Update Gabon to Congo to DRC: Part Eleven - The last, final, end, ultimate episode in the Visa Saga

There is so much to still tell about Kinshasa – the wide impressive 8-lane Boulevard that runs 14 kilometres through the city – so imposing with high skyscrapers on either side, the large bill boards advertising CENI – the Independent Electoral Committee that is supposed to make sure that the upcoming election on 28 November will run smoothly and fairly and with transparency. The feel of affluence and almost obscene amounts of money, whilst fifty metres away, behind the facade of the tall modern shiny skyscrapers, the roads are dusty and dirty and potholed and the daily debris is piled in heaps which are set alight at night and give the effect of a post-apocalyptic scene with the smoke filling the dark empty streets, the electricity cut, the only light coming from the burning fires.

Part of the posh showy side are the countless buildings and vehicles that represent the NGO's, the UN, the Red Cross, the Medecin Sans Frontieres, UNESCO, UNICEF, the World Bank -- and of course, the many foreign embassies. On the Boulevard you could almost think yourself back in a very modern and very wealthy European city, but step off the main Boulevard, and you are immediately back in Africa. Here you will smile at the sights and sounds and the colours and the smells. So synonymous with Kin, the click-click-click of the shoe shine boys advertising their service by clicking the small wooden footrest he carries in one hand, his bag with polishes and rags in the other; the bell-like tinkle of two little bottles clanging together carried by the man that sells all-sorts-- a large tin bowl of aspirins, razors, tissues, bundles of wooden sticks that Africans use for toothbrushes, snuff, you-name-it; or the ting-ting-ting of the man's knife against the tin bowl piled high with fresh French loaves – which he too carrires on his head in a large tin bowl. When you stop him, he will take the bowl down, take one loaf of bread, cut it lengthwise, butter it, squirt on some mayonnaise, peri peri and slices of any one of several sausages that are nestling in the middle of the bowl: an instant and delicious lunch.

Kinshasa is also synonymous with the best fabric shopping yet! Enormous shops with literally thousands of Africa fabrics – far too many to buy only one or to make a final choice in a day; and in the grand market itself, row upon row upon row of stalls with even more choice, and then, in the centre of the market, an area where the sound of manual Singer machines is mesmerising as dozens of tailors sit amidst masses of bits and pieces of all these fabrics, sewing the most elaborate outfits for every Kinois, rich or poor, young or old, male or female.

All the warnings about pickpockets and muggings are real. Almost every time we went out in the streets, there was at least one attempt to rob us. Some of the youngsters are just that – youngsters with no job, no money and nothing to do, so they try to rob people of their money and belongings. But every now and then there is the slightly more professional youngsters who usually, it seems, work in groups of three. One of them 'sells' big plastic bags to shoppers. He would come up to the victim with the apparent aim to sell bags, hold the bags up at shoulder height so that they completely cover the victim from view of anyone else in the vicinity. Another then comes from the other side and 'stumbles' against the victim while a third comes from the front and in this muddle, hands go into pockets, unzip bags, cut shoulder straps, and before you can say “Hey you”, you have lost all your worldly goods. Another problem in Kin are the 'police' or the 'immigration officers' – sometimes in uniform, often not, --people who stop any and everyone – in particular the 'mondele', i.e. white people, and demand money, papers, or anything they can get out of you.

Anyway – you want to know about the Angolan Visas!

To bring this endless saga to an end, when we were finally told “no you cannot have visas at all, we have suspended all visas”, as a very very last resort I asked Terence to help, and he, as a very very last resort asked a good friend and colleague who is as high up as you can go in the DRC to intervene on our behalf, and he, in turn, asked his miracle man in Kin to do his magic. He did and, after another few weeks of waiting, sleepless nights and stomach churning and dread having to pass on the news (on my part), seven of us coming to Kin to stay in one of our friend's properties while the other four chose to stay behind in Matadi, and

after being told we have the visas, they are on the ambassador's desk but he was waiting for one final authorisation, we were finally told – three full moons since we started applying for Angolan visas, that the ambassador had been overruled, as the powers-that-be in Luanda had decided after all that, that with all the rebel activity in the northern half of the country, and then, topped off by the kidnapping of a woman only last week, made it impossible for them to guarantee our safety and security as we travelled through Angola.

He offered though to still give us the visas – after all they are there and ready to be pasted into our passports, but with the proviso that we only use them to fly into Luanda, that we ship the truck from Pointe Noire down to Luanda, pick it up there and drive from there down to Namibia. But – cost and logistics made this option impossible and our long-awaited visas remain on the Angolan ambassador to the DRC's desk. We don't even get to see them.

It has been a long haul. Different people in the group have reacted differently to this trying ordeal. Some have fallen right through the bottom layer of the Mazlow Pyramid, others have been amazingly stoic, positive, cognisant – and appreciative of the sterling efforts made by some very important people on their behalf. What has surprised me is how easily people can start assuming that it is their right to have others go out of their way for them, turn over mountains on their behalf in an effort to make things go their way and then be angry when the end result is not as they had wished for. Once again adversity has been responsible for our little group to act in a way that no one will be very proud in years to come.

So here we are, frantically looking for flights to Johannesburg, to Cape Town, to Windhoek – anywhere from where at least some of the much-awaited sections of our expedition can still be salvaged. At least we have options. And the trip will continue. We still have a long long way to go!

In passing --