Autumn in Kinshasa

What?! That's crazy talk. Indeed, because there is no fall in the Congo. There is hot and humid and hotter and more humid. I believe that is the actual technical term for the seasons, but in french (which sounds much fancier) it would be chaud et humide and plus chaud et humide. It is currently the hotter and more humid season in Kinshasa. It rains fairly regularly right now, and I will admit the thunderstorms are pretty awesome. Fun fact: the village of Kifuka in eastern Congo is the site of the most lightning strikes per year. I also like that I can lay by the pool all year round (when it is not raining). I have a great tan right now.

There are, however, some downsides to no Autumn. No leaves changing color. Only palm trees and mango trees and other trees I don't know. No reason to wear sweaters. I really have a fabulous fall/winter wardrobe and my favorite clothing item of all time are opaque black tights, which aren't suitable for the climate here (although tights probably would protect me from the predatory mosquitoes and black flies). No pumpkin things readily available. I love pumpkin things: pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin bread, pumpkin donuts, pumpkin pie, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin ale. I could go on. Yes, I can make pumpkin pie, but it's not the same when it's 95 degrees outside. There is no Starbucks in Congo, so a pumpkin spice latte (and man, I am missing the Christmas drinks too, gingerbread latte, yum-o) is just a distant memory.  Football is on at weird times. So, the best thing about AFN is that there is at least live football. But it's a six hour time difference (yes, I will always be able to find something to complain about) so the first game doesn't come on till 7pm on Thanksgiving day. Lame. I am supposed to have stuffed myself with turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, and cranberry sauce (the canned kind is the best) by half time and then spend the rest of the day lying on the couch and preparing a game plan for Black Friday. And that leads me to the final nail in the coffin: No Black Friday. I love getting up at 3am to stand in line and talk big game about how I am going to knock people down to get the Dyson pet vacuum as soon as Target opens its doors. It's like a sport, and I love sports and competing. And winning. Now, I am going to have deal with a slow internet connection on Cyber Monday.

*There are no pictures because there is nothing fall to show. *tear*

Afri-Crap

I affectionately call all of the trinkets and things I have collected from nearly 10 years of traveling in Africa, Afri-Crap. This term is shared among several friends and colleagues who also have a shopping addiction and a love of the continent.  I have loads of masks, baskets, statues, elephants, along with one set of unbalanced giraffes and many other random things. My house is full of the stuff, so by default, that has become the theme in most of the rooms.  It's a little weird now that I am living in Congo and my apartment is filled with all of the Afri-Crap I have acquired over the years. I am sure some people think I just bought a bunch of stuff from World Market and Home Goods for my big trip to Africa! Little do they know,  I bargained with a crazy street merchant over $3 for a cock-eyed wooden elephant in Banjul, The Gambia (it's a country, for realz). 

The craft market in Kinshasa is known as the, "Marche des Voleurs," or thieves market. And yes, it is. The price for Afri-Crap in Congo is way above market value. The influx of international NGO's and the giant UN peacekeeping mission here drove the prices for Afri-Crap way up, and coupled with the Congolese penchant for eat today, worry about eating tomorrow, tomorrow, the merchants have no shame and will give you price of $50 for a lopsided wooden okapi.  Usually you can bargain them down to a more reasonable price, but some really tug at your heart strings with lines like, "I guess I won't be eating today," or, "You killed my people" (i.e. so you deserved to be ripped off). The other day at the market I was looking at a handmade doll with a colorful, ruffled dress on. It was not much different than a Cabbage Patch Kid, although it was handmade and therefore had a bit more character perhaps. The merchant said $40, last price. I walked. And he didn't chase me down. Rare. Normally, walking away is enough to get the sellers to lower their prices. Not this time. This guy stuck to his guns, and so did I. Perhaps we both lost. 

I love my Afri-Crap though. And one day, when I get a kid, the kid will have to respect the Afri-Crap because I don't believe in baby-proofing. I mean, I'll put those little plastic covers on the light sockets.

Le Congo Gourmet

This cake is from a bakery in
Pittsburgh. It is filled with strawberries
and delicious buttercream icing.

"If you are afraid of butter, just use cream."

-Julia Childs.

I like to eat, duh. And thinking about what to eat next. And then eating again. You get the picture. I was worried about what I would have to eat when I moved to Kinshasa. I am particular about things, especially ketchup (Heinz only) and oatmeal and cereal. I sent a lot of food in my shipments, just in case. I wouldn't want to waste away. In the first month here, I was pretty impressed with the selection given I had such low standards going in. There are some great things about a tropical climate: mangoes, pineapples, papaya, watermelon are plentiful. (And Francois does an excellent job cutting them all up into fruit salad.) There are lots of vegetables too. There are, however, a lot of downsides. Yes, I am going to point out my complaints. Judge if you will...

This is a salted caramel crepe. I ate
it in Monaco, a tiny principality near
the South of France. It also includes
salted caramel ice cream. Yeah.

• I find the process of walking the five steps to the water distiller and back twice to fill up my sink with water to clean the vegetables annoying. I fill up the sink, drop a capful of Clorox in, and toss in the fruits and vegetables to disinfect. If that wasn't enough, I have to fill up the sink again to rinse the fruit and vegetables. Ugh. 
• The metric system is lame. How much butter is 227 grams? Who knows! Why hasn't the rest of the world realized that sticks of butter with tablespoon markings and a handy guide that says, 1/2 cup = 1 stick and 1/4 cup = 1/2 stick are efficient? The butter stick thing is clearly why America is still on top, despite the fact that we have like a $3 trillion deficit and just elected a bunch of old, white men that don't believe in science to senior positions in state and federal government. 
• I am totally grossed out by the weird Heinz products they sale here. There is this stuff called Andallouisse sauce (I don't even know how to spell it). It's like a creamy, pink color. I don't even know what one would use that for, but I suspect that it is mayonnaise based. Which is a whole, other issue.
• Mayonnaise comes on everything. Cheese sandwich. Ham sandwich. Steak. Toast. Sure, just slather some mayo on. I am not opposed to mayonnaise, or the tangy Miracle Whip. But it has its place, and it is not on french fries. Yes, I know, it's a European thing, and the Euros are so much more evolved and they did invent french fries. I don't care. Unless it's a fancy, gourmet garlic "white" sauce or those delicious mayos at the Good Stuff Eatery (Spike from Top Chef's burger place that was near my apt. in DC), then plain old mayo on fries is unacceptable. It's also unacceptable because it's like 95 degrees here everyday and refrigeration is not reliable. Hellloooo, food poisoning?!
• I cannot find lettuce. Oh, you can find brown, wilted leaves that resemble lettuce. And maybe this makes be a lettuce snob, but I am not eating it, I don't care what you think. There is a rumor that there is good lettuce somewhere in this country, but apparently the people that have experienced this good lettuce have their domestiques get it for them. I don't know if Francois would be able to find it. And he tends to get stressed out easily. I once asked him to buy a mop and it took 2 weeks. Woe is me, I know. 
• There are no preservatives in things. That's probably better for my overall health, but I am used to being able to keep a carrot in the fridge longer than 3 days. Chemicals are in, people!

This delicious treat is the
famous frozen hot chocolate from
Serendipity. I enjoyed this one
in Las Vegas.

In conclusion, I am learning a lot about the metric system (against my will) and alternatives for things, like sour cream (this Lebanese yogurt that smells like rotten ass on its own, but when mixed with other things is passable). I also like the brown eggs right out the chicken's butt. They are totally free range! I bought a yogurt maker on Amazon so I could get my daily dairy requirement without drinking the weird flavored boxed milk. One can buy yogurt here, but it is really expensive and the refrigeration issues has made me think twice about buying it. My yogurt maker is pretty awesome, it has these cute little glass jars. And I use powdered milk, sent from America. I am now a yogurt-making hippie. My co-worker even has perfected a yogurt base that has been passed around the office. 

I made this Bourbon Pumpkin
Cheesecake. It's awesome. It has a
pecan maple crust. And Bourbon.

I also bought an ice cream maker and have nearly perfected Oreo ice cream. I am baking things and using my fancy KitchenAid mixer and my new Cuisinart food processor. It's like all the stuff from a wedding registry without the hassle of picking up someone else's socks. Plus, if I ever do get married, I can register for a honeymoon in the Maldives and not a $30 spatula. I think I'll survive the next two years in Congo, but I won't turn down a package filled with processed crap from America. 

A Little Piece of Paradise (for Congo)

Then I saw the Congo, creeping through the black, Cutting through the jungle with a golden track. -Nicholas Vachel Lindsay, The Congo

There was a boat and a river and they took us to Kinshasa's Utopia.  Who knew that just a short jaunt up (down?) the Congo River would turn into a day-cation.  I was skeptical when colleagues spoke of "the sandbar," and "the boat," and "picnics." I was thinking "standing waist deep in a practically drowned sand bar as the river's strong currents whipped me about," and "wooden pirogue with a water-logged engine," and "some pretzels turned stale from the humidity." I was wrong. (Note this occasion because I don't say I'm wrong very often.)  

Looks like a real beach!

The boat was sound and had lots of seats to enjoy the ride out; it's name is Pili Pili, after the hot red pepper sauce that the Congolese put on everything. The sandbar was a nice stretch of beach in the middle of the Congo River. Lovely sand and soft waves lapping against the shore. You can see Brazzaville and Kinshasa from the sandbar, just barely through the hazy, humid sky. We set up a tent and tables and chairs for a picnic, a real one, with potato salad and fruit salad and salt and pepper potato chips (Thank you Amazon!) and a variety of sandwiches. Oh, there was some beer too. There was a cool breeze, a nice change from the stale heat of Kinshasa. And best of all, there were no weird smells! 

A view from the sandbar. It looks
idyllic, right?

The river in this area has a fast current so it is safe to go in (standing or still-ish water in equatorial Africa has lots of things, i.e. parasites like bilharzia, look it up, it's quite horrible). The water is brown, quite brown, but I like to think it's just because the river moves fast and spins up a lot of dirt. You cannot swim out too far because the current will take you, and if you have seen any of those documentary's on Discovery Channel about giant fish in the Congo River, well, bad things could happen, least of all drowning. 

A fishing village near Kinshasa.

After a nice day in the sand and sun, we returned to the port. Past the fishing village shanty towns and getting a whiff of the smells of Kinshasa, in case we forgot that we were in Congo. It's good to know, nonetheless, that there is an escape if you ever need it.

Movin' On Up

I helped unpack some of this stuff.

In a stroke of luck, 2.5 weeks ago, 90 percent of my things arrived. I am patiently waiting for my air shipment, which has been in country longer than I have, but patience...In true Congolese fashion, the deliveries were backward, but alas. My HHE, household effects, arrived on a sunny Kinshasa morning and the nice workers brought everything up to my apartment where my domestique (fancy French word for housekeeper) Francois unpacked while I lounged on the couch shouting directions. Kidding! But I totally bet I could have done just that and gotten away with it. Foreigners can afford to be quite lazy here in Congo because housekeepers, nannies, drivers, gardeners, cooks, etc are cheap for Western standards. You name it, someone will do it for you for a small price.

See the how the countertops
sparkle?!

I mentioned Francois, my housekeeper. He comes twice, sometimes thrice, a week. He's fantastic. He does things I don't like to do, like ironing and dusting. He even does stuff I don't mind doing, like scrubbing the floors and laundry. And it's like magic. I leave in the morning for work and when I come home in the evening the house is sparkling and there is a fresh fruit salad in the fridge. He also is good for finding things I cannot find in the stores here, like a mop. I gave him $10 and he came back with two! Francois helps me with my French, since that's what he speaks, and it's necessary I speak or write notes to him, you know, to tell him to cut the pineapple in uniform chunks and to fluff my pillows daily.

Yes, that's the pool. Beneath
my flower-filled balcony.

I also have a gardener, Landu, who plants lovely flowers on my balconies and in big pots. I got some seeds for him to plant tomatoes and green peppers as well. Landu comes once a week to do some weeding and what not. I honestly don't know what else he does, but all I know is a) the plants are alive b) I don't have to do anything. And that's a good enough justification for his employment for me.

If I have to have a mosquito net in
my bedroom, I deserve a housekeeper.

Lest any readers fear that I will be helpless upon returning to America, fear not. Having house help is not something I could afford in the States, it's purely a Congo thing. But I certainly am taking advantage of it while I am here. I will further justify this luxury by reminding myself and others that being a housekeeper or gardener or nanny is steady job in a country where per capita GDP is $171, yes, there are no zeros after that. And, I still do some things on my own, like get dressed and brush my teeth. So there.

The Best Place on Earth

See the hills! And the foliage!

On Lake Victoria

"Travel is a fools paradise."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Who knew?! Kampala is flippin' paradise! There is green there, commonly called grass and trees, which is rare in Kinshasa. The weather is simply lovely; a cool breeze and sunny, blue skies. There are a lot of stores and things in Kampala. With stuff in them. Incredible.  I was like a kid in a candy shop or me in Target, I wanted to buy everything and eat all kinds of food and revel in the lovely weather. I have lost all perspective, clearly. But they have tea there, like proper English tea, with hot or cold milk! Are you kidding me!

There are cows just roaming around.
There's fresh milk, not that crappy
boxed or powdered stuff! And red meat!

So much stuff! On a Sunday,
no less. All your travel needs,
but why would you want
to leave?

Kampala is quite crowded and driving can be tricky. There are mosquitoes. And brewing ethnic tensions. But in Kampala, the beautiful views of Lake Victoria and fresh air cloud one's judgment. That's probably why President Museveni can get away with staying in power for 24 years-ish (who cares about the exact number when you can buy a golden brown rotisserie chicken to go at a roadside stand), the Ugandans are intoxicated by their beautiful country, they don't care about democracy! 

Manicured streets, smooth
roads! What is this
place?!

BEER!

And listen to this: I had a viral respiratory infection while there. Yes, I was ill and it was still fantastic. The adorable little hotel made some banana ice cream to ease my sore throat and the pharmacy on the hotel premises sold me cough drops for a reasonable price. And they weren't weird Chinese manufactured cough drops, they were fancy throat numbing cough drops one can buy in any CVS in America! 

This clock tower was
inaugurated by Queen
Elizabeth herself! Like
a baby Big Ben.

Frankly, I think the Ugandan Government should hire me as a tourism spokesperson. If you have spent time in a craphole, take a jaunt over to Kampala for a couple days. You can relax at a lakeside resort, go rafting, see silverback gorillas on a glorious mountain hike, and then wash it all down with a Belgian-import.

Rumble in the Jungle Part Deux

"Last night I had a dream, when I got to Africa, I had one hell of a rumble. I had to beat Tarzan's behind first, for claiming to be King of the Jungle. For this fight, I've wrestled with alligators, I've tussled with a whale. I done handcuffed lightning and throw thunder in jail. You know I'm bad, just last week, I murdered a rock, injured a stone, hospitalized a brick. I'm so mean, I make medicine sick. I'm so fast, man, I can run through a hurricane and don't get wet. When George Foreman meets me, he'll pay his debt. I can drown the drink of water, and kill a dead tree. Wait till you see Muhammad Ali."

-Muhammad Ali, 1974

Like Zaire is to Congo, Stadium 20 May is to
Stadium Tata Raphael.

Nearly 36 years to the day of the first Rumble in the Jungle--the famous boxing box between George Foreman and Muhammad Ali that took place in Congo (then Zaire) in 1974--there was nearly another one in the very stadium. I was giving a first-time visitor to Kinshasa a grand tour of the city and his only request was a visit to the scene of one of the most historic matches in history. We commissioned a driver to take us to the stadium (I was not about to navigate on my own to unknown parts of Kinshasa) and we were on our way. It was a smoggy, smoky Friday afternoon...

The fighters' entrance.

Some refurbishment is occurring.

I was excited to see the stadium
myself; right before leaving for Kinshasa I saw the documentary, When We Were Kings, and was interested in seeing how the place looked in 2010 given the Congolese penchant for letting nearly everything in the country decay. I was a little nervous as well because I wanted to grant my visitor's Congo dreams, but knowing how the Congolese feel about such things like taking photographs, entering buildings, and looking around, I gave us only a 50-50 chance of actually getting near the stadium.

I would have paid for one of
these seats!

The depths of the stadium.

As we approached the stadium (if one could call it that) I noticed some light posts and a cracked and crumbling wall. I thought that was as close as we would get, but our driver pulled up to the gates. There were some workers inside doing some renovations and they allowed us to enter. I was stoked! When the workers said we could take pictures I was sure I would have to give up my first born. But I went with it! We wondered around the center of the stadium and then proceeded up to the stands. It was so cool to see where the Rumble in the Jungle happened, but also a bit depressing because the stadium is in terrible shape. The walls are crumbling, many of the seats are ripped out or rusting, and the steps are cracked. There is nothing even hinting that this is the place where Ali beat Foreman in the jungle heat 36 years ago. One gentleman offered to take us inside. How could we resist?! We walked down the steps into the bowels of the stadium, literally, because it reeked of urine. We were unable to enter the locker room (probably because someone is now living there) but we peered down the hallways and went to the stadium's original entrance and ticket lines. And then we found ourselves in a sticky situation...

The entrance gates.

We were admiring the monument of the stadium's namesake, Tata Raphael, when we heard angry shouting from above. Standing on the hallowed building's upper floor were two men demanding to know what we were doing and then requesting, rather brusquely, our presence with the 'chef.' We followed some men upstairs, past a health clinic and a restaurant, and into the office of the 'chef.' Our trusty chauffeur did the talking because my French is mediocre during the best of times. The 'chef's' minions ushered our chauffeur into an office where a discussion occurred. After a good 15 minutes, our presence was requested in front of the 'chef,' AKA Congolese Jesus...

The monument commemorating
Tata Raphael. Also, the moment where
the "authorities" caught us trespassing.

My guest and I entered the bureau where a man was sitting behind a grand desk, the setting sun's glow in the window behind him causing a glorious light halo to envelop his entire body and leaving his face and body to appear only as a dark shadow. Congolese Jesus kindly explained to us that there is a fee for touring the stadium. How else will the government be able to reconstruct this historic landmark if not for the fees acquired from tours? And the Ministry of Sports has printed up a price list for tourists! It is a mere $150 for one person to take the tour and take photos. If you are lucky enough to be part of a tour group, it is only $400. (I dare you to check out Congo tours online. I guarantee there are no double decker red tour buses or cute little Duck tours in Kinshasa.) I thanked Congolese Jesus and promised I would get in touch regarding a tour. We hustled outside, eager to escape the all-knowing gaze of most reasonable man in Congo. Past the clinic, the restaurant, and the squatters now living in the stadiums depths.

The way to Congolese Jesus...

As we were getting into the car, some of the workers came over and thanked us for visiting. A man, I think the foreman, apologized for the misunderstanding with Congolese Jesus and his followers. He lamented neglect of the stadium. He lamented the corruption that perpetuated the neglect of the stadium, and the Congo. We lamented with him and then drove away into the setting sun, Congolese Jesus' glare settling uncomfortably over us.

*Special thanks to J.L. for the pictures and the great company!

Our Cousins in the Congo

"Bonobo anatomy is eerily similar to that of our early human ancestors. Bonobos and humans share 98% of the same genes."

-The Bonobo Protection Fund

A bonobo deep in thought.

A contemplative mood.

I recently visited the Bonobo reserve, which is located about 1.5 hours outside of Kinshasa. This was my 3rd or 4th trip, but those little monkeys are so cute and animated that it doesn't get old. The trip there and back is the worst part because there is always traffic and then the last 30 minutes or so of the trip is on a terrible, bumpy road that inevitably makes me nauseous. The reserve, unlike the road, is well maintained. It costs a mere $5 to gain entry. There is a nice hike around the grounds and there are several areas where the bonobo are kept. There is a nursery area for the babies and other areas for families and rowdy male youth. An interesting fact about the bonobos, and something that is always amusing for first time visitors, is that they settle all tension and/or conflict with sex. And it's equal opportunity sex. It's just the way it is. No reason to get all shy about it! I don't have photos, however, because that would just be rude.

A young bonobo and his
amazing feet.

It's amazing how human-like the bonobos are. Their feet are the freakiest part. They peel bananas, crack open watermelons, and fill up water bottles and drink from them with their feet. 

He was such a ham!

Bonobos interact with the visitors as well. I think they probably get annoyed with homo sapians constantly snapping pictures, but they have some fun with it.

The reserve also has "bonobo mothers" for orphaned or abandoned baby bonobos. The bonobo babies cling to their human     mothers and she treats them just like a bonobo mother would. The babies actually "groom" their mother, like bonobos do to each other. 

One of the bonobo mothers.

Bonobos grooming each other

The bonobo are only found in Congo and are a super endangered species. For more information and facts on our closest primate relatives check out some of these sites:

http://www.bonobo.org/

http://www.bonoboincongo.com/the-bonobo/

http://www.awf.org/content/wildlife/detail/bonobo

50 is the New 21

A birthday is just the first day of another 365-day journey around the sun. Enjoy the trip.

A fresh coat of paint in Kisangani for
the 50th. Pardon the tree, it was taken
from a car.

Congo celebrated 50 years of independence from Belgium on 30 June. It was the pinnacle event that the Congolese government has been preparing for since the 2006 election season ended. The King of Belgium came! The Chinese finished the Blvd 30 Juin and even painted lane markers and cross walks (no crossing signals but it's a start). Streetlights on some roads were installed and turned on, and most continue to function to this very day. Special commemoration fabric was printed (hope everyone wants Congo 50th anniversary shirts for Christmas), along with 50th anniversary currency notes. I recently acquired a 50th anniversary umbrella with all previous leaders of Congo/Zaire pictured on it (yes, it is amazing). I wasn't here for 30 June, but I am reaping the benefits while they last. The rainy season that just started might wash away the lane markers and short circuit the streetlights and cause large sink holes to develop on The Blvd. There is bad precedent for this.

Tree trunks painted in colors of the
Congolese flag.

Nowadays, people in the know say 50 is the new 30. But I think in Congo terms, 50 is even younger, that lucky bitch. It is still experimenting and sometimes gets drunk and gets in bar fights. It has moved out of its parents' house, and though it can get by, it's apartment is filthy and the rent is not always paid on time. It is old enough to make it's own decisions, but is still a tad irresponsible. It can be too hungover to get up and go to work in the morning. Congo is determined to get by on its own, but it still comes by every once and awhile with its tail between its legs asking for help. I suspect Congo will experience more growing pains as it grows up and finds it's rightful place in the world. It will need help along the way, as everyone does, as it proceeds along the path to maturity. And on it goes towards the next 50....


*People have debated over Kinshasa's decision to name the Belgian King the guest of honor at the independence celebrations. The King is from the same line of monarchs that is widely accepted to have been the most predatory colonial overlords in history. Some people have said that the Congolese desperately seek the approval of Belgium, like the prodigal son that Congo is. Some people have said Congo just doesn't see the irony. 

Tempting Fate

Half of The Blvd from above. See the cars whizzing by! 

No one is safe. Pedestrians and drivers alike everyday are risking life and limb with a trip to work, the grocery store, or the vegetable lady. As far as I can tell there are only two rules whilst driving in Congo: 1) Vehicles entering a traffic circle have the right of way. Not those vehicles in the circle already. I am still unclear what this all means for the pedestrians milling about in the traffic circles.  2) If, when approaching an intersection, the police officer is facing you or has his back to you, it means stop. If the police officer is standing sideways, then you can continue on through the intersection at your leisure. What to do if the police officer is just like chilling and standing haphazardly, perhaps at a tilt, when approaching? Who knows! It's a crap shoot anyway.

So many bags. Oh, the one guy on the left is holding a monkey

Perhaps the only saving grace of many drivers and pedestrians everyday is that most side roads in Kinshasa are not in the best condition, so you cannot drive at high speeds. So even if there is no police officer at the intersection, which is often the case, the probability of a high speed crash is low-ish. I am sure the probability was lower before The Boulevard (Blvd 30 Juin, known locally as The Blvd) was redesigned into an eight-lane "superhighway." There are no stop lights and no stop signs. Just holding your breath, closing your eyes, and stepping on the gas. God help you if you want to turn left. Oh, there also is no middle lane for those attempting to turn into the other directional lanes or go straight across The Blvd; you can't cross the four lanes and then wait in the middle (what in America one might affectionately call a "turn lane") to cross the other four lanes or make the turn without drawing the ire of other drivers, pedestrians, and the police officers aimlessly scattered up and down The Blvd.  These groups of people get angry when a vehicle stops in the middle. Other drivers will honk at you, pedestrians will stare evilly, and the cops will gesture at you to get moving. I get overwhelmed! 

I try to follow the two driving rules I know in Congo. I have made mistakes, some unknowingly. For example, one time I wanted to turn left. I put on my turn signal to move into the farthest left lane, moved into the lane. I then put on my turn signal again to make the left turn. I waited as vehicles were coming the other direction. Apparently, I did something terribly wrong and a police officer started yelling at me (I did not lower my window because things can be rather unpredictable here). The cop then filled her cop friend in on the heinous crime I just unknowingly committed. The new cop, in the good cop role, is calmly scolding me, while the original cop seriously gave me a, "Bitch, please," look and shook her head and finger at me. I still do not know what traffic law I broke. I suppose it will remain a mystery. 

Yes, that's a child in the trunk. A trunk baby.

Another mystery is why pedestrians attempt to cross the eight lanes of The Blvd at a leisurely pace. There are crosswalks, no lights or signs, but there are painted white lines! As a driver, one must pay close attention to the cars around you (keep in mind there are over 10 million people in Kinshasa and one main downtown road) and the pedestrians (keep in mind there are over 10 million people in Kinshasa most of whom do not have a car). The Congolese pedestrian is fearless. They will walk across the eight-lane Blvd without even looking. Boldly stepping into traffic, knowing the cars will stop. Or not. This is Congo, where I have witnessed someone in the far right lane make a left turn across three lanes without using a turn signal. It's also where I have seen a taxi van holding 30 people, a goat, and four chickens with no front windshield. I am going to avoid being a pedestrian and stick with driving where I estimate my chances for survival are better. After all, I do not want to have a post describing Congolese emergency medical care. 

The Motherland

We really do have the best country!
-D.H., driving from Honolulu to the North Shore (2008)

Honolulu from Diamond Head

I love Africa, I love traveling. I love learning and experiencing different cultures and customs. I love all that goes into the observation of another society as an outsider. And then I love going back to America. I will never be one of those people that "go native." No risk there. I will never turn up my nose to fast food or chain restaurants or the culture of excess. In fact, I am generally skeptical of people who don't like McDonald's because, let's face it (and really be honest with yourself here): McDonald's is good. It is bad for you and of course it should not be part of your regular diet, but no one does fries like that! I want an aisle in the supermarket solely devoted to peanut butter. Every time I go to Target it is like Christmas morning. I like that no matter how screwed up the US government is, it is not really relative to most of the rest of the world. I like that anyone can rant and rave about the government and the politicians that comprise it and threaten to move to Canada (but then don't). And I like football. Not soccer.

The C.B's in Washington DC, the capital of our great nation.

There's nothing like an extended stay in another country to make me appreciate America. I still have a long time to go in Congo, so just imagine how patriotic I will be then!

The Bend in the River

Nobody's going anywhere. We're all going to Hell and every man knows that in his bones. We're being killed. Nothing has any meaning. That is why everyone is so frantic. Everyone wants to make his money and run away. But where? That is what is driving people mad.

--V.S. Naipaul, A Bend in the River (1979)

A couple weeks ago I took a trip to Kisangani: provincial capital of Orientale Province, the farthest navigable upstream point of the Congo river, scene of the some of the bloodiest fighting during the 1998-2003 Congo war, and a key commercial center in Congo. The city is an interesting contrast to Kinshasa for obvious reasons: it's much smaller. Kinshasa is home to between 10-11 million people. Kisangani's population is about 500,000. There is less traffic, less restaurants, less stuff in Kisangani. There also is less infrastructure development happening in Kisangani. Kinshasa is still decaying, don't get me wrong, but a lot has been happening here in the past four years.


In my mind at least, one can easily see what Kisangani once was: a prosperous Belgian-designed trade town that sits like an island in the middle of the world's 2nd largest rain forest. There are beautiful houses and buildings--long neglected--on the banks of the river. If there ever was beauty in Kinshasa, it's hard to see because the city has surpassed it's capacity. It is brimming with a massive population that it was never designed to support. It was therefore more poignant for me to see 'what was' in Kisangani. Sure, there's poverty and daily struggles for basic needs with little to no attention from the Congolese government in both places. It just seems more personal in Kisangani. The big city disguises it better perhaps.


Kisangani was on my list of places to go before I die (seriously), so I can check it off. And boy do I love checking things off lists. I enjoyed my short time there even though I ate goat. I don't like goat. I have never liked goat. Not when I was first served it in some random town in southeastern Senegal in 2002. Not now. Goats are cute. I do like their cheese though. 

One Month In...

I waited a bit over a month to actually publish a post here. I didn't want to confuse anyone with my excitement of moving here to Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo and then get all complain-y.  I am still me after all! I am happy I made the decision to take the job here for two years; I love Congo. (Not as much as I love my dog Izzy, but more than all other countries (except 'Merica) and more than US Weekly. For some perspective.) Although I have traveled to Congo many times in the past five years,  I think living here will give me a different perspective and hopefully the opportunity to travel the country and actually have conversations with others who live here. (Maybe even actual Congolese!) I am settling in: I like my apartment and the Embassy community has been very nice and generous. I have my car. It's kind of a joke, but I guess even Americans (i.e. the woman I bought the car from) get all cheap and corrupt when they live here. It definitely is a survival of the fittest mentality. That's for sure. But I guess when you don't know what tomorrow will bring, that's the way to roll. Well, I will leave with some notables, but I plan to make this blog a way to efficiently stay in touch with family and friends, while getting on my pedestal about Congo stuff (since this probably is the least offensive way for me to do that because it will have few readers). I might post pictures of things I bake too, just to add to the random-ness.


For now, some notables:

• I hate bugs. HATE BUGS! I thought I really hated mosquitoes. Then I met the biting black fly. Those little monsters land on you in herds, bite you--each leaving a trail of blood in their wake--and if that is not enough, hours later a giant, itchy, red bump swells at the location of each bite. It's ridiculousness. Like this country, with all it's poverty and diseases (Ebola, anyone?) and rebels need biting black flies too? 

• Sleeping here is difficult. I don't know what it is, maybe the weird rotation of the Earth right at the Equator makes sleeping difficult? I used to think when I just visited here that it was jet lag. It's not. I wake up, without fail, at least once a night. Usually between 1:30 and 3:00am. I am hoping once I actually get my cozy down comforter (my apt is thoroughly air conditioned) that the sleeping will improve. Embassy-issued blankets are not up to par and are scratchy against my delicate, porcelain skin. 

• Grocery shopping is interesting. One can definitely survive on the local market. A lot of things are just fine. Example: tons of fruit! pineapples, papayas, mangoes, watermelons, passion fruit. The list goes on. And it's not terribly expensive, although the vegetable stand lady totally up-charges the 'mundele.' There is a grocery store that has good chicken. Yay. But baking soda? Vanilla extract? Chocolate chips? Forget it. I can live without those things because there is Netgrocer and parents that will send them. PS-Send Oreos, specifically the Halloween ones that are sure to be coming out soon-ish!

• I don't like AFN (Armed Forces Network). I hear it will grow on me. I am not convinced. Is "Gary Not Married" and "Deal or No Deal" really the quality programming that AFN wants to expose to emotionally-fragile Americans living overseas, some of whom are in war zones?  I realize I should be thankful that I have any TV at all and there are people in the world that blah blah blah.

And to end on a positive...thanks to my family, friends, and internet shopping for easing the adjustment period with lovely packages and emails!


Some teasers for upcoming posts: Kisangani, Patriotism, and My Own Stupidity