Kinshasa's secret

My first impressions of Kinshasa are cluttered by the whirlwind of activity I have found myself seeped in since Wednesday – trying to understand what is expected of me at work and how to get the support I need to achieve it, looking for a flat, trying to decide whether to rent or purchase a car, getting a phone, opening a bank account, etc.

Everything appears to be slightly more complicated than it needs to be every step of the way. For instance, when I went to the bank to open an account, I was informed that I had to make an initial cash deposit of US$10,000, no less! When I explained that all I needed for the moment was an account into which I could make a transfer from London, the woman flashed me a sadistic smile and repeated slowly, as if I were a distracted child, that the deposit had to be made in cash. When, allowing a tiny note of sarcasm to creep into my voice, I asked whether I was expected to bring the US$10,000 cash in a suitcase from London, she replied, straight-faced, that I should get it wired from my bank in the UK to a Western Union money transfer office, then transport the cash from there to the bank… in a suitcase or bag, yes. I can just see my boss’s face when I explain that one to him!

Other than that, most of my energy apart from work seems to be going into trying to escape from the Grand Hotel. I can’t complain – there’s nothing wrong with it really – it’s just like every other big hotel everywhere else in the world…which is precisely the problem! What I thought would be a couple of educational nights in a historical landmark of Kinshasa are slowly turning into a full residency. Perhaps I wouldn’t be so concerned about what is only, after all, a few nights, if it weren’t for the fact that I am surrounded by people who came for a few days and have been here weeks, months, years! Only today I discovered that one of my neighbours has lived here, in this hotel, for the last fifteen years… “You can check in any time you like…”

On a more positive note, logistical annoyances aside, I actually do like Kinshasa, which has a really good vibe to it. Or I should say Gombe, which is the area around downtown Kinshasa where all the expatriates and wealthy Congolese piled into after the two rounds of looting in the 1990s, and which is the only area considered safe to live in by the embassies. Result: exceedingly overpriced real estate (it’s hard to rent a decent flat for less than US$1,500 per month, and most go for substantially more than that), major traffic jams heading downtown (the 1960s road infrastructure being utterly unable to cope with the explosion in vehicles that accompanies any major influx of humanitarian and development organisations), many good quality but expensive restaurants, and super pricey sports clubs. But what I like about Kinshasa, even though it may drive me crazy in the end, is that it retains a village atmosphere despite the madness and expatriate invasion it has incurred in the past few years. It remains friendly and relaxed.

So this is a place with no cinema (don’t tell Fred!), but… a full-scale, eighteen-hole golf course right there on the main boulevard!!

I couldn’t believe my eyes the first time I saw it. There it sat regally, behind its iron gate: a vast expanse of pristine, bright green lawn, undulating languorously, dotted with palm trees and lakes, completely aloof of and at odds with the mundane hustle and bustle of dusty Kinshasa, yet smack in the middle of its busiest part. Extraordinary! And so yes, as it happens, I played golf on Saturday.

But the real secret gem of Kinshasa is not the golf course, or even the horses or tennis courts, alluring as they are. The real gem of Kinshasa is the river – vast, dark, enticing, mysterious by day, simply breathtaking beyond belief at sunset.

There was a moment there, when I sat huddled up in a motor boat, my heart racing as we flew back towards the city at top speed after a lovely day of water-skiing, picnic and pétanque, watching in awe as the river burst into flames and the sky lit up with gold; there was a moment there when the gold turned to purple, a purple so intense it made you want to cry for the sheer beauty of it, and laugh and dance and sit still and inhale; there was a moment there when the sky and the river merged into one and I felt as though we were flying through space and time, and nothing would ever be so real again as this precise moment, now. And then we reached the port; I exhaled deeply and shook the feeling off, and thought, “Wow. Welcome to DRC.”