September 1, 2008
“For me terror manifests itself through clear physical symptoms, an ache that grows behind my knees and a choking dryness in my throat,” writes British journalist Butcher in the preface of this devastating yet strangely exhilarating account of his six-week ordeal retracing the steps of 19th-century explorer H.M. Stanley's Victorian-era travels through the present-day hell that is the Republic of Congo. Setting out into the war-torn, disease-infested backcountry of Congo in 2000 against the wishes of just about everyone in his life—family, friends, editors and a wild assortment of government officials (the corrupt and the more corrupt)—Butcher quickly finds more horror than he'd previously experienced in his 10 years as a war correspondent (“With my own eyes I had peered into a hidden African world where human bones too numerous to bury were left lying on the ground”). His tale is chock-a-block with gruesome details about the brutal Belgian rule of the late 19th century as well as the casual disregard for life on the contemporary scene. Part travelogue, part straight-forward reportage, Butcher's story is a full-throated lament for large-scale human potential wasted with no reasonable end in sight.