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Published: December 22nd 2009
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A word or two from Congo
Immediately arriving in the Congo you could feel the difference, see the difference. UN trucks, dozens and dozens, on every corner and prowling the streets swarmed us. We walked along the street and drew even more attention than we had in Tanzania or Rwanda. People stopped and talk to us - just to talk to us. Telling us that they were happy and proud to meet us. We wandered the streets, through the sweltering heat and pollution, hiding our fear and shocked by everything we saw.
It was not long before we hit the city center - if you could call it that. And we were painfully aware that we could not easily stop and ask directions. We were lost. We could not find the restaurants we had looked up or the hotels that we knew were safe. We had no local currency, and knew that if we stopped to ask for help, we risked letting everyone in earshot know that we were completely lost and had no idea where we were going. We were tourists. It was excruciatingly obvious - but we had one thing on our side - foreign aid. There
were UN trucks everywhere and foreign aid establishments sprinkled over the city. At the border, the people in front of us (a foreign man and woman) were getting their visas for two weeks, being part of one of the established foreign-aid agencies. There was some sort of immunity that came with this. In broad daylight in this devastated city, blatant tourists could blend and be a natural part of the scene.
We kept our wits about us, kept our camera hidden, and continued on our way. Down one street, we ran into the unspeakable garbage that formed the floating street. We peered at our bear feet, and decided we would have to disinfect when we got home. We tried our best to find rocks or chucks of pavement among the trash, hopping from one to the next. We followed the street as the visible pavement turned into lava rock from the incident in January of 2002, when lava began pouring out of Mount Nyiragongo down through Goma. It did force rebel forces controlling the country to flee into Rwanda to escape, but it also destroyed 40% of the city - more than 4,500 houses and buildings. The damage is
mo m& Trish
The brilliant restaurant in the Congo still prevalent and in your face. The streets mould into hardened molten lava and houses and shacks are still being rebuilt and the molten lava collected and removed from the neighbourhood for use.
We wandered our way through the city, and after hours of non-stop walking, we were desperate for water and needing the foreign restaurants we had researched (we also knew they accepted US dollars and we still had no local currency). Murals promoting an end to violence against women caught my eye, and to my surprise there was a little window framing a women in the middle. I approached the open window and used my French to ask about the hotel restaurant we were looking for. I explained that we had to meet someone there (though it was a lie, I felt it protected us from being manipulated or misguided and gave a false assurance that someone would notice if we did not show up….) The kind woman adopted us immediately, and started walking us to the restaurant. Unfortunately, as she walked on and asked other locals, we learned that there were three hotel restaurants by that name… When we finally arrived, the kind woman insisted
that we see if our colleagues/friends were there - and went straight into the restaurant and sat at a table, watching us. She then told us, they were not there and did not show up soon, she would take us to the other places. I was caught in my own lie! I had no idea how I was going to escape this lady. She had been subtly working us for money and support since the beginning, so I was still unsure as to how much I should trust her. I scanned the restaurant, and laid my eyes on a foreigner. Just my luck, a single male foreigner sitting by himself at a table. I told my mom to stay with our escort and rushed over to the foreigner. I hurled my story at him in bits and pieces and basically begged him to allow my mother and I to sit with him, if only for a moment so that our friend/escort might leave us. He welcomed us instantly, and I rushed back to explain that he was our friend/colleague, tipped her, wished her luck and watched her disappear.
Back at the comfort of the table we explained our story
to the interested traveler, who was also wondering what on earth other white people were doing in the Congo and explained that he was visiting a UN friend of his, like us, staying only for the day. But, he assured us that we had come to a wonderful little restaurant and set us straight on the direction back to the border before leaving to meet his friend. We had an utterly delicious, and oh-so relieving lunch, and then calmly and pleasantly made our way out of the country, dabbling in “gift shop” of 5 items at the only hotel we found in the Congo. Soon, we were back at the central roundabout one last time, and even paused, taking a seat to take what photos we could as discreetly as possible. It was amazing to see: the sights, the people, and the most incredible wooden bicycles that filled the streets. By nightfall we were safely back in Rwanda… not even wanting to imagine what the Congo looked like at that time…
More to come, as always,
Trish xx
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