46. Zaire: Kolwezi - Lubumbashi

This is our last post from rural southern Zaire (today the Democratic Republic of Congo).  In the previous posts we had made a tour of Shaba Province (better known as Katanga) with Mr. French, a Methodist Agricultural Missionary from Nebraska, visiting agricultural and educational work. We stayed in Kolwezi and Katanga longer than any other part of Africa.  In this section we prepare for the last few months of travel that will take us to Cape Town via Burundi, Rwanda, Tanzania, Zambia and Zimbabwe.

Also in previous posts we visited a Franciscan mission in Kasaji, near the Angolan border, where we had stayed with Justin, Dale and Damien from the Chicago area.

We considered cutting this section as it is a bit domestic and we are not traveling. However it sets the context for some the comments we make, and many times around the dinner table you get insights you might not get otherwise.  An important advantage of this blog format is that people who are not interested in the specific content can easily move to something else.  

Our travels in Southern Zaire: rail - orange, road - yellow, air - pink and steamer - green (Base map TIMES atlas of the world.)

Kolwezi, Zaire, Monday, April 25, 1983

(DAN) Today was spent mostly recovering from the trip, or really, from Mr. French’s absence. He had a line of people to see him, starting at 0700 that did not quit until late afternoon. The office is separated from the living room by a long hall, and there were times when he had a visitor in both places simultaneously. In the afternoon they served tea four different times. I overheard Mr. French say, “Tove, you have got to at least give me some time to go to the bathroom!” I intercepted all the people wanting to buy seeds and Bibles and dealt with them directly. Helena was working for him in the office.

Dale came by bringing a third rabbit from Justin’s “herd” in Kasaji. They are in town on their way to Likasi to take the polio victims to the hospital for analysis.  The third rabbit (we had brought two yesterday) removed any hesitation we had had at naming them Justin, Dale, and Damien. They are to diversify the blood in the Kolwezi hutch.

In the afternoon Helena and I trucked over to the Gecamines[1] headquarters to mail letters that had accumulated on our trip. They are supposed to go out in a “private bag” through Belgium. On our way back we walked through a new part (for me) of town. It is a continuation of the Ville, the part of town reserved at one time for Europeans, and had many groves of an unusual kind of eucalyptus tree--wispy, peeling bark and rounded leaves. We have never properly described it, but Kolwezi was completely divided between white and black in colonial times. The Blacks were housed across the river in two neighborhoods called cités (Manika where we attended the dedication is one example). The only Blacks allowed to sleep in the white Ville were housed in the boyries behind each house. Each European family could have one “boy” and his wife and children. There is apparently something so appropriate about the word “boy” that it persists even today, even in French and Flemish. There are still many Europeans here working for Gecamines, but the Ville has been integrated since independence.

Kolwezi, Zaire, Tuesday, 26 April, 1983

(HELENA) Dan continued to deal with the sale of seeds and did some work on his report on the talk he had with Mr. Rew. I did my duty as a woman and washed our clothes, cleaned our room and ironed. Remember, when I say “ironed”, I mean from A to Z. As I was hanging out the clothes, a young man came by offering some hand-painted cards for sale. I am afraid that my reaction to that is so automatic that I said “No”,  and he was gone before I remembered that I might have at least looked to see what he had.

In the afternoon I accompanied Mrs. French to the workshop where they buy malachite artifacts. They had ordered some fruit and a pen holder, but the things were not ready yet. There was a man there working on the white pieces of a chess set. I do not know what kind of rock that was, but his lathe was set up in such a way that water would run over the piece he was working on. Messy work. Another man was dabbing green paint (Mrs. French later said that it may have been green glue) on chess boards made of the green malachite and the white stone. I am so tempted to buy some of the malachite objects, but it would not be too wise to start buying souvenirs yet -- especially such heavy ones.

I made waffles with tuna sauce for supper. It is the second time we have done that, and we tend to sit and talk a lot while Mr. French tends the waffle iron and fools with his big green candle.

From the right, Mrs. French, Helena, Mr. French and Dan

Kolwezi, Zaire, Wednesday, April 26, 1983

(DAN) Today was a similar day. Breakfast at 0630, then a steady stream of visitors, seed purchasers, etc. Mr. French found some time, and we both worked on our joint project some more, mainly writing up a questionnaire to send to as many people who have worked in agriculture in Shaba as we can find addresses for.

In the evening He1ena and I went over to Mama Mutambuela’s for supper.  She said to come at 1700, but I think we surprised her when we arrived at that time. Before supper she showed her family pictures, more I would imagine than most Zairois families would have. She is from Bandundu originally (we stopped there on our river trip) and therefore speaks Lingala, the language of Mobutu, the army, Kinshasa, and the ubiquitous Zairoie music. Her husband who just moved to Lubumbashi to start work with the railroad is from Kananga (where we were with Donaldsons) therefore speaks Chubula. Their children go to school in Swahili but will have to learn French “to get anywhere”.  They got down here to Shaba because while her husband was at the University in Kinshasa, Papa Mobutu decreed that all the students should go out and teach. They ended up at Sandoa and therefore the husband got into the Methodist school system.

Conversation, as usual, eventually ran to the possibilities of scholarships to study in the U.S., but in general the visit was pleasant and spontaneous. The food was de­licious -- bucare (corn and manioc fufu) with a sauce of tomato and egg plant and another dish with a kind of meat balls.

I realize that comment about scholarships is not charitable, but almost invariably when in long conversations with people in the Christian countries in Africa that we have visited, the subject comes up. In Sandoa I “made friends” with a young worker at the ag school there who was doing interesting, practical work. He is visibly sharp and has installed irrigation and has a fair-sized vegetable garden. We walked about and talked for several hours about soil and Zaire’s problems, etc. The next afternoon he came to find me and became almost in­sistent that I get him a scholarship in the States. This subject went on for THREE HOURS. There has been such a tradition of missionaries with the power to dispense aid and scho­larships that it is difficult for those who follow and have a different philosophy of helping[2].

With a few more late nights I shall have licked The Covenant. I guess I was 4/5 of the way through when the reason for the title HIT me. It is because of the Boers’ covenant with God to occupy their Promised Land and to form an orderly society where each person has his or her place, especially the “children of the Canaanites”. It is quite a masterpiece and has meant a lot more to me now than when I started it back in Iowa. One of the big points is the emigration of English-speaking “liberals” out of the country in recent years. It means much more to us since we met Martin and Cecily (whom we met in Spain). We have received word from them in South Africa, and they repeated their invitation for us to visit, but by the time we arrive they will be in Australia permanently. Can you imagine what would become of the U.S. if everybody who did not like Reagan were leaving?

It may have been deliberate on Michener’s part, but you cannot help but see the similarity between the attitude and situations in Israel and South Africa. The survival of mass exploitation, discrimination, and unfairness which led to the rigid government by theocracy where governments in the 1980’s continue to justify their actions by draw­ing parallels to the ancient Old Testament. One thing that Michener claimed that has since been generally accepted is that the Coloured population identifies its future more closely with the Whites than with the Blacks. I recommend the book highly; it is seldom boering[3].

Kolwezi, Zaire, Thursday, 27 April, 1983

(HELENA) My main project for the day was to make cookies to send with Dale and Damien when they come through tomorrow on their way back to Kasaji. They were so good to us that I wanted to do something in return. Unfortunately Dale came by while the lemon spice bars were in the oven and the sugar cookies were still in the refrigerator.

In the morning Dan and I had gone out to get materials for our new batch of granola. We did fine on getting peanuts (fine until we got to sorting them), corn flour, palm oil, expensive Greek honey, and some soya flour (or milk) from Mrs. French. When we opened the plastic container of oatmeal we had bought in a fancy Greek store, however, it was completely black with mold. Since we had time to make the granola after supper, we just borrowed a can from Frenches.  The only oil we have access to is African palm oil, so it is BRIGHT orange. It has rather strong palm oil overtones, but it still is pretty good.

Granola made with African palm oil

In the late afternoon someone came to tell us that Mama Mutambuela was very sick and needed to be taken to the hospital, so Dan and Mrs. French took her over to the emergency room at the Gecamine hospital. She thought it was a reaction to medication she was taking against schistosomiasis but it turned out to be a good, strong case of malaria. We wonder if  she must not have been feeling well last night when we had supper at her house. Fortunately, someone will be staying with her niece and her five children.

Dan finally finished The Covenant. Most important; we both COMPLETELY washed our packs!

Kolwezi, Zaire, Friday, 28 April, 1983

(DAN) Much of the day was spent in preparation for tomorrow’s departure. We have decided that there are so many unknowns with our continued travel that we should get to Lubumbashi with plenty of time to run around before we have to leave the country. Our visas run out the 12th of May.  We are not sure that we can get visas for Tanzania in Lubumbashi. If we can, it will take us at least one week to go by rail up to Kalemie and leave the country. If this is not possible, we shall go down to Zambia directly, or if it is in the stars, fly (yes!) to Goma on Lake Kivu and cross over into Rwanda. Who knows?

I spent quite a bit of time with Mr. French working on “our project”. We have worked up a tentative questionnaire to send out, and he wrote up a “pilot” paper called “Hatching Chicks in Kerosene Incubators”. He figures that what he can write in two or three pages could save somebody else months or even years of mistakes. We would like similar papers on crops, fruit trees, animal rearing, etc. He is going to write a letter explaining the idea and send it out with the outline we have made. If people respond, they will send their response to me in Manhattan, Kansas. I shall compile and have them typed and send a couple of complete copies back to Zaire[4].

The Wolfords arrived at 1500 from Kasaji. They are on their way to Mulungwishi for some sort of short course. I helped him siphon 75 liters of gasoline and then he worked on his Blazer. It is interesting that this vehicle was the only one that was not carried off by the guerrillas during the ‘77 war. They had it for a while, and it has “artwork” scratched in the sides, but Mr. Wolford got it back because it runs on gas rather than diesel. It came up in the conversation that one reason the church has “good relations” with the present government (a questionable honor) is that Mr. Enright, Sr,, was the one who sounded the first alarm in the ‘77 war. He was at the Kolwezi airport, ready to take off for Kapanga with the Mwanti Yaav when he got news over the radio from Kapanga that the rebels were overrunning the place. Mr. Enright went back into town, and apparently went to three army offices before anyone would believe that there was an invasion going on. That is supposed to be one reason the rebels came “gunning” for his son in the Kol­wezi war.

So the Wolfords were here for supper, but about 1800 hrs a Garanganze couple came by and stayed to eat as well. They are the Raymonds, she is Scottish and he is Australian,  who had been at Kasaji until the ‘77 war.  They were taken to Angola with a fairly large group of missionaries (the men from Sandoa as well) and were evacuated through Luanda. Mr. French says the most surprised moment of his life was when he was in Upper Volta (with USAID) and heard BBC interview Mr. Raymond in Luanda about the war. He was the spokesman for the entire group.

They are a really neat couple in their early sixties.  He is about 6’ 3” with white hair, mustache, portly, and one of the most pleasant accents imaginable. She is younger, his second wife, and had her hair done in a simple yet neat arrangement.  We were around the table for perhaps 2 1/2 hours and a most pleasant (Helena: if not hilarious) time was had by all. We both admire their tradition of simple living which nears self-support in their work.

Kolwezi--Lubumbashi, Saturday, 29 April, 1983

(HELENA) Breakfast at our normal time (6:30).  We had been told to be at the bus stop at 7:00 so that the bus could leave at 8:00. We weighed our nice clean packs as we left the house: Dan’s, 25 kilos; mine, 22 kilos.  We left a few books behind (our huge French book among them) but we are still carrying some of the books we picked up in Kananga, and we are carrying our batch of Golden Orange Granola.

Most of the people had already checked their baggage when we arrived; almost without exception they had handbags, so our packs looked rather out of place. There were three men there all decked out in their uniforms of black pants and aqua shirts. One was the driver who sat in his seat the whole time, another made out baggage tickets and received the money, and the third weighed the bags and neatly placed them under the bus. Ours weighed over the limit of 10 kilos apiece, so we had to pay a good amount. At about 7:40 they let us board the bus, and by some miracle we pulled out at 8:00 juste. In fact we were so business-like that we did not stop for a motorcycle rider who flagged us just as we left.

We are sad to be leaving Kolwezi, but as ever, it feels good to be on the road again. It felt mighty nice to be riding in a fancy bus over a mostly paved road. What I noticed almost immediately was that we could actually see out the windows over the very tall grass that usually comes right up to the edge of the road. I would say that 98 % of the two weeks we spent traveling in Miss Ruth (the land rover in previous posts), we could not see much except straight ahead to the road itself. Parts of the Kolwezi-Lubumbashi road are in excellent shape, other parts are smooth but narrow (meaning that when one car meets another, they both wait tell the last possible moment before dropping half of the car off of the pavement), and still other parts are narrow with potholes here and there to keep the driver on his toes. What a smooth ride after taking Miss Ruth over rough dirt roads.

We should have known that things were going too perfectly. Our bus died on a corner in Likasi, so we spent some 15 minutes getting it started. We then continued on to the Likasi bus stop where a long line of passengers awaited our bus. The Likasi-Lubumbashi run is apparently where they make their money. Once again the very orderly line was being attended to by a uniformed man. That is, it was orderly until some man (you know there is always someone whose business is more important and pressing than anyone else’s) pushed his way to the front of the line. A young man even complained mildly, but Baba Importance threatened him with the police, and in the end they stopped accept­ing passengers right before the young man who had protested got to the front of the line. I would have been seething. That whole stop took an hour, and we got to Lubumbashi at almost 1400 hrs. We were inspecting our packs with disgust (those nice, freshly washed packs had shared the compartment with some wet fish) when a young wazungu (white) woman walked up and asked if we were the Robisons.

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[1] The huge copper mining company mentioned in previous posts.

[2] 30 years later Dan is a professor in a graduate school (www.future.edu) with an educational model intended to avoid the brain drain that invariably accompanied the practice of sending promising young students to study in the US or Europe.  The graduate school is fully accredited in the US, but instead of having students go to the US, much of the education is online, and for one month each semester the students get together in a different country for residential classes and fieldwork.  Commonly the first semester the residential is in India, the second semester in an African country, the third semester in Nepal and the fourth semester in then US, including graduation.  5 classes have been graduated between 2004 and 2013, and of over 100 students only one has immigrated to Europe.

[3][3] 30 years later I would still recommend it, especially since we have witnessed the end of Apartheid in South Africa, absolutely unthinkable when we visited the country in late 1983.

[4] Unfortunately nothing came of this initiative.  One my main frustrations even today is that practical knowledge does not get preserved well in writing, and new ideas generally are more accepted than ideas that that have are the result of hard work and trial and error.