Avoiding trouble in the Congo

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  Goma, Congo - The Dem. Repub.
Friday, April 6, 2007

I have spent months debating whether or not to go into the Congo, torn between a strong desire to see and experience this country a little, and a fear of the place, as it is one of the most unstable countries in the world. Ever since its independence from a particularly brutal colonization by Belgium it has been a lawless, troubled state, culminating in two wars from 1997 to 2003, in which over four million people died. The first war was started by Laurent Kabila, who sought to oust long-time dictator Mobuto Sese Seko. Mobuto had become one of the richest men in the world by allowing minerals companies take the spoils of the Congo's natural resources, paying him high royalties for the pleasure. He probably would have remained in power were it not for his support of the interahamwe genocidaires during and after Rwanda's genocide. He supported the many murderers who lived in refugee camps in Goma and Bukavo post-genocide, which became an increasingly large problem for Rwanda's new government and for Paul Kagame's Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), who had just successfully put a stop to the genocide within Rwanda. It is well documented that it was in fact Kagame himself who was the mastermind behind Kabila's campaign, providing troops and training for Kabila. So it came to pass that Rwanda (a country about eight-five times smaller than DR Congo) essentially overthrew the Congo's leader and instated a Rwanda-friendly leader, Kabila.

Kabila, however, didn't live up to Rwandan expectations, and soon turned anti-Tutsi, even planning to organize a genocide against Banyamulenge, or Congolese Tutsis.

Child pushing strange bike

So Rwanda invaded again, with Ugandan support. Kabila, who had turned into a dictator not much better than Mobutu, had made friends with many regional countries, including Angola, Zimbabwe, Namibia, Chad, Sudan and Libya. All these countries became involved in the war, making it such a regional war that it became to be known "Africa's World War". The mineral rich country made the war not only self-financing, but profitable, for all those involved. Soldiers systematically plundered villages, raping women, and frequently committed acts of genocide. Mineral companies had to deal with the armies controlling that area, paying high commissions to the respective governments for the right to do business. Rwanda's relative wealth in comparison to its neighbours can be largely attributed to this. Laurent Kabila was assassinated in January 2001, and his son, Joseph Kabila, was made president. There is some hope for the country now, as there are UN peacekeeping troups attempting to stabilize the situation, and elections were held last year. There is still a lot of guerrilla rebel activity (particularly around Goma), and a lawlessness in the country that is unparalleled in Africa. Only two months ago there was heavy fighting in and around Goma, and no-one could give me proper security reports, as it is unknown when things could erupt again.

I had hoped to climb a volcano, Nyiragongo, which is near Goma. It is the only active volcano in the region, and erupted in January 2002, destroying most of Goma. When I asked around I was told that I would be mad to try this, as firstly the security around the volcano was bad, I could risk being kidnapped, and secondly the volcano is currently emitting toxic gases.

Congolese children

I would see the sky above it glowing red at night in Gisenyi, and was disappointed not to be able to climb it, and spend the night on the top, peering in at the glowing lava.

I arranged to take a taxi across the border with Yves and Simba, driven by Pichu, a friend of Simba's, so that we could explore a little outside of Goma itself. We crossed the border without too much trouble, and before I knew it I was in the DR Congo. Immediately things were different. The roads were terrible, so riddled with potholes that we often had to drive on the wrong side of the road, facing oncoming traffic, to avoid gaping chasms on the other side. The people were much, much poorer, dressed in filthy rags, crowded on the streets of town. In town itself the buildings were extremely run down, with people lining the cracked pavements, selling fruit, vegetables, shoes, and clothes (those which you put in charity bags at home are rarely given out free in Africa, but rather sold cheaply in markets and by street vendors). There was a huge military presence in town, especially UN peacekeeping troops (most seemed to be Indians, or Pakistanis), who drove around in bulletproof vehicles wearing their distinctive blue helmets. There were also lots of Congolese military, wearing green uniforms and carrying Kalashnikovs. I saw two huge UN run camps, one by the UNHCR and another by UNICEF, with rows and rows of makeshift housing, made from blue plastic sheeting. One of the stranger things I saw were very large homemade bicycles, with small wheels, a wooden frame, but no pedals or chain.

Me by the volcanic rock that swalled Goma

This meant they could only be rolled down hills, and had to be slowly pushed uphill. They were mainly used to carry the likes of loads of bananas or sacks of potatoes.

We drove out of central Goma and towards the volcano and now could see the wreckage of the 2002 eruption. All that was left were plains of solid lava and volcanic rock. Here and there you could see the ruins of a house or buildings, but almost everything was completely destroyed in this modern-day Pompeii. Locals had started to rebuild, erecting wood and mud shacks, covered in torn plastic sheeting to protect them from the rain. This area is the poorest I have seen in Africa (apart from some parts of the Omo Valley in Ethiopia, perhaps); the people wore clothes so torn that you could usually see their knees and asses, and so filthy that they had changed colour to dirty brown. Children often had open sores on their faces and had pot-bellies from malnutrition. The contrast between the poverty of this scene and the beauty of the volcanic destruction, melting into green hills covered in banana plantations, was quite overwhelming.

We kept driving towards the volcano until we were stopped at a checkpoint, where we were pulled over by a couple of surly looking men armed with Kalashnikovs. They checked our papers and after a lot of discussion wit Simba and Pichu we were eventually waved through. We drove on for another few kilometers before the road essentially became a plateau of volcanic rock, impassable for our two-wheel drive car.

Me with one of the strange bikes

We stopped here to take a few photos of the towering volcano before us, shrouded in grey cloud, before turning back.

We were stopped again at the checkpoint, where Simba and Pichu once again had to leave the car to talk with the guards. A few minutes later a man presented himself to me as an "inspector", and asked to see my papers. I showed them to him, and after having carefully studied them, he asked me if I had taken photos of the volcano. I replied that I hadn't, sensing I would be in trouble if I had. He asked then if I had a camera, and I said I hadn't - luckily I had hidden it under the seat of the car before coming to the checkpoint. He kept asking if I had a camera, even taking my phone off me to see if it had a camera in it. He then said that he had received a phonecall from someone claiming to have seen a mzungu taking photos up by the volcano. I kept denying it, deciding it best to stick to my original story. I was terrified that he would search the car for the camera - he kept peering around my seat to see if I had the camera behind me. It was the most frightening moment of my trip so far, being interrogated by this thug, who had the power to do what he wanted with me in this lawless country. It didn't help that a military type had lumbered over next to him, complete with the obligatory Kalashnikov. Thankfully, a few minutes later, they gave up, and wished me a pleasant trip in their country. They parted saying that their questions were only for my benefit, they were looking out for my security.

That near-troublesome photo of Nyiragongo

This thuggish bribe-seeking activity is an everyday occurrence for tourists in this impoverished country, and gives people yet another reason not to come and help with their tourist dollars.

Simba and Pichu, however, did not have the luck I had. The guards had found a problem with the car's papers, and they had to pay a $20 bribe, which was poor Pichu's profit for the day. We also had to leave the country by early that afternoon, but to be honest I was already looking forward to getting out of there. We drove back to Goma in silence. I looked out the window at the scenes of poverty, and couldn't help but feel despair at the terrible state of affairs in this country.

Back in town I did a little shopping; I had been told that mobile phones were very cheap here, as there isn't much of a taxation system, and my old one was in grave need of replacement, being so scratched and battered that I could barely see the screen. We tried a few shops first, but I didn't see one that I wanted, and the prices were a little higher than what I had hoped for. So, we decided to turn to the black market. Simba led me to a street corner that seemed to be the place to go if you needed a phone, and a couple of guys started pushing phones in my face, pressuring me to buy one. Then, Simba saw a friend of his, a big fat guy in his forties, and told me to do business with him. We walked down the street and the got into this guy's car, and drove down a side street so that he could show me his wares in some privacy. As he started showing me phone after phone I wondered what the hell I was doing here, down a backstreet in Goma, in the Congo, in a car with men I barely knew, engaging in something that felt like an illicit drug deal. All went well, however, and I bought myself a very swanky Nokia N70, which has all the trimmings a fellow could ask for.

We returned to our car, and drove around town a while more. Once, at a small roundabout, Pichu took it the wrong way around, not seeing that there were police there. A policewoman ran after us, blowing her whistle shrilly, and literally doubled in speed when she saw there was a mzungu in the car too. Pichu put his foot down and we skidded away, and raced through side streets to evade any pursuit that may have come. He angrily gave out about the culture of bribery here, and said that none of what happened today would have happened if everyone in the car was African.

We had to leave the country earlier than planned, as the guards at the checkpoint had ordered us to do so (for what reason I cannot understand). So, early that afternoon we drove back to the border, and I was stamped out of the Congo, and it was with relief that I walked over into the normality and safety of Rwanda. I am happy I took the opportunity to visit the Congo, and the bad experiences turned out well (for me, at least), so I suppose I have a story to tell with no ill-effects. It was certainly an experience, and a huge culture shock in crossing just a few kilometres away from where I had been living and socializing happily in Gisenyi. Most of all, however, I was affected by the poverty of the people, and the corruption with which I met within hours of being there. The history of this country is one which so few people know about, and the exploitation of its resources and people are deeply saddening, a travesty which still continues to this day. I only hope that things will get better for them.

To finish this entry, and highlight the danger of Goma, I will quote from an email I received a few days after going there. It is from a friend who works with an NGO who have an office near Goma:

"The situation in the area near Goma is not very safe. One of the rebel militias is partly being integrated in the Congolese army and this makes the situation rather unstable. Our partners had to evacuate a camp near Goma where they had brought a journalist last week (in the Mikeno sector). I'd suggest you to avoid the area for now."

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