Nous Sommes Libres!

We finally made it out of Congo-Brazzaville!


On Thursday we said goodbye to our lovely South African friends after Annalisa gave us all chakra cleansings and massages, which, strange as it sounds, made everything seem right and resolved. My chakras that were closed exactly matched all the confusing thoughts and insecurities that somehow crept into my travels these past two months. The treatment left me totally at ease and revitalised to resume our trip.

We also had to part ways with Olivier and Catherine, the owners of the Hippocampe restaurant and hotel. They were so kind and supportive of us that I actually felt sad leaving Brazzaville; it had almost started to feel homey after making so many new friends at the hotel and from the US Embassy.

And strangely enough we also had to say goodbye to a wormy little puppy that our local friend, Destin, had impulsively bought off the street and thrown in my lap. He was in sore shape--worms in his belly, fleas, maggots coming out of his back leg and barely old enough to be away from his mom. But we were able to get a vet to come see him who agreed to take the dog, but not before I got a little attached.

So, with all of us in good moods, heavy hearts and nervous we approached the Brazzaville-Kinshasa crossing again. This time everything went smoothly with the help of DRC consular who called ahead to immigration officials and ensured us a safe passage. It only took two hours to clear immigration and customs was no big deal--they didn't even search the cars nor hassle us about "disinfectant spray" for the cars.

We gleefully headed into hectic Kinshasa with our new host, Bob, and English expat who's been in the Congo for about 15 years. He was quick to get us beers and potato chips (which were quite the luxury--it is wicked expensive for the nastiest stalest generic chips, and here he was offering us bbq potato chips and DORITOS!!) and offer to take us out to his favorite pizza place and bar. The restaurant, O Poeta, and bar, Greg's Place, were 99% white people. It was so weird to hear so many American, British, Belgian and French accents. Kinshasa has a hug diplomatic and UN presence. Something like 20,000 UN employed folks alone who, trust me, know how to revel in the delights of Kinshasa nightlife. We hit club Ibiza and afterwards VIP where I met folks from Boise, Idaho and Vancouver, B.C. I was so excited to talk about the good ol' Northwest, especially when the UN flight attendant from Vancouver said, "You're from Seattle?! I love Seattle! My favorite clubs are Neighbors and R Place. And have you ever been to Manray?"

Anyways, after a series of funny events that I won't mention to save a friend some embarrasment, we decided it was best to leave Kinshasa the next night and head to Chutes d' Zongo, one of the ONLY tourist attractions listed for the DRC, upon recommendation of Bob. The waterfalls ended up being beatiful and relaxing. You can hike around to the opposite side of the canyon and bathe in the mist of the powerful falls and there are plenty of scenic lookouts. We camped the night and met some other folks from the US embassy camping for the weekend as well as a group of Dutch folks taking a break from their jobs at Heineken. We ended up sharing some beers with the Dutchies(of course locally brewed, compliments of Heineken), after which they offered to let us stay at their guesthouse in Matadi.

Things couldn't be going better for us now. We are being put up graciously in the Heineken guesthouse, each with our own rooms, a cook and a refrigerator full of Primus an Mutzig beers and Coke. This morning we went to the Angolan consulate to apply for our visas and were told to return tomorrow morning first thing to get them, no problem. Plus Matadi is a beatiful city. It's all hills and winding roads with the Congo river passing right through. So, for the first time in two months, things are truly going our way!

Hopefully my next post will be from somewhere in Angola or, perhaps even better, Namibia or South Africa. My plan now is to be back in Pretoria by July 4th for the embassy Independence Day celebrations and to see my friend John Clemo, my former housemate and now a Peace Corps volunteer in South Africa, at the festivities. I'll post some good photos of my new friend Denis, the chief of police on the Brazzaville-Kinshasa ferry who for some reason let us take photos with him on board (major security no-no) and the falls as soon as I get a chance.

Kicked out of Kinshasa! We'll Never Escape the Congo!

After being told that the Angolan Consular had returned from a weekend trip to Luanda last Tuesday, the boys and I thought we could finally get a requisite letter saying it was possible to get our Angolan visas in Matadi, DRC. We need this letter, we were told, to prove to immigration officers in Kinshasa that we have a valid means of exiting the country.

Our luck continued to go awry, though, as we were told that Angolan consular services here in Brazzaville are closed. Indefinitely.

Feeling much too confident in our abilities to talk our way out of situations and our influential contacts we had on the beach in Kinshasa (including the chief of immigration police, an English businessman and a local guy), we decided to risk the crossing to Kinshasa last Thursday. Big Mistake. Big. Huge!

The road leading up to the port is bordered by dozens of folks with disabilities being carted up and down in three-wheeled hand bikes and on the backs of their friends and family. After paying 16,000 CFA (around $40US) just to get into the port, we had to convince an immigration officer to stamp us out of the country despite not having the letter from the Angolan Embassy. He reluctantly did so, warning us that tourists are turned back all the time and we were taking a big risk. After clearing customs and buying our tickets (25,000CFA per car, about $60US), we were ready.

Congo ferry crossings are hectic! People are just scurrying everywhere. Some were carrying sacks of flour up to 150kg/about 300lbs on their heads and shoulders (which is quite strange, to see skinny young black guys speckled white with flour and carrying twice my weight on their backs). Others peddled bottled yaourt (homemade yogurt), cheap sodas with neon labels, Congolese beer, peanuts and cigarettes. And a good portion of the passengers were the same folks on three-wheeled hand carts and piggy-backed that we saw on the drive into the port. Enter into this a handful of gruff port police who seem to enjoy whipping the passengers with braided rope for any reason, and you have the Brazzaville-Kinshasa ferry crossing. You’re forbidden to take any photos of government buildings, institutions, operations, and so I have no photos of the crazy crossing (although we were able to get one subpar photo by sweet-talking an officer with a cigarette).

At the beach, things looked like they would go well. Our immigration police contact met us on the ferry and took our paperwork to be processed. Mark went inside to talk to the immigration officers while Steve and I chatted with curious folks in the parking lot. Then things took a sudden turn for the worse. The immigration official talking to Mark left the room and then came back saying we must leave immediately. He chased Mark out to the parking lot as Mark tried to call our British contact to see if he could help us. But the immigration official quickly had the police on us and told us we could not make any calls. They pulled out their batons and lunged at us as they shouted “GO NOW! LEAVE!”

All the sudden we were back on the boats with voided DRC visas and our passports in the hands of the port police until we returned to Brazzaville. The crossing back to Brazzaville was even more intense than the first. There was twice the whippings, twice the shouting, twice the fights and even an arrest made (of course after the guy was slammed into the side of our car first). We arrived back in Brazzaville to the tsk tsk of the immigration officers and plenty of “what happened?”

Shaken up and dirty we decided to see if there was anything the US embassy could do for us. If nothing else, it was an opportunity to find a sympathetic ear. But we ended up meeting the US Consul who has been helping us using her contacts at the DRC embassy here in Brazzaville and in Kinshasa. Plus we tapped into a little community of US expats working at the embassy who showed us a great little oasis of a place to stay that even has wifi called the Hippocampe. They’ve also taken us out for a crazy night on town, which wasn’t really much different than in Pointe Noire—dark, seedy little overpriced joints that don’t charge white folks to enter and have plenty of “working” girls. It was fun, though, and quite a good change from the stress of being stuck.

We also met a South African couple traveling South to North through Africa that have been great company and provided us loads of contacts along the cape (http://www.rootsinafrica.co.za). Their LandRover has broken down twice already—first in Matadi and now again. They spent $2000 already for the towing from where it broke down (funny enough they broke down in the same spot that we spent the night in the ninja camp, although their experience was less than nice or entertaining) and repairs that was completely squandered by the mechanic, who also managed to escape with glasses, tools and who knows what else from their car. Now they have a new mechanic who again will charge them somewhere around $1000. Every dollar spent on rip-off mechanics is less travel time. Shame, but this is Central Africa and there are no alternatives other than to give up. And there is no way that will happen for the South Africans or us!

On this coming Thursday we will try the crossing again, this time with letters from the US embassy as well as the DRC consular from Brazzaville himself. Hopefully everything will work out better this time for us. We had to purchase a new DRC visa, new boat tickets as well as pay for our expenses here in Brazzaville, so I’m not sure I can afford another failed crossing!

Ninjas in the Jungle

The past week and a half have been a bit wild. After exhausting all our options in Pointe Noire and having to part ways with Steve S., we decided to head to Brazzaville to try our luck crossing the ferry there into Kinshasa and then head to Matadi on the DRC/Angola border to get our Angolan visas. The guys heard from a dutch couple just ahead of us on this north to south route that the Brazzaville-Kinshasa-Matadi way worked out, so we were encouraged by the good news and optimistic leaving Pointe Noire.

That was before 48 hours of nearly impassible roads and hours spent traversing the most potholed, muddy, wreck-your-car roads I`ve ever encountered. At one point we were forced to hire ninja rebel guides to show us a backcountry detour route around a semitruck that was fender deep in muck and blocking the main road. The route took us far into the bush and then dumped us in the middle of a ninja village a few hundred meters from the main road. Of course nothing could be that easy, and we found ourselves stuck in a ninja dug-out trench meant to make the passing `easier`. By the time we were unstuck it was dark and we were missing an expensive flashlight, flipflops and a cell phone. Help in the bush is definitely not free...

Stuck in the mud! This is actually a nice patch of the road compared to what was up ahead.

Semi truck stuck up to his headlights in the middle of N1.

The chief of the ninjas was nice enough to tell the guys to quit hasseling us for money and let us stay the night in front of his house before continuing on to Brazzaville the next day. We picked up a Moroccan hitchhiker as well as a guide from the chief for the rest of the trip to Brazzaville. The extra hands ended up being some of the best luck we`ve had in the last week as the road from Mindouli, the town just before the ninja village, to Kinkala, the next major town 40 kms away, was horrific and literally impassable in parts. We had to take another detour route--this time the road was much more picturesque and followed the contours of grass-covered rolling mountains. The detour was meant to take only three minutes according to the locals we asked, but ended up taking well over an hour and required us to reconstruct a bridge using thick trees and six inch wide steel tresses.

Deep breath Dad: Welcome to Ninja checkpoint number one on the N1 main road to Brazzaville! The guys were actually quite friendly.

After three grueling days, we finally made it to Brazzaville and were excited to be on the right track and making progress. All we had to do was get a letter from the Angolan Embassy saying we were headed to Matadi to get our visas in order to be admitted into Kinshasa, DRC. HAH! As if we were so lucky!

Ordinarily you just photocopy your passport and the information for the cars and you can get the letter for free the next day. It just so happens that the day we were to recieve the letter, the power had gone out so the consular was unable to write the letter. To make matters even better, he left that same afternoon to work for some other department in another town and will only be back in Brazzaville this coming Tuesday. There is no one else who can write the letter, so we are stuck. Again. And this time without the great expat community to help us out. Brazzaville seems to have more stuff to do and see, but is still wickedly expensive--the most basic of accomodations still costs $30US a night!

Right now I am feeling extremely frustrated and tired of being in the Congo. We have been in the Congo now for five weeks and it is getting old fast. This `jaunt` has been eye-opening, though, and I am starting to understand more and more how complicated life is in this part of the world. As we are in limbo, my updates are still going to be sparse. I have some unreal photos of and with the ninja rebels that turned out great and aill probably give my dad a heart attack that I`ll post as soon as the internet is fast enough (don`t worry, though, I am of course being safe). I am still trying to work out my response to everything we`ve been through. I find myself becoming less and less compassionate, which isn`t necessarily a bad thing for what we have to go through to get in and out of places around here. I`ll write more later...

Six Month Reflection

We are still waiting for our Angolan visas here in Pointe Noire and are lucky enough to have some new wonderful Canadian hosts, Heather and Dan. Our current setup includes satellite TV, wireless internet, good nutritious meals, comfortable clean beds, and excellent company. Tough life, this traveling business is!

Having been in limbo for the past three weeks, there's been plenty of time to meditate on my travels thus far. I've had hours to reminisce; to remember where I've been and what a crazy journey it has been to get to where I am now. I am in the middle of the Congo! Never would I have thought this journey would include an overland trip through Central Africa!

It's curious to think about how I've changed as well. When I first started this trip, I was so sure of myself, so sure of what I was searching for. But then everything changed. My first stop, Utila, Honduras, ended up shaping my entire approach towards my travels.

Finishing my dive master program four and-a-half months ago in Utila, Honduras.

I don't have to conquer places. I was having a blast in Utila, so there was no need to leave. The day I decided this--that it was OK to stay longer and let my itinerary flow naturally--I felt a weight had been removed from my shoulders. This is my trip, and, selfish as it may sound, I will do it my way.

My original goal of hunting for new music and dances was too confining. If I narrowed my travels to this theme, I would have missed out on so many other experiences. For example, in Brasil, the home of capoeira, samba, axé, forró, etc., I could have spent my time in samba school learning how to dance in a class. Instead, I found myself samba-ing in the streets of Salvador during Carnaval, trekking in the mountains of Lençois with my new friends Kellie and Diogenes, exploring Rio with my friend Leandro, lounging on the beaches of Buzios with Santiago, and learning Portuguese with my adopted family in Uberlândia. Not to say dance class wouldn’t have been an experience in its own, but I am glad I’m able to let myself flow and be open to new places.

I’ve been reading the blogs from the other Bonderman fellows as well as some true-life adventure books lately (Into the Wild, Off the Rails in Phnom Penh, Blood River). At times I wonder if I am doing this right. All the photos, blog entries and books tell tales of new friends, changing perspectives of world views, crazy exciting adventures, pushing boundaries. And they seem to do so with such enthusiasm and sophisticated contemplation. Do others get that impression from my writing? Are my adventures as dynamic and interesting? Why are there so few popular stories of women adventurers? What are my limitations as a solo woman traveler?

I suppose none of that really matters. I tend to go a little existential-crazy when I have too much time on my hands. I’m here. I’m doing what I’ve always dreamt of doing: seeing the world. And I’m doing it my own way.

Jungle Rot of the Brain

In my last entry, we were optimistically hoping that to have our Angolan visas and be on our way. We are still waiting! And my mind is turning into mush!

This process has turned into a near disaster--there are no other cost and time effective solutions to getting through to Namibia. The guys have even looked into shipping the cars to Namibia to bypass the whole Angola nightmare altogether, but it would take 50 days to get from Pointe Noire, Congo to Walvis Bay, Namibia. 50 days!! We could probably have biked to Southern Africa faster than this all is taking (and indeed, our Argentinian friend who is bicycling around the world will most likely beat us to South Africa!).

Other than the frustration of having to wait in the same expensive city for so long, the delay in the guys' schedule means that most likely they won't be driving through Botswana, Zambia and the like. Rather, we will be racing to get Steve Shoppman to Cape Town on time to catch his May 26th flight back to the states (his sister is getting married, so this is definitely a priority!). I was hoping to get tour much of South Africa with them, but perhaps now I'll have to just stick to my original plans to do so after we part ways.

To complicate matters even more, we were recently informed that due to some oil company distribution blunder, there will be no unleaded gas in Pointe Noire for the next 15 days. What!? We had seen huge line-ups at petrol stations around town, but just figured it was some sort of tax-break day or prices were going to jump; not that there wouldn't be any fuel in town for two weeks! Two of the guys are creating emergency plans to get out of here if things don't start coming together in our favor. If we don't have some sort of good news from the Angolan consulate in the next few days, they plan to store the cars here in the Congo somewhere, fly back to the states for a good month-and-a-half to work on getting more sponsors (i.e. funds) and will return to resume the journey to Cape Town. In the event of this last-resort plan, that more and more seems like the prudent thing for the fellas to do, I will be stranded in Pointe Noire. Their suggestions were to camp out and wait for them to return so I can finish the trip with them, try to get a job here to earn some bucks in the interim time, or just abandon the trip altogether and fly back to SA at an exorbitant price...Not very good options for me!

Fishing camp outside Pointe Noire.

Mark and Charles fishing on the coast outside of Pointe Noire.

On a different note, though, there are worse places to get stuck for the time being. The Pointe Noire expat community here has been so good to us. Patrick and Sabine, the owners of Le Pyramide Bar where we were camping gave us t-shirts and wished us all the love and peace of Jah on our future journey (one of the most flattering blessings from a Rasta-man!). We reunited with the telecommunication guys with a night of whiskey and rubbery bbq chicken and have been staying with them again. Another friend named Chris took us out for a $300 meal at the best restaurant in Pointe Noire and then drinks at a swanky pool bar. The boys have also racked up some sponsorships from a commercial diving outfit as well as a Toyota dealer, just because the owners like the concept of the trip.

So while this jaunt in mid-western Africa is slowly becoming a nightmare of the paper-pushing sort, there are still good memories and experiences that I'll take from Pointe Noire. This adventure has just further confirmed my academic understanding of this part of the world--problems of corruption and bureaucratic inefficiency are complicated to fix, and most people here just learn to live despite these encumbrances. People are most definitely disappointed in the governing system, and expressive about their concerns, but continue to go about their lives the best they can. This is perhaps a bad thing* at times, but also has proved important in my understanding of the Congo.

Hopefully my next blog will have news of our departure from Pointe Noire!

*For example: A friend of ours relayed a story about a French woman who was working in a bank here in Pointe Noire. Something like $40,000US disappeared from a client's account, and for some reason she was blamed and thrown into prison. She ended up staying there for three weeks while the French Consul and others pushed for her release or the details of why she was being held (the police couldn't provide this latter detail, or refused to...) As a result, she has been in the hospital for the past three days after losing about 22lbs, coming down with malaria and other maladies. But while she was in prison, she had very few friends visitor her at all, and instead, rumors started spreading. Our friend was distraught by the situation and couldn't believe that other French expats didn't support the accused, especially considering they knew her and are well aware of how corrupt things can be here.

Supposedly there is some sort of organized network of crime in the bank both here in Pointe Noire and in Brazzaville, and the bank manager, and whomever else involved, just needed a scapegoat and blamed the poor French woman. The bank has apologized to her, but just think of everything she's been through!

Stuck in Pointe Noire

We have been stuck here in Pointe Noire for ten days now and counting. The process of attaining an Angolan visa is way trickier than we had anticipated, and even when (if) we get the visas there is no telling whether or not it will work out at the Cabinda border. There seems to be a disconnect between Angolan immigration law and what the Angola Consulate here is willing to do for us. Unfortunately, the process to obtain our visas has required a local influential contact and a lot of charming and pressuring. Supposedly we will have visas by tomorrow so that we can get back on track on the journey back towards South Africa. Supposedly.

The house we were staying in at first had to bounce us since it is a corporate house, so we ended up meeting a guy who runs a bar on the beach here in Pointe Noire who was happy to let us camp out for free. So, we are living at a bar for the time being. This has helped ease the pain: every morning we wake up to the ocean, a nice breeze, and have access to beers all day long to wash down our troubles. The folks running the bar are also great people and really love the idea behind the trip.

Everyone here in Pointe Noire has been exceptionally nice to us, in fact, and we've been invited for several bbq's around town. Most of our meals thus far have included dehydrated veggies, fried chicken and avocado sandwiches, so the good home cooked meals, wine, and desserts (as well as offers to let us shower and do laundry) has been more than appreciated.

We also happened to meet an Argentinian at the Angola Consulate who has been cycling around the world for about three years now. He's been all through the Americas, Europe and West Africa, and is now stuck in Pointe Noire as well as he figures out a way to get to Kinshasa, DRC to bike south to Lumbubashi, DRC--about 1500 kms. He is crazy. But his trip is incredible. He has a blog in spanish: http://www.africanbici.blogspot.com/

For now, I am slowing going crazy as we wait for the visas. Long hot days spent lazing about near the sea is surprisingly driving me mad--I want some excitement and change! By tomorrow we should hopefully know whether or not things are going to work out.

When it Rains in the Congo, Try to Avoid Driving

'Nuff said.

We stayed two nights camping in Cap Estérias, outside Libreville, with a guy who called himself Jack Daniels. Each night consisted of many a tall cold beer produced from somewhere in the bush, some sort of tasty avec type meal, and JD showing some true African style hospitality. JD’s place is about five minutes from the beach where a handful of French expats and diplomats loaf about at two exorbitantly overpriced restaurants. He’s building bungalows to rent out to travelers, and since the road to the area is undergoing a massive pavement project (currently it is all mud and potholes), by the time his place is finished he should have a good stream of people coming through.

After some hassle from the Republic of Congo Consulate, we got our visas sorted for the Congo and the Democratic Republic of Congo* and hit the road South. We slept one sweaty uncomfortable night in the trucks and had to pass numerous check points before getting to the Congo where, again, we ran into several checkpoints and had about three “official” entry passes stamped into our passports (everyone wants to make their mark!).

Passing through the Congo is beautiful, though a bit tragic. The road winds and rolls through grassy fields and naked mountains where lush jungle ought to be before bouncing into the remaining dense jungle in the mountains between Dolisie and Pointe Noire. Our first night we camped in a Makonga village about 100km from the Gabonese border. We pulled up and said, “So the road ahead is pretty rough and it is getting dark…” and a guy who looked a little like Ice Cube said, “Well then, stay here for the night!” We drank palm wine, smoked cigarettes and shared some of our dinner with our new friends who, for the most part, just stood curiously watching us and tentatively asking questions in French about what we were up to.

The next morning we left early to head towards the DRC border. We were stopped, fortunately, at a checkpoint at the Dolisie/Pointe Noire crossroads and discovered that we had punctured a tire and it was quickly going to be flat. A truck pulled up with a white passenger who said a brief “Hello” and introduced himself before ducking into a store to purchase some Cokes. Andre ended up being the first in a series of South African telecommunication saviors we’ve encountered here in the Congo. He passed us on to his associate, Derrick, who immediately began “organizing” for us. We camped out in the company warehouse, showered in his hotel room, and were directed to head to Pointe Noire where we would be met by Kristo who would show us to the ex-Minister of Defense’s mansion, the company hang-out, before Junel tried to help us sort out Cabinda and Angola visas.

Getting to Pointe Noire was a bit more of a challenge than expected, though. The road passes through dense steaming jungle in the mountains and appears to mainly be used by huge logging trucks. We passed convoys of Chinese trucks carrying road building equipment—apparently China will be building nice tarred roads in the Congo in exchange for access to timber and oil. Hmm.

We ended up slip sliding our way to Pointe Noire in about eight and a half hours (its only about 175km, which should take about half that time). It started to downpour less than halfway into our journey, and the road turned into buttery mud that proved to be quite treacherous. There was a point, when Steve Shoppman and I were sliding almost out of control down a steep hill with a huge drop off on one side that I thought how crazy this adventure is. We survived, though, and only once had to carefully maneuver one of the trucks out of a sticky situation. In Pointe Noire we met up with Kristo and were taken to the marble mansion, complete with wifi, satellite TV and a pool.

That is where we are now—trying to figure out where we can go from here. Cabinda/Angola is going to be a challenge to get to. Our visit to the consulate today was completely unsuccessful, with the guard at the gate refusing to even let us in since it was “prohibited” to get a tourist visa for overland travel in Angola. We’ll see.

*(if you are confused about the difference, the Republic of Congo, also known as Congo-Brazaville, is an ex-French whereas the DRC, formerly known as Zaire, was a Belgian colony and has one of the bloodiest and heartbreaking histories I’ve heard yet in Africa. For more information check out the descriptions of the DRC in Tim Butcher’s book Blood River: A Journey to Africa’s Broken Heart)