The train slows down and we stop, then climb down from the carriage. We are surrounded by the rainforest, cut in two by the railway behind us and the new foundations ahead, stretching in the direction of the hills I can already make out in the distance. I go and take a closer look at the railway. The foundations are sandy and don’t convince me. The rails, on the other hand, look solid, well nailed into the sleepers. In front of the train, the embankment has already been filled with gravel and a pile of sleepers lies ready to be laid. On the train we’ve brought more of them and above all the rails, which come directly from Belgium. I wonder whether it wouldn’t have been easier and cheaper to produce them here, but no doubt the Belgian captains of industry would not agree.
We wait for the arrival of the labourers, who are still nowhere to be seen. Major Thys is clearly losing his temper. How can it take so long to run this far? But half an hour later we see the first of them appear, and ten minutes after that they are all present, including the soldiers, the most out of breath of the lot. They also had to carry their heavy rifles on their shoulders.
"Three hundred and thirteen. They’re all here," confirms Second Lieutenant Bourgeois.
"Then get started!" the major orders.
Engineer Christensen begins dividing the work crews and giving each of them precise instructions. One group is sent ahead to spread the gravel on the embankment. Others take the sleepers and lay them out along the track one foot apart. Two more groups unload the rails one by one from the train and place them on the sleepers. Then the group of the most skilled hammer the rails down with long mallets. Finally, the last group works the gravel carefully between the sleepers to fix them in place. The engineer and his assistants supervise rigorously, measuring the distance between the rails. It is back-breaking work because they cannot be wrong by even half an inch. Sometimes they have to stop everyone, pull out all the nails, and start again. In the end, the engineer checks the direction of the newly laid track and, if necessary, the workers must join all their strength to shift it a few centimetres to one side or the other.
The other officers make themselves comfortable in the carriage or on chairs along the line to watch the work, as does Chief Mokoko, who never stops shouting at the workers. I, on the other hand, try to help where I can, but in truth the workers seem very capable and progress well. The best part, however, is that they don’t just work. They work singing! One of them leads with a verse, then all the others respond with the most fascinating melodies and rhythms. I have never heard a monkey sing, but I am deeply moved by the music that rises from the steps and movements of these black men.
"Tongo eteni eh... Moyi ekobima kasi ngai na motema eh... Molili makasi," sings the soloist with his high, rough voice.
"Molili makasi," repeat all the others, with deep bass voices that make my diaphragm tremble.
I have no idea what it means, but the harmonious sounds fill me with joy. I even feel the urge to join them, to carry the rail on my shoulder to the place where it must be laid.
"It means: It’s morning... the sun is rising but my heart... remains in darkness," says Engineer Christensen suddenly, who has come to rest beside me. He startles me, as I hadn’t heard him approach.
"Mr. Christensen,..." I greet him.
"Lieutenant! How are you?"
"Well, thank you. But you understand their language?"
"Yes, a little. After three damned years in Congo, it would be surprising not to understand a single word."
I nod and must admit that I admire him.
"I wanted to compliment you on the work you’ve done so far," I say. "In these circumstances it can’t be easy."
"Well, we do what we can. And as you can see, the workers are doing their best."
"Molili makasi... Molili makasi..."
The engineer drinks a large gulp from his water flask.
"Yes, indeed, we've taught them well."
I realise I must look a little foolish, but honestly, I don’t know what else to reply. There are things that need clarifying between us, but I don’t know how to start. By all accounts, I am still a novice, a very young engineer who has only just finished school. He, on the other hand, must be at least thirty-five with a great deal of experience. The furrows on his forehead are deep, and I notice a bald patch among his blond hair that he tries to conceal with his particular hairstyle.
"Mr. Christensen..." I begin, "about earlier..."
He stops me immediately with a gesture of his hand and looks me in the eye.
"Lieutenant,..." He breaks off, glances around, then continues.
"As I’ve already said, I’ve been in Congo for a while. I know how things are done here. You’ve nothing to apologise for."
He offers me his flask and I accept gladly. While I drink, he wipes the sweat from his forehead, smooths back his hair and puts his helmet on again.
"Let’s get back to it," he says, giving me another pat on the shoulder. "Or we’ll never reach the major’s goal... Hey, not like that!" he suddenly shouts at a group of workers who are about to lay a rail on sleepers not yet measured. He leaves me behind and gets back to his work. I still have much to learn.
"Molili Makasi..."
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