Advertisement
Published: July 20th 2006
Edit Blog Post
The Flip Flop Threshold
DRC traffic regulations dictate that when a wooden kick-scooter water load exceeds 80kg, the team of conductors must have at least one flip flop between them.
The first thing I noticed was the trash.
We’d made our way into the Democratic Republic of Congo - past the cheery Rwandan border guards, the painfully indifferent Congolese border guards, the swarms of motor-bike taxis, and pushy guys who wanted to show us around. But we were determined to do this on our own, and our obstinacy led us right into the filthy center of town.
The amount of trash was striking, especially compared from Rwanda, which lies literally just a few steps away. In Rwanda the first, second, and third things you notice are the bright green hills. And the fourth thing is the profusion of colorful flowers everywhere. Then you notice that the people are warm, the food is good and cheap, the lakes are stunning, and then maybe, after a few days, you run across a spot with some trash on the ground, In Goma, this northeastern DRC town, the first impression is all about the trash. Later impressions are colored by the frequent scowls and the not-so-subtle attempts on the zippers of our backpacks. But, even after these additional charms, trash is the dominant feature
I am tempted to say that the amount
Never should have opened those gates
Lava flows through the gate, but is held back by the lava walls built after the previous flow. Note the shells of the toasted minibuses in the distance.
of trash strewn on streets, clogging gutters, flying out of bus windows, and cemented in the muddy passageways between homes is a measure of the poverty level of a country or town. But on further reflection, it doesn’t really pan out. Rwanda is among the poorest countries in the world, and is undoubtedly emerging from the one of the most difficult recent pasts, yet it is relatively pristine. (OK, the Congo has Rwanda morbidly beat on the very recent past and certainly on dysfunctional present.) Mexico is much richer than any of the countries we have visited in Africa, and parts of it could win an Oscar the Grouch trash prize. So who knows what trash really represents. But the trash in Goma creates a palpable sense of despair. So why, you may ask, did we go?
The town of Goma is an odd tourist attraction. Nothing to offer, really, except a glimpse of the otherwise off-limits DRC, and the crazy legacy of a volcanic eruption. The town was overcome with lava in 2002. The entire place was evacuated to Rwanda for a few days as homes and schools and cars were buried under layer upon layer of hot
Aaayyyeee!
The crowd looked on with immense respect and admiration as Jonathon makes like the Fonze on another fine Congolese kick scooter.
molten goo. We went with the rather dark fantasy of finding surreal scenes of buildings with solid waves of lava flowing through the doors and windows. In this we were mostly disappointed. We found only a few stray trucks that were locked into place by the clutches of cooled lava. What we found more of was a lot of people making the best of a bad situation. If you are going to be enveloped by solid lava, why not use it?
In Goma people are hard at work breaking through the residue to create blocks and bricks and stones. Huge chunks of the stuff lay in piles all over town, ready to be turned into walls and houses and curbs. It seems that the people of Goma have some experience with this approach. 2002 was clearly not the first inundation. We could see worn chunks of lava rock peeking out from beneath the old dirt roads and from the sturdy foundations of old houses. But the 2002 flow was particularly daunting, making its way all the way through town and down to the lakeshore. So now when women and children go to bathe and wash clothes, and adolescent boys
go to collect water from the lake, they walk, often barefoot, over razor-sharp corners of lava rock. As hard as that is, it is nothing compared to the challenge of getting the water back home from the lake. For this task, young boys have created quite a business. They load their multiple five-gallon jugs of water on to their oversized "scooters" fashioned from wood and strips of tire rubber. Then they artfully wrestle the water-laden scooters over the craggy ground and then up steep hills in to town. The crazy thing is how far they take them. We saw a pair of kids pushing their scooter loaded with eight or ten water jugs up the lava rocky incline away from the shore, and saw them no less than 45 minutes later, and no less then four kilometers away, still going strong.
We lasted a few hours in Goma, maybe four, then took refuge back in the clean friendliness across the border. Imagine that. Refuge as a Rwanda. Who would have thought . . .
Advertisement
Tot: 0.166s; Tpl: 0.013s; cc: 13; qc: 97; dbt: 0.0964s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.3mb
a tourist
non-member comment
It is my first trip to Africa. I've just arrived in Congo. I couldn't believe the way they are living.