As planned I was round at Uncles house for 8, I waited there until 9:30 until he was ready, then we caught a taxi to Brazzaville Beach. Uncle led me through the formalities for exiting the Republic of Congo which proved to be painless, and brought a ticket for the first boat departing at 10:30. We stopped for the traditional fish and manioc breakfast, and I managed to take a few sneaky photos of Kinshasa - which strictly speaking are illegal.
The boat left Brazzaville in a fairly civilised manner, with very little pushing or shoving. I think it took about a half an hour before we were ready to dock into Kinshasa. The ferry terminal in Kinshasa was absolute mayhem, as we chugged past there were literally hundreds of people climbing over each other to be first on the boat. I don’t think any of them were legitimate passengers because as we docked they jumped and scrambled on board like an assault team, I had a few tug of wars with my bag but managed to keep hold of it. Anything that wasn’t bolted down was going to get robbed!
The surging crowd pushed onto the narrow gang plank, here Police with whipping sticks were indiscriminately hitting anyone that wasn’t moving. However all the gates out of the gang plank were locked, so no-one could go anywhere until they had taken a few lashes and then paid a bribe to open the gate. Uncle managed to find an immigration officer somewhere among the chaos who eventually managed to get us out into the next slightly larger holding pen.
The Government in Kinshasa don’t pay civil servants, so everybody has to find other ways of putting food on the table, for the police its normally petty extortion for bribe money. For the immigration officers its acting as a guide to get people through the chaos, guides at border crossings are generally complete crooks. However on this occasion I was quite happy to employee ‘Bruno’ for a bit of work. He got me through the necessary stops, and after a few small payments we burst out of the Beach and straight into an open air bar restaurant next door.
This gave me a little time to get myself back together after the mayhem, and work out the next step. Getting any up to date reports on the general situation within Kinshasa is pretty impossible, because of this I was going to attempt to get out of the city on the same day. First up Bruno made a few phone calls about a boat to Ilebo, but there didn’t appear to be any available, so plan B was to use trucks or bush taxis (if they exist) to get me there.
Transport within the city is super chaotic, there are way too many people and not enough vehicles. I saw one minibus pull up at the station and people were running after it, tripping and pushing each other to get a space, after a few fists were thrown for the final spaces, doors were closed on people’s limbs and those that could hung on the side. The over laden vehicle just capable of chundling along the road.
Bruno opted to accompany me to the transit station for Kikwit (my first intended stop), with my heavy bag it wasn’t going to be possible on a minibus. So we managed to stop one of the few ‘Taxi Expresses’ which are basically privately owned bangers being used as taxis, at a pretty high price too, but there aren’t a huge amount of options. Driving through the city was equally as chaotic as the Beach, the roads are in atrocious condition with huge holes from where sewers have caved in during the rains. The traffic police are on every major junction in bright blue and yellow uniforms whipping sticks at the ready to charge anyone who catches their eye.
Miraculously we made it to the transit station which was quite a way out of the town centre. Bruno asked around a bit and eventually found a truck that had a space for me in the cab, I was willing to hide in the back with everyone else but they wouldn’t have it. I was after all a tourist and they wanted to treat me well, most people outside of the authorities were being genuinely nice and happy to see a tourist, so they wanted to make sure I enjoyed myself, and maybe buy a few beers on the way.
Before setting off Bruno recommended that we check out with the Immigration at the transit station (this is where it takes a downward spiral). The immigration officers weren’t sure what to do, so they took me to their boss. He gave me an absolute grilling, asking my exact route, why I wasn’t flying?, what was a tourist doing in Zaire?, was I a spy for America? etc. This went on for about half an hour and was followed by a thorough bag search and of course a bribe. He then came out to look at the truck which was waiting with about fifty other people for just me. He asked for the ‘manifest’, a few blank looks were exchanged and some shouting ensued. He decided I wouldn’t be allowed to take this truck.
By now it was quite late, so it was decided I would have to stay at a hotel. I was escorted by the three immigration officers and Bruno (also an immigration officer - apparently?) to a grotty yet rather expensive hotel. The Immigration Officer in charge was starting to lighten up by this stage and was telling me about his gymnastic career and linguistic talents, he spoke seven languages apparently - including Greek!
We all sat around the hotel room for a bit, until they left and instructed me to wait here until tomorrow. Bruno stayed on and we went out for dinner, I hadn’t drunk or eaten since morning and so felt pretty bad. We had some tasty salted fish and manioc, dinner was interrupted only once buy a passing robber, who was being pursued at speed by an angry mob. I paid Bruno for his work, and went to bed absolutely shattered, I didn’t sleep to well as my mind was absolutely racing after the crazy day I just had.
