Crazy Congo Continues in South Kivu

After the excitement of watching the gorillas H, John and I had a cup of coffee in the Park headquarters talked about the foundation and then set off to go to a monkey sanctuary that we had been told about by another colleague. The weather was beautiful and the scenery was stunning, with the mountains in the background driving through the back roads of the park through the tea plantations that line the hills below the park. It was a bouncy but spectacular drive, and as ever the small children running after the car gave me much delight.

Sadly the monkeys and chimps were in cages, as the new forest enclosure was under construction, but managed to get a hat trick of DRC primates, bonobos, chimps and gorillas whilst out here, which was pretty awesome.

Across from the sanctuary was the most beautifully constructed colonial manner/palace, which wouldn’t have been out of place in the Loire valley, a bizarre reminder of the changing states and faces of this country.

We started to head back towards the city, but as we went through a town John asked if we could stop and see one of his friends on the way through. We weren’t in a rush, so we pulled over unaware of just what we would find when we stopped.

A Congolese villager called David.

Who was building a helicopter.

From scratch.

That would run on perpetual motion.

In the DRC.

(oh and he dropped out of school at 16, and has no engineering education)

I was flabbergasted, and speechless, in spite of the absurdness, the shell that he has created, was structurally sounds and well crafted. He has so much conviction in his ideas that you couldn’t not be impressed.

And for all my cynicism, I really do hope he has a revolutionary idea. For those of you who don’t think that this story could be possible here is a photo of David with his chopper.

We headed on in amazement, and John suggested we stop at a monastery that sold wine and goods that they produced on site. Not only did they produce a variety of different flavoured wines, they sold surprisingly excellent ice cream and yogurt.

This place never ceases to shock and amaze me.   

Kahuzi Behega National Park- Hunting for Gorillas!

On Sunday we had organised through a friend to visit the Kahuzi Behega National Park, the only place in the world where you can see highland gorillas. John, our guide has worked with the Gorillas since he was 18 years old and has set up his own foundation (the PolePole foundation- www.polepolefoundation.org/ ) in the aim of protecting the Gorillas through educating and including the local communities.

We met John at 7.30am and took the car 30kms out up the rolling hills to the park, were we stopped at the Park headquarters to get our briefing. At one point the mountainous park was a haven for wildlife they had 9 family of Gorillas, hundreds of elephants and water buffalo, but all of the elephants and buffalo were killed during the wars in the Kivus, with militia and locals alike trying to find a away to feed their families. They had tens of skeletons of gorillas and elephants that had fallen victim during this time.

We met our rangers, who have been working in the park for years and took the Land Cruiser up the mountain, and one the slippery dirt track towards the spot where the gorillas had been spotted by the guide earlier that morning.  We climbed up the track until we reach a particularly steep spot and the car ground to a halt. The thunderstorm that occurred the night before had left the ground in a frictionless muddy stake more akin to an ice rink than a road.

After a bit of wheel spin, we reversed back down to a decent gradient and made a second attempt. No luck. 

A third attempt.  Much wheel spins and groaning of the car ensued at the same spot, so the guides with their machetes jumped out and tried to reposition the car across the small patch of grass that remained.

Suddenly arms were waving everywhere, hollers and hoods pulled up as they jumped back into the cars to a chorus of BEES! BEES! It turns out the exact spot that we had stopped in the exact point where a swarm of bees had chosen to be. Defeated we reversed back down the hill and got out.

I was wrapped up in a very fetching green poncho and told to pull it tight around my face so that only my eyes were visible. 'Right, if I say run, we run' directed one of the guides - apparently you really do not want to be stung by one of these bees. It made for quite the adventure as we were quick marched up the hill. I felt like Bear Grills and was narrating my imaginary show to my imaginary audience in my head. 'The killer bees are a tricky African beast, you've got to go and you've got to be fast' (said in the bear grills voice of course -otherwise it would just be silly) It had in fact turned out that the swarm had moved on. But was highly entertaining nonetheless and escaped without a sting.

We reached the point where we would enter the jungle, had a small briefing about the family that we were about to see and the do's and don'ts of watching the gorillas; Photos ok, Flash not. Got to wear a mask, if you have to sneeze turn around. Keep back from the gorillas and do as the guides say.

Briefing over, we started our trek into the rainforest, along a narrow 'piste' in a very dense jungle, being hacked by the guides in front of us with their machetes and AK's on their backs. Although the park is now reopened to tourists and without incident it is still a good place for militia to hide, and in case a gorilla goes ape - if you pardon the pun. The guides all local pygmys not taller than 5 foot, with their huge machetes and guns did make me giggle a little - they looked just like little boys kited and painted up in old man make up, making me feel like a giant, as they walked under branches I had to duck under.

We treked through the jungle for a about 45 mins, having to cross streams by cutting down pieces of bamboo, and avoiding thorny vines and stinging leaves that started to make your knees tingle a little through your wet jeans from the moisture left on the vegitation.

We left the jungle and started to walk through the swamp, when we saw a tree rock in the distance - we'd got them!

We masked up to avoid transfer of diseases, coughs and sneezes, and crept up towards the moving trees in the middle of thr swamp. There they were - sitting and having their lunch completely ignoring us, and gettting on with their day. We got closer and close until we were opposite them barely 10ft apart, as they moved from one pace to another. Of course I was probably taking 50 photos a minute, and we spent almost an hour with the family. From the GIANT silver back to several tiny little babies, the family were very content and barely noticed us, as I stood astounded by these gorgeous creatures.

It's very hard to describe how prilivaged I felt at that moment.

After the hour was up (the guides ensure no more contact than an hour a day with tourists) we split up into two groups one taking the short cut towards the road close by -the other back to the car, who would then pick us up.

We waited for ages, before we started to walk up the road because, unsurprisingly, the car had gotten stuck.

In Bukavu -

Driving towards the city along the river, you could almost mistake Bukavu for Lake Garda, or Como. Only small children herding cows and goats, and old ladies carries crushed rocks to be sold, hung across their backs and heads with fabric reminds that this place is not Europe in Congo.

Once you get into the city that illusions shatters completely, you are right back in the hustle and bustle of a sprawling Kinshasaesque city, albeit with a much better view. The road to the city, is also a bit of an anomaly -being relatively smooth, neat and pot hole free, however once you make it into town the roads becomes truly awful, just to make it around town you need a proper 4x4 with a descent clearance. The poor land cruiser - built for just such occasions was being brutally worn by these roads, so that with each bump the back door got a little looser at it tried to break free, squeaking as you go along.

The hotel that we were staying in, was a beautiful hotel called the orchid. Right on the lake with beautiful views, it's a pretty cool spot. I went down to the water to take some pictures when a helicopter came buzzing out of the forest, across the water and landed on a tiny piece of land jutting out from the garden of the hotel. I ask the gardener who it was -Le Patron.

Sadly most of the afternoon was spent working, went to a training centre, where all the policemen and token few women who were learning to drive, wanted their picture taken with the police vehicles, usually you can't take photos of police/military out here so it was a nice opportunity to get some shots, but in the end I had to just put my camera away, when they all started asking for money to congratulate them for finishing training and they wanted me to print my photos then and there- yes, of course I carry a printer everywhere. Then had dinner at 'The Gorilla Bar' at the Coco Lodge Hotel, where I had a pizza cooked on a wood fire, delicious!

My colleague H, had a friend, who had a friend, who lived in Bukavu and such is the expat way, out here that we ended up at their party. He came to the hotel so that we could follow him to his place, where he informed us that this was actually a theme party, the theme of which was national stereotypes. H was wearing pink trousers, so did the East London emo look pretty well, I wish I'd have known as I would have followed our Duchesses lead and put on a shed load more eyeliner- it was not to be though.

The house was right down by the lake, which in the moonlight was just gorgeous. But even more so when I saw that the moon actually had a giant halo of light extending in a circle around it, kind of like a moon dog I suppose- it was pretty magical.

The costumes at the party were hilarious from pharaoh to Frenchies in stripy tops and baguettes to German socks with sandals and Pippy Long stocking - they make a brilliant effort. Usually being quite the fancy dress fan I wish I had been warned. Some welsh guy had even managed to get a blow up sheep in Congo - God bless the bugger!

The next morning in spite of it being a Saturday it was a work morning. Went to the office for some meetings and then out to a police training site just on the outskirts of town, as you enter the compound it wasn't the police that intrigued me, it was that all you could hear around the hillside that the site is based on were children playing. The Congolese are still really into big families (I've been told I should have at least 8 to counteract of the stupid people having loads of babies), so the only noises you can hear are games and babble on hundreds or almost thousands of small children.

We ended up walking up the hill outside of the compound, to visit another part of the site and the usual rush of local kids come to find out what they call in Bukavu - Muzungo- as in the East they speak Swahili not Lingala. However, as we were walking up the hills I spotted a little group carrying jerry cans as big as their torso up the hill. The little girl couldn't quite believe it, when I grabbed the can for her and had a chat as I took the water up the hill for her - the other kids also looked just as shocked.

The kids in the Congo generally love to have their photo taken and they are beautiful kids, but it makes you sad that all these spritely smiley little things should be going to school, but they're carrying their weight in water up the hill. A task no doubt they do countless times a day.

I took alot of pictures of them all, and at one point a little boy pushed a little girl to get into the picture leaving her in tears on the floor with no one to pick her up, so I went over to her picked her up and got her back on her feet, it's amazing what a smile and some kind words will do in spite of the language barriers.

After the mornings work, H and I went back to the hotel where you can hire Kayaks and spent almost 2 hours exploring the lake's shore. There are some seriously amazing houses being built on the shoreline, punctuated by a monstery and bits of forest. Just being out on the water has such a wonderful effect on me, it's seems like I've got a bit of my dads salty blood and love of all things water (although sadly no ridable waves on the lake pops -SUP would be amazing to do there!)

That night we had dinner at the hotel with a bunch of people we had met the night before, and an old french of H's who too was working in Bukavu, it was a really fun interational crowd and the people's stories out here never continue to amaze me. So well stocked and run is the hotel, you get an amuse bouche when having dinner and they even served magret de canard, with the moonlight sparkling on the lake.

Excursion out to the Kivus - Getting to Bukavu.

On Friday I went to Bukavu, with a colleague for work, Bukavu is a city in the east of the DRC on the border with Rwanda, set on Lake Kivu, about 2000kms from Kinshasa.

As one can imagine, the domestic airlines in the DRC leave much to be desired, in fact there is only one remaining commerical airline that is allowed to operate after several incidents with the other Congolese airlines, which if you imagine how bad safety standards would need to be to shut down an airline in the DRC, is pretty horrific.

As such, PwC only allow us to travel on UN flights (thankfully with a much better safety record). This means going to a separate UN terminal at the airport in Kin, made of stacked portacabins- such is the transient but permanent nature of the UN in Congo. You wait with a bunch of NGO and UN military until they call your name, whilst on the wall there is a large poster stating all the safety incidents they've recently had - not a great way to instill confidence on your soon to be passengers.

They weigh your bags and give you your boarding pass, which is a laminated piece of paper, you then have to pay the obligatory 'tax' which happens to change price each time you go before you sit on plastic chairs for hours on end while you wait for your flight.

The flight itself was without incident and surprisingly operated by a Mexican airline, it's not often you hear a heavy Mexican lilt in DRC, specially over a tannoy system. As we arrived a couple of hours later, I was struck by the mountainous region below me, a never ending strip of lush green jungle to one side meeting a deep blue lake on the other, it really reminded me of flying into Geneva, a sentiment that stuck throughout the trip. Bukavu the Geneva of Africa- who knew.

As you wait for your bags in the UN terminal in Bukavu, along with numerous posters about AIDS and variousUN programmes, there was a giant canvas, upon which there was a photo of 3 UN tanks rolling through a Congolese village with the giant strapline , 'Market Domination'. I'm not quite sure what market the UN tanks were trying to dominate in what seemed to be a small African village, but it was entertaining none the less, I hope it was something that got lost in translation.

Leaving the airport and looking around the lush green mountains that had seemed so small, had taken on huge proportions, rolling hills reaching higher and higher, each silhouetted by the following range. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

Our driver Charles came out to meet us and promptly carried my bosses bags, leaving me - the woman- struggling with my big back pack, UN worst country in the world to be a women - you forget how different attitudes are sometimes.

We started the hour journey from the airport to the town, which I spent just trying to take in the stunning scenery. After the denseness, chaos and man made city that is Kinshasa, to be surrounded by open space, soaring mountains and a view of the huge blue lake, much nicer than the chocolate river past the city.

The water, the green, the open space reminded me so much of home, which made me smile.

The Halloween Hash

So most of you know about my hashing now but, a couple of weekends ago we had Kinshasas first fancy dress Halloween Hash. Yup, that's right a bunch of mundelli running around the suburbs of Kinshasa in costumes ranging from Fairies to Gadaffi. Too soon?

Along the lines of Gadaffi, I discovered that the only costume I could really do with the items I had available to me in Kinshasa, was Amy Winehouse: eye liner, hairspray, purple eyeshadow for bruises = job done. A good costume choice in that most of the locals just thought I looked a little 'tete en panne'(mental) rather than offenses or down right bizarre.

Unlike the other hashes I have done, this one was through Kinshasa itself, so as photographer with my rather nice SLR, I was assigned Gaddafi to run with me, to protect me from any Shegues (think more deprived hoodies) from trying to get their mitts on my camera. Gaddafi and Amy Winehouse, makes you think they might be meeting in the great beyond. Well, most of the locals actually though that our Gaddafi was really related to the original, something which he encouraged. The locals LOVED it, cheers of 'To Libya!', 'Running from the UN' and 'Which way to the desert?!' puncuted the run.

At one point we lost the trail and had to go back on ourselves to find the right path, not cool in the 34degree midday city heat. As we set off again, the usual scores of children decided to run with us, the outfits entertaining them even more than usual.We ran through the little venice of Kinshasa, well massive open drains and sewers, that kinda of looked like toxic green canals.

On the way round we were all sharing insights into this country we call home, and I told Gadafi about Hee-Haw (Foreigner) , before I knew it he had all the little kids running with us singing US Army styles running songs, with Hee-Hew, and the kids echoing his call. AMAZING. Then a guys started to run with us singing, Chinese, the kids replied Hee Haw, Francais, Hee Haw, Anglais, Hee Haw, Allemand, Hee Haw. It was hilarious.

Not your average sunday in Kinshasa.

Day 2 of the Bas Congo Adventures- The river, Hee-Haws, White Witches and Suicide chickens

After the adventures of the Chutes we felt like we had done the falls, so after getting up and having a very overpriced ‘American’ breakfast,  we decided to take the long was back and have a bit of a road trip. The guide from the chutes’ son needed a lift back to Kinshasa so we brought him along too, and he turned out to be quite the guide. We drove up along the river and over the damn that supplied the hydroelectric power to the hotel.  It was a bit of a rackety bridge but we made over safely, and started driving through the countryside.

What strikes you when driving around on the dirt road is just how red the earth is, it reminded me a little of Devon in fact, swiftly followed by the utterly depressing blood diamond, but I digress- it was beautiful.

As we drove over the rackety bridge there was a military check point, 2 army guys and a guy from the hotel, who was obviously the boss. Rich(er) apparently trumps unarmed military in Congo, however they insisted we needed a guide so one of the military guys hoped in the back of the Land Cruiser and off we went again. Well, it turns out that the military guy didn’t speak a word of French, only Lingala- fat lot of use but we had the guides son who helped translate. 

The road isn’t wasn’t really a road, more earth that had been cut away by the Chinese, however it was less bumpy than it could have been so phanque.  As you drive through the villages by the side of the roads the kids scream, ‘Muuuuunnnndeeeelliiiiii’ so we asked the guides son what the Chinese are called in Lingala. Answer: Hee-Haw. Like a donkey braying. It’s actually a generic word for foreigner, but it was entertaining none the less.

We were following the river, and ended up off roading on the road, around a rather precarious corner to make it down to the river bank lined with beaches. As we turned the corner we saw a massive mud slide, exposing the purple earth , creating a red and purple striations down the 100ft cliff side.

The view was stunning, there was nothing you could see but river, fields, and giant black volcanic bounders, nothing human apart from one small wooden hut that a local family lived in.  I put the flower from my hair as a little act of puja, like I did in the Ganges, and felt very lucky indeed.

We hit the road and drove towards Kisantu, a town in Bas Congo that has a Cathedral and Botanical Gardens.  As this point we dropped off the army man, gave him a fiver and sent him on his way. He wanted copies of the photos I had taken, so asked him if he had an email address? nope. Do you know anyone with an email address? Nope. Well then there’s not much I can do – he wasn’t best pleased. Shame.

So I was sat in the front seat, being the photowhore that I usually am and saw a cute little boy pushing his bike and took a picture, H who was driving slowed down a bit so I could get a better shot, and the little boy and his friend FREAKED OUT. They dropped all their stuff, including the bike and ran.

We scared the shit out of them, if you excuse my french, apparently some people here still believe that taking pictures takes part of your soul. A bunch of white people in a massive white car, apparently I look like a white witch. I tried to call out to them to say it was OK, then realised that they probably don't speak french as was just scaring them more- oops. We drove on and hoped we hadn't left them too scarred by the experience!

Now apart from the children (and sometimes grown ups) screaming mundelli, the other feature of the little village chickens. I’m pretty sure that the ‘Why did the chicken cross the road?’ joke started in Congo, as soon as they saw the car coming they would run into the road. This caused several near misses, and even some flying feathers, it became the joke of the trip. SUICIDE CHICKEN! We’d all scream out (including the guides son) when one would run into the road.  

Other highlights of the drive include: dancing driving on mud Top Gear style, more insane Congolese people piled high on top of cars, lorries and vans. Watching 2 whole villages walking to watch their local warrior fight the other, all chalked up.

News spread fast in Congo....

A mosqutio has found out just how delicious I am and told all of his buddies. I now look and feel like I've some bizarre form of chicken pox.

I could not smell more strongly of the smell of the expat - Eau de DEET - if I tried, and yet still I am too delicious to ignore.

(itch itch)

Congolese Transport and Chutes de Zongo

I’ve come back from my first weekend outside of Kinshasa and boy what a weekend it has been! K, H and I went to the Chutes de Zongo, a waterfall about 100kms away from Kinshasa.

We jumped up early on Saturday morning to hit the road in the 4x4 which as we closed the doors realised stank.  It was at that moment H decided to tell us that when he used the car for a work trip the week before, had bought raw meat with our Congolese colleagues that had sat in the boot for a good 5 hours.  Not the best of starts.

Nevertheless we headed out of familiar Gombé and slowly snaked our way out of the city in Kins terrible traffic, by the time we made it out of the city and out to the road that heads west towards the Atlantic we’d already been in the car an hour.  But the view of the country rolling on and on made it all worthwhile.

Now for those of you that haven’t been to Africa, driving along the main, thankfully tarmac roads is quite a spectacle.  You will never cease to be surprised, entertained and downright scared silly of inventive (and sometimes stupid) ways in which people get themselves from A to B.  I add below just a couple of examples below, for you all to make up your own minds.

None of these are photo shopped. Sometimes I couldn’t bear to watch as the guys on the outside of the car happily hanging on at 80km/hr going around a corner s the G’s start to hit.

The Congolese also know how to pack car. These poor little peugots get a thorough work out.

The drive into Bas Congo- the region where the Chutes are was truly beautiful, and after another 2 hours we turned off the main road onto the 40km track to the hotel. The ‘road’ the richest red earth you’ve ever seen, had been re excavated by the Chinese so was in surprisingly good condition. 

We made it to the Zongo without incident, and checked into the hotel, Seli Safari (there are no real animals of note there so not sure quite why they named it safari- very Congolese.) Aside from the bizarre name of the place, by Congolese standards this was the Ritz; large rooms right on the river by the falls, powerful shower, running water, 24/7 electricity. Ok so there were ants in the bathroom, and the mosquito screen was missing. This was as good as it gets in Congo –if only it had AC. Shame.

After 5 hours in the car, we freshened up and went with our guide out to the top of the waterfall. Standing on the edge looking down, with the water roaring, it’s quite the sight.  We went at the beginning of the rainy season with the river comparatively low, but this didn’t take away from its magnificence at all, studying the cauldrons carved into the rock faces that the water had pummelled away, I think it made it rather magical.

Next we hike around the valley to view the falls face on rather than from above they were stunning and I felt like I was in Jurassic park....until I noticed the stupid power lines that ran down the valley. In a continent where millions live without power they put power lines down through this beautiful area. Although I was at least glad they were making use of the natural resource that Congo is most blessed with- Water.

But nothing could ruin my mood on the next part of the excursion, always a fan of getting wet. We hiked down towards the base of valley on the opposite side to the falls to ‘shower’ in the spray that is kicked up. My favourite part of the day, we ran in and got a thorough soaking.

The guides started to cry out and encourages us to do the same, which seemed a little odd at first but felt wonderfully primal, apparently it’s to attract the little river crabs that then come out, but I have a sneaking suspicion the guides just like to watch the mundelli, shouting like a goon as they get soaked.

It was a wonderful, wonderful way to escape the city.

We ate dinner in a little paiotte,  a terrace right on the river, with a bottle of wine, with the thundering  of the falls in the background. After dinner we when to the bar, and I took much glee in ordering a turbo king. The face on the bar man was priceless! Equality in Congo, one beer at a time.

Salopettes, Coffins and Hashing in the African Heat.

The next day was Sunday and this Sunday was a hash day- which happens fortnightly. As usual we gathered at the Grand Hotel and set off in a convey  hazards blazing out through the chaos of Kinshasa, out through the even more chaotic suburbs and out east into the countryside. Now usually this happens without event, perhaps one or two cars of the 15 or so  lose sight of the convoy, but that day we ended up stopping.

As the 3^rd or so car we had no idea why but we waited patiently, and then sure enough out of the tiny side road we needed to go down came streams of people singing and dancing. What we saw next therefore came as a bit of shock. This wasn’t a party, but a funeral party. With 6 young guys carrying the coffin on their shoulders with everyone singing and dancing around them, it was not a sight you’d see back in Europe, funerals here are a huge affair attended by anyone who had even remotely heard of the deceased. Even the bearers were jumping up and down to the beat, which was making the lid of the coffin –that was tied on with cloth slide open.

Not what we were expecting, but the crowd slowly passed without incident and we turned down the narrow unmade road out to the meeting spot where we were to start the run, again we stopped.

There was another coffin to come. This time however we were already down the tiny road with cars in front and behind us there was nothing we could do. We sat as the 100’s of people included the coffin and it’s carriers squeezed through the narrow lane. This time the atmosphere was not so jovial, annoyed that we had blocked the road, and always looking for a buck, they started to crowd the cars and bang on the windows. It was time to get moving even if it meant, fulfilling the stereotype of obnoxious mundelli in our big 4x4’s, this was not a place to be hanging around.

Slowly we edged forward and the crowd starting thinning and we made it back on to top road. I can only imagine what the locals were thinking as a convey of white people in their big cars, sped down the little roads past their houses- this was obviously not an everyday occurrence.

We started the hash in the car park of a school, already a small bunch of local kids had come to see what we were up to and what all the fuss was about. I been deliberating whether or not to take my digital SLR on a 10k run, but my god am I glad I did!

To all the kids amusement off we started running through the countryside and towns and villages, it was stunning and as we ran through each village more children came out to join us, I kid you not when I say that by the end of the 10k we had about 80 kids who thought we red panting people were just hilarious.

However there were a couple of highlights:

·         A 9 yr old boy called Joseph who ran the whole 10k with me without any water – I immediately gave him my back up water from the car when we got back.

·         Meeting a small young girl who in the African midday heat was wearing suitable attire- Neon Pink Salopettes.

·         Meeting another young girl in a Playboy top- the pose says everything and she didn’t even know what playboy was.

Brilliant day- such fun and am slowly getting better at running in the 32 degree heat. It was certainly a day I will never forget.

Save the last dance, Expats and Mexican Food in Congo.

Save the last dance, Expats and Mexican Food in Congo.

After my food adventures last Saturday with my hostess I went to a local ‘boite’ (nightclub), now I’ve been to a couple of bars since arriving in Kinshasa but they’ve always been a mix of expats and well to do locals.

As I entered this nightclub, it reminded me of the scene in save the last dance where Julia Styles walks into the club and everyone stares at the white girl, and wait in anticipation of amusement of her ‘white moves’ well -that was me.

However I did not fully disgrace myself, I even got a round of applause from a group as I departed the stage.  Now we’ve all seen girls who dance in the mirror at clubs, hell we’ve all shot a glance at ourselves to make sure we’re not looking as stupid as we feel at points.

But let me tell you the Congolese women take this to a whole new level. They vie for the positions directly in front of the mirror where they can watches themselves for hours....I literally saw a girl who did not take her eyes of herself in the time it took me to have 3  G&T’s.

Honestly, I cannot understand why they don’t just stay at home put some tunes on and do it there. I found this muchos bizarre indeed, especially as most of these women are shall we say ‘working’ (known here as Femmes Libre), you’d think they’d pay a little less attention to themselves but heyho.

So after a week of hellishly busy work, I went to a friend from the US embassy party, well a friend of a friend’s party. Anyone who has been travelling in SE Asia, will tell you how you can meet people, who you randomly befriend, who knows someone, who knows someone, who heard about this thing that we all should go to as a group and you all rock and it’s the more the merrier.

Well, the expat community in Kin la Poubelle  is like that here, you can happily rock up to a party with someone who kind of knows the host, and you will be welcomed with open arms and a cool beer. The expats out here are awesome, a really mix of people, but we all have something in common that binds us together, the fact that we all have the balls to drop our lives at home and to adventure on out here knowing few to no people.

It’s a sort of filtering mechanism that means almost everyone you meet is someone interesting and game for a laugh, and happy to enfold you into the group, which makes for a much more interesting time for everyone; this during a week where I have been alone in my big house has been a saving grace.

(Sorry I didn’t tell you mum that I was alone in the house – didn’t want you to worry.)

Saturday was spent chilling by my pool with a few of the people from Fridays party, which was only the 1^st time I’d actually spent any time in the pool here, except the one day that I spent in the sports club Elais, which has an epic 5m diving board, but was the first time I used my pool.

Now of the people I was with one was Mexican and one was from Texas, they LOVE Mexican food, so after we have sufficiently bored ourselves of pool and doing nothing, we jumped in the car to  go to the supermarket and attempt to make Mexican food.

Now this isn’t as crazy as it seems, the US diplomats here basically have a US address which mean they get tonnes of care packages from friends and family. This means that all the food stuff of my childhood: reeces, pancakes, Tostitos, betty crocker cake/cookie/brownie mix and TexMex ingredients are in plentiful supply. Needless to say these new friends turned out to be my best friends who could keep me hopped up on American goodies.

So we ended up having a Mexican dinner on the rooftop terrace of my friend’s apartment, overlooking the Congo river, as the sun set and a lightning storm hit Brazzaville on the other side of the river. –INSANELY COOL.

Culture shocks, food adventures, men's business and other things of note.

It has been a while since I last posted. Work has been crazy busy and with my WONDERFUL trip to South Africa. I'm out of the habit of writing- so it's time to get back into it.


So anyone who has read my earlier blogs will have heard about the magic concoction which is Tango Congo - The drink that claims to be the miracle cure for everything from hiccups to malaria. In fact it tickled me so much that I had it as a background on my PC.

Just before I left for SA one of the technicians came over to hook up my PC to one of the printers and saw the background. He asked where I bought it and I told him I got it from Peloustore and wasn't it amazing. He agreed and we had a good laugh over what I thought was something hilariously ridiculous......he wasn't.


I was later informed by my colleague that he had indeed gone to the store especially to buy this 'miracle cure', with all sincerity....O....M......G. Culture shock right there. That an educated, lovely guy believed in the claims enough to go out and spend his hard earned cash on a drink that tastes like this...

However, don't think I'm small minded about the food of other cultures in the last week I have tried Crocodile (very fatty) and chips, and went to dinner at one of the local girls who I work with house for dinner.


There I had my first chance of eating real homemade Congolese food. H and I went and picked up one of our other Congolese colleagues and drove out of the Gombe area (the South Ken of Kinshasa) out through Ma Compagne (like the Putney) and out to let Bidwan I think it was called. We were now in Kinshasa where the Kinois live. (However the colleague that we picked up was one of the head's of the Congolese police so wasn't worried at all and neither should you mum!)


Well Congolese traffic isn't great, as I'm sure you can imagine the state of the average Congolese car isn't great leading to numerous breakdowns and a huge amount of congestion as everyone tries to manouvre around said cars. At one point our colleague jumped out and started direction traffic himself, which was somewhat like if Rudolf Giuliani jumped out and started directing traffic in Brooklyn.

Eventually we made it to N's house and sat down for dinner, which consisted of:


Smoked fish - yummy

Poondu - the spinach like stuff - decent

Fu Fu - balls of flour you roll up and eat with your hand - bland but harmless

and


Grubs- I didn't know what they were and I decided not to ask until I had finished my plate. If only I was on I'm a celebrity get me out of here and I would have been paid a mint. But I sufficed with pleasing my host who had been kind enough to open her home and share her food with me - so clean plate it was.

Now, there is one beer in Congo which is the equivalent of the Yorkie chocolate bar - It's not for girls. In fact their strap line is Affaire D'Homme - (Man's Business. ) This of course intrigued me greatly, and like a small child told not to open the door- I asked for a Turbo King.

Watch the video to truely understand:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2f0-_tP9Q0

I was met with a reaction of amusement and horror, 'but I was a girl!' 'It's not for women!' 'You won't like it! That's insane! ' But my obliging host poured me a glass and watched in amazement at a woman drinking Turbo King.


One giant step for equality in the DRC. Result.

Day 16 and 17- Rat!!

So I had heard there was a rat that had been in the house when I first moved in but heard the housekeeper had put poision down so thought so more about it.

Until...

I came home from dinner with my colleagues and came home and went to my room shutting the door behind me. It was at this point I saw a brown flash across the floor, and the noise. That scurry of claws, that makes your skin crawl.

It was in. my. room.

 EUUUUGGHHH!

There it was. Behind the my luggage. My clean clean clothes, tainted by rat. I saw it and it saw me........a stand off ensued.

Who would be the first to move? Why didn't it scurry away back from wence it came?  Ohhhhh....I was in the way of the shut door. It needed to made a bid for freedom but had no where to go.

I open the door and it ran out right past my feet. Needless to say the door was almost shut again on it's tail.

This infact gave me some solace, if it had another escape route it would have taken it. The fact that it waited for me to open the door suggests it's the only entry/exit point in the room.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it...anything to sleep at night!

Day 15- OMG MY FEET ITCH LIKE MAD

So yesterday when we finished the run, I took my trainers off as having waded through a stream I  considered it safer to remove my shoes than continue to leave my (slighty blistered and raw) feet in shoe that was soaked through with water that probably contained parasites that cause Schistosomiasis. You know that disease people learnt about in geography also known as the snails disease that can cause paralysis?

OK, ok  so that might be me being paranoid, the lettuce debacle all over again.

The fact of the matter is. I took my shoes off. By a lake. In late afternoon. With the repellent I put on earlier washed and sweated away hours ago.The result?

I got bitten.....alot. It seems like the mosquito's had fun  drawing patterns on my feet. I have 3 big ones in a line on the arch of my foot that have joined to form a mega itch, and it's just on the right place to rub on my shoe...resulting in further itchiness, and distracting me from doing any work no matter how much cream or spray I put on them.

Bollocks.

Day 14- Run forrest! 10K with the Kinshasa Hash House Harriers

Day 14

I woke up this morning at a leisurely 9.30 and went and ate breakfast out on the veranda, which lovely.  H and I then went to a local market called the Marche de valeur (the value market), more commonly known as the marche des voleurs (the market of thieves- for the extortionate prices they charge you if you don’t haggle). It a cute little place, just an empty plot of land where 100’s of people are selling their art, masks, statues etc. There is a constant chorus of ‘madame regarde’. You really have to haggle, and be persistent but there are a few things I’ll buy when I go back some of the paintings are really cute.

By the time we managed to leave the market I went straight to the grand hotel to join in with the Kinshasa hash harriers. A group of expats that go on fornightly hash in different areas around Kinshasa.  For those of you who don’t know what a hash is it’s basically a long run that has been set out before hand and you run to checkpoints and have to search for the correct trail as they deliberately set ‘false trails’. The hash was by a lake called lac ma vallee that was 40 mins drive, so I jumped in the convoy with a family from Cameroon who had been in Kinshasa for 7 years who were so sweet.

Today there were three flavours   of hash 3k, 5k, or 10k. Out of bravery, or stupidity, I picked the 10k. In the midday African heat. O M G.

Not only was it in the midday heat but it was through jungle, bush and even a river, well a stream but I got wet enough it might has well as been! But inspite of the pain everyone was  lovely cheering each other on and the scenery was so spectacular and felt so good  to be out of the city and running through the countryside, I managed to make it all the way round. At one point we had been running for about 3K and bumped into a local lady who was carrying a massive bag of fire wood on her head. I have no idea where she was coming from or going, but I’m glad we bumped into her, I even manged to pull out my camera in time to grab a pic as I ran.

The funniest thing about the hash is the post hash review. Everyone gets in a big circle with beers, to rehydrate, and sings  songs. The hash ‘virgins’ have to come up and introduce themselves and down a beer as the rest of the group sings, same with the leavers, the hash hero/heroine, and as punishment for anyone found to have taken short cuts. It’s like fresher’s, nothing like introduce a bit of university style drinking to the DRC.

I’m pretty sure they have their own Kangaroo court at somepoint in the year and have their own hash names that you get given for life. Someone today was dubbed shoeless Joe Jackson for turning up in flipflops. Big oops. So now I am pretty broken, a few scratches from running through the jungle, and no doubt sore muscles tomorrow. I came home with some guys and girls from the American embassy who were such fun and great to meet new people, but I  COULD. NOT. WAIT for a shower.

 Got home .................and the water pump was broken. No running water ....now I’m Africa -so instead I jumped in the pool to shower and headed out for a pizza.

Amazing day, so much fun and am now ready for bed!

Day 13- Moving into the Castle, and life beyond the castle walls

 Today I was moving from my hotel out to the project house with the rest of the team. They put us in a hotel to start with as a bit of a buffer to find our feet with all amenities on site, and not having to fend for yourself, but now I’m in the house it feels like this is much more long term. Like I am actually living in Kinshasa not just passing through.

Packing up my stuff and slugging it the mile and a half across town,

The house is lovely, old Belgian almost art deco house with a pool and tonnes of entertaining space – 'which has been nicknamed 'the castle' you can imagine the fun the original owners had in here. It’s now in a little complex of houses in a populated area. But in the garden are trees that are jungle tress 100’s of years old. With the way the city is now it’s easy to forget that is place was all dense jungle, and I wish I could have seen this place in it’s heyday. It would have be utterly spectacular. 

Sadly my room is under renovation so had to borrow K’s room while she is on a trip out to one of the pilot sites back east. The room is so large we call it the bowling alley. Unfortunately there is one small step which prohibits the actual use of the room as a bowling alley but I foresee it double up as an exercise study once K gets back. We’ve been using 5L water bottles as kettle bells. (Full of course).

When driving over from the hotel, and driving up the long private road to the complex where the house sits, we came across a couple who were screaming at each other, picking up rocks and hurling them at each other literally looking like they were trying to kill each other.  The woman was bleeding,  although giving as good as she was getting. But the look in their eyes was just awful. My boss was driving at the time and manovered the car in between them to try and give the girl a moments rest. (Mummy you will be happy to know that I was safely locked inside the car.)

Apparently, the woman was known to him a lady with mental illness who occasionally walked down our road to build fires and sleep. The attitude towards mental illness in this country is like in the middle ages, to be laughed at and then told to bugger off.  It was horrifying to watch, but there was literally nothing we could do. My boss tried to calm the man down it it quite quickly became clear that he too was not sound of mind, and by this time the local security guards had heard the racket going on and were trying to intervene. So that was it we drove off back into the safely of our little fortress, in our beautiful castle. It didn’t feel good.

When you think about what sort of people they could be if they received with the help that we have at home, and the fact that these clearly unstable people have to fend for themselves, outcast, it’s terrible. And yet, out here worse things happen and are happening every day. The people out on the streets, trying to scrape together a living, and all the terrible things I with my sheltered upbringing am yet to comprehend. One of my colleagues put it like this, ‘when you think of each of these people as an individual, it breaks your heart, so you think of them as society so that you don’t become depressed’. It’s something that we do all the time you can feel bad for a nation in despair but when you times that by the individual pain of the millions of people, it’s so hard not to be consumed by it. So you divide it by the lowest common denominator, a survival mechanism perhaps.

It made my think twice about not spending that $5 on whatever the person is trying to sell me and getting more involved in volunteering while I am here.

Followed swiftly by my second survival instinct- Ice cream. H who is one of the guys in the house and I were shattered from our night out on Friday so went to get ice cream and have an early night.

Days 11 and 12- Rumble in the Jungle, Ibiza and being a VIP

When I started this blog I said I couldn’t promise it would be entertaining, witty or even up to date, and now I’ve missed a couple of days oops. At least I’m honest.

Gosh, it’s quite tough remembering what happened 2 days ago, as time passes so quickly here something to do with the physically shorter days- sunset at 6.00pm is hard to get used to, and the fact that things take longer to get done results in days flying past.

2^nd of September. That was a Thursday. What on earth did I do on Thursday? Hmm. Obviously nothing exciting. On to day 12.

Day 12.

So Friday evening one my colleagues asked if I wanted to go to a boxing match. Oh now I remember what I did on Thursday!

I went to the British Embassy’s quiz night and got thoroughly beaten. At least we didn’t come last( we came second to last). Suppose that’s what you get when you turn up late and only have 3 people on your team instead of the 7 the others did. Heyho.

Back to the boxing match, I’ve never watched a boxing match in my life, but as Kinshasa is famous for ‘the rumble in the jungle’ I thought I should educate myself and go. So went with 2 of the people from work, to the Surf Club for the match.  What I didn’t know was this was a big deal boxing match- being televised across DRC. We bought $20 tickets and ended up in the VIP section, ringed in sat at table with waitress service, in a sports centre that had been done up for the occasion.

The cheap seats at the top however was where all the action was going down even before the match. Now anyone who has been to Congo will know that these guys are like Italians when they talk, loud, passionate and with lots of gesturing, and man were they all excited and psyched up for the matches, singing songs about their boxers, trying to get under the skins of the oppositions fans, some fisticuffs ensued, but nothing major.

What I don’t understand was how lively and excited they were, when there was so much weed being smoked, it seemed the whole of the sports centre was being ‘hot boxed’ , so much so that I’m surprised that the crowds weren’t giggling and trying to locate the nearest food source, rather than getting hyped up and excited about the match.

The boxing itself was really good, and I started to understand why it is considered a sport, rather than just an excuse to be violent, so definitely an eye opener for me, and something I rather enjoyed watching, even though I did lose 1000 Congolese francs to my colleague in a bet, although I maintain that I should have won.

Ok so it was only a 60p bet but her contender had to be carried out of the ring! My guy was disqualified for hitting below the belt, but my guy was 2 foot shorter and was just punching at waist height for him, and was winning anyway. I maintain it was a technical knockout. (See I learnt something!)  He might have been almost officially a midget but man could this guy fight.

After this we went to a bar in Kinshasa called Ibiza bar. Far from being full of techno and house ravers, they have a live band that play a mix of samba, Congolese and salsa music, apparently the bar hasn’t changed in a decade and it seems like the whole expat population is in there on a Friday night. And at $15 a gin and tonic they sure must do well out of it, don’t fix it if it ain’t broke.

We danced until 2am, inbetween people watching at the bar, (Val you would love this place people watching, the numerous characters around the place are hysterical to observe. )

From here everyone jumps in their cars and drives over to a bar called VIP. A bizarre place full of the local Lebanese and Bengali who run the town, pretty much any place you want to go it be it ice cream, patisserie, super markets are all run by these guys.Which leads to an interesting musical repertoire but it’s also one of the only places I’ve been that plays up to date western music, well suited to my penchant for dancing :)

You can spot all the Lebanese guys a mile off, with their uniform of white shirts, jeans and white shoes. It's quite hilarious.

VIP reminded of fusion for a a number of reasons.

1. The decor
2. Cheesy music
3. The sheer number of 16 year olds in the place, swigging smiroff. (it's not often I feel old in a club!)

By 3am it was bed time and we all jumped in the car and heading home, with ringing ears, and ready to crash.

Day 10- Frogs (of the Congolese, not French Variety)

Today there was the first rain of the wet set season. I was expecting it to be a thunderous tropical affair, cords of water raining down from fat clouds, but it was a very light drizzle.

 English style....

.... rather disappointing in fact.

However, this was enough for the frogs who came out of their hiding to a crescendo of croaking as the sunset. This was something that I had been told about, but  I didn’t think that a little drizzle would invoke such a massive change for these little creatures. But it did and I am still waiting for my first tropical rain in Africa :( a sentiment I will probably regret once the wet season is in full swing and it’s hot as hell and humid and the frog chorus would have started to wear a little thin too by then.

Hmm maybe should do a little sun dance instead....

Not much more has gone on today, instead of rambling on about my attempts at exercising in my room and that I showered and ate boring food and finished my book. I’ll leave you with a few facts out the town I’m currently calling home....

Kinshasa:

• Second largest city in the sub Saharan Africa
• Main language spoken are Lingala and French
• Population: More than 10 million!!!
• Elevation: 3000 meters above sea level
• Founded by Henry Morton Stanley in the year1881.
• It was named as Leopoldville, in honour of King Leopold II of Belgium
• The city lies just opposite to the city of Brazzaville, which lies at the north bank of Congo and is the capital of the Republic of Congo. This is the only place in the whole world where two national capital
• Residents are known as Kinois
• The largest French-speaking city in the world.

Day 9 - Jurrasic Shellfish and Tiny Tears in Dollar Bills- More Ups and Downs in DRC

K and I decided after work to once more venture across the road to the supermarket (crossing the road has become our little mountain to climb)- again this went without incident and we happily loaded up our baskets with apples, tonic water, snacks and other goodies. However check out was a little more interesting.

The Congolese francs are in horrific condition generally, and have lived a life that I quite frankly prefer to be ignorant of – as long as I’ve got my hand sanitizer, I’m fine. These notes can be traded in whatever condition you like, but dollar bills they scrutinise for any folds, cracks, or tears like their life depends on it.

It turns out there was a tear that was literally 1mm in my $50 bill, and nope, it was flatly refused. At first I couldn’t see why, from a normal hand to eye ratio it seemed perfectly intact,   the trained Congolese eye at checkout however, started a rapid tirade in what I think was lingala  (the local language) or was speaking French at the speed of light.

I argued my case, it was tiny, I had no other notes, and after a 5 minute debate, they went to talk to the manger. Now I don’t know what they were doing back there but it took them about 20 mins to determine if the note was good tender. ..............It wasn’t -at least in their eyes.

So after another 5 minute debate about the change they already gave me in francs, which to add insult to injury contained a Congolese frank at was literally sello taped up.  K bailed me out with a 10 which was acceptable to them combined with my numerous crappy francs.

Lesson learned – the Congolese are anal about dollar bills, and I’m going to have to learn to be so too.

After that exciting event, and a successful trip back across the road, it was dinner time and one of my bosses invited me to dinner with him and another girl from the team.

We went to a restaurant called le roi de cossa, the king of Cossa. Now cossa cossa is a Congolese shell fish from the congo river and these badboys are like radioactive prawns. They are literally a prawn the size of small lobsters, served shell on with tonnes of garlic- now that’s more like it.

We even had to be bib’d up and get our hands in- Val you would have been proud.

I’ll try and upload some pictures when I get the chance this evening- as these have to be seen to be believed.

All in all a much more successful tasting of Congolese food- so long as I remember to check my bill when I get my change.