THE chief of the village was wearing cherry-coloured velour carpet on his head. He had a pretty red blouse and a wrap-around red skirt. His Mai-Mai militia carried AK-47s and had matching red scarves. When he demanded mbongo, his money tribute, I paid, but unfortunately started to giggle as he began to sing FrÈre Jacques. This was my big mistake. An hour later the boat I was in on the Congo River filled with flying termites. They crawled over every part of your body; you breathed them. There...
