did not leave our camp. I quickly moved myself between the tribesman and my brother, doing whatever I could to placate the man and defuse the situation. Having placated the tribesman with one of our melons, I called Mboku over and sternly reprimanded him for not having taken care of Sebastian. I told him that if he ever failed to watch over my brother again, then he had better find himself a different job. I had half a mind to be rid of him on the spot, but as I had already paid him partly in advance, and wanting to get on with the trip, I decided that he had learned his lesson and that our trip would go more smoothly in the future.
June 9th
How exhausting it is to travel through this bush! The heat is absolutely unbearable. The terrain is so dense that we have hiked most of the latter part of the day, yet feel as though we made little progress. And the insects are just horrid. Mboku tells me that once we make it through the valley, the jungle will open up some and travelling will be somewhat less taxing. I hope he is correct.
At the start of our journey I gave to Sebastian some small gift that I had been saving for the occasion. It is a compass I had bought for him some months ago when we began to design our adventure. I had it engraved with the words “It is our passions which show us human” on the inside of the cover. Sebastian is very fond of this trinket, and holds it up in front of him as he walks, oblivious to the entirety of his surroundings, intently focused on the needle, afraid that if he takes his eyes off it for even a moment, it may vanish.
Despite the trials and difficulties of travel through the bush, it is a very magnificent country. The massive trees stand unchallengeable, their sprawling roots seeming to grasp hold of their own patch of soil, squeezing the life out of it. The grasses and plants carpet the ground, and we feel like ants weaving our way through the dense undergrowth. All manner of strange bird calls we can hear in every direction, and at times I imagine as if they are warning us to turn back, not to proceed any further, that our lives, our very sanity may depend on it. It is a silly notion, no doubt, but I cannot help but be reminded in this strange, primitive locale.
June 13th
There seems to be no end to this. The more we hike, the farther into this ancient dome we go, the further away we go from civilization, from everything we know and are comfortable with. The days are not getting easier, as I had hoped they would; the harder we push in, the harder the land pushes us back. I feel like a parasite which this grand body is collectively working to expel. Even Mboku, the native-born, seems on edge in this imposing place. His eyes have lost something of their confidence, and though they continue to jump back and forth, they seem to have given up the will to fight, and merely search out of curiosity of which direction disaster may strike. Sebastian has not looked up from his compass in three days, and I am beginning to wonder that it may be for dread of this jungle, not affection for the piece itself. Still, we must press on, and I know that we both will be the better for it when we finish this expedition.
June 19th
Sebastian is missing! When I woke up this morning, I stepped outside of my tent only to find his unoccupied, nothing missing except for the clothes which he wore to bed. Even his boots he left! All day I have spent calling for him and wandering about outside of the camp as far as I can, still remaining within eyesight of our camp, unless I should become lost myself. Where could he have gone? Had he woke in the night, perhaps frightened at something, and fled? Is he trying to make his way back home on his own? Why has he not returned? Has he fallen into one of these pits and become stuck? Oh, the thought of him at the bottom of one of these pits, tied down by the earth, screaming for me to rescue him. The dense vegetation of the jungle seems to swallow any shouts I can offer. Or had he been attacked by some wild animal? I shudder to think of it, yet I must consider the possibility. What a fool I have been.
Mboku is also missing. I wonder if he woke before myself and found Sebastian missing, and went out to search for him, in hopes to bring him back before I had noticed his absence. Is he still out searching for my brother, or has he met with the same fate as him? Perhaps he is only lost and will return shortly. He may be afraid of me, as I scolded him rather harshly the first time he lost track of my dear Sebastian. I fear that he may be determined not to return without Sebastian, and not ever finding him, will never return to me. Yet how much more effective we would be in tracking Sebastian if we worked together! I would forgive him in an instant if only he would return.
June 21st
Still no sign of Sebastian or Mboku. I have decided to pack up what is absolutely necessary from the camp and make my way back to the airfield. I have decided that most likely Sebastian has become frightened and has attempted to return home on his own. Also, if I can make it back safely, I may be able to organize a search party to return with me. Sebastian’s compass I have with me, but mboku has taken the map. What good is a compass without a map? Still, I know the general direction of the airfield, so perhaps I will be lucky enough to stumble upon some friendly tribesmen or some other signs of civilization. The weather is especially violent today, and I cannot help but feel as though the jungle has claimed me for her own, and will not let me leave. Even the grasses which we cleared have seemed to grow back, closing in around me, holding me down.
Mboku has not returned either. The coward must have fled when he woke and realized that Sebastian was gone, fearing punishment. But let him go. I would rather work on my own than have a coward to guide me. How could anybody be so heartless as to completely abandon those whom he has pledged to protect? He may as well have been an agent of the jungle itself, bringing my brother and I deep within and abandoning us, as a sort of passive human sacrifice. What a vile, wretched creature he is.
June 25th
I am lost. Nothing looks familiar. As I was walking today, Sebastian’s compass slipped out of my hand and fell against a rock. The glass has cracked, but it still functions. When I picked it up, my gaze became fixed on the crack. As I stared into its contours, I felt as though the jungle was staring at me. For some time I dared not look up, afraid that some beast or monster was standing right behind me, waiting for me to move, so that he could strike me down and eat my flesh. I stood completely still, not daring even to move a finger or turn my eyes away.
I then awoke to find myself on the floor of the jungle, still clutching the compass. I must have feinted for lack of blood circulation. Yet, instead of rising to my feet, I lay there for some time. The jungle, I felt, was comforting me. Her mosses she offered as a pillow, her ants gently caressing my neck, drops of dew falling onto my cheek, as a mother who cries over a sick child. The pulsing of the heat was the rocking of my cradle, leading me to that endless slumber. I felt calm, at peace, like everything was going to be just alright. I was home.
Then I remembered Mboku. I could not let that scoundrel live after what he had done to me. I jarred myself awake and climbed up from my bed, with the slow, deliberate movements of someone who was determined to accomplish what he had set his mind to. I must press on. There can be no turning back, no giving up, no surrender. The savage will die by my hand if I must sacrifice my own life to see it done. He had committed a most heinous crime not only against me, but against mankind itself. He should not be allowed forgiveness, not allowed to go free. He must pay for what he has done, and it will be my pleasure to bring that judgment upon him.
I pressed on in search of the savage.
June 29th
Vengeance sustains me. Every day I struggle and fight my way through the arms of the jungle, which can no longer contain me. Thoughts of the revenge I will have on the savage consume my mind. His death will not be a quick or painless one. All of the pain and evil that he has caused to me he must experience in full. There can be no mercy for such a heartless, despicable savage as himself. Every wound that he has inflicted on me I will return a hundredfold. As I imagine beating him raw, the club I use has been replace with my own fists. He must know my pain intimately, and he must know that it is because of his evil and disgusting soul that this punishment has come upon him. There will be no mercy.
I have come upon a river. The rains have caused it to swell up into an unstoppable force of nature. As I stand in this clearing, I can see across to the far bank. I know that the savage awaits me on the other side of this great barrier. I can smell his cowardice. The waters churn and swish, laughing at me, daring me to cross at once, to take the risk, to see if I will survive. It’s mockery only incites my rage to even higher levels. This jungle cannot contain me. I will stay in this clearing a while and regain my strength, and then I will conquer the river.
July 4th
Today in preparations to cross the river I found a compass in the small pocket of my pack. As I picked it up, a strange sense of wonder came over me. I held it in my hand like some relic of an ancient civilization, which a forgotten people may have used as some sort of divining charm or object of worship. Something had been written on the back, but it was too faded to make out. There was a long crack in the center glass. As I looked into the glass, I caught the reflection of myself in it. I could see the hatred and the malice in my own eye. This seemed strange to me, but then I remembered the savage, the hateful and wretched being who had inflicted so much pain on me. I could not even remember what that pain was, but I knew he was guilty of it. I was convinced of his guilt, and as the only one who knew the truth, it was my duty, my privilege to see that justice was done.
The compass began to burn in my hand. I tried to cast it away from me, but my attempts were in vain; my fingers would not release their grasp on the object. It began to burn even more, and it seemed as though it weighed a thousand pounds in my hand, to the point that I had fallen to my knees to avoid passing out completely. I tried to look away, but my eyes would not let go. I began to curse them for disobeying me, until at last a queer type of serenity came over me. Every muscle in my body instantly relaxed, and I felt as though an immense weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Everything around me faded away, until there was nothing else in the entire universe except that compass, and my soul which looked into it. Even my own body seemed to dissolve under the intense power that compass seemed to have. I no longer knew where I was, what I was doing, or even who I was. My life had been shaken, and everything that was impure fell away, until only that compass and the small, dull spark that was my soul remained.
At this point a fierce wind began to blow. It picked up all manner of loose earth and tossed it about, and the once mighty trees bowed down before it, as a disobedient servant bows down before his executioner. The howl was maddening, and I feared that if it continued much longer, I would go deaf. But suddenly the wind died down, and its howl was replaced by the deep thundering of an earthquake. The jungle itself seemed to split in two, and all around me gigantic boulders were heaved back and forth like marbles. But just as suddenly as it came, the earthquake was stilled, and a blistering fire consumed the entire land, until it was completely scorched and not one living thing remained. Only I was not afraid. I felt detached from the events; it was as if I existed in a different dimension from these things. I felt surreal, transcended. Then I heard, neither from the fire nor any other being, nor from within myself, but rather speaking directly into my mind from a different world, a whisper. I cannot describe it, but it had the most peculiar effect on me. The whisper told me to go back, back into the jungle which had nearly taken my life. To what end I did not know, but I felt as though I must go. After hearing the words, the most intense desire to go back welled up within me. The words themselves created the desire in me; they ordered my actions, directed my steps. I began to feel dizzy, and fell into a deep slumber.
When I awoke, the word “Sebastian” was on my lips. At first I did not know what this meant. But after regaining my senses, the thoughts came flooding back into me, all at once. I remembered my brother, I remembered Mboku; I remembered the panic I felt at losing my brother, and the anger I felt towards Mboku for failing to protect him. But then I began to realize my mistake. Mboku was not my enemy; he had not taken my brother – the jungle had. Mboku was a man, the same as Sebastian and I. To hate him was to play right into the schemes of the jungle. How foolish I have been! Rather than destroy me outright, it had turned me against my fellow man, my former companion. But now I saw its plotting for what it truly was. My eyes have been opened; I have been set free.
I will go back. Every bit of reason and logic within me tells me that my brother is dead and that Mboku has gone back to his village, but still I must go. I cannot abandon my brother and my fellow man even if the tiniest possibility of my being some aid to them remains. I have felt death before, and I no longer fear its sting.
//Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I appreciate your interest!//