Having said goodbye to John, probably for the last time (unless I can catch up with him in Lubumbashi), I headed back into the hotel to prepare for the week ahead: a market study on the potential for a new cement plant in the country. A completely different proposition, and one that requires navigating through the minefields of Congolese bureaucracy, suspicion, open secrecy and no small amount of corruption. I was unusually serene though, with the client being local and having organised my visa on arrival for the visit. Dinner was good, if overpriced, as is usual in Kinshasa, and I was looking forward to a different side of Kin and then the drive to Matadi port, some 350km south-west of Kin on the border with Angola. I’ve done the trip a number of times and it’s always exciting to see the mighty Congo River up close and personal.
I met up with Mo, we shall call him, a Middle Eastern businessman who had lived in Congo for 30-odd years on the Monday morning, and we mapped out the week ahead. Fabulous coffee, with Mo smoking a packet of twenty before 11 am, and alternately swearing at everyone in the office and flirting outrageously with every woman who walked into the building. We headed out after lunch at a great Lebanese restaurant (Lebanese businesses are very prominent from Senegal to Angola on Africa’s west coast, much like the Indian diaspora dominates much of the eastern seaboard) and began our series of meetings with key contractors, large building materials resellers and logistics companies, gathering a goldmine of data you simply can’t get any other way. After a couple of days of this, we headed for Matadi.
The Matadi Highway is a misnomer: it’s a single lane each way, takes about two or three hours to get out of or into Kinshasa because of the congestion and is riddled with potholes, partially collapsed bridges and markets that encroach onto the road. It’s also the only road linking the port of Matadi with the 40 million people on the western side of DRC who depend entirely on the port for imports of almost everything. The road winds along partly parallel to the river, partly meandering between the hills. It’s very windy, with lots of blind rises and corners, and broken-down cars and jack-knifed trucks spilling bananas across the road a common feature.
This doesn’t deter Congolese drivers, especially Mo, who drive at the limits of whatever vehicle they’re in. Mo spent the journey smoking non-stop and alternatively swearing into one phone and cackling outrageously into another, with a fourth hand on the hooter as we drove through small villages and the markets spilling onto the ‘highway’. We stopped twice for funeral processions. Mo wound down his window and showered the mourners with cash, of which he had a never-ending supply in various currencies.
We arrived in Matadi around nine hours after we left Kin and headed for our hotel, which sprawled across one side of a hill, built in the style of an entire Tuscan village, except with dodgy wiring, dodgier water and a large cinema-style screen, to show the football, next to the pool and bar. We had a great dinner of Congo River prawns and fish, followed by the ubiquitous peri-peri chicken, chips and loads of beer. Mo was in his element, especially as more and more of the local hookers took up residence in the bar waiting for the assortment of local businessmen, visitors from Kin and Angola, and bored sailors to get drunk and loosen their purse strings. Time to exit.
The following morning, we headed to the port to look at the state of it. Pretty run down, with most of the cranes not much more than scrap, although it could pass as a post-modern art installation in parts of Europe. “No fuckin’ click-click here!” barked Mo as we arrived, as photographing any public building in the Congo can land you in prison. I’ve been there loads of times and am well aware of it. We handed in our passports (and US $200 to Mo’s contact) and headed for the meeting: a torturous affair, with slow, heaving cascades of hierarchy and protocol you could stick a turbine on and run a small city off. We got what we expected – precisely nothing – and headed off to the private port concession around the river bend after collecting our passports from the bored guards.
More passport control, despite it being a private concession. Great meeting with a young Belgian guy who also happened to have started a rugby club in the town. He was delighted to be able to talk rugby for a while, interspersed with sighs and eye-rolling about Congolese corruption.
As we left, we collected our passports, except this time the officer smiled and addressed me in English. My heart sank. It means only one thing: bribes, which I don’t pay. “M. Deebee (obviously reads OB), may I have a word? Come sit. Let’s talk about your passport.” I didn’t have a visa to be here apparently.
“Not true”, I replied with a flourish and showed him the stamped visa on arrival. “Yes, but visa on arrival is only valid for the province of arrival,” he smiled, warming to his task. “I must arrest you.” A furious exchange between the officer and Mo in Lingala, punctuated by swearing in French and English, along with mutual backslapping and laughter went on for thirty minutes or so before the officer beamed and turned to me. “Come, you need to come with me.”
He didn’t have a car, so we were obliged to give him a lift to the police headquarters where I was put into a cell. No lights, no windows, just a hole in the rickety door for light and air. No Wi-Fi or internet obviously, no phone signal. Nothing. Just heat and stale sweat for company, with the occasional sounds of Mo flirting, fighting, laughing and swearing at and with anyone in whichever room he was in.
Time dragged on and I began to worry that I was in real trouble, not just US$100-and-fuck-off trouble. Eventually, six hours later, Mo arrived, ice cold beer in hand, huge smile, even bigger apology and flung open the door. “Come! We go! I’ve sorted it. You fuckin’ expensive, you!” Cue more laughter. The officer was delighted with his work, worth US $800 to him and nothing to the state, and we were on our way to the border town of Lufu, a gateway for informal trade with Angola over the rickety Lufu bridge on the Lufu river. But that’s a story for another day.
As told by the convict formerly known as Deebee7.
Proper rugby returneth
Friday 21st August
| Western Force v Reds | 10:05 | Sky Sports Action |
| Sale v Exeter | 18:00 | BT Sport 2 |
| Treviso v Zebre | 19:00 | Premier Sports 1 |
| Wasps v Worcester | 19:45 | BT Sport Extra |
| Gloucester v Bristol | 19:45 | BT Sport Extra |
Saturday 22nd August
| Brumbies v Waratahs | 10:15 | Sky Sports Action |
| Saracens v Quins | 12:30 | BT Sport Extra |
| Scarlets v Cardiff | 15:00 | Premier Sports 1 |
| Leicester v Bath | 16:30 | BT Sport 3 |
| Edinburgh v Glasgow | 17:15 | Premier Sports 1 |
| Leinster v Munster | 19:35 | Premier Sports 1 |
Sunday 23rd August
| Ospreys v Dragons | 14:15 | Premier Sports 1 |
| Connacht v Ulster | 16:30 | TG4 / Premier Sports 1 |
Tuesday 25th August
| Wasps v Sale | 17:30 | BT Sport 2 |
| Bristol v Exeter | 19:45 | BT Sport 2 |
Wednesday 26th August
| Leicester v London Irish | 18:00 | BT Sport Extra |
| Saracens v Gloucester | 18:00 | BT Sport Extra |
| Worcester v Quins | 18:00 | BT Sport Extra |
| Northampton v Bath | 19:45 | BT Sport 2 |
Ovally Balls 
Yes, Chimpie.
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‘ Afternoon!
In this era of political bollocks here’s some gratifying information:
‘Your’ Exeter team to play Worcester on Sunday:
15 Stuart Hogg, 14 Jack Nowell, 13 Henry Slade, 12 Ian Whitten, 11 Alex Cuthbert
10 Joe Simmonds (capt), 9 Jack Maunder
1 Ben Moon, 2 Luke Cowan-Dickie, 3 Harry Williams, 4 Jonny Gray, 5 Jonny Hill, 6 Dave Ewers
7 Jacques Vermeulen, 8 Sam Simmonds
16 Jack Innard,17 Billy Keast, 18 Marcus Street, 19 Will Witty, 20 Richard Capstick, 21 Sam Hidalgo-Clyne
22 Harvey Skinner, 23 Tom Hendrickson
Pretty strong!
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In all its glory.
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from a more sensible world
GLOUCESTER RUGBY
Jason Woodward, 14. Ollie Thorley, 13. Chris Harris, 12. Billy Twelvetrees, 11. Jonny May, 10. Danny Cipriani, 9. Joe Simpson; 1. Val Rapava-Ruskin, 2. Jack Singleton, 3. Fraser Balmain, 4. Ed Slater, 5. Matt Garvey, 6. Ruan Ackermann, 7. Lewis Ludlow ©, 8. Jake Polledri
REPLACEMENTS
Franco Marais, 17. Corne Fourie, 18. Jack Stanley, 19. Jordy Reid, 20. Jack Clement, 21. Stephen Varney, 22. Tom Seabrook, 23. Lloyd Evans
Still no Ben Morgan :(
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I’m not watching that. No wish to boak.
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Speech. Not Exeter vs Glaws, which I’d be quite happy to watch.
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International sport. Live. From Luxemboug. It’s the Czechs v the Luxies:
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Czech team is made up of 11 Czechs. Mostly Czechs from India, but also some Czechs from Sri Lanka, Pakistan, Afghanistan and South Africa.
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Seems to be at a ground I’ve played at!
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Luxembourgers are a wicket down – 37-1 off 5. The new batsman is Joost Mees. Dutch lad originally. He’s a dual international as he’s played hockey for the Netherlands Antilles.
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From what I understand, that’s the best ground in Luzembourg, CMW.
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(Also, the only ground)
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We’d been drinking virtually non-stop for three days by the time we played as the first game was rained off. My flatmate opened the bowling and missed the artificial pitch completely with his first two balls. I giggled through to the end of the over before running from somewhere on the right of picture to a portaloo out of shot on the left just in time to avoid shitting my pants.
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Sounds a bit like the England tour to Australia in 2006/07.
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Looking pretty good for the Luxembourgers just now. I’m sure TomP told me the Czechs were the real thing and Luxembourg were a bit crap not so long ago…
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I bowled quite well there, especially considering the state I was in. Got a very good player out though I always wondered if he maybe gave me his wicket for having bowled well at him. Later on I was supposed to be playing out a draw as number 11 in a team of twelve and somehow managed to get caught at cover by the only fielder in front of the bat. Number twelve (one of theirs as they had too many wanting a game after the previous day’s disappointment) managed to bat out the remaining couple of overs for us.
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So is it Czechia or Czech Republic? And does it matter?
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Luxembourg innings falling away a bit since I said that of course.
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It should be Czechland.
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Marvellous bit of running there.
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Czechs beat them last time out, CMW. Not sure how many of these Luxembourgers were playing in that game. It was at the tourney in Romania.
The Czech team smashed Turkey in a mismatch and earned some records at the same event: https://www.espncricinfo.com/story/_/id/28367290/the-day-czech-republic-held-four-world-records-cricket
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BB, It sort of does but not really.
OT, Czechlands is the best name.
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164/7. Really struggled to hit boundaries in the last five or six overs. Sort of target that feels like it could be a good game.
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“I’m exploring the Czechlands” sounds cool.
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Big today tomorrow. Going to my first football match since the thing started.
Union Zizkov v Dolni Chabry 2nds.
Dolni Chabry’s a suburb in the north of the city. Home to Prague’s finest snail restaurant. I went there once. The food was good but the service was slow.
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Think “The Czech Lands” was the term at one point?
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Looking pretty good for Luxembourg again now.
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Big Sudesh or bust for the Czechs.
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It’s a shame the production values aren’t up to the standard of that 10 over a side Czech league game a while back.
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“You can’t be complacent in international cricket” is very true.
My favourite one from earlier was “he’s like Heinz – 52 varieties”.
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New post in ten mins….
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