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.