My reflections on my African experience! (part III)

First day in Kinshasa (July 24, 2009)


After a 4-hour plane ride over the clouds, I finally arrived at the Kinshasa airport. I have been warned by colleagues—and also some of the background material that I have read—that this airport could present challenges unlike any other airport around the world. The immigration guys were courteous and efficient. I was in the baggage claim area in no time. The dear colleague who was supposed to pick me up, I later found out, was conveniently waiting outside of the airport. The fact that I did not know if he is even there kept my stress level, I should confess, rather high. (If my French were good enough, I would have told him that his presence inside the waiting area would have been a great consolation for me!) The conveyer belt started running and my first luggage came pretty quickly. But nearly an hour passed before I could get my other two luggages. Why? Simple! Article 15 (as Michela Wrong refers to it in her book, in the footsteps of Mr. Kurtz.)

Here is the explanation: One among many disservices that Mubutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu wa Za Banga (this is his name!) has done to his country—during his 3 decades of kleptocracy—was perpetuating a culture of petty, dirty and unsustainable entrepreneurship. That is to say that everyone had to find a way of earning a living, even if it was through ripping others off. In several occasions, Mubutu and his lackeys promoted this rip-off culture publicly and entrenched it by not paying government officials (leaving them to their wits to make a living). Mubutu and his close allies also engaged extensively in the informal economy to make their fortunes (another way of encouraging the general public to do the same). As a result, an extensive unproductive informal economy has emerged in the DR Congo. What I saw at the airport was emblematic of this fact. And this is what article 15 is (read more about this in chapter 7 of her book).

Luggages were brought all the way from the airplane to where they were supposed to be laid on the belt. But the workers in charge were refusing to actually do put them on the belt. How would you get your luggage then? Again simple: you would have to pay one of those workers (who were supposedly getting paid by the airport to put the luggages on the conveyer belt) to go get them for you from where they were dumped. I was exceptionally lucky as I befriended a little Congolese guy who was waiting for his employer’s luggage. As I could see my luggage laying on the ground other side of the conveyer belt, I pointed it out to him and he snuck to the other side and got it for me. He even pretended that my third luggage was his so that the custom guys would not give me a hard time, which worked perfectly. As I did not have any small dollar bills, I thanked him with the only Kenyan bill that I had which was probably worth 70 cents (sorry my friend!).

The road to the office was an adventurous one. Besides the main asphalt laid road, there were many side trails (petit dirt roads) that were created by the frequent traffic dodgers between the trees planted in the middle of the boulevard or on the sides of the road. An array of cars from a 1970s Peugeot 504 to brand new Mercedes Benzes were dashing through the trees, leaving the path in a haze of dust, only to pull back in to the road 100 meters ahead of where they veered out of it. The main road was cutting through very poor neighborhoods of Kinshasa. One of my colleagues later told me that some families in that neighborhood are so poor that two or three families would share a room. As families are normally large and the rooms rather small, one family would stay in it for half (or a part) of the day and the other(s) for the other part. And this is while I live in a massive house with 5 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms, a swimming pool and all the other luxurious amenities that one would want to have to live a conveniently! No wonder many of the locals commit hate crimes against the whites (not that I approve of it, but I guess I understand it!).

Last night I went to a restaurant in Gombe (where most international organizations are). It was full of humanitarian aid workers and businessmen, mostly white. It was also full of young Congolese girls, fully made up. The scene of white, older male buying drinks for them and touching them all over was so disgusting that made me nauseous. I hardly finished my dinner! I hope this is not the scene in other public places where I go in the future.

July 25--Kinshasa