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 
But Scarlets don’t throw the line-out in straight.
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And Scarlets go early in the scrum, but there’s only 15 sec left on the clock.
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Blues lose the ball in their own 22, but it’s over: 32-12.
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‘Mon ra Weedge!!!!
S’been a while…..
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Thanks Tim. Got my time zones wrong so saw 20 mins of it. Consolation prize is Tiggers v Bath. The Priest sporting a blond look and providing a masterclass of quick and effective passing, and Faletau looking at ease with himself again so hopefully the injuries are behind him.
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Bath slaughtering Tiggers here. Why the hell did Matt Scott go to Leicester?
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Leicester Development side, BB. Bath have got 9 or 10 internationals in their side.
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Sounds from the various feeds I’ve been following as though the second half of the first half was a lot better than the first half of the first half and now its half time.
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Words Deebs (i’ll read them tonight when everyone is asleep).
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So I had a shit week. We are changing our extension as a result of the fire and are pretty much ready to go with the building works including the internal refit (hello!) when my surveyor got an email from my neighbour’s (who kindly burnt my house down) saying that they think that they have an easement to bring in massive furniture over my land to their side entrance and please could I change my extension.
We’ve spent thousands on this. A great deal of the contents insurance money we received anyway. Changing the design would mean extra cost and delays returning. They’ve known since September last year.
I had a meeting with them where they had the fucking gall to say that they had bought oak furniture and my plans would mean that they couldn’t get the furniture up the stairs to their flat (which is above their hairdresser). Please could I narrow my extension to make the access more ‘reasonable’ (they have more than a meter). I went to see a solicitor about it Ffs.
Anyway I haven’t been in a mood to speak to anyone all week and was considering cancelling my holiday to Cornwall this week due my predicted mood.
Anyway, my solicitor said at 1645 yesterday that they didn’t have a leg to stand on and I’m sat here enjoying a home brewed beer (that I had from before the fire) outside my tent about to cook Marshmallows with my kids. Life is good.
I’m not going to tell them about my legal advice. Fuck em. They can find out their rights themselves. After my extension goes up :-)
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Glad to hear that the week’s ending well for you Craig’s.
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Anyway?
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Cheers BB. Having this in the back of my mind would’ve fucked the holiday.
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Jebus, reading that back makes me realise how strong my homebrew is!
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Craigs – glad it’s ended well, but what synts you live next door to.
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Embra romping home here! Am slightly surprised, as it’s away.
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Ach bugger. That’s us done then.
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Thaum – nice on the surface, but zero shame and extremely self centered.
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Well done Embra.
Bastards…….
Seriously, I think Wilson has a big rebuilding job on his hands with bugger all money to do it with. Hopefully some of the youngsters coming through will end being as good as Finn, Hoggy and Jonny were for us.
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When I win the lottery, I will move somewhere with no neighbours. They are a pain in the arse.
Now come on Munster!
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Oh christ, Stevie Ferris commentating.
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Dave Kearney in great form
Maybe there is hope.
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Thaum – my neighbours since buying my first house have been getting exponentially worse. I fully expect the next unabomber to move in after these twats.
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@craigs
Move to Essex. People are nicer than in Kent. And have better sun tans.
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The neighbours I share a (thin) wall with used to fight all the time – I mean constantly, every day. Sometime during lockdown, he moved out (and he was the one I got on with). It’s nice and quiet now, but she’s apparently contesting his claim to not even half the original purchase price of the house, which is ridiculous as he put up half the money for it, it’s appreciated significantly, and he did massive amounts of work on it.
But she’s lost her job, so may have to sell. I worry something worse could move in (something horrendously noisy has recently moved in next to the mister’s).
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Munster score for the first points! Typical umpteen-phase thing.
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Leinster overthrow a line-out into the Munster hooker’s hand, but he flubs it. :-(
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Oh dear, Dave Kearney misses a sure-try pass.
To be fair, it might not have been the greatest pass.
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The Blue Death have a 5m line-out.
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And they maul over the line.
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Oh dear, and you can see how the red wall just completely separated…. Please don’t remind us of the election.
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Good riposte from The Dubs
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You’re just saying that cos you want them to win.
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I do want them to win, Thaum it’s what is best for Embra.
Whilst I’m at it, we have a situation whereby Munster and Edinburgh are playing for a home semi final. Munster are scheduled to play their two games after Edinburgh play theirs and they are playing this game with all three match officials from Munster.
The league don’t do themselves any favours in terms of accusations of bias.
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Ticht – obviously it’s better for Embra, but the Blue Death! Cannot bring myself to want them to win. (Well, maybe if Ulster were in a similar posish to Embra….)
I’m really just enjoying watching live rugby, and have not investigated all the repercussions too closely. It might be better for Ulster too if Leinster win, since they’re such clear winners.
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Andrew Brace is a Belgian from Cardiff, ticht.
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My stream is drifting in and out. And I missed the start. What happened to Snyman?
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He is a representative of North Munster according to the commentators, Tom
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Snyman did his ankle in landing badly from a lineout
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And bloody Leinster score just before HT.
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Ringrose has had a couple of exceptional plays, Big Boy stuff
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Ah, just seen that Snyman injury. Great steal, no wonder he’d have a problem coming down from that height.
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ticht, he’s got a central contract and 3 of the other 4 IRFU refs are from Munster. The other’s from Leinster.
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When I played ref (in pool), I certainly tried to be as fair as possible, and if anything was more lenient to the other side to correct any bias. I’d assume that professional refs do at least as much.
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Larmour has been a favourite of mine for a couple of years, hope he is ok
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Leo Cullen suits a facemask.
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That;s very good by Sexton and Baird.
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Big Dev!
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… And there he goes!
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Ringrose could easily be the Lions starting 13 if the tour goes ahead next year. You need pace against SA and he’s got lots and lots.
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