Wild Angola
I’m running down a path of red muddy soil with my inflatable stand up paddle board under my arm, looking for an access to the river through a dense jungle. From here you can walk down to the river through the reeds, but the last part does not make me feel very relaxed. I know that this is exactly the type of ecosystem in which crocs love to live. I rush to the water. “And now?” I peer into the river, wondering if in fact there are any crocodiles in these waters or not. I came to the banks of this river because some people in the neighboring village told me that this place safe. “Não vais jacarés encontrar pra lá” (you will not find crocs there) – that’s what they told me in their Portuguese dialect. In fact, everywhere I’ve been through these innumerable rivers in Angola, locals warned me about the danger posed by crocodiles. I’ve heard stories of a village where nine children were killed by crocodiles in a single year. That place was not far from here. I bet now that the place where I am is not much different, but the locals told me to trust them. So I trust them. I have no other choice now.
As I enter the water and begin to paddle towards the magnificent waterfalls I begin to see the fishermen hidden in the dense vegetation just a few meters from the falls. Some use very rudimentary fishing rods, while others use small nets that they throw over the surface while standing in waist-high waters.
As I approach them, kids begin to jump into the water from the rocks surrounding the waterfall. They swim towards me all excited to see a white stranger on a weird inflatable raft getting close to their fishing spot. They probably have never seen a white guy in these waters before. Certainly not on a stand up paddle board.
