The cassava is brought to a 'grinder' in the village or, as in this case, in the market, who grinds ot into a fine flour -- from which the staple, fufu, is made. The same 'grinder' will set up a meat grinder for us to make mince meat of the beef we bought on the other side of the market
This was when we crossed the mountains on the new road being built by the Chinese – for most of us one of the highlights of all time and most definitely a very Red Button moment for me. We arrived early evening in Pointe Noire on the coast, set up our tents on the beach next to the “Yes Club” Chinese restaurant, and started the process, once again, of trying to get Angolan visas. We had already been turned away in Abuja, Nigeria, and there we were told to go get them in the Congo. Dolisie seemed friendly, so we were very positive that Pointe Noire would seem even more so.
The next morning we set off and – got as far as the Consulate gate. It might be a good idea to explain foreign consulates here: there is a high wall around the consulates and a big – usually a solid, steel gate. Next to the gate is a small barred window behind which sits the consulate 'guard' – and he sits at a good half a metre above you, so looks down on you where you are standing in the dirt and dust and general sewage soaked rotting dirt of the African city pavement. He is not just a guard. He is also the person you have to get past to get into the consulate to see someone who can accept your visa applications. If you don't get past the man at the gate, you get nowhere. He is not friendly. He is not helpful. He is not informative. He simply looks at you and says “what do you want?” and when you say you there to apply for visas, he will respond by saying either “Come back tomorrow. There is no one here today” - and then look over your shoulder and start talking to the person behind you, or “we are not issuing visas at the moment” (and don't bother to ask for an explanation why) or “Let me see your forms....mmm.. you don't have copies of your entry visas into this country. Go back and come back next week”, or, if you are very lucky, he will say “Come round to the big gate. You can go inside and wait in the lobby.” There is NO discussing with this man. No questioning. No asking for more information or explanations or clemency. The verdict is what it is. The process is at best frustrating, at worst demeaning and sometimes downright humiliating.
Our campsite on the beach in Pointe Noire -- a good place to catch up with washing while waiting for visas...
It has to be said that this was our greeting at the Pointe Noire Angolan embassy. The gate guard was particularly officious and rude, so much so that when Mark and I went back for the fifth time – by which time we had sent four of our group by taxi back to Dolisie to wait for the consul to come back from Luanda and try there, only to be told that the consul was now in Pointe Noire! – and the guard once again told us the vice- consul wasn't there and could not see us even though he had let us know the day before to come back that day at 10, and then, at 12, the gates opened and the vice-consul drove out in his posh Pajero, I completely lost my patience with this totally unnecessary and abominable treatment.
Two colourful impressions in the Pointe Noire market
I calmly and slowly and clearly said to this man: “You will not speak to me like that and you will not treat me this way. You will show me the respect you should show every fellow-being and you will stop lying to me. The vice-consul is not away so stop telling us he is. We have a right to apply for visas to travel through your country and you are not the person to tell us our applications are accepted or denied. The vice-consul told us to come back today at 10 and we have been here, waiting on the pavement, for the last two hours. Now he drives off for a leisurely lunch when he could have seen us two hours ago. You will pick up that phone right now and you will tell them inside that we will be back at 2 and we will see the vice-consul.” And then, in a gentler tone, I implored him: “You are the only person who can help us,” I said. “And we need help. We need information – and we are willing to pay for that information - and we need someone to tell us the truth. In Dolisie they are saying the consul is in Pointe Noire and he is the only one who can sign visas, but a Congolese man walks out a minute later with a signed visa. People in the Angolan consulates are lying to us and they think it is OK. It is not OK. Right now you are the only person who can give us information. So will you please help us?”
He gave me a look that was different from way he had looked at me before. It was as if he actually saw me for the first time. Then he lent over and spoke to me like I was a person and said: “ I cannot speak for the other consulates, but I can tell you that the vice-consul here is from the north and he does not like white people and he will not give you visas. I could tell you come back tomorrow or next week or next month or in six months' time, but he is not going to ever give you those visas. The consul in Dolisie is not in Pointe Noire. If he were, he would have come to this consulate, but he hasn't. You will have to go to another consulate to try to get visas. It is not going to be in Pointe Noire.”
The first and only honest answer we had received – from the gate guard at the Pointe Noire consulate.
To cut a long story short(er), our only option then was to drive to Brazzaville and see if we could cross the river to Kinshasa there to go to the Angolan Consulate there – the last one before we entered Angola.
The drive to Brazzaville was definitely a chapter all its own.
At least the road beween consulates -- in pointe Noire and Dolisie was one of the most beautiful! Bush meat on a wheelbarrow in the pointe Noire market
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