Bathing Days on the Congo River

 Bathing Days on the Congo River

~:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::~

Along the mighty Congo's winding breast,

Where giant baobabs stood at rest,

There lay a broken bathing ghat, worn by years,

A keeper of laughter, dreams, and tears.

!!~!!

The river flowed like an old African griot's song,

Carrying the village's soul along.

Men and women gathered by its side,

Washing clothes with rhythm and pride.

!!~!!

The pounding of cloth upon weathered stone

Blended with voices in a timeless tone.

News, stories, jokes, and village lore

Flowed as freely as the river's roar.

!!~!!

Then came the rafts of massive timber,

Bound from giant forest giants' limbs.

Engines growling like distant lions at night,

They drifted slowly through the morning light.

!!~!!

Those floating timber towns rolled by,

A travelling village beneath the sky.

Families cooked, children played and ran,

Life unfolding upon wood and water as one.

!!~!!

Beneath those moving giants' shade,

Women in slender canoes quietly made

Their way to gather shells from the river floor,

As their mothers and grandmothers had done before.

!!~!!

And daring boys with eager eyes

Would dive beneath where the shadow lies,

Digging in the riverbed's muddy seam,

Chasing treasures hidden by the stream.

!!~!!

The children swam in the deeper bends,

Fearless companions and lifelong friends.

Their laughter scattered like weaver birds in flight,

Across the Congo's glittering light.

!!~!!

I still remember that crumbling ghat,

Where time has left its gentle mark.

There, with a childhood friend beside me,

We sat beneath an acacia tree.

!!~!!

Sweet cassava steamed in a battered pot,

Shared in halves while the sun burned hot.

Nothing tasted richer, nothing seemed grander,

Than those simple meals by the river's meander.

!!~!!

When evening settled upon the shore,

We searched the waters once more.

Sharp-toothed catfish, fierce and strong,

Were caught with hooks before too long.

!!~!!

Their silver bodies flashed like spears,

Ancient hunters conquering youthful fears.

Roasted over firewood's glowing red light,

They became our feast beneath the darken night.

!!~!!

The smoke rose softly toward the stars,

Past distant drums and village guitars.

The scent of fish, the warmth of flame,

Still calls my childhood by its name.

!!~!!

Today the river remains the same,

Yet little else recalls that frame.

Modern homes and tiled rooms stand tall,

While the old ghat slowly yields to time's call.

!!~!!

The washing stones are cracked and bare,

Fewer voices gather there.

The children's dives, the timber trains,

Now live in memory's gentle rains.

!!~!!

Yet whenever the Congo catches the sun,

And evening shadows begin to run,

I hear the river whisper low,

Of days only old hearts truly know.

!!~!!

Of floating villages passing by,

Of shell-gathering boats beneath the sky,

Of cassava shared with a treasured friend,

Of catfish feasts at daylight's end.

!!~!!

Oh, broken ghat upon the Congo's side,

Witness to childhood, joy, and pride,

You were more than stone, water, and shore-

You were a world that lives forevermore.

!!~!!

And though the years have carried me far,

Beyond the river and evening star,

My heart still wanders where memories drift,

Like timber rafts upon the Congo's gift