Congo Chronicles: Chapter 4 - Drummed up Dreams

By David Graham: June 27, 2025

With renewed spirits in the wake of Jacob's successful capture, I slept a little easier for the first time in days. Still, thoughts of my own fish held my dreams captive.

On the morning of day four, a different spirit was in the air. We awoke to chatter down by the river's edge. The chief of the local village was ashore, accompanied by a number of trusted boatmen and advisors. At the shore were two giant dugout canoes—The pirogues were monstrous, hewn from single ancient trees. Primitive and gnarly beyond words, their hulls bore scars of hard use—patched, chained, and weathered by time. They looked as though they'd floated straight out of myth.

Wooden pirogue fishing boat

I looked at the sheer mass of the boats, and how they were shaped from a single piece of wood—and yet, anywhere in my field of vision for miles along the edges of the Congo River, I could never find a tree remotely big enough to make such a vessel... where the hell had it come from? Were these relics of a forgotten time, forged before the last tree of such tremendous size had been felled? Or are there vast forests to the north where the wood had been cut and floated down?

I eagerly hopped into the boat with my guide for the day, Tonal, ready to experience the river in a more authentic way. The aluminum boats were fast and efficient, but skittish in the current. The pirogues, by contrast—leaky, heavy, and slow—sat low and steady in the water with unmatched stability. For this river system, they were perfect. You give up speed, but gain stealth and precision.

We fished with the locals of the nearby village. Awesome guys, but surely from a different way of life. Along our slow crawl north, our bait was wilting—likely kept overnight in stagnant water. One guy in the boat even picked up a catfish and tried blowing in its mouth. I dared not waste time letting him know that wouldn't help, and they didn't seem to understand the use of my portable aerator, putting oxygen straight into the bait bucket. We'd have to work out the kinks over a long day of fishing!

Tonal was especially challenging to speak with—he tried to communicate through a series of hand gestures and facial expressions. But at least I was able to express my desire to fish the fast current lines by pointing at them and giving a thumbs-up. I guess that's a universal gesture—because Tonal stayed steadfast in fishing these zones, to my delight.

As we navigated our way, one guide used a pair of my scissors and some chunks of muddy cloth to jam into the leaking holes in the bottom of the boat. We got positioned in an ideal current break, where Larry got a quick strike early in the day! The fish hit so hard and fast he hardly had time to react before it was gone. I felt some sorrow for Larry for a mere ten seconds before my float went flying across the surface—and I was tight on a fish! The fish rocketed out of the water, full breach, some six feet into the air! I was astonished by the display of speed, power, and athleticism. This was no real monster in size, but it was securely hooked and going nowhere. Finally, I had my shot—and after a spirited fight, we brought the goliath to the boat and into a sling. I had my fish!

The goliath—maybe 15 lb or so in size—had secured my headspace for the remainder of the trip. To get the weight lifted off my shoulders with that one fish meant I could move more freely and loosely in my approach. I just don't want to operate so intensely focused that I become tight and mentally fragile.

We didn’t really have any other action the remainder of the day, but I got notice on my Garmin InReach that Michael was also on the board—and his fish was big!

We got to camp where Michael's expired fish was seen in the shallows in a retention sling. It was my first view of a proper goliath—putting my measly 15-pound fish to shame! Michael had caught a fish in the range of 45 pounds.

Michael Verdirame

The camp, and our villagers, were elated that our fortune had come so swiftly—especially with their aid! This was on a Friday, and in the village of the Teke people, Friday is a day of celebration. We were welcomed to enter the village late that afternoon to be present for a Kebe Kebe ritual!

Being invited into the village felt like a rare and genuine honor. Until now, we’d only glimpsed village life in passing—gliding by in boats, taking in humble homes of hardened clay, stick frames, and palm-thatched roofs.

Little children could be heard singing and playing. Women, walking with buckets of dishes and laundry balanced on their heads, made their way up and down the bank. Generally, the men were out in small dugout canoes, running nets in nearby grass lines or more advanced seines in the main river.

Everything seems hand-to-mouth here, and the folks work hard—with a perpetual smile on their faces. Still, we had only glimpsed this world in passing. I wondered what it was like up close... and now we were going to find out.

All of us had come prepared for such an honored opportunity. I brought a large bag full of soccer balls, Nerf balls, yard-game-type toys, and even some of my hand-drawn and published wildlife coloring books! I was so excited to share these things with the kids.

Larry, Michael, and Jacob had each brought various school supplies, clothing items, bubbles, candies, and miscellaneous toys as well. The children seemed to know what was coming, and as our pirogues approached the shoreline, a whole line of them came running down the hill to the sandy beach along the edge of the village.

I started handing out gifts early—maybe too early. What began as a joyful moment quickly teetered on the edge of chaos, with kids practically trampling each other to snatch the next treasure from my bag. Understandable to a point... but it was quickly brought under control by the village chief, so we opted to have him hand out the remaining toys, as he had the authority to maintain order over the whole process.

We were invited into the center of the village, where a group of men sang, chanted, and played a loud chorus of drums that seemed to slowly increase in intensity. Near what was perhaps the most climactic point of the drumming, the Kebe Kebe dancers appeared!

The Kebe Kebe ritual is a ceremonial dance of the Teke people, deeply woven into their culture. It honors ancestors and calls for blessings, well-being, and protection. The dancers are fully concealed in elaborate garb, topped with sculpted masks that give them an almost otherworldly presence.

I sat there in awe, surrounded by smiling children dancing along, as the elders performed this ancient ritual. It struck me deeply. I’m just an angler—some guy who grew up chasing bluegills and bass around golf course ponds and railroad tracks. Yet somehow, that simple passion carried me all the way here. My journey has transformed into a worldwide adventure, and it still amazes me.

In the following days, I had renewed spirit. Maybe it was the ritual—maybe cresting that ‘halfway home’ portion of the trip. I already had my fish caught, and the stress was leaving me. I enjoyed the ambiance of the Congo—at any given point, you’d hear the sounds of Africa: echoes of kids playing along the water’s edge, women singing as they carried out chores, local fishermen at work. These sounds carried across the water on both sides, creating a unique chorus.

This is real Africa—not the partitioned-off areas reserved for visitors and tourism. No one is clocking in here; life is as it was, whether we are there or not. We were just lucky enough to pass through and see a glimpse of it.

The fishing remained hard, but we were more directed in our approach and where we fished. At one point, a goliath came up and bit my float clean off the line. Attracted maybe by the splash when I cast, it appeared mere seconds later and attacked the float. We retrieved the float downriver a ways, where distinct puncture holes could be seen on each side of it.

On another occasion, I had a fish around 25 pounds rocket out of the water and send my bait flying off into the stratosphere in the other direction. The way these fish strike—so hard, so fast—it’s hard to compare them to anything else.

That same day, I had word that Michael had captured an absolute giant. His fish measured 144 cm, with a 31-inch girth, and weighed 73 lb—a true Congo River monster. It was the only fish landed that day—though Larry had an opportunity with a 50-pound class fish. He fought it well, but it ended up getting tangled with another line!

Michael Verdirame's giant tigerfish

One of the boatmen was fishing and failed to clear his line, causing it to get crossed with Larry's. Larry shouted out commands for them to cut the interfering line, but they ended up cutting the wrong one!

An absolutely gutting way to lose a fish, especially since Larry had yet to land one at this point in the trip.

I spent one day alone in the boat as my partner at this stage, Jacob, had fallen a bit ill. I fished the day slowly, called fewer shots, and just enjoyed life on the river. The kids in the local riverside villages always seemed eager to see our strange new faces. They’d come running down to the edge of the water to get a better look at us—always waving and smiling, hoping for some sort of acknowledgement and return of gesture.

Men in dugout canoes routinely visited us, usually seeking to barter or trade. Word had clearly spread that we paid well for bait, so often they arrived carrying fish. Sometimes, they simply clung to the side of our powered pirogue, hitching a ride upriver. On one occasion, we were sold a large rat-like creature the size of a small dog—dinner for the night. They called it a ‘Sibisi.’ A quick search of that term came back with ‘cane rat,’ a very large rodent prized for its meat throughout Central Africa. I have eaten similar animals in other countries.

We were in the final stretch of the trip—the latter half of the journey. Six days in, with four fish landed. I think we could settle with what we had and call it a success—stay in a mindset of positivity and appreciation. But the river was not yet done revealing her bounty, and there were more brushes with giants still to come...