Kinshasa, The Democratic Republic of Congo

Arriving in Kinshasa on the morning ferry from Brazzaville across the Congo River was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of the trip. The border and ferry formalities turned out to be shady and corrupt. After paying six taxes for our persons and our car, the tickets for the boat, the taxes for the port and some other tax we were told to by the Mayor's Department, we boarded the boat a little defeated. Arguing and discussion hadn't helped. We had heard the ferry also was riddled with thieves. Many people wanted to sit on our car, knock on it, talk to us through the windows. I tried to smile to at least the two police officers on the ferry and answer their questions. Thankfully, they took a liking to us and shoved people off of the car with beating sticks.

Once we were on the dock in Kinshasa, we could never have expected what would lie ahead. Immigration and customs turned out to be a piece of cake. It was the Department of Public Health that would put us in our place. It turns out that the Stingray was infected with microbes. Oh, no, you can't see them… they are microbes… invisible. The disinfection cost us $20 after bargaining. The most humiliating part was when some small boys started to point at us and accuse us of bringing diseases into their country.

We arrived in Kinshasa a little lost. Our guidebook was from the year 1989 (thanks, Connie for finding it in a garage sale in San Francisco!). While the book was able to orient us a little on facts about the city (watch your back, be careful of police and don't carry anything valuable), hotel information was assuredly outdated. As we were all concerned about safety and finding accommodation blind, Nate and Sean decided to use their sway as Americans to request information from the US Embassy. While I was waiting outside by the car, an old man carrying a wooden carving approached me. I told him that my grandfather also worked with wood. This conversation turned out to be gold. The guys returned with a list of expensive hotels, so the old man decided that he would escort us to an affordable hotel he knew about 30 minutes away from the hustle of downtown.

We ended up staying in a working class neighborhood next to the University of Kinshasa. We were lucky enough to meet some wonderful guides in the neighborhood to show us around. The highlight was undoubtedly Saturday night when a journalist named Tcheques and his two friends took us to an outdoor concert. While the music was mediocre, the crowd was definitely out for a good time. Everyone was dancing and singing along to the music. I asked Tcheques why there were so few women in the crowd. To this he replied: "We cannot let our sisters come out alone, it is not acceptable." Tcheques said that he is the only person who is allowed to take his own younger sisters out to events such as this one. I felt a little depressed by this thought. I would be in such trouble if I were born in Kinshasa... I think that I would disobey my family and go to concerts such as this one.

Our new friends encouraged us all to dance and to feel at ease. Tcheques made sure that I didn't get trampled when the various gangs of Kinshasa made their exits through the crowd. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me behind his back as the crowd separated like spooked goats out of the way of the Red Army, Dragons and CIA. While these were tense moments, I felt confident that as locals, our new friends had an accurate gauge of the security of the crowd. The final reassurance of this fact was given when a group of drunk men surrounded us and they decided that it was time to leave.

After the initial false start at the ferry, the warmth of our reception in Kinshasa was heart-warming. We had plenty of home cooked meals from Mama Tcheques. The Director of a local broadcasting station, Mr. Serge, assured that we completed kick ass research on AIDS. One of his journalists, Nelly, accompanied us on rounds of interviews. Cops rehabilitated their evil ways after hanging out with us. Armand, a worker at our hotel, showed us good cheap food options and took us on a tour of the neighborhood. A wedding party invited us to dance with the bride and groom for good luck. Overall, my sense of security was high. This is because I always felt taken care of. There were really only a few times that we were ever alone.