Pointe Noire

A couple of weeks ago, a friend mentioned in passing that he was chartering a plane to Pointe Noire on the Atlantic coast of the Congo Republic (DRC’s neighbour on the other side of the Congo River) for a motocross competition he and a couple of other guys were participating in. So another friend and I decided to play groupie, and on Friday afternoon we found ourselves getting ready to embark a rickety thirty-seater Fokker F-27 from an obscure company called Air Tropiques.

I can’t quite remember if the nervous giggles started when we saw the ominous cupboard with “OXYGEN” written on it in big red letters, or when we noticed that the only emergency exit was little more than a glorified hatch through the toilet right at the back of the plane. However, we were soon reassured with the welcome news that our pilot had the honour of being the one with the most experience of flying a Fokker F-27 in the whole world.

The good thing about chartering a plane is that you pretty much get to sit anywhere you want. The bad thing about chartering a plane for a motocross competition is that the only ones who get to travel first class are the motorcycles. The good thing about chartering a rickety, old Fokker F-27 is that it really doesn’t make any difference: the seats don’t hold upright anyway, and the ones in front of you fold over, allowing you to stretch out in lounge-like luxury, a feeling reinforced by the poker game we started soon after takeoff.

And that set the tone for the entire week-end. Fred joined us on the Saturday morning with some more friends, aft

Abraçou-me / Como se abraça o tempo / A vida num momento / Em gestos nunca iguais / E parou / Cantou contra o meu peito / Num beijo imperfeito / Roubado nos umbrais / E partiu / Sem me dizer o nome / Levando-me o perfume / De tantas noites mais / E uma asa...voa / A cada beijo teu / Esta noite sou dono do céu / E eu não sei quem te perdeu.

(Pedro Abrunhosa)

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