The River

Ancient Egyptians called it Aur (black) in reference to the dark sediment carried north from east-central Africa, deposited annually on its banks before reaching the Mediterranean.

For the Nubians it is simply the river.

Mufasa, born and raised on Elephantine Island, says that the river is in his blood.

“I can never leave it.”

Heading out shortly after sunrise,

Mufasa confided that “there is nothing, anywhere, that could bring me more happiness than being on the river.” 

Years ago I spent time with a family on the north shore of Prince Edward Island.  They were seaweed “farmers”.  The farmer’s eldest brother, about Mufasa’s age, lived with the family.  One morning on one of our several walks, he told me that he’d never been more than ten miles from home.

“I have no need, everything is here,” as he pointed to one plant and rock after another, as dear to him as any children he might have had.

Mufasa is like that, drawing my attention to the “little things” as we navigated the passage ways between the small islands rising up from the river’s bottom.

He knows the comings and goings of the vessels that ply its waters.

And the many boatmen who rely on it for their livelihood.

“We are all brothers on the river,” he said, as he called to one after the other,

they returning his call in like kind.

Upon our return, I walked the trail on the quiet side of the island with a greater appreciation of the river’s beauty,

and what it means to those who grow up beside it.

Later, I walked the cross-island trail to the far side, the side that faces Aswan.

There one finds a different river, in some respects, but just as beautiful in its own way,

and those who live near its bank, know its magic as well.

Come the end of the day, and all secure,

the Lady of the Night arrives for those awaiting her.