crab sandwich

“No one has to cross if they don’t want to,” Henriette belts out to the group. “I will stay behind with anyone who doesn’t feel comfortable crossing the water.”

There were about 15 of us milling around a picnic table, eating camp potatoes and drinking Portuguese wine while moths went kamikaze on the lantern between us. We were killing time before the purpose of our little excursion: to walk the beach under the light of stars and headlamps to look for nesting sea turtles.

Camp potatoes

Henriette and her husband Tako had organized the trip as part of the Angolan Field Group, which is an organization in Luanda “open to expatriates, Angolans, and anybody who wants to learn more about Angola.” Kelli and Sarah had joined the group one other time and this seemed like a perfect excuse to spend a night on a remote beach south of the capital.

Our crew joined a small team from the marine biology department of Agostinho Neto University to tag along during a field study for its Projecto de Conservacao de Tartarugas Marinhas.

From the Angolan Field Group’s description, the excursion entailed a “5-minute” ride across the Rio Longa to a beach where the turtles come ashore to lay their eggs. Unfortunately, the normal leader and driver of the motorboat had come down with malaria and couldn’t make the trip. This left us with one option: to cross the river in the pitch dark in a small handmade canoe.

Our trusty vessel

Which brings us back to Henriette: “I just want to stress again that no one has to cross the river if they don’t want to.”

Did I mention that crocodiles have been known to frequent this stretch of water? Or that where the Rio Longa empties into the ocean a half-mile downstream the sea is “incredibly rough and dangerous?” And if the crocs or rip currents don’t get you, our fresh-water friend schistosomiasis will take you down.

So please, don’t fall in.

We looked at each other nervously, shrugged our shoulders and then there we were in the dark, diligently waiting our turn for one of the college students to shuttle us across four-at-a-time.

Kelli, Sarah and Martin looking across the Rio Longa to the turtle beach.

“You can use your headlamps to get into the canoe, but once you’re in, please turn them off. It will help the rower see and it will be less frightening for you.”

Easy for you to say.

When our time comes, we sheepishly trudge through the reeds in a single file, our feet sucking and hissing in the mud. We all step in: Sarah and another from the group sit on the middle seat, Kelli finds a place at the bow while I squat between them with a firm grip on the sides of the low-riding canoe.

We push off. Our headlamps go out. Our paddler slowly turns the canoe around and we begin the crossing facing backwards. I hear Kelli behind me quietly whispering words of encouragement and awe. As we steadily glide across the black satin river, the water feels warm on my fingertips. We hold our breaths under a moonless sky and listen to the gurgle, drip and drift of the canoe.

With each paddle stroke, the current gently pushes us downstream until we reach an eddy close to the other side. Another student furiously waves a flashlight like a runway worker, signaling us towards the landing. Our canoe abruptly stops and we leap out with broad smiles and nervous giggles. Our ferryman then turns the boat around and paddles back into the sleepwalking river to fetch the next group.

But did we see any sea turtles? Sadly, no. Not any alive ones, at least. We did come across three or four decomposing turtles that had probably been killed by fishermen’s nets. We also stumbled upon a coiled boa constrictor (?) that hastily made its escape back into the sea.

As the night progressed, I would often walk near the waves, kicking my feet to watch the iridescence within the sand shimmer in the dark. Once the team gave up our search, Kelli and I took a seat on the warm ground and looked up at the sky and out towards the sea. I pointed out some stars low on the horizon—Kelli had never seen the Southern Cross before. We enjoyed the rumble of the surf and the scent of the salt-encrusted air before it was time for our return journey across the dark river.