Wednesday 15 June 2011

The last visa.

D.R.C, formerly Zaire, is Africa’s third largest nation. D.R.C. and Congo hold the world record for the closest neighbouring capital cities, separated by just the width of the mighty Congo River. D.R.C. is presently listed as the world’s 2nd poorest country.

For the fact the country’s new name contains the same word as the previous country, Congo, raised concern as to what the road conditions would be. My plan was to head for the town of Matadi of which sits on the Angolan border. Internet research had showed that visa’s for Angola can be obtained here easier than in the capital, Kinshasa. With good roads it should only take 3-4 days to reach.

Cycling away from the madness of the port area in search of the catholic missionary I’m stopped by someone intrigued by the bike. Charles, a Californian, is out here working for the U.N. Having a good chat we exchange email addresses and he gives directions for the missionary, a good start to the new country. Accommodation in Kinshasa is expensive, with even a ‘budget’ room starting at $50, with this being over my daily budget it was a delight to hear that all rooms were booked but I could, for a small donation, camp on the grass lawn. As with most missionaries, this place had breakfast, and for $5 I was welcomed to. Wifi was also provided so proved a good choice, just a shame the lawn had more mosquitoes than a mosquito farm, and these blighters were not just nocturnal! That first night I joined Charles, and his wife Sue, for a drink at a nearby bar. With strict rules on the use of U.N. vehicles only workers and partners are allowed to be given lifts so they escorted me to and back from the bar on my bicycle.

Still in need of a final charge top-up their invitation to a day at the Grand Hotel swimming pool was immediately accepted. A chilled day drinking cool beer, and enjoying sandwiches and peanuts. We talked about the involvement of the U.N., both globally and here in the D.R.C., where they have a 20,000 strong team trying to get the country back in shape after years of problems. The country is in such a state that the government had even amended it’s law and introduced “article 15”, this basically says that as an individual can ‘do what they need to do’ to survive, essentially legalising robbery and theft. To help rebuild unstable countries the U.N. also offer health care service, vital to such countries with little money. This enables individual to receive the care they need, all paid for by the U.N. Recently a new strain of polio had appeared and the health care unit were issuing vaccination droplets, of which I received while I was there and also additional anti-malaria tablets. Also talking about the possibility of working for the U.N. as a volunteer, whereby accommodation is provided, along with a basic salary. This would prove an interesting way to see the world whilst also helping other people of less fortunate countries, maybe some food for future thoughts. (Their friend Liz is on the right side).

Kinshasa has a population of ~8 million, so cycling out of the city on a Sunday proved a good choice; Many people were going to church so the main road was quiet. Waiting just off the first roundabout next to his 4x4 was a western chap clad in cycling clothes of whom had seen me and stopped for a chat. Frank was from Holland and worked for Bralima as the marketing director, one of the country’s biggest companies. The company promotes and ships the country’s own beer, Primus and also Heineken. His mountain bike was in the car and was of to some nearby trails. Telling me when I get to Matadi I was welcomed to stay at the company’s hospitality house, saying I’d be fed well it sounded perfect. This was actually the first big town I didn’t have a map for so making a few quick contacts to help me find the Angolan consular would be essential.

The route to Matadi was?...hilly! Initially short roller coaster style hills and later leading into longer stretched out ones. The first nights village accommodation proved interesting. After being given the ‘cold shoulder’ by a few people I eventually found the village secretary, of whom went to see the village chief. Being a very long village was quite a lengthy process but eventually, now dark, the chief turned up. Walking 1km back to his place he said I would not need my tent but use the bed inside, little did I know I’d be sharing his bed! Quite an uncomfortable night as there was no mattress, just a cane frame bed with canes to lay on and thought it would appear rude if I got my inflatable mattress to lay on, so just grin and bared it. The chief is in the yellow T-shirt.

Charles gave precautionary advice that the route to Matadi may have police and soldiers wanting bribes, and also possible bandits. As ever I was on stand-by but was only stopped a few times by officials, purely out of curiosity for a chat, where I was from and where I was going etc, with hand-shakes, smiles and no problems.

Some of the excellent scenery...and roads!!



  
On day four the town slowly ebbed closer, 'Matadi 12km' read the sign. The route twisting and winding, descending out of the hills. Making out in the distance more hills with shanty town style homes clinging to the side. Getting closer the descent soon changed into an ascent, the last thing I needed. Passing the town’s check-point and now engulfed in the oh-so familiar surroundings of a typical town’s suburb. Shouts of “ey! tourist!”, something I had also got familiar to and learnt to ignore. The route now too steep to cycle and walking proves easier. Eventually reaching the top and coasting down to the ‘Centre-Ville’. Still needing to make contact with Frank, from Kinshasa, to locate the hospitality house I booked in at a grubby little prison-like, concrete room hotel for the first night. 

Later that evening, in search of some cheap food, I was led by someone from the cyber-café to the nearby Hotel Metropole, a hotel out of my budget, a strange, almost out-of-place building, built by the Belgium’s in 1920, a cross between a monastery and a prison, it gave a distinctive feel of an ancient Roman building. Here I was introduced to Jacko, whom was from UK, and his Romanian assistant, Marina. Jacko was the manager of the Casino and grill restaurant. Immediately handing me a beer and says food will be available shortly when the chef turns up. Asking me to join him in the Casino later, food is ordered, pizza along with burger and chips, being slightly better than the rice dish I had been looking for earlier!

The following morning I made contact with Remy, the manager from the Primus / Heineken depot. Eventually making it back up the San Francisco styled hilly town I meet him along with a few of the other workers. The house proved a welcomed retreat along with some excellent food being served by the chef.

The next day I went to the Angolan embassy to apply for the visa. Unfortunately my timing was bad, real bad. The consular was away for two weeks…in Kinshasa! My only option was to head back there by bus! Booking a ticket for the Sunday morning meant I could get to the embassy bright and early to avoid further delays. Now I felt foolish for not at least trying to get the visa in Kinshasa in the first place, so much for taking granted information read from the internet.


Saturday night was spent with a load of guys from the beer depot at a bar watching the big Barcelona / Manchester match. Not that I care much for football but was good to be surrounded by such high spirited people, fuelled by the goals that Barcelona scored. This helped keep me slightly happier and forget my problems for a while.

 The bus trip back to Kinshasa hi-lighted even more so just how hilly the route actually was, many times following trucks and lorries labouring up the climbs, bellowing plumes of black exhaust fumes. Stopping several times in small town’s en-route next to vegetable sellers. Seeing the bus pull up the they’d run over, surrounding it, waiving carrots, spring onions, peppers, anything they had grown, each of them desperate to sell something to make a few hundred francs. With windows slid open hands and arms would enter, waiving even closer their stock.

Eventually the bus arrived at the Kinshasa depot, this turned out to be ~8km from where I would be camping (again) and my only choice was taxi. Now there’s a mistake. Shouted at by several drivers offering their service I make eye contact with one and he leads me to his car. Asking how much to my destination I [presume] he said 2 mil (Two thousand francs (£1.30)), upon arrival I count 4* 500franc notes, at which he disagrees and starts saying something else, with language barrier giving problems again I ask him to write down how much; $20.00! £12, or 18,000 francs for an 8km taxi ride! The 370km mini-bus from Matadi was only 13,000 francs! I forgot being a westerner I had dollars falling out my pockets. So with a stand off on both sides the disagreement holds, eventually he reluctantly settles for 5,000 francs.

So back in the garden of the Catholic missionary I prepare myself for the commencing fun and games the visa application will no doubt bring. As my bicycle was now in Matadi unless to save taxi fares I would walk to the embassies, about 3 miles away.

With the hassle and headache of the week I was lucky to have Charles and Sue (from the UN) and Julia, an American lady staying at the missionary here on orphanage / adoption business, to give me some company and reassurance that things would, eventually, be ok. One thing I’ve realised with a tour like this is you need to stay flexible. Keeping time and dates rigid is just not possible, with inevitable delays caused by sickness, mechanical problems, and bureaucratic problems. Arranging visa’s before departure from the UK would have been impossible so it’s a case of grin a bear it.

Here’s a summary of the weeks events; 
  • Monday: First attempt at the Angolan embassy where I’m told I need a ‘proof of identity’ letter from the British embassy, verifying I was who my passport stated.
  • Tuesday morning I ask for this, $48 dollars and a few hours later I collect my letter of proof.
  • Wednesday was back to the Angolan embassy. They also require a copy of my vaccination card, of which I had foolishly left in Matadi. Remy helped out here by scanning and emailing over to me, Charles then printed them off. This added 2 further days of waiting.
  • Friday, with all paperwork complete and handed in it was yet another weekend of waiting. This gave me time to make a back-up plan. The absolute last option would be to fly over Angola, my plan of cycling from UK to Cape Town took a severe enough blow when I had to coach/bus across Nigeria, so to get air-born to be over a country would be a definite case of no no, the only plane I’d be boarding would be from Cape Town back to Blighty. With this, my only other option was to cycle around Angola. Being a rather large country, and having a jagged northern boarder meant I would need to extend the DRC visa, I estimated 3 weeks to reach the Zambian border, the ‘new’ country I’d have to cycle through to reach Namibia, via it’s northern ‘peninsula’. This plan actually proved quite good as it meant I could visit “Victoria Falls”, the world’s largest waterfall, in Zambia.
  • Monday morning, back to the embassy. They said return Tuesday….here we go!
  • Tuesday…one Angolan Visa! I had asked for a 30 day ‘Tourism’ visa but was only issued a 5 day ‘Transit’ visa. This would need to be extended in Luanda, the capital city, getting there from the border in just 5 days would be tight but at least I now had the visa, the last visa I’d need to get!!

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