We were there for two weeks and enjoyed ourselves tremendously, if only thanks to our Mad Hatter friends who kept us thoroughly entertained throughout, with parties and Christmas carols galore, mountain hikes in Zomba, windsurfing lessons at the lake, and a grand finale at a bijoux lodge called Mvuu where I was converted to the clan of the Land Rover worshippers. Even the fact that we chose the peak of the rainy season to visit failed to dampen our spirits. It was a great success all round, despite a slight cramping of style due to the infamous abscess, which the Belgian doctor in Kinshasa chose to cut open the very morning of our departure to Malawi. Exit bathing suits, needless to say.
Christmas beetle
Malawi is a great place to go on holiday if you live in Kinshasa, because I can’t think of anywhere more different. It is typically referred to as the warm heart of Africa, when almost every article about the DRC makes reference to the heart of darkness. The Lonely Planet guide says something about Malawi being “Africa for beginners” – a condescending statement perhaps, but if I had an 18 year old kid who wanted to do volunteer work somewhere in Africa, I’d prefer for him/her to go to Lilongwe, which is more like a pleasant, green, leafy, spacious suburb than a capital city, than to sprawling, congested, dusty Kinshasa.
Before we left, I sent what I thought was a joke remark to my friend that we were landing at 1pm and expected to be out in the lobby 10 minutes later, having passed immigrations, collected our luggage and received the customary welcome Malawian cocktail. Well, we didn’t quite get a cocktail, but the customs official did greet us with a broad grin and a friendly, “Welcome to Malawi, enjoy your stay!” The fact that I should be so amazed by this is evidence that Kinshasa is successfully altering my frame of reference.
Sure enough, on return to the DRC last Sunday, I was almost relieved to find the usual mayhem that characterises N’djili Airport. First, the inescapable Sunglasses Committee blocking my entrance to the immigrations area, demanding gruffly to see my passport, almost ripping the pages as they flipped through the visa section impatiently, sweat pouring down their foreheads from their frayed black berets, and a general air of profound dislike and ill-contained rage about them. Second, the utter chaos that is the luggage conveyor belt, which conveys nothing at all since most of the luggage is snatched before it even reaches the belt by hyperactive baggage handlers – or so we assume since they rarely carry any visible identification – who can be seen jumping incessantly in and out of the hatch to get to the luggage the second the little wagon arrives. Third, the over-zealous porters in their bright red Celtel overalls who nod earnestly as you explain to them that thank-you very much, but you really don’t need help, then grab the bag from out of your hand regardless. Fourth, the Fleecing Committee who physically tussle over who gets to check the mundele’s (white people’s) bags, then greedily eye up your Christmas shopping. And finally, the only ones I secretly quite like, ‘les Petits’, who huddle around you and follow you to your car grimacing flamboyantly and clutching their stomachs, then burst out laughing when they think you’re not looking.
Oh dear, I’d promised myself not to do this, not to compare the DRC with Malawi, and not to make Kinshasa sound so unpleasant. See, the good things about Kinshasa, the things that make me feel attached to it at heart despite the grumbling and apparent aggravation, are so much more difficult to pinpoint and describe than the far more evident annoyances, that it’s often easiest to play the part of disgruntled expatriate. So perhaps I will dedicate this first part of 2007 to a better awareness of the energy, enthusiasm and creativity with which Kinshasa is so evidently overflowing.
Happy new year.
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Hippos watching the sunset in Mvuu
P.S: More pictures of Malawi and DRC on my FlickR page.
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