kinshasa,
DRC
october 2002
kinshasa is the capital of central african music. it’s a big city and it must have once been an impressive capital, the big brother of sleepy brazzaville. my expectations of a vibrant place with endless opportunities to go out and dance to congolese live bands were thoroughly disappointed in a town of fear, where expats were counting the days until they would be sent to a new assignment.
there was no public transport and there were no real taxis, just private cars that would give you a ride - an expensive one if you were white. walking around town was not advisable and already on the second day i was picked up by the police, fake or real i couldn't tell. they took me for a ride around town until we found a way that i could pay them off without anyone having to mention the word "bribes".
i was lucky though. i was staying for free in the apartment of juraj, the commander of the czeck UN forces in d.r.congo. he seemed to be more of a poet than a major and he became a good and important friend; someone i could trust two weeks later when my mood would drop to the lowest point of my trip.
when olly and corina arrived from brazzaville i joined them to matadi and boma from where we tried to find a boat to bring us to soyo, a town on the northern coast of angola. i didn't want to go overland through central angola as the rumors about the area were too bad. it would have been relatively easy to get the bike across but the german's car posed a problem. but it was not just the car but also their complicated and egoistic behavior that always caused enough delay for bloodsucking thieves spoil the deals.
in boma a long ongoing tension between us finally came to the open and i left them one morning without much of a good bye. by now i was tired and worn-out and i decided to return to kinshasa and look for new options. the way back was the biggest imaginable nightmare with meter-deep waterholes, slippery road surfaces and a troubled mind that started to withdraw itself from reality, leaving a fragile discouraged weak and tired little biker alone in the swampy roads of the central african rainy season. i think i was close to the edge of my mental stability.
i somehow managed to reach kinshasa, exhausted and close to paranoia; i didn't trust myself anymore. then, when i thought i couldn't fall deeper, i was arrested in front of my house by the police who brought me to a shabby station, somewhere far from the city centre. i knew that foreigners had disappeared in kinshasa, and that the embassies had limited abilities to help.
i had all reasons to be scared and i felt like falling through the floor when i was accused of being a terrorist. i had been accused of being a spy on earlier trips but that, at least, was an honorable profession… to be called james bond was certainly more flattering than being compared to the likes of osama bin laden. it's funny how a fatalistic mind plays games in the worst of situations, but at least this thought brought a wretched little smile to my tired lips.
after more than six hours of interrogations by the bad and the good cop, threats of prison cells and torture (special interrogation), with subsequent waves of fear and confidence washing over my numb brain, they finally made an offer - a financial one. i would have to pay for the accumulated 'costs' of my case and they would let me go. they didn't think i was a terrorist but the case had been opened and they could only close it if their expenses had been paid for. or i could wait in a cell for one or two weeks and hope that the judge would release me after the trial.
i found the initial private offering of 500 dollars just a bit too outrageous and decided to study the inside of the congolese prisons, or so i told them. in the end we settled to matter for 30 dollars and i was free to leave. standing in front of that shabby building, looking at the tattered congolese flag swinging loosely in the evening brise, i felt like coming out of a bad movie and i knew i had to get out of congo, quick.
when muggie, owi and daisy
arrived in kinshasa it was already too late; i had already booked a flight
to luanda. they would have been the perfect company and i know i should
have traveled with them, but all i wanted at that moment was to get out.
i boarded the plane on november first, after making my way through a jungle
full of uniformed predators and i still don't find the words to describe
my relief when we finally took off, leaving the 'heart of darkness' behind.
olly and corina in brazzaville
jurai and me
laurent desire kabila
iron fist
the congo at matadi
jurai with my bike, back in kinshasa
kinshasa airport