Restaurant Le Kactus

The first time I visited Congo I was asked if I wanted take-away for lunch. I didn't expect much, but the menu that was presented to me didn't look too French, so I ordered a hamburger and chips. My sister-in-law that time was very much into McDonald's burgers and thought there wasn't anything better. When I received my burger from Le Kactus I was very surprised and rather pleased, I actually send her a picture and told her that I have just discovered the best hamburger...and this was in Congo. Since that day I have ordered many meals at Le Kactus and has never been disappointed. After many years the restaurant still exists and is probably one of the more famous restaurants in Pointe-Noire. If you ever visit Pointe-Noire, do check it out. 

Collecting stories for the Madame

A colleague of mine who arrived in Pointe-Noire a few days ago also had her name added to the "lost baggage statistics"-list. She is rather new in the company and has not travelled much in Africa, so the whole experience wasn't very pleasant for her to start with. The worse for her I guess was the fact that she didn't have any extra clothes to wear. Despite the fact that I hardly know Pointe-Noire and cannot speak much French (neither can she), I felt obliged to assist her in getting a few pieces to wear until her suitcase some day arrives. We got a driver who can hardly speak English, but when we mentioned the word "shop" his face lit up, he jumped in the car and off we went. 

After a couple of minutes' drive deep into Pointe-Noire's "informal" shopping area, I started wondering if the word "shop" might not have another meaning in French. My colleague was visibly getting more and more nervous and kept telling me that she didn't feel comfortable. She kept explaining to our driver and he kept nodding his head until he stopped in front of a small shop selling suitcases. I immediately realized that we probably should not have told him the whole story about her lost luggage issue, because the words he actually grasped was not only "shop" but "luggage" as well. I tried another approach and said "clothes" while tugging onto my shirt.  "Ah", he said and off we went deeper into Africa. After another 5 minutes drive he stopped and showed us more shops across the street. He got out with us, took us to one or two shops, but unfortunately they were only selling clothes for men. 

I could see that my colleague was now really upset and wanted to leave immediately. I don't think she was annoyed with our driver's inability to understand her; I think she was getting scared as we were approach by each and every Congolese beggar who thought they could get a few bucks from us. I for one stand out like a sore thumb. This is really annoying and I understood her concern, but at this point we had to find clothes and I was seeing this whole predicament we were in from a completely different perspective. I told her to relax and said: "Listen, don't worry, we are fine. We are busy collecting stories....". I tried my luck again with our driver and said to him "No-no-no, we want clothes NOT for me, for MADAME". "Ah" he said once again and exchanged some French grammar with one of the street vendors. We got in the car again and drove around the next corner where we stopped right in front of a shop which looked like it might be selling the stuff that "Madame" would be interested in.

My colleague didn't buy much, I think at this stage she was too confused and nervous to really shop. There were no changing closets, the whole shop was about the size of a Woolworths' changing room so she had to fit in the air while 5 beggars and 5 shop assistants were watching her every move. On our way back she asked me what I meant by "collecting stories"? I could only explain to her one of my favourite quotes.....

"Tourists bring back souvenirs, adventurers bring back stories"

Not so very Congolese

A guy I met a few years ago in Gabon told me that in Africa you have to be careful where you stick things in, you never know what you may find. What he was actually referring to was his credit card that he never wanted to stick into any ATM in Africa. Never mind for what he was talking about, it was a good rule to live by for more than one reason. 

This morning I realized that I came to Congo without enough Cefas on me. I usually have dollars on me, but I have used most of it on my previous trips and never 'topped up" again, so I was running low on that too. At least I had enough on me to survive this week if I control my food intake and live on Coke and chips. This morning I went to a bank with a colleague who also needed money. We stood in the queue for about ten minutes and didn't move an inch forward. The bank's money counting machine was broken and the lady behind the window had to count the thickest pack of Congolese notes that I have ever seen in my life one  by one. Add the paper work and African urgency and you are bound to stand there for at least an hour. This was definitely not going to be quick. As a rule and as taught by someone who apparently knew best, I never draw money at ATM's in Africa either. I have done so once or twice in Tanzania, Uganda and Gabon, but I have never done it in Congo. The colleague of mine who comes from another country in Africa tells me that in their country when something is really bad or not working at all, they say it is "so very Congolese". If that's anything to go by then I guess sticking your credit card in an ATM in Congo might also not be wise.

After about 20 minutes I got tired of waiting, so I asked where I could find an ATM. I have two worries when I use an ATM in Africa; one is that my card might be swallowed and I won't get it back and the second is that something might go wrong with the transaction and I won't get my money back. Like the time in Tanzania when the whole process went perfect; I got the statement stating that my withdrawal went through but I never got the cash in my hand to prove it. I had that checked out and fortunately it was corrected within minutes. I don't know how I will explain that in French in a little town like Pointe-Noire, so I prefer to avoid situations like that to happen to me in countries where my lack of communication skills might leave me card-less or cash-less. But today I needed money, the bank was open and I had someone with me who could speak French as a back-up. I stuck my card in and waited a while. It looked like the machine was checking the world over to see if he could verify the account. Then suddenly, in French and English I was instructed on the screen to go ahead with my transaction. I was amazed that it worked, but more for the fact that it was in English too. I drew 50 000 CFA, asked for a receipt and got my money with no problems. I left with a smile on my face. "Not so very Congolese after all" I had to say with a smug face to my colleague when I went back into the bank to find her still waiting to be assisted.

Landing Card Syndrome

There is one thing that still unsettles me a  bit when I travel and that is the moment when we approach a country and the airline crew starts handing out disembarkation cards...or landing cards as it is more commonly known as. For me a landing card is just an association with arriving at a developing country, and I have too many of those in Africa with unpleasant stories attached to them.

For a start I hate filling in landing cards. As with many other type of forms you get either not enough space to fill in what they want to know or you have no idea what they actually are asking for. Secondly I have to get up to find my pen and passport because I keep it my laptop bag and I can never remember my passport information. South Africa also used to have landing cards. Later it was replaced with a SARS or income tax form. The South African Revenue Services wanted to know how much money you bring into the country so that they could tax you. I always lied on these forms and it was never really checked. Not that I ever brought in anything of much value, but I was always too lazy to count the money on me or add up the value of all the gifts I had brought back from abroad. So I just made up a figure. Fortunately this disappeared and now we can also claim to have at least a smoother entry into the country like in most First World countries. The fact remains that filling in a landing card to me is like a reminder that I am entering a country where I know there is going to be some sort of crap coming my way.

This morning I was on my way to Congo and when I saw the crew member walking down the aisle with little white forms in her hand, it was as if reality had struck me once again. You are about to receive an less than pleasant reception! One would think that I am immune to these places by now, but it is that surprise element at these airport arrivals that you just cannot get rid of. It gives you a funny feeling on your stomach when you see the card coming your way. Is my visa going to be OK or are they going to ask me 20 USD because the signature, according to them, looks smudged? Is my Yellow Fever Card yellow enough or does it have to be the brighter yellow? Do they want to see a Ordre d’Mission despite the fact that I needed it for my visa application, or will they request to see another document that I obviously don't have on me? BTW, these are things that I have experienced before, so I am not making it up.

It's been just over a year since I last visited Congo. Every time I leave I hope that it has been my last trip, but I always seem to come back again. Over the past ten years I have seen improvements in the airport buildings, improvements in the departure procedure and the fact that I can now fly straight from Johannesburg to Pointe-Noire on SAA is also a huge improvement. We landed safely and I made my way to Immigration. When you enter the Immigration area some dude who took it upon himself shows you where to line-up and once you have presented your passport and landing card to a usually very unfriendly Immigration officer you are up for your next challenge. By the door as you enter the arrivals hall where the luggage is delivered you still have to face two people in white overcoats who wants to see your Yellow Fever card. Never look lost, that is a sign of weakness that will be exploited by whoever can tell you a bullshit story like that your yellow fever card is not the right colour. After that you enter the arrivals hall where there is always a huge commotion going on. It always seems as if there are already more people hanging around the carousel than the actual amount of passengers disembarking. This “welcoming crowd” are just police officers, custom officials and luggage handlers; not friends and loved-ones. They are waiting outside. Make sure you grab your own bag before a luggage handler does otherwise you might have to negotiate a price to get it back.

Before you can finally leave you have to show your baggage tag to guys dressed in blue and white uniforms. I'm not sure where they fit in, might be airport personnel. Finally you have to open your luggage at Customs for a manual search. By the time I walked towards Customs I've already heard of two passengers who didn't receive their luggage. I guess getting to Customs unscathed could've been considered a "good day" for me then. The only worry I had left was that I was told earlier by someone that they have a new restriction on bringing in food. Apparently there is a new "import tax" on food, 10 Euros for whatever you have on you. I had some sachets of instant coffee, instant soup and a chocolate with me.... worth about 10 Euros in total. I was not going to pay a 10 Euro "food tax" on something that cost me around 10 Euros in the first place. Fortunately for me as I opened my luggage, the Customs official was distracted and she never checked long enough to see what I had "stashed" in my luggage. I received my white chalk signature on my suitcase and I was good to go. 

Although the arrival today was very simple compared to what I have been through in the past, I am sure that they can also start using computers and do away with the landing cards at least. That should give me a few minutes longer before I get that knot in my tummy.

Cross out useless words

They say that firsts impressions last. I guess when you plan a trip to a country the "first impressions" you receive from that country is probably the visa application form that you have to complete prior to your departure. I absolutely hate filling in forms. What freaks me out the most is when there is not enough space to fill in what they asked you or when the questions are difficult to understand and you don't really know what they want. Also sometimes you have to choose between four or five options, but none of them really pertains to your situation or they wanted it in black ink and you only have a blue pen with you. The list goes on....

I am planning a trip to Congo Brazzaville. It is not my first trip, so I have seen this visa application form many times before. You can skip this whole form by getting a visa-on-arrival, but they take your passport and only return it a day or two later. To me this is not an option, so I struggle through the form to make sure I don't have to part with my passport at any time. 

I don't think that the visa form for Congo has changed over the last ten years....

I can understand when English is not the first language spoken in a country, but I am sure that you will find professional translators wanting to earn a buck or two and provide you with a more professional looking questionnaire...

"De Father et de Mother..."???

Stating the obvious....

Total confusion....all "useless words"

Then you get the questions where your normal reaction is something like..."are you friggen for real...?"

I guess each country has its reasons for asking certain questions and the way they get this information from you, but sometimes you just have to bite on your teeth and get it over and done with. Like I'm doing now...!

The Law of Attraction in Congo

Ten years ago when I started traveling in Africa I had horror stories to tell about things and experiences in these African countries. Ten years later I am still traveling in Africa, but my stories are not that "graphic" anymore. I don't think Africa has changed much over the last ten years or so, that would be wishful thinking, but I think the way I am experiencing and interpreting everything has changed considerably. Not only do I believe that all my experiences in these countries had shaped me into a more relaxed traveler and better problem solver, but I think I have become much more wiser and "street smart" as well. If there are two books that have made a considerable impact on my outlook on dealing with problems, then I have to mention these two, The Power of Now by Eckhart Toll and Around Africa on my Bicycle by Riaan Manser. Both  these books I have refered to many times before in my life. I have always wondered why people have different ways of defining problems and dealing with them, and I think I did not only get my answer from the one book, but also seen some practical applications of that in the second.

 

Road from Airport



Pointe-Noire main street



Today was one of those days that could’ve made a good war story. I was on my way to Congo with its infamous crooked customs and immigration officials. If I had a blog years ago I could’ve refered to some of those stories. When you arrive to Congo or leave Congo, the chances are good that you will find yourself in a uncomfortable situation at the airport. If your yellow fever card is not yellow enough, or if your perfectly legible date in your passport is not stamped clear enough, you are in for a very long argument. This argument is usually solved with some bribe or the other, because when some people have the authority to make life difficult for you, they find any excuse to do that. So let me get back to my story. Because of some unannounced flight schedule changes I was heading to Congo without a valid visa. Years ago I would’ve been sick to the stomach imagining what could happen when I get there with the incorrect “papers”. I would’ve been scared to be honest. But, due to experience, and due to the two books mentioned earlier I was prepared to go face them and get a good story for my blog.

I did try to get the visa problem sorted out before I left Port-Gentil, but there was no time to change anything or get a later flight. Years ago I would’ve been a nervous wreck from the time I discovered that my visa was invalid, adding grey hairs to my wig while shortening my life at the same time. But the Power of Now taught me that premature worrying is not going to change anything. You deal with the problem when you are faced with it, or like my dad always says: “Cross the bridge when you get there”. I was on my way to the bridge and had no idea whether the river was coming down in full flood or whether it would only be a stream after a year’s drought. Riaan Manser’s book taught me another thing about the misperceptions we have on Africa’s inhabitants. He managed to cross something like 32 border posts in Africa, some with good visas and some with nothing at all. And each time he was successful and survived to write about it. One of his tips was to just keep smiling no matter in which situation you might find yourself. I know that smiling doesn’t help much in Congo when your yellow fever card is fine but not yellow enough according to a colour blind official, but when you are in the wrong a good smile on a good day might just pull you through. And even though the corrupt officials are out to get money from you, they are not out to physically harm you, just financially. So I was pretty sure that I was also going to get through customs physically unharmed. The only thing I was not looking forward to was the senseless illogical reasoning, the feeling of being interrogated for a crime you did not commit (although I was guilty this time), or that feeling that you are being treated as inferior just because someone else had the power and position to do so.



Port-Gentil's "ice-cold" departure hall



My "grounded" transport to Pointe-Noire

Then there was a third reason why my mood was different than ten years ago. I was rather miserable when I sat at the departure hall in Port-Gentil waiting for my flight. After the plane arrived our luggage was put on board only to be taken off a couple of minutes later. When he walked passed I asked the pilot and he explained to me that a small problem with the aircraft forced them to request another one from Libreville. This aircraft took about another hour to arrive, and as the door opened a familiar face with a huge smile looked out. It was the same air hostess that was involved in my previous experience where my luggage was not put on the plane in Pointe-Noire. Immediately I felt how my whole mood changed. There I was miserable for sitting and waiting, for wondering what is going to happen in Congo, and from literally out of the sky someone appeared that made me realize that I was not alone in this part of the world. Someone that speaks my language, that understands my situation, but most of all, someone whose positive outlook on the world were contagious as were discussing unfortunate events that happened in her life since the last time I saw her. We had a long chat on the plane, and when I climbed down from the plane I felt rather sad leaving her behind knowing that I might never see her again because she might soon be flying in another part of the world. But at that moment I couldn’t care less about what might be waiting for me inside that airport building. I was prepared to take on any official. I walked in, filled in the landing card and proceeded straight to the Immigrations desk. The old man that was sitting behind a dirty window mumbled something about my visa but I could not hear or understand what he was saying. It was just too noisy outside. After eventually realizing that he was not going to get through to me, he just shouted “Visa?!” I took my passport from him and opened it on the page where the visa was. He stamped it without even looking at it. I was so disappointed, I felt like showing him the date. I know that would’ve been a stupid thing to do, but after hoping for a good story I felt a bit let down by him. Ten years of traveling, The Power of Now and Riaan Manser didn’t make me the complete optimist or motivational speaker. I am still far from that. But it has made my life much simpler, much more relaxed and much less stressful. Unfortunately on the other hand it also robbed me of some good stories to tell, but that I can complement with pretty pictures I guess. It seems the more positive I am; the smoother everything else in my life goes as well. I believe some people call this the Law of Attraction. Maybe another good topic to explore and write about if all else fails, but first I have to spend 4 more days in Congo before I fly back for "unfinished business" in Gabon....

"Not-worth-mentioning" view from my room



Staff house



I REST MY CASE....

Four hours after publishing this post, three of my colleaques from Angola arrived at the office here in Pointe Noire, clearly VERY upset. I asked them what happened and they told me that they were put through hell at the gates of this little town by no other than the immigration and customs officials. One had to leave his passport there because his LOI was not with him (this is not a requirement), the other's yellow card was confiscated because the printing looked smudged (this was clearly an excuse to keep it)...and the third had to pack out his whole suitcase in order to convince them that he had nothing "illegal" on him (he had the largest suitcase of the three). The passport and yellow fever card can be collected tomorrow, it will cost a couple of CFA's! Bastards!!