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.