Into Congo by Stefan Sofiski

“This railway was the first in Congo,” my father’s assistant said. “Finished a couple of years ago, 1898.” He twitched his mustache. The air was sticky with a hint of sweat. “Please,” he gestured to the seats.

My mother held her hat and adjusted her dress to sit. My sister and I took our seats across the aisle, our nanny behind us. Marie started playing with her doll.

“Monsieur Leclercq was so sad he couldn’t come. Rubber sap deliveries gone wrong… He will meet you in Leopoldville,” my father’s assistant smiled under his mustache.

Papa was in charge of rubber production in King Leopold’s Congo. After years apart, we were joining him from Belgium.

“… We mostly use waterways,” the assistant continued despite my mother’s wandering gaze. “But from Leopoldville to the Atlantic, the Congo River is unnavigable. So we built this railway. To transport the rubber to the port.”

A train whistle sounded and we lurched forward.

I gazed out the window and saw them. Black men. Most shivered, some were injured and bleeding.

I gasped and closed my eyes. I looked again- still there.

“Mama, are these men outside sick?” A tear rolled down my cheek.

“What men, dear? I can’t see anyone.” My mother looked out, then at the assistant.

“Men outside?” His gaze dropped to the floor. “Well, there were of course some casualties during construction… Disease, incidents…  not unusual…”

His voice faded as the train chugged into the rainforest hills. More of them emerged. My tear-veiled gaze stopped at a young man. The top of his head was missing, blood filling his eye.

They lined the iron road by the thousands. Some had their hands cut off, they reached at us with bleeding stumps. Ashen skin sagging. Shivering. Bulging eyes gazing at our train.

Stefan Sofiski is an engineer by trade and a storyteller by heart. He lives in the UK with his family.

Photo – Missionaries and steam train, Congo, ca. 1900-1915 – via WikiMedia Commons