You know you’re in Africa before you even leave the flight. Immediately everyone jumps up and tries to squeeze down the aisles saying, “Je dois retrouver mes baggages!..I must get my bags!” Well, yes you do but so does everyone else on the plane and the doors aren’t even open yet, plus, you are squeezing me into a non exist space between the seat and another person -who then looks at you like you’re intentionally trying to grope them. Pleasant.
Getting to the door of the plane, the familiar hit of hot humid air reaches you and things start to get a little better. In fact it was pretty pain free going through the terminal and through immigration, which was a pleasant surprise. However the orderly queues of immigration immediately disintegrate the moment you hit the baggage carousel.
You’d think someone was handing out gold bars by the way everyone packs their way to the front, as the crowd 4 people thick, manage somehow to cram together tighter and tighter, anyone behind this wall of people hasn’t got a chance in hell of spotting their bags and even if they did by the time they made it to the front it would have been back out by the plane. So there is no place in the Kinshasa airport baggage reclaim for, ‘apres-vous’. Nope it’s time to push your way through the seeming impenetrable crowd, with numerous ‘merci’s and “pardon monsieur” in order to avoid any tempers flaring and fisticuffs.
To my endless gratitude, to whatever higher power there may be BOTH of my bags turned up in quick succession as well as those of my boss, and within 15 minutes we were piled up and on our way out of the airport, where we were met by our driver Papi, to take us back to our respective homes.
Having landed at 7pm it was dark by the time we hit the road, and driving is Kinshasa is shall we say....interesting. It was not too dissimilar to the traffic in India however, at least in India drivers stop for pedestrians. In DRC you have no such luck and I’m glad I learnt from the inside of the car perspective, rather than being the pedestrian!
It would make you think that crossing the road is a rare occasion, but the numerous locals out socialising on the street by candles and paraffin seem to treat this as a pastime, a sort of Congolese chicken if you will, which in turn makes the driving more interesting as cars and ‘taxi buses’ piled up with 40 people swerve at full pelt to avoid the pedestrians, but without the hassle of slowing down.
Something that amused me greatly is the taxibuses which are retired minibuses, with a hole cut out of them and somehow revived - which are painted like the Scooby Doo mystery machine, in primary blue and yellow, which makes me laugh. However it seems their revival doesn’t last long, as in the 20 minute drive we saw at last 6 broken down with the passengers jumping out to push while the traffic honks at the inconvenience of having to slow down for a moment.
Now reading through this, some of it sounds a little negative. It’s not. There is more life out on the streets and laughter and smiles than I have seen in a long time and it is it’s craziness that makes you sit there and smile with it. After 12 hours of travelling, 2 hours delays in Paris and 25 minutes of the lady sat next to you praying out loud on takeoff and landing (as well as singing and clapping a Congolese version of hallelujah on landing VERY loudly), I was not a person who was easily amused. But yet Kinshasa already had me smiling like a goon.
By the time we reached my hotel, where my friend was already staying I was exhausted, but after a Croque Monsieur at the restaurant with her and then a quick shower in my great apartment at the hotel. I got into my bed under my mosquito net and had a wonderful night’s sleep. No bites!
So that was my first evening in Kinshasa for anyone who wants an update.
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