It was a comfortable flight, given that we were flying through the tropics, where turbulence is commonplace and losing your dinner tray (and dinner) not unheard of. I looked out the window as we descended through the perma-clouds over Kinshasa and smiled as the magnificent Congo River momentarily came into view, pointing out to my clients that the land they saw wasn’t the other side of the river, but the island in the middle of Stanley Pool. At this juncture on the river, it goes over the earth’s curvature, meaning you can’t see the opposite bank if you’re standing on the river’s edge.
We disembarked into the oppressive late-afternoon heat of crazy Kinshasa and made our way through passport control and luggage collection. All smooth so far, I smiled and rang our driver, John, who I always use on trips to the world’s largest French-speaking city. A grand old fellow who knows everybody and taught himself to speak English, of sorts, a godsend in the city. No reply. WhatsApp him. No response. “Monsieur Ducan?” I heard and turned to see a young man holding his phone out to me with my WhatsApp profile photo on it. “Yes, are you with John?” I replied. No English. Shit.
He escorted us around the back of the airport, where he had parked for ‘free’, guarded by the airport security you’re supposed to tip for the pleasure of walking around for 20 minutes. A grand ceremonial salute from the guard got him a couple of dollars – not too much or too visible, or the driver may think we’re loaded American or European businesspeople. Out of nowhere, a young lady approached us and introduced herself as John’s niece and explained he’d asked her to fetch us.
“John’s gone back to Lubumbashi,” she said. Strange, I’d spoken to him twice during the week to confirm arrivals and prices for Kinshasa, not Lubumbashi over 2,000 km south and inaccessible by road. The driver is her boyfriend, who will drive us for the week, she informed me.
“But I need John, because he speaks English!” I protested. “Don’t worry, when you need something call me and I will talk to the driver,” she said. Ah, fuck! Here we go. Never a simple transaction in the bloody Congo. “Let’s talk tomorrow,” I snapped back ditching my serenity for a moment, largely because my clients were looking terrified.
The following morning, being a Sunday, we had decided to do a tour of the supermarkets, bakeries and informal markets of Kinshasa to look at prices, brands and availability of the clients’ products – a nice easy way to introduce them to one of Africa’s most vibrant, fun, frustrating and sometimes scary cities.
I called our lady friend to tell her the driver was now an hour late. “He has to fetch another car, this one is broken. He will be there before lunch” she offered.
I approached the concierge of our hotel, located right on the banks of the river and looking across to Brazzaville in the other Congo. The hotel, that is, not the concierge. He was at his desk. “Are you able to find us an English-speaking driver, please?” He smiled and assured us he would. We walked with him to where the taxis park under the trees opposite the hotel. He waved a car over, which looked familiar, but then old, battered and with a cracked windscreen is normal in Kin. “He will help you” said the concierge and walked off.
A bent figure slowly emerged from the car, polished immaculately (the car, not the driver etc.), dressed in a three-piece suit, cravat and fedora. “John!” I shouted happily, “where were you yesterday, patron?” A look of confusion gradually gave way to the smile of the inimitable Mr. Matadi (Matadi is apparently Lingala for rock, so I call him Mr Stone, much to his amusement). Finally he recognised me! I gave my clients a thumbs-up, because now we were with the man who knows Kinshasa intimately – the streets, the history, the characters, the tales. An absolute gem of a man. “I know him!” he shouted to my clients and everyone else within earshot, “I know him!”
And so we set off on the day’s mission, John regaling tales of the Rumble in the Jungle – “Ali? I know him! I drive him in Kinshasa! 1974! Zaire, but Mabuto was a bad man. But he made Kinshasa famous by bringing Ali to us. I know him! Too clever for George. I was boxing then. I know, I know.”
John still couldn’t say how his ‘niece’ had come to collect us.
The week flashed past, with meetings held with the largest importers and distributors in DR-Congo, an array of retailers from large to small and bakeries, some of which produce over a million baguettes a day to satisfy the insatiable appetite for bread in Kin; small patisseries and local Lebanese bakeries; logistics and transport companies, warehouses and a range of other players in the market. The reception was, for the most part, wonderful. It’s a difficult country and market and people are really accommodating when you’re looking to do business with them.
Each day started and finished in the clean, wide, tree lined streets of Gombe, the part of Kinshasa where most of the Embassies, rich and famous and importantly, the President, live. It’s very secure (our hotel being next to the presidential compound), quiet, with great restaurants and vibrant, raucous nightclubs not too far away.
Soon, however, we’d be into the industrial and open-market areas where roads haven’t been repaired since Mabuto took power in 1965 and are non-existent in many areas, raw sewerage runs between people’s houses, with only the rain and mountains of rubbish to wash it away and obscure it from view. No running water, no electricity, no sanitation and no hope for about 11 million of the 11.5 million people living in the city. Everywhere is dusty, even though it’s tropical with rain pretty much every day, everywhere has a smell of rotting vegetation, mingling with the dust, diesel and general stench of decay. An absolute assault to newcomers, something you accept once used to it.
One morning we sat in a rat-infested bakery near Marché Central (output of almost 1 million baguettes a day, but looking like a abandoned Dickensian dump), whilst the finance director tried to extort money from us to grant access to the procurement manager. We left and crossed them off our target list.
From there, we meandered back in the direction of our car. Several blocks of the city had been cordoned off whilst a new road was built, so we had to park about a kilometre away. We used the time to trek through the labyrinth of shops, wholesalers, kiosks and more asking about prices, ably assisted by a street kid who we paid about US$20 for the couple of hours he was with us. Best money spent on the trip. It was a bit overwhelming for the clients, who needed a coffee. I suggested a place around the corner, and was met with horrified looks.
“Trust me” I said, and turned the corner, walked down the potholed, dusty street until the sign came into view: Eric Kayser, the French chain and an absolute godsend. That’s Kin: super-luxury cheek by jowl with chaos and poverty.
Finally, it was time for the clients to leave. John raced us to N’djili International, vying for precious space on the only road to the airport with trucks, buses, cars, motorbikes, pedestrians and other cars. It’s quite an experience!
John helped us get the clients’ luggage into the check-in queue whilst we headed off to pay the US$50 exit tax, or whatever it’s for – assisted by someone whom John had paid to ensure the authorities didn’t try to extort more from us.
Back in the queue, which had ground to a halt because the computers had crashed. Manual boarding. Two hours for about 80 people. Make small talk, chat about next steps, the upcoming Nigeria visit. I was staying for another field research mission, including a trip to Matadi Port, 350km from Kinshasa, but that’s for another time.
The clients finally went through to board, and John and I left to go back to the city.
Over the course of the week, he had become increasingly confused and I can only think he had dementia or something similar, because he wasn’t the John I knew. Increasingly tired, no longer talking about fabulous tales of the rich and famous he rubbed shoulders with. A tired old man. We arrived and I thanked him for his service, paying him in dollars and giving him the usual tip.
“Au revoir, papa” I said, hugging him. He looked at me and smiled “No, it’s time. Kinshasa has defeated me. Finally. John is going home. To my family in Lubumbashi. They know me.”
As told by Deebee7, obviously.
Ovally Balls 
*Musk non-space update*
“Elon Musk has called for an end to lockdown measures designed to slow the spread of the coronavirus outbreak and prevent more deaths, tweeting “FREE AMERICA NOW” and “Give people their freedom back”.”
LikeLike
“The billionaire’s predictions about how serious the pandemic is have also been wide of the mark, having predicted in March that the outbreak would be nearly over by the end of April.”
Predicting business going well for him.
LikeLike
Chimpie – he’s clearly been ‘smoking’ too much with Joe Rogan again.
LikeLike
@Craigs, I was giving the reasons why people have protested against Singer and had his speaking dates cancelled. I should look up the book before typing this I guess, but in one book he argued along the lines that the parents of disabled newborns should be allowed to choose to end the child’s life and only they should be allowed to take the decision.
Disabilities activists have protested against him.
As for “woke”, didn’t it start as an African American term, mainly used for “awareness” of racist behaviours and situations. It has become a lot wider than that of course.
LikeLike
@ticht
That’s right. The only time I see the term now is to take the piss out of people like that Lib Dem councillor displaying his righteous solidarity with muslims by tweeting a photo of his pre-fast breakfast that contained bacon.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ticht – you are right, it was culturally appropriated in a sense ;-)
Tbh, I used to think that it was a good thing but it seems to have manifested into a firing circle. Which is why I brought up Peter Singer.
But see also the teenage girl who wore a Chinese dress to her prom and was piled on Twitter for cultural appropriation. You had men telling her what she could and couldn’t where in the 21st century Ffs. There are so many examples like this.
Also, I agree with Obama on this when he said it’s not activism but a way of feeling good about yourself.
LikeLike
*wear.
Fucksake
LikeLike
OT – that was amazing. Truly amazing.
LikeLike
You truly can’t say anything nowadays.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Also OT, are you still following FDs favourite twitter account?
LikeLike
Quiet you!!
LikeLike
Captain Tom is now Colonel Tom. Hurrah!
LikeLike
I miss FD.
I think “progressiveness” for want of a better word has changed things for the better and far outweighs a couple of instances of bungling incompetence
LikeLiked by 1 person
@craigs
which one is that?
LikeLike
CJ’s?
LikeLiked by 4 people
Woke critique of Deebee’s piece about Kinshasa coming later today.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Ticht – I miss FD too.
LikeLike
OT – Titania McGrath. I remember you posting one of her tweets and he wasn’t impressed.
I think it was you anyway.
LikeLike
Tomp – he didn’t capture the trans experience?
LikeLike
Yes Titania has surpassed* herself this week. FD really didn’t like that character but I’m surprised as it’s not as if he’s humourless or anything. I see it just as a bit of fun.
LikeLike
OT – I think it’s who is behind it more than anything. I find it very funny too tbh.
LikeLike
Craigs, why are you obsessed by trans issues?
LikeLiked by 1 person
He’s a 100 year old WWII army vet who’s been walking up & down his garden to raise cash for the NHS (£30m so far).
Brilliant – I didn’t realise it was him being referred to.
LikeLike
Which won’t improve due to him being on the Advisory Council of the Free Speech Union…
LikeLike
Tomp – who said I was?
LikeLike
That wasn’t supposed to confrontational BTW, just genuinely curious. If my clumsy joke about Deebee not covering the trans experience wasn’t cool then I apologise.
LikeLike
‘Craigs, why are you obsessed by trans issues?’
Trans curious perhaps.
LikeLiked by 1 person
*gaming update*
Finished Fallen order. Darned eldest child beat me to it though.
LikeLike
And craigs still hasn’t finished bloodborne.
LikeLike
@Deebee
I don’t doubt he’s a great lad & has done good.
The media wankfest is detracting from other actual issues though IMO.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Considerably more that £30m could be raised for healthcare by a variety of means including making dodgers pay their taxes, reducing political interference, management waste & twats like Branson suing etc.
LikeLiked by 4 people
Chimpie – I used to paint my nails blue. Maybe it’s that.
LikeLike
The thing that truly annoys me about the term ‘woke’ is that it’s ungrammatical.
LikeLiked by 2 people
The trance experience is in Part 2. Hopefully next week.
LikeLike
It’s certainly problematic
LikeLike
“The thing that truly annoys me about the term ‘woke’ is that it’s ungrammatical.”
OK, Karen.
LikeLike
“The only time I see the term now is to take the piss out of people like …”
Don’t worry. I read the Daily Telegraph so you don’t have to:
“What have the ‘woke’ middle managers of New Broadcasting House done to our BBC?” – Allison Pearson, January 21 2020
“BBC dramas are ‘woke’ propaganda, not entertainment” – Simon Heffer, February 24 2020
“The self-pitying ‘woke’ generation needed a war – and in coronavirus they’ve got one” – Celia Walden, March 23 2020
“Don’t be seduced, as the worst woke commies are, by North Korea’s Kim Yo-jong” – Julia Behan, April 27 2020
LikeLike
This one I missed. Alexandra Phillips yesterday.
Genuine genius:
“Wokism is breaking out again. Hopefully, we’ll soon be immune”
Woke. Past participle of the verb ‘wake’. Yet for an extremely vocal, interminably aggrieved subset of society (with little sympathy towards grammatical propriety), it is an adjective used for the crosshairs through which every imagined injustice should be attacked.
Wokism is a strange side effect of the existential angst one suffers due to a drama-free existence. So it was of little surprise that as pestilence spread across the world, identity politics went into lockdown with one third of the planet’s population. Perspective proved a powerful thing, and we were granted a temporary reprieve.
LikeLike
I know this may be a weird statement for some of you, but I really find myself struggling to care about either side regarding the word ‘woke’.
Maybe its being old and not interested in Twitter and all the rubbish surrounding it. And yes, I do realise that there are some things for which Twitter is useful but it seems as though that’s a VERY small percentage of its output, if the links I see posted on here and other places are anything to go by.
Signed,
Grumpy In Scotland.
LikeLiked by 1 person
“The only time I see the term now is to take the piss out of people like …”
Don’t worry. I read the Daily Telegraph so you don’t have to:
“What have the ‘woke’ middle managers of New Broadcasting House done to our BBC?” – Allison Pearson, January 21 2020
“BBC dramas are ‘woke’ propaganda, not entertainment” – Simon Heffer, February 24 2020
“The self-pitying ‘woke’ generation needed a war – and in coronavirus they’ve got one” – Celia Walden, March 23 2020
“Don’t be seduced, as the worst woke commies are, by North Korea’s Kim Yo-jong” – Julia Behan, April 27 2020
OK Boomer.
LikeLiked by 1 person
BTW, fuck anyone who actually thinks this:
“The self-pitying ‘woke’ generation needed a war – and in coronavirus they’ve got one” – Celia Walden, March 23 2020
LikeLike
BB, I share your bemusement at twitter. Don’t get it at all. very occasional useful / interesting nuggets come out but it looks like a vast sea of dross from my lofty perch.
Also, anyone who describes themselves as an ‘influencer’ needs serious re-education with a rock IMO.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Feeling somewhat grumpy myself at the state of things
LikeLike
Just been informed by a small person that he has ‘infinite poo’ in his bottom. If he was to live forever this may be true.
LikeLike
Sometimes twitter can get someone’s idiocy in 140 or fewer characters. Take, for instance, Lord Matt Ridley:
LikeLike
Sorry, I’ll take that back.
Ridley probably gets 280 characters.
LikeLike
Tomp – I dunno, half way seemed to be about right there.
LikeLike
Presumably that isn’t the Rory Sutherland who plays loose head for Embra and Scotland ?
LikeLike
Didn’t realise the Scotland looseheid was some kind of virus expert.
LikeLike
FFS ticht.
LikeLike