Simon Wilson Stephens followed the footsteps of the famous explorer Stanley, raising money for depression. He started in Old Stone Town Harbour, Zanzibar as Stanley did, travelled though Tanzania, canoed around Lake Victoria which is were we join him, across Uganda and up the Rwenzori Mountains then down Lake Tanganyika. Here is an extract from his "Minds Do Matter Africa Expedition."

…My route was to take me 300 kilometres along the east and northern shores of the lake to Kampala - the equivalent distance of kayaking the full length of the lake. Starting at Muhoro Bay on the Kenyan/Tanzanian border I hugged the Kenyan shoreline. I was immediately struck by the feeling that despite being alone I was part of a larger community. I was continually passing fishermen who rely on the lake and its fish for their livelihoods. At sundown they row several miles out from the shore and use lanterns to attract whitebait type fish called daggar into their nets. Of all the people I met on my trip it was the fishermen on both lakes that I have the greatest respect for. Despite problems with over fishing, they are seriously tough, strong, fit and show amazing comradeship working in teams of 4 or 5 at night for over 12 hours at a time. I don’t know how they put up with the mosquitoes and notorious lake flies that are also drawn from miles around to their lanterns. Their wives greet them back each morning and take over the process. They spread the nets out along the lakeshore and scatter the daggar on top to dry in the sunshine. By the end of the day the smell of fish can be overpowering but this is the only down side to camping amongst in these tightly knitted communities.

On arriving in Kampala I felt I was coming home. I had lived and worked as a guide in Uganda for 4 years in the late 90s. It was Stanley’s first visit but the welcome King Mutesa of Buganda gave him was filled with respect. They both made great impressions on each other. Stanley described Mutesa: ‘’He has very intelligent and agreeable features, reminding me of some of the faces of the great stone images at Thebes and of the statues in the museum at Cairo.’’ He introduced the King to guns and Christianity, that extraordinary combination, which remains evident today as the King’s tomb at Kasubi is still guarded by the small cannon that Stanley gave him.

Stanley’s next task was to solve the mystery of the ‘Mountains of the Moon’. His plans were derailed when the King of Bunyoro, Mutesa’s neighbour and arch rival, wouldn’t allow the explorer to cross his kingdom and climb into the mountains. I know how he felt as I spent 4 years looking at the Ruwenzori’s unable to climb them in the late 1990s due to rebel insurgencies from the Congo. Stanley had to wait until 1889 on his Emin Pasha Rescue Expedition before he set foot on their slopes. This was now my window of opportunity to achieve one goal that he uncharacteristically never achieved. Despite the highest mountain in the Ruwenzori’s being named after him, Stanley didn’t manage to climb to the summit of Mt. Stanley. It was the only chance I had to do something he had failed at.

Mountains can be lonely places to climb on your own so I was relieved to be joined by my fellow climbing partner Jamie and 2 old friends from Kampala. We climbed for 4 days through scenes of extraordinary alpine fertility; bamboo, giant lobelias, wild orchids. Thankfully they were there to distract us from the endless wet bogs, which straddle the paths the whole way up to Elena Hut.

Our guide and the porters were mountain people from the local Bakonjo tribe. They are similar to the sherpas in Nepal. Short, light, fit and love running up mountains. Leading at the front of the rope he decided to take the quick route up Margherita glacier – straight up. Jamie and I followed in his footsteps. Eventually after 4 hours of sinking into knee-deep snow I shouted for him to stop. I thought I was fit but he was proving me wrong. I suggested we zigzag our way up the steep glaciers instead of heading straight up. Des looked at me and I realised that his estimations of me had plummeted but he appreciated that I was still desperate to get to the top. It’s an odd feeling standing 16,763 feet above sea level on a snow-capped mountain on the Equator in Africa. I felt tired but invigorated looking west over the Congo. I wondered what Stanley would have thought?

The contrast in scenery on this journey helped to smooth over the typical Africa frustrations. From the sub zero temperatures on Margerita Peak through the ‘gardens’ of southern Uganda and Rwanda on to the Mediterranean shores of Lake Tanganyika my belief that East Africa can claim to be the Garden of Eden were continually reinforced.

It must have been an emotional moment for Stanley when he returned to Ujiji. No Livingstone to greet him this time but happy memories of the 3 months he spent with his mentor. My plan was to catch the ferry to the bottom of the lake and then kayak 500 kilometres back to Ujiji. I had decided to go completely solo and travel without my support vehicle. This is remote Africa where very few roads touch the lake.

The 3-day ferry journey south is an eventful spectacle. Every three hours the captain cuts the engines near the shore. Local merchants draw alongside in their canoes and pass enormous sacks filled with dried fish on to the ferry. Supplies and people jump down from the ferry on to the empty canoes. How no one was crushed or drowned I do not know. I watched this worrying how I would cope with my kayak. Fortunately when we reached Katanga on the Zambian border we drew alongside a makeshift jetty. A large group of locals crowded round me as I squeezed my kit into the kayak.

‘’My friend, where are you going in that small boat of yours?’’ asked an old mzee (wise man).
‘’Ujiji’’ I replied.
‘’Aye yae yae. But you have just come from there?’’
‘’I know’’
‘’Why don’t you wait and take the ferry back in 2 days time?’’

He had a point. There were numerous times I had tried to explain why I was travelling in this slow and ‘un-Westernised’ way. I don’t think any of them fully understood my reasoning. I’m not sure I fully did either. That was to change though over the next month as Lake Tanganyika made its mark on me.

For the first time on my journey I had no one else to look after or help me. I felt truly alone. Lake Tanganyika must be one of the cleanest lakes in the world. It is definitely the longest and the second deepest. It was an amazing feeling gliding over the calm morning waters watching the brightly coloured aquarium fish swimming under my kayak. Each morning I swam, breakfasted, packed my kayak and pointed it north towards Ujiji. It would take me half an hour to warm up my shoulders before I settled into a comfortable rhythm. Short-term goals are essential. To look at the whole picture too often becomes demoralising. 5kms, water break. 10kms, water and 15 minute rest. 18kms lunch - home made chapattis. 25kms water break, start looking for a beach to camp on. 28-35kms beach the kayak and enjoy the peaceful late afternoon. I felt at home with this daily routine.

The first time it happened I was nervous. It reminded me of the photos that Stanley had taken on the lake. I looked out across the lake and saw the silhouette of a canoe coming towards me. I could make out the figures of 6 men paddling silently in unison. I wasn’t sure what they wanted. They came ashore 50 yards down the beach and then sat and watched me as I continued to write my diary. After a while I decided it was up to me to break the ice after all I was a visitor on their beach. I greeted them in my pigeon Swahili: ‘’Salama, karibu sana’’. 4 of them walked towards me stopping beside my kayak. One of the smaller ones opened. ‘’We’re fine thank you. We saw you passing our village this afternoon, waving your yellow sticks at us. What is this boat of yours and where is the engine?’’ I spent the next hour laughing and joking with these guys trying to explain why ‘Wazungus’ (white men) do these expeditions. They were fascinated by my kayak, tapping it, poking their heads inside the separate watertight chambers and practising paddling technique. They wanted one but sadly this one wasn’t for sale. They returned the next morning to give me some fish they’d caught overnight, warned me again about the big waves and wished me good luck on my journey. I felt there was an enormous feeling of mutual respect between us, which I was to find the whole way up this amazing lake.

The last 150 kilometres were memorable for different reasons. My mindset had to change as I was joined by my friend Mark who flew out to join me for this final section. I’d been warned that double kayaks test the best of friendships. Despite nearly sinking on one occasion and keeping our eyes peeled for crocodiles at the mouths of rivers we bonded well and made good headway.

As we camped on the final night I could see the lights from Ujiji in the distance. I remember thinking I wanted time to slow down. I didn’t want to leave the lake. I enjoyed its company. The next day I was glad to have a good mate with me as I arrived on the beach at Ujiji. However Mark wasn’t just that, he was one of the reasons why I had embarked on this journey. His greatest friend Charlie Waller had committed suicide in 1998. One of the underlying aims of my expedition was to raise publicity about the Charlie Waller Memorial Trust (http://www.cwmt.org) set up to increase awareness about Depression. In 2000 I had a mental breakdown when ‘my wheels came flying off’. I’d felt periods of depression since I was a teenager.

So how does Stanley fit in with all this? Well, I believe Stanley also suffered from depression although nothing was known about it in those days. Reading his expedition diaries and accounts of his life helped me untangle a lot of my own thoughts. At the end of this journey I stood under the mango tree at the very spot that Livingstone first met Stanley. Both men had travelled a long way before that famous meeting. I also felt I’d come a long way to understanding more about Stanley.