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 
What was the guy’s name in Full Metal Jacket?
Private Pyle?
Stockdale has a bit of the Private Pyle about him with the haircut
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Blimey, another nice score from the Wesht
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Bloody Connacht! It was lovely.
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I’ve just had a look and next week’s Irish derbies are both at the Aviva too
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You must be right, then!
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Ulster just look a bit more rusty than Connacht, but you get the feeling there is more to come from them
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Is Hendo injured?
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Apparently so; didn’t know that. It’s unfortunate!
Let’s hope you’re right about Ulster having more to come.
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It’s a good thing Ulster don’t have to win this.
McCloskey is stormin’ though.
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At last!
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Good patience from the Norners
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They’re having a look, I thought he was short of the line
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Kinell, what power from Aki
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Aki is a force of nature.
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Thaum , they knew he was coming but could do nothing about it
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Yep! There was no stopping him.
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I’d’ve sent that player off just for the blonde mullet.
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Been some criminal haircuts in evidence the past couple of weeks.
You’d think pro players would be able to afford a proper barber
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More power, this time from Ulster’s scrum
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Oooh, that was a lovely scrum. Ulster over the line.
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Chimpie, Charlie Shiel is a trained barber, so the like of Hamish Watson should be flogged for sporting a mullet
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Jarrad Butler has been good
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Mind you that is one fucker of a mullet on the Connacht player there
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Oh well, Connacht fully deserve their win.
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We had a real live bird of prey in our garden this afternoon. Think it might have been a kestrel (it was at the far end of the garden, so couldn’t get close enough to get a real good look). Think it maybe wanted to see what the fuss was about around the bird feeder I have, because there is often a ‘Gang’ of what seems like a couple of hundred wee birds hovering around at the fat balls and the seed feeder. Oh, and crows, magpies, pigeons and a squirrel once that tried to climb up the pole the feeders hang on. And slid back down again.
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Cool beans, BB. We have lots of small birds in our back garden (ha, I call it a back garden, it’s a small space out the back of a terraced house) anyway, lots of spuggies, robins and tits and thrushes, the odd crow makes an appearance which scares off even the seagulls, and the seagulls here take a lot of scaring off, oh and a doo, or two.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bird of prey around the garden, though, they tend to stick to the wilder places, though we do get feral cats and urban foxes coming in early – the dug practically leaves a cartoon Irish Terrier-shaped hole in the kitchen wall in an effort to get at them, but hasn’t got neat them once.
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Carrying on my obsession with this woman – a gay woman country singer, ex-con who served time for robbing her smack dealer – how more country do you want?
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BB – it might have been a sparrowhawk? They certainly show an interest in our bird feeders.
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Deebee, Saints go to Pta in 2000. Fourie du Preez playing for Affies and talking Affies and Saints before the game with your alma mater’s then full-back and one of its current coaches, Charles Post:
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Oops. Wrong video. That one’s with Joel Stransky talking about his Maritzburg College team game v Grey in 1985. Pieter de Haas is the USA Eagles scrum-half Ruben de Haas’s old man.
Here’s the Affies-Saints 2000 match:
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3rd time lucky:
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Changed times! When I was at school we seldom played the top Afrikaans schools because they were simply too good – and twice our size! It was a marvel watching the likes of Reuben Kruger and Hansie Cronje play for Grey College at the Saints Rugby Festival. Hansie played Number 8 from memory and was very good. Pity about the rest of it.
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We had a Peregrine or Sparrowhawk turn up on the balcony. Chose a nice spot too, opposite where I sit at my pc.
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Premiereship schedule seems insane with these midweek matches. It’s just going to end up in mis matches unless they all have agreements to go for B teams. Or completely flog the players.
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So in the ProWoo I think if I’ve got my numbers right Embra face Ulcer at the M-field, and Munster have the joys of playing the Big Bad Blue Boo Boys once again in Dublin (unless the Scarlets manage to overtake them).
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And in other news I did a whoopsie [1] on my mountain bike yesterday. slipped on some slippery stones and scraped off a slice of thigh skin as well as leaving a mahoosive lump on me arm. Don’t think it’s broken fortunately.
All witnessed by a well meaning older couple proffering such useful contributions as ‘does it hurt?’ and ‘it looks like it hurt’.
Yes, and yes in response.
[1] no, not that kind
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What musical genre is JJ Cale considered, out of curiosity?
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Chimpie – fully deserved for using the term ‘Ulcer’.
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For any cricket nerds out there. The art of leg spin from Shane Warne.
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Which is the only country in the world with a single name that contains all five vowels? We know that most towns in Wales do, but this is for countries only!
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@deebee
The People’s Republic of Abstemious
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Surinameo
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I don’t suppose Equatorial Guinea counts?
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Mozambique
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Belorussia is a no-longer-current name….
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Damn you, Chimpie!
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That’s what they all say
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No birds of prey to report, but did look up from fixing working on friends car in the yard yesterday to see a rather fine looking bear watching us from 15 yards away, not seen one this close to home before. Fortunately on the other side of a chain link fence, he sat on a rock for a minute or so before ambling off.
Bad rugby hair dos, blame the NRL, they have gone full weird this season, seemingly trying to outdo each other win dreadfulness of mullet.
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Chimpie whoopsies his way to glory and wins the Internets!
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Thaum – it may well have been a sparrowhawk. I did try to get a photo, but even zooming in its just a bit of a blur. More to do with my photie taking than distance. Something about it made me think it was fairly young. Thankfully, next door’s cat (who basically treats our patio as a sunbed) wasn’t around at the time, although it is probably twice as heavy as a sparrowhawk would be.
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