The mangrove keeps its feet in the water without venturing out to sea, just like the indigenous person who, wise, observes the changes while staying on the sidelines.
There was a neighborhood near Odzala called Makébé that had the particularity of moving over the years. It neither grew nor diminished, but shifted slightly towards the forest. In this region, towns, villages, and hamlets were like parentheses of humanity amidst the dense expanse of the queenly forest.
The situation here was not comparable to the suburbs of Brazzaville, the green city, or the Ponténegrine neighborhood, where black communities gradually colonized the white city. In Makébé, it was a different story. People moved from time to time to maintain a safe distance from the forest and the city. Sometimes other inhabitants became insistent, even oppressive. They seemed eager to dilute their own millennia-old civilization under the pretext of progress or globalization, as they often claimed. To avoid dissolution, the people of Makébé quietly distanced themselves or left in a single season, without looking back or providing any explanation.
One couldn't accuse them of being archaic. For centuries, they had given advice on the use of plants, the habits of animals, and the benefits of mud and stones. They were experts on the fauna, flora, and minerals of the forest environment. Over time, newcomers had learned from them and taken over their lands. No one could accuse them of selfishness. It would have been an insult to their sense of human values. They still welcomed those who preferred to listen to their songs, accompanied by the Ndumu drum, rather than watch television. Without seeking attention, they perpetuated pantomimes in which Zok the elephant taunted the hunter while smoking his pipe. Their genuine altruism was evident. After all, if it pleased them, they had every right to make Makébé a neighborhood of changing dimensions.