38 Zaire: Kinshasa - Congo River

As our trip took place in 1982 and 1983 we refer to the country as Zaire, however the official name today is the Democratic Republic of Congo.  Its colonial history is more complicated than most, as after the Berlin Conference 0f 1885 it became the “Congo Free State”, and as such between 1885 and 1908 it was essentially a private property belonging to King Leopold II of Belgium.  Between 1908 and 1960 it was a colony of Belgium known as the Belgian Congo.  At independence it became the Republic of Congo, which was later changed to Zaire between 1972 and 1998.  Now it is the Democratic Republic of Congo also referred as DRC or DR Congo or even  as Congo-Kinshasa, to distinguish it from the People’s Republic of the Congo (a former French Colony), also known as Congo-Brazzaville, our previous destination.

Like Nigeria, it is a country of superlatives.  According to Wikipedia, it is the most populous francophone (French-speaking) country in the world.  It is the second largest country in Africa.  It has huge reserves of natural resources.  When we passed through it was considered to be the most corrupt country on the continent.  However perhaps the most sobering issue is that it has had war going on for much of the time since independence.  First was the war of Katangan secession in the south, finally put down with early involvement of the United Nations. A couple of years before we went through there was guerilla warfare that included the takeover of Kolwezi (also Katanga) where we spent several weeks later in the trip.  Then since the late ’90 there has been what some people call the African World War: constant conflict between ethnic factions from the DR Congo, Rwanda, Burundi and even Uganda.    By some estimates it is thought to be the bloodiest conflict since WWII.  Look it up, as we can’t even begin to make heads or tail of it.

Our route through Zaire.  Road travel in yellow, boat travel in blue, train travel in orange and airplane travel in  "turquoise".  Base map from googlemap.com

Brazzaville, Congo - Kinshasa, Zaire, Saturday, 12 March, 1983

(DAN) The crossing of the Congo River was mildly chaotic. The ferry crosses 10 times a day, but thousands must cross every day because the whole dock was crowded. There was a long, pushing line waiting to get through what looked like a cattle loading chute. But some people were climbing over the rail and dropping into line while others, ourselves included, went over to the vehicle gate and were let in there. We simply followed a “modern” woman who really knew what she was doing. Finally, as the boat was pulling away they opened the gates and a group of people rushed down and jumped on free. There were men with lengths of rubber hose to control the crowds, but I saw one of the controllers shake the hand of one of the latecomers, and then boost him onto the leaving ferry.

The panic did not stop there. The ferry consisted of two old boats tied together, the smaller one had the working motor, so before reaching the Zaire bank, the little boat separated and changed to the off-shore side of the big boat. All the time the boats were separating passengers were jumping from the little to the big boat so as to be the first to go on shore. For a while the smaller boat was really rocking in the larger one’s wake, with the space between opening and closing suddenly. A couple of times the little boat came down on the edge of the big boat with a crunch. All this time passengers were jumping between boats and a few kids had to show off by riding both at one time or by standing at the edge.

We waited while the crush made its way up the ramp, but began to be suspicious when there was a “friendly young man” to meet the foreigners to help them through formalities. He took us past the window where everybody else was being stamped through and took us to an officer who had, unfortunately, enough time to read the fine print on our visas. He informed us kindly that our visas had run out in February, and our only choice was to go back to Congo, for which we did not have a visa, to get a new visa to come into Zaire. Not only did our Zaire visas cost $25 apiece in Dakar, but we had been assured they had 6 months validity and not three as they insisted here. The basic problem was the stamp for the visa did not mark where it should have said “trois mois” as they showed us from similar visas. All this time our “friendly young man” was trying to tell us in English what we could understand perfectly in French. Then they took me to the “chief” who was kindly disposed. He was inclined to believe we had been told “six months,” but the sergeant who had taken me to him kept insisting it was three months until the chief acceded.

Well, back to the first officer, who now refused to talk to us. It was hot, people were crowding, shouting, and we have never been so frustrated in our lives. It was a weekend, we would have to pay another round-trip on the ferry, plus probably another $50 for visas, plus all our non dollars were now in Zs.        All this time our “friendly young man” and the sergeant stood around insinuating “all was not over, if...” Now, we have gotten by without bribes till now, but I must admit I was exploring the idea here. Helena said the “friendly young man” actually named some figures, but I did not catch that. I asked to go back to the chief and “discussed” it for another 5 minutes, but we ended up that we would still have to go back to Brazzaville to get a new visa from the Zaire ambassador.

I was walking away with the sergeant and the “friend” at my elbow, when it occurred to me that our laissez passers[1] were in effect papers stamped by the ambassador in Dakar ensuring our entry to Zaire. Technically he had read the visas and OK’d them. The people here had already lowed as to how they were only border officials and the high duty of changing or issuing visas belonged solely to ambassadors. They had no choice now but to honor the laissez passers. The chief dismissed us and the sergeant stamped our passports, not quite believing no money had changed hands. I’m sure the laissez passers were never meant to be really used, but there it was.

But it was not over. Not hardly. We were told that we had to go to the bank (still within the dock area) next and declare our currency. We declared everything, including our Zs, to find it was against the law to bring any Zs into Zaire. They mentioned the Zs should be confiscated, but let us go through intact. But we were not to mention them to anybody.

Well, we were almost out of the dock area when a “plainclothesman” came up behind us and had us turn back to a semi-closed alley. Here there were about 6 young, relaxed men who said they all belonged to the secret police. Now, they took our currency declaration and actually wanted to see and count our money. I didn’t declare the Zs this time, but we were in real trouble because they searched my body and found what I had in my pocket, about 1/3 of what we had changed. He showed me regulations and all the terrible things which can be done to people who smuggle, and withhold information. Then I made the mistake of saying it was all we had and he started searching in our bags thoroughly.

We knew we would be in real trouble if he found the rest. We were so hot and frustrated and couldn’t believe this was happening to us. Then it struck me this was too far out, young men, in an alley, one of them with a stack of Zs he’d wanted to exchange for our foreign currency. I asked the head guy if he had the written authority to search our bags. He kind of hummed, started pointing at his jacket and made an excuse, then he pulled out a military I.D. which didn’t even look like him. Helena stayed while they continued to search and I went back to the bank to ask if the “secret police” should really be there. The bank officials, in turn, would not say anything other than they sometimes were out there.

But from that point, I think “secret police” were really trying to get rid of us and even gave back our Zs. It was so unfair to begin with because of the thousands who had come over or were going back with thousands of black market Z just streamed past our little alley and were never bothered.[2]

We were completely exhausted by the time we walked out into the quiet, tree-lined streets of Kinshasa. The atmosphere around the dock was such that we hesitated to separate, so I could begin searching for our contacts. But we had to.

Fortunately, I found the garage for the US embassy not far down the street. They had a telephone directory of US citizens in Kinshasa, and let me use the phone. I could not get an answer from The Methodist-Presbyterian Hostel[3]. But I did get the directions on how to get to the Presbyterian Welcome Center. When I got back to Helena, it turned out people in a car had stopped to talk with her, and given her the same address.

We struck out again on the empty streets and arrived about 1/2 hour later. Nobody there knew exactly where either any of our potential contacts lived, plus the buses here don’t run on Saturday afternoons. There were supposedly rooms at the center but the director was asleep, so we could not check in. He slumbered for two more hours or until 1730. When he awakened we found there were no rooms, but he did know where our contacts lived: only “20 km away.”

The buses were reportedly running again after 1530, so we went out to look for one.  We

We were picking at our last Kcals of energy, so we succumbed and took a taxi (which at the Brazzaville rate cost about a dollar). But it was not over. Our directions were to go to the American School, and the hostel was just across the street. But we were dropped off on the wrong side of the school, as we found out from another driver. He gave us a lift part way around the school and pointed out the rest of the way. It was another full km, and in the dark, when a young girl told us this was indeed the UM-UP Hostel and she did know that some of our contacts were in.

They had not received our letter of introduction and did not remember meeting our parents in Connecticut.  However they invited us in. They have ample grounds for a tent, but we decided to eat supper there and take a bed at least for a night.  There are three dorm parents for 15 missionary kids. 

The hot shower was Very Nice!

Kinshasa, Zaire, Sunday, 13 March, 1983

(HELENA) As usual, Dan hadn’t slept too well, just too soft a bed. But it was nice to wake up in a room and have breakfast at the table with several friendly Presbyterian and U. Methodist missionary women (they had just finished having an interdenominational retreat for women missionaries).

The “American School” and the M-P Hostel share a hill with the huge grounds of the presidential palace and offices. The place is high above the river and lords it over Kinshasa. Apparently Mobutu has quite a complete, private zoo right there on the hill.  We were one time fortunate to be able to see the lions from the street.

It stopped raining in time for us to pitch the tent and have our own lunch. The prices at the hostel are quite reasonable, but since they’re not cheap we’re going to sleep outside and prepare most of our own meals. We were a bit afraid of what the four big watch dogs might do to our tent, but there was no problem except for a bit of playfulness as we were setting it up. Since we are in Ngaliema (the zone where Mobutu lives) you can imagine the hostel is built in a choice place. The grounds are huge, mostly rolling lawns with huge mango trees, and some banana and palm trees. The building itself, as Dan observed as we first approached it, looks like a hotel. It has 40 beds that currently hold 15 children and the rest are used as a guest house. Mrs. Crowder is in charge of holding it together, and I tell you she runs from dawn till bedtime. From what I gather, there continually are guests who are provided with good beds and delicious, very plentiful food. I’m wondering how it affects the lives of the children since their routine is always disrupted by guests. Mainly I have a feeling they must resent having to wash supper dishes and set the table for so many extra people.

The Methodist - Presbyterian Hostel.  Kinshasa, Zaire.  Our tent to the front right.

It was nice to relax during the afternoon over a couple of good books. After all, it’s been more than a month since we left light reading in Nigeria.

                                                                       Kinshasa, Zaire Monday, 14 March, 1983

Our highest priority was to see about changing some money, so we rode into town with an agricultural missionary), his family, and about 8 more women. He had offered to take Dan to a business where they would accept his dollar check and give a good exchange rate.  Much better than anything we might get in the interior of the country.  We had decided us$450 would be more than enough to get us through Zaire. I had waited downstairs while Dan made this transaction.

When I finally saw him returning, his face had a shocked look to it. “Helena, where are we going to carry all of this? And the man has given me only a third of the money!” Dan had had to stuff a huge bundle of Z5 bills into the camera bag and I carried another bunch inside a couple of white plastic bags. We’ve heard of people carting money around in wheelbarrows, but this is the first time we’ve had to deal with it. In the first place, everybody has warned us of the thieves, and in the second place one feels so conspicuous carting around these huge stacks of bills. One woman called it “play money.” I imagine it is now somewhat the same in Bolivia. We hear there are Z50 bills, but we’ve only seen 10’s, 5’s, l’s, and 0.50’s. If a coke costs Z2.50, you can imagine what we’re dealing with.

We’ve heard a number of horror stories.  One of which was that two male missionaries went to change money at the local Pakistani money changer.  Afterwards the put the money in a small backpack which one of them wore and the other person went close behind, practically hugging the person in front.  However on their way through the market somebody managed to steal a good bit of the money out of the backpack anyway. 

We stopped in at the USA consulate to get directions to the Rwandan embassy to look into visas. We walked quite a ways back toward Ngaliema, found the embassy, and applied for our visas. We were about to turn in the forms when we saw there was another section on the back of the papers. We didn’t know what to do because the last question was “Do you agree to spend $50 per day on feeding and housing yourself?” In ten days we’d spend $1000 between us, so we were resigned to not going there at all. The secretary said we should just go ahead and answer “no” and turn in the applications. Things looked doubtful but we did it anyway.

We started walking back toward the center of town where we needed to pick up the rest of the money and see about riverboat tickets, but before long I felt as though I’d stepped on some chewing gum. Upon closer inspection, I discovered my new (2 weeks old) sandal had started to come unglued. Grrr! I had to take a taxi back to the hostel (it made me see how terribly dependent I have become on Dan, because I never go anywhere by myself) while Dan went on to town.

The driver hadn’t understood the instructions to go to the Ecole Americaine, so I had to do a bit of independent problem solving. I can still do it. At least I got to see a couple of sections of town I’d never seen. He knew where I wanted to go, but he had to take a couple of people places which were not on the way “home.”

Dan returned a couple of hours later, having successfully reserved 2nd class tickets on the boat to Ilebo. Our food is to be provided and we’re to be in a cabin with two other people. If we actually get the tickets, if the boat leaves. Only problem, it leaves day-after-tomorrow.

We had supper in the hostel, or actually out on the patio. It was all leftovers, but what leftovers.

Kinshasa, Zaire Tuesday, 15 March, 1983

(DAN) The imminent departure of the boat presented some problems. Our passports were at the Rwanda embassy, supposedly for another 24 hours. We had wanted to get Uganda visas as well, but now we decided we’d be lucky to get our passports back from Rwanda in time. We went to their embassy first prepared to do some humble pleadings. We found, however, the visas were ready to pick up 24 hours early, even though we had said we were not prepared to pay the $50/day apiece.

We were supposed to buy our boat tickets “after 0900” but when we arrived at the dock area, they told us to come back before 1100. Alarm bells started ringing for us, because then we were told, “come back tomorrow”. That would mean we would not know till the morning of our departure whether we would depart at all. This is rather inconvenient as the boat trip takes “8 days” to Ilebo and the next boat does not go to Ilebo for 2 weeks.

The shipping company is the government-owned ONATRA (Office National de Transport) which I understand also runs the railway. There is a railway from Ilebo to Lubumbashi (all the way to Capetown, actually) and a connection to Kolwezi. If we do not get on the boat tomorrow, we may have to fly to Ilebo or Kananga to pick up the train.  Roads were never built in much of Zaire. This would be, of course, unacceptable, but our time in Zaire might run out otherwise.  Aside from that, a river trip on the Congo was one of the few “must do” things that we set ourselves before we started our trip.

After leaving the dock, we looked for some purchases and headed to the Kilimanjaro Ice Cream Parlor for an “oncer” (elevenses). We have not trusted the ice cream we have seen all trip, but we hear there are good banana splits to be found here for $1.40 (black market rate) so we decided to make it our lunch. Very Nice.

We received a letter today from Mr. French[4], and he has invited us to accompany him on a three week tour of Shaba province to look at the ag-education program, so we need to get out there as quickly as possible.

By the way, all prices we list from now on are black market rate, because nobody here deals at the bank. Official rate is Z5 -  $1. Yesterday, by simply writing out a US check to Mrs. Mushtak, a Pakistani merchant, we got Z29 -  $1. Nearly six times the official, and at that rate, Zaire is turning out to be our cheapest country, possibly, except Morocco[5].

Our “tremendous” buying power had blinded our caution and we decided to buy a small gas burner that uses the blue “camping GAZ” cartridges we’ve been seeing all through Africa. This way we can cook a little and have hot drinks to give a little “quality protein” supplement to street and boat fare.

We tried it out for our evening meal --  hot tomato-milk soup with hot, fresh bread. It has a very hot, highly adjustable flame and it is a decided success so far. We have now succumbed completely to creature comforts.[6]

The exact Campingaz stove that we bought in Kinshasa 30 years ago, apparently still available.  The blue disposable canisters were a littering feature across Africa.  Image from www.campingaz.com

In the evening, Helena went to the dress rehearsal of the “American School’s” production of South Pacific. Meantime, I stayed home and slaved over our clothes. Actually, they have an automatic washer and dryer here so I was able to sit and chat in a highly civilized fashion WHILE THE CLOTHES WASHED THEMSELVES! ! ! !

Here, as at other places of high traveler turnover, it has been difficult to get chores accomplished due to conversations. There is a retired couple here, for example. He was a missionary here until 23 years ago and has come back to see the place with his second wife. In his life he has been from Capetown to Ilebo by rail. Once up through Uganda to Cairo, through Sudan, before 1960. They went to Communist China a year ago, and they’ve been to Bolivia twice, etc.

There is a Mrs. Woodcock, who has been out here since 1946 and, one could say, has seen a lot.

It has occurred to me we did not adequately report on Kinshasa earlier. We had been warned to stay away as we had been about Lagos. But we were pleasantly surprised, after our initial brush with “secret police” at the docks.  It is the largest city we have been in since Madrid; however, the traffic situation was better than any of the other cities we have been in recently. Several times we had occasion to try to get around at rush hour and had no delays. Possibly one reason for this superior planning is the capital was in Boma, on the Congo estuary, until 1925, when the Belgians moved it to then Leopoldville. They were able to plan the city from scratch. It shows in the form of wide, tree-lined avenues, very few roundabouts, and many more lights. This nice transportation picture does not extend to everybody, however, as the bus system seemed extremely inadequate. We saw our fullest buses and mammy wagons yet rolling down those shaded, uncongested streets. People were sitting in the windows and Helena even saw people sitting crowded on the roofs of the mammy wagons. After a couple of attempts at this system, Helena and I sank to the depths of taxis to get around. At our exchange rate, it cost us 60 cents to go from the center of town to our exclusive neighborhood.

My impression of Kinshasa will remain one of a clean, tree-shaded city. Granted we did not get out to essential slums that are reported to exist. But the comparison with the lane-full of trash on the main street of Kano is extreme. Of course Kano has been a large city for centuries, but that is no excuse for not getting rid of one’s modern garbage.

Wide Kinshasa street with the light traffic that we encountered, with apparently plenty pollution per car.

Kinshasa, - Congo River, Zaire, Wednesday, 16 March, 1983

(HELENA) This morning we tried our first café con leche with our new little stove. We have yet to perfect our technique because the powdered milk we bought isn’t quite as instant as the can indicates. Right after breakfast, Dan set off for town to try to buy our boat tickets. I’m afraid I wasn’t too optimistic about his chances, but he showed up a couple of hours later with two very official looking tickets (booklet size). These indicate we have reservations on the Bateau MUDIMBI, Barge BASAKATA, Cabin No. 2, Couchettes Nos. 3 and 4. You could hardly ask for anything more specific.

We ship out tonight “at 1700” for the 8-day trip to Ilebo. It will take us up a ways on the Congo-Zaire, and then we will go another stretch up the Kasai River to Ilebo. We will be sharing 2nd class accommodations with two other people so stay tuned for our next installment.

It felt strange to pack our bags and the tent at midday; in fact, we’ve never done it before. Doug Crowder was going to town anyway, so we were glad to accept his offer of a ride. Several of the people we’d gotten to know wished us well and gave us very definite invitations to stop and visit them if possible. It’s SO nice to start out with such definitely friendly welcomes.

We got to the dock shortly after 1500. I had expected to have to wait ages before boarding amidst a lot of pushing and shoving, but they told us we could go ahead and board. First we had to show our documents to the ever present military authorities. They noticed something strange about the visa dates, but apparently decided the entry stamp made it all right. We had another brief scare when a man looked closely at our health cards (only about the third or fourth time we’ve shown them on the whole trip) and Dan remembered our 6-month cholera vaccination might need a booster. The man did do some month counting, but let us on through.

Someone very considerately showed us what door to go through, but we were told to wait a while more before boarding our barge. Before long, another helpful person came along, assuming we were going first class. When he saw we were going second class, he asked WHY in the world we were going that way, suggesting that all white people are rich enough to go first class. Once we’d explained our reasons, he showed us where to get on our barge and even had someone unlock a cabin for us. Now I’ll admit I have a streak in me that would love to be on that clean, white, comfortable first class boat, but our cabin is fairly clean. At first it was surprising the metal bunks had not even a mattress, but upon further reflection, we decided our sleeping bags would be padding enough and much cleaner than any mattress they might provide.

When we first got on our barge it looked as though it would be attached in such a way there would be another passenger barge directly in front of us and the first class boat directly to the left of that. We felt fairly lucky because our cabin would be at the front of our barge. However, over the next three hours we discovered our barge would be at the very front with a freight barge to our left, another 2nd and 3rd class barge directly behind us, and the first class boat right beside it pushing us all. So, here we are with a grandstand view of the whole river. From what we’ve seen so far, we are at the front of the boat along with one other four-bed second class cabin. Directly behind us are two third class rooms with 18 beds, then a breezeway. Tomorrow we’ll give you a more complete report.

The Major Mudimbe, picture taken up river.  Helena is standing in front of our cabin.

For the present we are sharing the room with a young man and a young woman. So far we don’t know if they knew each other beforehand or not. It looks as if the cabin next door was rented mainly in order to be able to lock up a bunch of merchandise.

We left Kinshasa at 1810, only an hour and 10 minutes late. It was a1ready dusk, so before long all we could see were lights from cities on both sides of the river (Congo and Zaire) and the path the search light would light up. It took us ages to get by Kinshasa (Doug Crowder told us it supposedly has 3 million inhabitants) and some of the other lights would trick us in such a way they’d first appear to be on one side of the river, but would end up on the other side. We were sorry to go through Malebo (ex-Stanley) pool after dark.

The Kinshasa docks from the Major Mudimbe on the Congo/Zaire River.

We’re told there will be no food served tonight and they never serve breakfast, so we got out our stove and had some café con leche with bread. It’ll be interesting to see how we get enough water for drinking, washing dishes, ourselves, and clothes, and finding the necessary privacy.

We moved along at a good pace, but still the mosquitoes showed up in fair numbers. They’re the type that delights in biting you on your back through your shirt. Finally at 2300 we were settled in with our mosquito nets, sleeping bags for padding, and sheets for cover. I’ve got the better deal tonight because I’m on the top bunk, level with the windows.

(DAN) We started our trip in the US 6 months ago today!!

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[1] I don’t remember the circumstances now, but when we were getting the visas we were also required to get laissez passers or “let pass” papers.  These did not have an end date.

[2] In retrospect this was one of the more delicate or dangerous moments of the trip.  There were no other white foreigners on the boat, and as we have mentioned they do not come through Congo-Brazzaville with any frequency.   A group of young men, in an alley, counting your money…  However this only proved the wisdom of what has continued to be our policy.  Never pay a bribe or get aggressive.

[3] It turned out that Hostel had stopped trying to have working phones.  There was a scam where your phone would stop working and then you have to pay somebody to come fix it.  It works a couple of days and then stops working and each time you have to bribe somebody to come fix it.

[4] A Methodist Agricultural missionary from Nebraska, one of our main contacts for the trip

[5] Many of the 10 countries we were in shared international currencies, for example the all of the former French Colonies in West Africa, and these tended to be stable currencies which made cost of living relatively high for us.  In countries with their own currencies such as Nigeria, now Zaire and especially later Tanzania, there was a thriving if nominally illegal black market which made them much cheaper if you started out with dollars.

[6] Its main problem is precisely that the canisters are disposable and announce the location of towns, especially in the Sahara, before you actually arrive.