we made it to Kinshasa! And it was pure Congo style: freaking complicated. As planned, we left Brazzavile last Wednesday, Oct. 21. The people in Brazzaville had advised not to leave on Tuesday, the day of the protest, but wait until Wednesday, when everything would be back to normal. Actually, on Wednesday morning, the same people were advising against leaving that day. They even explained we would simply not be able to leave, since the opposition had blocked the roads to the west. Now, they were suggesting we waited until after Sunday, when the referendum would be over and everything, supposedly, would be back to normal. This time we decided not to listen to the advice: we really did not want to waste so much time waiting, and then we could not even be so sure everything will be back to normal after Sunday.
So, we decided to go ahead and try to leave on Wednesday. It turned out to be indeed very complicated. Shortly after taking off, still in the quiet center of town, we reached a military check-point. We were also nervous because our visas had already expired. Actually, we had thought we would eventually use all the political turmoil and the panic it could cause on touristz, as an excuse for our expired visas. As a matter of fact, at the first check-point, the soldiers were very concerned about our safety. They really did not want us to go through the conflictive neighborhoods on the west side of town. They said it would be much better to wait until Sunday. However, they could not stop us from leaving, if we still decided to do so. Indeed, we explained them we really needed to leave, but we appreciated very much their care and concern for us.
Just before entering the conflictive west side neighborhoods, we were stopped again by the military. This time their concerns were different: they wanted to know who we were, what were we doing there and were wondering if we were bringing any weapons or ammunition. I guess they thought we may be some stupid white idealists supporting the rebels. We clarified we were pathetic tourists panicking with the rallies and protests. They wanted to take a look at the inside of our vehicle and, considering all the crap we keep in our car, our story seemed rather reliable. The boss still asked me for my passport, which put me quite in a state of alert. I thought I would give him my Spanish passport, instead of the Swiss passport containing the expired visa. Most often, officers get tired and frustrated going through the endless number of visas and stamps in our passports. I got my passport back with no further question. Finally, surprisingly, they still had the time and courage to bother asking for something, some cigarette or coffee. We knew they would not insist much on that.
Taking off from the second military check-point, we had entered the opposition's territory: we were wondering how would the people 'welcome' us: would they be hostile or friendly? There was indeed a lot of people on the streets. It seemed they were mostly trying to get out of the city. Many people were asking for a ride. They were all actually very friendly towards us. They seemed to perceive we were in danger and very scared about the whole situation. They sympathized with us.
At some point, the crowd of people were telling us we could not continue that way: the road was blocked and we had to go around it. A crowd of people gathered around our car trying to explain the road was blocked and how to go around the neighborhood to leave town. We thought it would be a good idea to get somebody in the car to guide us and help us navigate through the maze of little neighborhood streets. We chose a fairly clean and well dressed guy, who talked some English. Kamsa explained he had been a police officer. He turned out to be very helpful. At times, the situation got very nervous. There was a semi-truck tipped over blocking the road. The crowd ahead of us were running our way and telling us to turn around. Kamsa later explained the soldiers were coming. He told us we had to turn around. He was rather nervous himself: "vite!, vite!". We were now driving this very narrow dirt street on our very fat and old Land Rover. I kept thinking: "I am sorry Kamsa, but this thing just can't go any faster through this". As we disappeared in the maze of little streets, it became a bit calmer, But then we got blocked again. Some stupid broken down taxi was parked on the side of the street and did not leave any space for our big Land Rover to pass through: Alia was afraid we were going to tip over. Kamsa insisted he drive and would get us through. Finally Alia conceded. However, it became immediately evident to Kamsa the task was far more complex than what he had assumed. He started backing out, and, quite frankly, did not show much skills doing so. Alia was very confused about what he was trying to do; so was I. We told Kamsa to step out. Alia got back into the car. There was again a lot of people around us. They were running, they were nervous: "the soldiers are coming". We did not know what way Kamsa wanted us to go. He wanted to get back on, but Alia was still backing out. He opened the door, but the car was still moving, so he started running with it. The situation was very confusing. We tried to tell him to wait for the car to stop, but I think he was fearing we did not want him back in the car. As the car was still moving, he managed to jump in. He looked at us wondering if we were going to push him out. Instead, I grabbed him and pulled him inside: I wanted him to know everything was OK and we still trusted him and welcomed his help. We made it back to a major road. There was again a lot of people. Kamsa kept explaining we were Americans, we were tourists. He told us, if anybody asks, we should say we are Americans. Alia replied she could do that: she is indeed American! Apparently, the people was keen to Americans, so they would be friendly and happy to help. From Kamsa's words, I am guessing people had not been that friendly if we had been French, perhaps thinking the French support the current president.
Kamsa finally told us he was getting off. He said now we were safe; we could go. After that, the road was indeed empty, all the way to Kinkala. We only saw a few people walking their way out of town and a little truck trying to load as many people as possible out of Brazzaville.
On our way to DRC, it was funny to explain everybody we have made it out of Brazzaville. Everybody kept asking how was the situation in Brazzaville. We enjoyed talking about the topic, while nobody paid any attention to our expired visa.
On Wednesday, we were only able to make it to the border. They explained us it was better to camp at the exit gate of Congo Brazzaville, because we will find the gate closed on the DRC side.
The next morning we drove into DRC. As the videos show, the road was atrocious. Alia had no doubt this was the worst road we drove throughout our journey across the Eastern half of Africa. It actually makes sense: the 10km. between both Congo's border posts, have been abandoned over the last hundred years. I guess the road is no country's responsibility, so nobody has taken care of it since the colonial years, when French and Belgians built it. In fact, the old sign, marking the border between French Congo (today's Republic of Congo) and Belgian Congo (today's DRC), is still standing for the tourists' enjoyment.
https://youtu.be/cTrtfDMWZO4
In Luozi we were finally able to cross the Congo river for $15; quite a deal compared to the milion CFA they had quoted us in Brazzaville. The down side was it took us three days and 550kms to go around; from Brazzaville to Luozi, to cross there the Congo river, and then back to Kinshasa.
But, if we had not yet been convinced how complicated Congo is, we were still able to confirm it upon arriving to Kinshasa. We called our friend Ali. He told us he was hanging out at a bar and asked us to meet him there. We were very tired and really did not feel like hanging out, so Alia went inside to talk to Ali and explain, while I stayed in the car waiting for her. Unfortunately, I got soon surrounded by some guys that wanted to 'help' with parking, and, hopefully, get some money for it. Some guy got particularly nosy and went on asking one hundred questions. I was starting to get annoyed, not understanding why I had to put up with such interrogation.
Then the guy stretched out his arm inside the car and as he started touching something with his hand, he asked me what it was. I really did not like that and quickly put his hand out of the car. I thought I better roll up the window, so he would not been able to do it again. However, my door is really in bad condition and it is very hard to roll up the window quickly and all the way up. He did not like me reacting that way and rolling up the window: "th est mauvais". I felt like replying, I was not bad, but he was an asshole. He took advantage of me reaching down to roll up the window, and reached out again, inside the car, right behind my seat. He had already grabbed on one of our small backpacks and pulling it outside the window, when I noticed and was able to stop him. I grabbed the backpack and throwed it inside, into the back of the car. He understood he had no chance pulling anything out that window, with me sitting there. So he moved quickly to the other side. I feared he would try to steal something out from the driver's door. It was really unfortunate for me that Alia had left the door unlocked, with the window rolled down all the way. I used those two seconds to try to push everything I found behind the seats, to the back of the car and out of the guy's reach.
My fears were immediately confirmed, as I saw the guy standing next to Alia's door, planning his strike. I leaned over the driver's seat as I kept telling the guy to quit. However, I still had to watch my window, because some other guys were still standing outside my window. The guy did not seem to move for a second, so I went back to work on rolling up my window. The motherf***** took advantage of that to open Alia's door and reach inside. I was however able to react quickly enough, before he could grab on anything. Fortunately for me, there was not much for him on that side: just the tent, some big water bottles and the big backpack. Clearly the big backpack is too much of a struggle to get out. Fortunately, he missed Alia's vest, that had been really bad to get stolen: money, id's and quite some other critical stuff.
I think he indeed concluded there was not much for him on Alia's side, so he went back to my side! I really did not expect his next course of action: he decided to take things one step forward and went ahead opening my door to confront me. The motherf***** was determined to get something out to the point that he was even willing to get into a physical fight with me to accomplish his goal. I quickly thought, at that point, the best choice for me was to start screaming as loud as I could, trying to get the attention and help of the people in the area. That worked! The guy did not expect that: he stopped immediately, turned around and ran away. shortly after, Alia returned and we made inventory. It seems that we did not lose anything.
Well, now that we are in Kinshasa, it is time to start worrying about Angola... Congo may be complicated and stupid, but, so far, we can't really say they are assholes. I am not sure we will soon be able to say the same about Angola. The thing with the Angola visa may easily become a nightmare worse than our struggles in Congo. Until now, I had stayed confident that worse comes to worst, we can always resort on plan B and send the passports to Spain. Now, it turns out it may be some hundred dollars to send the passports back and forth with DHL. We will see how it goes. We will try different options: contacting Spanish, American and Swiss embassies here in Kinshasa to beg the Angolese for some tourist or transit visa for us. We have also been told of the possibility of applying at Matida, at the DRC-Angola border. Otherwise, sending the passports to Spain...
So, we decided to go ahead and try to leave on Wednesday. It turned out to be indeed very complicated. Shortly after taking off, still in the quiet center of town, we reached a military check-point. We were also nervous because our visas had already expired. Actually, we had thought we would eventually use all the political turmoil and the panic it could cause on touristz, as an excuse for our expired visas. As a matter of fact, at the first check-point, the soldiers were very concerned about our safety. They really did not want us to go through the conflictive neighborhoods on the west side of town. They said it would be much better to wait until Sunday. However, they could not stop us from leaving, if we still decided to do so. Indeed, we explained them we really needed to leave, but we appreciated very much their care and concern for us.
Just before entering the conflictive west side neighborhoods, we were stopped again by the military. This time their concerns were different: they wanted to know who we were, what were we doing there and were wondering if we were bringing any weapons or ammunition. I guess they thought we may be some stupid white idealists supporting the rebels. We clarified we were pathetic tourists panicking with the rallies and protests. They wanted to take a look at the inside of our vehicle and, considering all the crap we keep in our car, our story seemed rather reliable. The boss still asked me for my passport, which put me quite in a state of alert. I thought I would give him my Spanish passport, instead of the Swiss passport containing the expired visa. Most often, officers get tired and frustrated going through the endless number of visas and stamps in our passports. I got my passport back with no further question. Finally, surprisingly, they still had the time and courage to bother asking for something, some cigarette or coffee. We knew they would not insist much on that.
Taking off from the second military check-point, we had entered the opposition's territory: we were wondering how would the people 'welcome' us: would they be hostile or friendly? There was indeed a lot of people on the streets. It seemed they were mostly trying to get out of the city. Many people were asking for a ride. They were all actually very friendly towards us. They seemed to perceive we were in danger and very scared about the whole situation. They sympathized with us.
At some point, the crowd of people were telling us we could not continue that way: the road was blocked and we had to go around it. A crowd of people gathered around our car trying to explain the road was blocked and how to go around the neighborhood to leave town. We thought it would be a good idea to get somebody in the car to guide us and help us navigate through the maze of little neighborhood streets. We chose a fairly clean and well dressed guy, who talked some English. Kamsa explained he had been a police officer. He turned out to be very helpful. At times, the situation got very nervous. There was a semi-truck tipped over blocking the road. The crowd ahead of us were running our way and telling us to turn around. Kamsa later explained the soldiers were coming. He told us we had to turn around. He was rather nervous himself: "vite!, vite!". We were now driving this very narrow dirt street on our very fat and old Land Rover. I kept thinking: "I am sorry Kamsa, but this thing just can't go any faster through this". As we disappeared in the maze of little streets, it became a bit calmer, But then we got blocked again. Some stupid broken down taxi was parked on the side of the street and did not leave any space for our big Land Rover to pass through: Alia was afraid we were going to tip over. Kamsa insisted he drive and would get us through. Finally Alia conceded. However, it became immediately evident to Kamsa the task was far more complex than what he had assumed. He started backing out, and, quite frankly, did not show much skills doing so. Alia was very confused about what he was trying to do; so was I. We told Kamsa to step out. Alia got back into the car. There was again a lot of people around us. They were running, they were nervous: "the soldiers are coming". We did not know what way Kamsa wanted us to go. He wanted to get back on, but Alia was still backing out. He opened the door, but the car was still moving, so he started running with it. The situation was very confusing. We tried to tell him to wait for the car to stop, but I think he was fearing we did not want him back in the car. As the car was still moving, he managed to jump in. He looked at us wondering if we were going to push him out. Instead, I grabbed him and pulled him inside: I wanted him to know everything was OK and we still trusted him and welcomed his help. We made it back to a major road. There was again a lot of people. Kamsa kept explaining we were Americans, we were tourists. He told us, if anybody asks, we should say we are Americans. Alia replied she could do that: she is indeed American! Apparently, the people was keen to Americans, so they would be friendly and happy to help. From Kamsa's words, I am guessing people had not been that friendly if we had been French, perhaps thinking the French support the current president.
Kamsa finally told us he was getting off. He said now we were safe; we could go. After that, the road was indeed empty, all the way to Kinkala. We only saw a few people walking their way out of town and a little truck trying to load as many people as possible out of Brazzaville.
On our way to DRC, it was funny to explain everybody we have made it out of Brazzaville. Everybody kept asking how was the situation in Brazzaville. We enjoyed talking about the topic, while nobody paid any attention to our expired visa.
On Wednesday, we were only able to make it to the border. They explained us it was better to camp at the exit gate of Congo Brazzaville, because we will find the gate closed on the DRC side.
The next morning we drove into DRC. As the videos show, the road was atrocious. Alia had no doubt this was the worst road we drove throughout our journey across the Eastern half of Africa. It actually makes sense: the 10km. between both Congo's border posts, have been abandoned over the last hundred years. I guess the road is no country's responsibility, so nobody has taken care of it since the colonial years, when French and Belgians built it. In fact, the old sign, marking the border between French Congo (today's Republic of Congo) and Belgian Congo (today's DRC), is still standing for the tourists' enjoyment.
As a matter of fact, when we were almost through the worst part, just a few kilometers from Luozi, our car said enough of that bullshit: a rear flange broke. Fortunately, it broke at the hub, so it was easy and quick to get it out. We had planned ahead and have bought a spare flange in Accra, so Alia was able to get us back on the road very quickly.
https://youtu.be/cTrtfDMWZO4
In Luozi we were finally able to cross the Congo river for $15; quite a deal compared to the milion CFA they had quoted us in Brazzaville. The down side was it took us three days and 550kms to go around; from Brazzaville to Luozi, to cross there the Congo river, and then back to Kinshasa.
But, if we had not yet been convinced how complicated Congo is, we were still able to confirm it upon arriving to Kinshasa. We called our friend Ali. He told us he was hanging out at a bar and asked us to meet him there. We were very tired and really did not feel like hanging out, so Alia went inside to talk to Ali and explain, while I stayed in the car waiting for her. Unfortunately, I got soon surrounded by some guys that wanted to 'help' with parking, and, hopefully, get some money for it. Some guy got particularly nosy and went on asking one hundred questions. I was starting to get annoyed, not understanding why I had to put up with such interrogation.
Then the guy stretched out his arm inside the car and as he started touching something with his hand, he asked me what it was. I really did not like that and quickly put his hand out of the car. I thought I better roll up the window, so he would not been able to do it again. However, my door is really in bad condition and it is very hard to roll up the window quickly and all the way up. He did not like me reacting that way and rolling up the window: "th est mauvais". I felt like replying, I was not bad, but he was an asshole. He took advantage of me reaching down to roll up the window, and reached out again, inside the car, right behind my seat. He had already grabbed on one of our small backpacks and pulling it outside the window, when I noticed and was able to stop him. I grabbed the backpack and throwed it inside, into the back of the car. He understood he had no chance pulling anything out that window, with me sitting there. So he moved quickly to the other side. I feared he would try to steal something out from the driver's door. It was really unfortunate for me that Alia had left the door unlocked, with the window rolled down all the way. I used those two seconds to try to push everything I found behind the seats, to the back of the car and out of the guy's reach.
My fears were immediately confirmed, as I saw the guy standing next to Alia's door, planning his strike. I leaned over the driver's seat as I kept telling the guy to quit. However, I still had to watch my window, because some other guys were still standing outside my window. The guy did not seem to move for a second, so I went back to work on rolling up my window. The motherf***** took advantage of that to open Alia's door and reach inside. I was however able to react quickly enough, before he could grab on anything. Fortunately for me, there was not much for him on that side: just the tent, some big water bottles and the big backpack. Clearly the big backpack is too much of a struggle to get out. Fortunately, he missed Alia's vest, that had been really bad to get stolen: money, id's and quite some other critical stuff.
I think he indeed concluded there was not much for him on Alia's side, so he went back to my side! I really did not expect his next course of action: he decided to take things one step forward and went ahead opening my door to confront me. The motherf***** was determined to get something out to the point that he was even willing to get into a physical fight with me to accomplish his goal. I quickly thought, at that point, the best choice for me was to start screaming as loud as I could, trying to get the attention and help of the people in the area. That worked! The guy did not expect that: he stopped immediately, turned around and ran away. shortly after, Alia returned and we made inventory. It seems that we did not lose anything.
Well, now that we are in Kinshasa, it is time to start worrying about Angola... Congo may be complicated and stupid, but, so far, we can't really say they are assholes. I am not sure we will soon be able to say the same about Angola. The thing with the Angola visa may easily become a nightmare worse than our struggles in Congo. Until now, I had stayed confident that worse comes to worst, we can always resort on plan B and send the passports to Spain. Now, it turns out it may be some hundred dollars to send the passports back and forth with DHL. We will see how it goes. We will try different options: contacting Spanish, American and Swiss embassies here in Kinshasa to beg the Angolese for some tourist or transit visa for us. We have also been told of the possibility of applying at Matida, at the DRC-Angola border. Otherwise, sending the passports to Spain...
