Albert caught his wife’s eye and smiled. Hélène wore all-white clothing and a pith helmet, as did he. They were getting used to seeing each other dressed in tropical garb. It felt to Albert more like wearing a costume than regular clothes. Going back to his writing, he noted,
A heron flies heavily up and then settles on a dead tree trunk; white and blue birds skim over the water, and high in the air a pair of ospreys circle. Then—yes, there can be no mistake about it!—from the branch of a palm there hang and swing—two monkey tails! . . . We are really in Africa!
It was true, and Albert put down his pen a moment to ruminate. At last, eight years after reading about the need for doctors in French Equatorial Africa, he was here—with a medical degree and ready to serve. He was aware that the death rate among white missionaries in this region was about 15 percent per year, but he’d made his decision and was at peace with whatever the outcome might be.
Continuing to write, Albert was glad the carbon copy book he had purchased in Paris had five sheets of carbon paper. If he pressed the pen nib firmly enough on the top copy, he would make five more copies beneath to tear out and send off to family and supporters. He and Hélène had already decided to use the book as a joint journal, taking turns writing in it. They would also leave the top copy intact to keep a record of their correspondence.
The paddle wheels of the Alémbé beat the water in a steady rhythm as the boat chugged slowly upstream. It was the wet season, and a green wall of entwined vines wrapped around the towering trees lining the river.
“Never paddle too close to the river’s edge,” the captain, a Frenchman, told Albert when he saw him studying the shoreline. “There are plenty of snakes lying on tree branches that could drop into your boat. That’s why we stay in the middle of the river. And we don’t go any faster because of the many submerged trees and branches in this murky yellow water and the sandbars that shift with the strong currents.” Albert nodded. This was a very different river from the Rhine, with its defined banks and rocky outcrops.
It didn’t take Albert long to recognize two distinct tribes of Africans aboard the Alémbé. He was aware that Lambaréné was the boundary between the coastal Galoa people, who were tall, and the inland Fang or Pahouin people, who were much shorter. Some of the Galoa women had brightly patterned cloth draped around them, while the Pahouin women wore skirts made of woven grasses.
The riverboat steamed on hour after hour, stopping twice a day to take on wood for her boilers. The first stop was at a small village nestled by the river. The captain guided the boat into position in front of the village and dropped anchor. A plank was laid down from the shore to the vessel, and as the local African men began carrying logs aboard, Albert noticed the captain becoming agitated. Apparently the village men hadn’t gathered as many logs as he needed. When all the logs were aboard the Alémbé, Albert watched as the captain counted out bottles of rum for payment.
A trader standing beside Albert explained, “There are no banks out here, no way to save money. The locals only need money to buy wives. They don’t want more money, but they do want alcohol. It’s the main form of payment for almost everything here in the jungle.” Albert acknowledged the information with a nod. He remembered reading how French explorer Pierre de Brazza noted that alcohol use had decimated many villages in the Congo and Gabon areas. Albert realized this would be one of the many challenges he would deal with as a missionary doctor.
After three days the Alémbé’s whistle blew, announcing to the traders at Lambaréné that they would be tying up at the landing there in half an hour. Albert watched as deckhands carried the luggage to the unloading bay, ready to be put ashore. The seventy crates and the piano were scheduled to arrive at Lambaréné when the paddle steamer made its return trip in two weeks. There wasn’t enough cargo space for it on this trip.
Two canoes sped around a bend in the river and headed toward the boat. Each canoe had seven or eight boys standing upright, dipping long paddles furiously into the water. A white man sat in each canoe. The white man in the first canoe waved, and Albert waved back. He wondered if they were their welcoming committee.
The Alémbé stopped close to shore at Lambaréné, and a ramp was lifted into place. The Schweitzers’ luggage was carried ashore. Albert and Hélène followed behind. No sooner had they stepped ashore than the two canoes pulled up at the landing spot. The two white men climbed out and introduced themselves. They were Noël Christol and René Ellenburger, two teachers from the Paris Evangelical Missionary Society school. Albert was delighted to meet them. Noël explained that the two canoes had raced each other for the honor of carrying the new missionaries to their post. Because Noël’s canoe had won, the baggage was loaded into the second canoe while Albert and Hélène were helped into the other one.
The canoes were made from hollowed-out tree trunks with just a few inches between the waterline and the top of the canoe. Albert sat very still. He felt that one wrong move could easily capsize the vessel. Soon they were underway, the boys standing as they paddled and chanted. “Yah-nyeh, yah-nyeh, yah-nyeh—yneeeeeen-yak!” rang out across the water as the canoe glided out into the river. Albert gradually relaxed as he noted the effortless way the boys kept their balance and dipped their paddles in perfect time with each other. Although the mission station was named after the town of Lambaréné, which was located on the Big Island in the middle of the Ogowe River, the mission station was actually an hour’s canoe journey down a tributary of the river.
The farther they paddled, the more amazed Albert was at the navigational skills of his escorts. Every turn in the river looked exactly like the last, with every creek passing through the same impenetrable tangle of trees and vines. At last, in the distance, Albert saw a cluster of buildings sitting on three small hills that rose from the river’s edge, with a higher plateau behind and a larger hill rising above.
“That’s known as American Hill,” Noël said, pointing toward the large hill.
“Ah,” Albert replied, thinking of all he’d read about the history of the mission. Thirty-seven years before, an American Presbyterian doctor and pastor named Robert Nassau was the first medical missionary to arrive at the location. “So that’s where Dr. Nassau lived?” Albert inquired.
“Yes,” Noël said. “The first house where he lived with his wife was farther down the hill, but after it was burned down three times by the native people, he and his wife retreated to the top of the hill, where they had a better view of what was going on around them. He was quite an amazing man. When he founded the mission here in 1874, the slave trade was illegal but still thriving in the interior jungle. The Fang and Galoa tribes were warring with each other to capture slaves, whom they ferried down to the coast to be sold. Dr. Nassau buried two wives and a son in the Congo, but he kept going for forty years before retiring.”
“What an inspiration,” Albert replied. “Before I left, the secretary of the Paris Evangelical Missionary Society gave me his address in the United States. I hope to write to him and let him know there is once again a doctor in Lambaréné. Which structure is the hospital?” he asked as they glided closer to the cluster of buildings.
“Actually, there isn’t one,” Noël replied. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but things haven’t gone as planned. The timber price has skyrocketed lately, and all able-bodied African men are working for the timber merchants. Because we couldn’t offer the same wages here at the mission, men left. We haven’t even been able to get the roofing materials here. It’s a shame, but this is how things are in Africa.” He shrugged, then added, “Even when you think everything has been planned out, anything can go wrong.”
“I see,” Albert replied, struggling to digest the bad news. In two weeks, seventy crates of medical supplies were going to be delivered. Where would he put them all? More important, where would he treat his patients? The Paris Evangelical Missionary Society had promised him a house and a hospital, and he’d promised to do the rest. But how far would he get without the hospital?
The boys paddled closer to shore until they were close enough to jump out and drag the canoe onto the sandy beach. Eager hands reached out to steady Albert and Hélène as they stepped onto the shore. Bright-eyed children gathered around them, touching their clothes and staring up at them. One by one, three Europeans introduced themselves: Noël’s wife, who ran the school; Hélène Humbert, her assistant; and Jacob Kast, a jack of all trades who taught in the boys’ school.
The missionaries led Albert and Hélène up from the river’s edge to their house. As they neared the place, Albert noticed that metal piles raised the structure twenty inches from the ground. The house itself was wooden and had a woven-tiled roof and a wide veranda that ran all the way around it.
A procession of children carried Albert and Hélène’s belongings inside, after which Hélène Humbert escorted them all out again. Albert smiled at their curiosity. He could see that the children wanted to stay and watch everything being unpacked.
Twenty-one days had passed since Albert and Hélène had boarded the Europe at Pauillac in France, and suddenly here they were, in their own home at last. Albert was exhausted. He and Hélène sat down on wooden stools and enjoyed a few moments of silence. Then Albert hoisted a suitcase onto the bed and began to unpack.
Before long a bell rang, and the singsong voices of boys reciting something filled the air. Albert assumed it was nightly prayers, and he and Hélène followed the sound to where the schoolboys gathered with their teachers in front of their dormitory huts. As he listened, Albert was reminded of the primary classes at St. Nicholas Church in Strasbourg, where the children recited prayers aloud in German.
When the children had completed their prayers, Noël led the Schweitzers down the path to his house, where his wife had prepared dinner for them. Albert and Hélène enjoyed the food, though it was different from what they were used to. They ate fried bananas, which had a reddish tinge from being cooked in palm oil, and boiled fish and leaves that reminded Albert of bitter spinach.
After dinner, Mrs. Christol poured cups of hot coffee. “We have coffee bushes here,” Noël told Albert, “and we drink a lot of coffee. It’s better to have boiled drinks when you can. The water here can be dangerous.” Albert nodded, recalling how he’d studied the huge problem of contaminated water during his tropical disease classes in Paris.
Later, Noël led Albert and Hélène back to their new home and waited until they had lit a kerosene lamp. Albert shut the door behind him and set about examining each window opening. The window frames had no glass in them but were covered by stretched mosquito netting. Albert knew that their entire medical mission rested on him and Hélène staying healthy, and one of their biggest challenges would be avoiding malaria. Thankfully, they knew how the disease was transmitted from one person to another. Two years before, Sir Ronald Ross had been knighted by the king of England for discovering that malaria was carried from person to person by mosquitos. Ross learned this in 1897 while working as an army surgeon in India. The latest textbooks Albert had used in medical school included diagrams of mosquito larvae and steps to prevent malaria from spreading. The two most important things were to sleep in a protected room under netting and to make sure there were no bodies of stagnant water—big or small—where mosquitos could breed near your dwelling or workplace.
Lying in bed that night, Albert listened to the strange sounds of the African jungle: cricket chirps, howling that he thought might be monkeys, and the distant beating of drums. He imagined that one day these would all sound as familiar to him as the rattling of trams in the streets of Strasbourg.
