Category: Democratic Republic Of Congo

We flew from Cleveland to Boston on American Airlines on February 22, 2023. We were scheduled to fly from Boston to Kinshasa via Istanbul on Turkish Airlines, and we arrived on time to catch our flight. But when we checked in at the Turkish Airlines ticket counter, we encountered a hostile ticket clerk who, for reasons still unknown, seemed determined to hinder our departure in any way possible. She found a pretext in Jay’s COVID card, which recorded his latest booster shot but not his original vaccination, and refused to let him board. After a bit of heated wrangling, we signed an agreement with the airline which involved a promise to get Jay vaccinated at Istanbul airport in return for being allowed to board.

Thinking our troubles were over, we arrived at Istanbul on time.  Then the task was to find the COVID testing office.  We had 3 hours.  Plenty of time, right?  We asked for directions beaucoup times, and often the directions conflicted.  In any case, it was outside the security perimeter, which meant going through immigration and customs. We finally found Passport Control, bought our Turkish visas, went through customs, and reached the COVID testing site.  They promptly informed us that the test took 1-1/2 hours.  Well, you guessed it.  We were at the complete opposite end of the airport from the departure gate, outside Passport Control, outside security, and had little time to make the flight.  Daryl had joined us at IST, and he tried to convince the agent to hold the flight for a few minutes longer.  They told him to get on the plane and closed the gate. 

We went back outside Passport Control to Ticket Services and received our next shock: $480 apiece to rebook the three of us.  Add the COVID test in ($500), and we had now incurred almost $1900 in needless charges. 

By the time we finished rebooking our flights, it was late and we were frustrated and tired.  We could either wait at the airport until the following evening or find a hotel.  Near the airport exit were a series of rooms all in a line under a sign reading, “Hotels”.  They were populated by men who smiled at us and gestured for us to come over.  That should have been warning enough, but we were tired, right?  So we went over to one of them and told them we needed a hotel.  They nodded enthusiastically and suggested that we combine it with a tour the next day.  There would be a shuttle cost, but that would be absorbed into the tour cost.  Since Istanbul is over a half hour away from IST, we agreed.

The hotel was on a quaint, narrow street in the city.  The building was pretty small, and the rooms were smaller.  Two single beds.  Oh yes, Jay got his own room at no additional charge (they had probably padded the charges enough to make that possible).  We didn’t care, getting horizontal was the priority.  Next morning there was a complimentary breakfast, which was quite good.  The van picked us up, and off we went on our “tour”.  

Istanbul is one of the most storied cities in the world, with a history stretching back to the 7th century BCE. First known as Byzantium, it was renamed Constantinople in 325 CE, when Emperor Constantine the Great made it the new capital of the Roman Empire. After the fall of the Western Roman Empire to Germanic invaders in the fifth century, Constantinople remained the capital of the Eastern Roman, or Byzantine, Empire until 1453, when it was conquered by the Ottoman Turks. After the collapse of the Ottoman Empire in 1922, the capital of the new Turkish Republic was established in Ankara, but Istanbul, as the city was renamed in 1930, remains the economic and cultural hub of Turkey; with over 15 million residents, it is home to 19% of the country’s population.

Of all the countless marvels of Istanbul, the one above all not to be missed is the basilica of Hagia Sophia, or Aya Sophia as it is known in Turkish. Hagia Sophia was built in the reign of the Eastern Roman Emperor Justinian I and completed in 537 CE. At the time it was the world’s largest church and remained so until the completion of the Roman Catholic cathedral in Seville, Spain, in 1520.

The name Hagia Sophia does not refer to any particular saint but rather means “Holy Wisdom,” alluding to Jesus Christ.

Over the centuries Hagia Sophia has undergone many changes, as a result of both natural disasters and human events. The first and greatest disaster was collapse of the dome in 558. The dome had to be completely rebuilt, but the result has survived, with some reinforcement and repair, down to the present day.

In 1204, as a result of various machinations by the Venetians, who by then had become serious trade rivals to the Byzantines, an army of Western Europeans embarked on the Fourth Crusade but ended up besieging Constantinople instead of Jerusalem, and under the leadership of the Venetian doge Enrico Dandolo, they sacked Constantinople and plundered many of its treasures, not excepting Hagia Sophia. Nevertheless, the basilica survived, as it did the conquest of Constantinople by the Ottoman Turks in 1453. Sultan Mehmet II the Conqueror turned Hagia Sophia into a mosque, which was how it came to be surrounded by four minarets. The Ottoman regime made various changes to the interior, such as plastering over the Christian-themed mosaics depicting Jesus, Mary and the saints in accordance with the Islamic prohibition on representations of humans and animals. After 1935, when Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, founder of the Turkish Republic which replaced the Ottoman sultanate, declared Hagia Sophia a museum, the mosaics were restored to public view. (Since the government of Recep Tayyip Erdoğan reconverted Hagia Sophia into a mosque in 2020, the mosaics and other Christian images have to be covered with curtains during services.)

The picture of Hagia Sophia included here is a stock photo because the one I took didn’t turn out very well.

At the other end of Sultanahmet Park from Hagia Sophia, where the Grand Palace of the Byzantine emperors once stood, is another majestic structure, the Blue Mosque, officially known as the Sultan Ahmed Mosque. When in the early 17th century the Ottoman Empire suffered a series of military reverses at the hands of the Habsburg Holy Roman Empire and the Safavid Persian Empire, Sultan Ahmed I, the namesake of Sultanahmet Square, saw these setbacks as an omen that he was losing the favor of Allah. In order to win it back, and to reassert the glory and majesty of the Ottoman empire, he decided to build a new mosque that would rival Hagia Sophia as a work of art and engineering. The Blue Mosque, begun in 1609 and completed in 1617, was the result.

Next stop was the Topkapı Palace, home of the various Sultans of the Ottoman Empire until the mid-nineteenth century, when a new and more modern palace, the Dolmabahçe, was built on the Bosphorus.  We also visited the mausoleum of the sultans and their sons.  It is considered a holy place, so shoes must be removed inside.  I was in the midst of removing my shoes and didn’t realize that I had placed my shod foot on the upper step.  Immediately someone said “No shoes inside!” and a woman swatted me on the side.  Oops!

Next we went to a candy shop.  This was when my realization of what we had gotten into became clearer.  Very friendly people, and they all knew each other.  We were given several samples of Turkish Delight and various teas, and then the sales pitch began — very persuasive, aggressive, and assuming we wanted everything.  We had a pretty good bag load of stuff at the end of that experience.  Good quality stuff, but quite a bit more than I figured on buying.

The final stop was the Bosphorus.  The picture I am including is a stock photo because the location the guide took us to for pictures was uninspiring.  The guide probably chose it because there was a bazaar nearby, to which he gestured with a smile.  We walked through the bazaar quickly, looking neither to the right nor the left (except I did keep my eyes on the driver).  I leaned over to him and told him we were ready to return to the airport.  He looked a bit surprised but did not attempt to persuade us otherwise.  Into the van, and a half hour later we were let off at the airport.  I cannot tell you how relieved I was!

Built in 1970-73, this is one of several great bridges over the Bosphorus in the Istanbul area. The mosque is a Baroque Revival piece commissioned by Sultan Abdülmecid I and built in 1854-56. It is noted noted for its high bay windows, which are cunningly contrived to stage a “light show” using both sunlight and reflected light from the water.

Back at the airport, our flight to Kinshasa was listed on the departure schedule along with a bevy of others, many of them to exotic destinations which we have never heard of (and neither have most other people). Where in the world, for example, are Astana, Ercan and Minvodi?

Finally, a few hours later, we were on our way at last to Kinshasa.

Just to clear up one possible point of misunderstanding, one must be aware that there are two Republics of the Congo – one north of the Congo River and the other south of the river. The one north of the river is a former French colony, part of what was once French Equatorial Africa, and is now named the Republic of the Congo, but to distinguish it from the country south of the river it is often called Congo-Brazzaville, since Brazzaville is its capital. The country south of the Congo River is officially named the Democratic Republic of the Congo, usually abbreviated DRC. It is by far the larger of the two (108 million people to 5.5 million), and is in fact the second largest country in Africa by land area (Algeria being the largest). It has at various times been known under other names. In 1885 King Leopold of Belgium occupied the area and turned it into his own private property, infamously putting the population to work as slave labor and committing horrific atrocities; in Orwellian fashion he named the country the Congo Free State. In 1908 Leopold was induced by international pressure to give up his personal rule, and the country became officially a colony of Belgium, and was then known as the Belgian Congo. It won its independence from Belgium in 1960, taking the name Democratic Republic of the Congo. The first few years of independence saw a period of instability, which was resolved in 1965 with the seizure of power by army colonel Joseph Désiré Mobutu (later known as Mobuto Sese Seko), who with the support of Western powers established a dictatorship which ruled the country until 1997; he changed the country’s name to Zaïre. After the fall of the Mobutu regime the name reverted to Democratic Republic of the Congo, as it remains today. The capital city, which under Belgian rule was known as Leopoldville, was renamed Kinshasa in 1966, and that has not changed since. It is now a city of 17 million people.

Our first impressions of Kinshasa were mostly about the depth of poverty. We were surprised to find that such a great metropolis lacks a modern airport; the terminal is a decrepit building looking like a 70 year old gas station that has seen no care in all that time.  One gate, no jetway. 

There is a saying that applies to much of Africa:  “The ground is your trash can”.  There is no waste disposal service in Kinshasa and no outside trash cans.  Places where people congregate fill up with trash quickly.  So what is their solution?  That’s right – burn it.  And much of the trash is plastic.  Considering that there are trash fires all over, imagine the toxic compounds that everyone is breathing every day.

We stayed at a 4-star hotel in Kinshasa, the Royal. We found that it was host not only to humans, but to a few non-human guests as well. The latter included a male and female of an unknown species; the male wanted to mate with the female in the worst way, and she was willing, but he seemed to share the common African aversion to PDA, and kept shying away.

One of the interesting Third World experiences is driving.  I finally figured it out in Congo.  Driving is one gigantic game of chicken.  If you don’t mean it, you lose.  If you mean it, you win, unless you come up against someone else who means it.

I missed out on recording the fearsome driving tactics of some of the locals, but I shot a video of us proceeding down a street crowded with people shopping at booths set up along the curbs.  The congestion is incredible.  Oh, and those yellow vans – they really pack people in.  I would guess 25 people per van.

You’ve probably seen the shape of especially the taxis and vans.  Scrapes and dings everywhere.  Not surprising, I guess.

When we were driving down the street and were stopped by traffic, vendors would descend on us.  They sold all sorts of products – mostly fruits and vegetables, but also other things like USB cables, windshield wiper blades, etc.  Whip out the Congolese francs and make the deal.

Another thing.  When we were doing something simple like looking for a parking space (not necessarily all that simple in Congo) someone would start gesturing us to follow him.  The first thought is that he represented some of the shops along the street.  He would then tag along with us attempting to “help” along the way.  Of course we should have known.  He was just a guy angling for a tip.  Josué’s in-laws, who drove us around, would often blow them off, but not always.

We very much enjoyed our African kids.  It can be tiring but is worth it.  In some ways they are quite different from us westerners, and in other ways they are much the same. 

We did hand out gum to kids when we were out and about.  They would have preferred money, but we didn’t think that wise.  On a trip to a village along the Congo River, two 8-9 year old kids became our guides.  They ran ahead of us at least a mile and then accompanied us after we parked.  They would help us get into a dugout canoe and do anything else to assist.  I ended up giving one of them my UCLA cap.  Probably the only UCLA cap in Congo.  But when we departed the village, things changed.  One of our vehicles got stuck in the mud, and the boys helped push it out.  I’m sure, as small as they were, their help was of no effect, but they asked the driver for a tip anyway.  He refused.  From that point on, they stayed in front of the car, trotting slowly, blocking us as best they could, even risking their lives to stay ahead of us.  We didn’t get around them until we reached the main highway.

On one occasion we took a ride to a park and came across an army bus that was stuck. Jay and I tried to help push it out of its predicament, but in vain.

Josue and Sharon’s wedding took place on Sunday, February 26. It was very nice; they wouldn’t let us take pictures of it, but I nefariously shot a video anyway. Here are some excerpts from it.

Africans seem to have a bit of an aversion to public displays of affection (PDA), and Josué was no exception.  When he and Sharon started dancing, they just held hands, and the photographer then forcibly placed his hands around her waist and her hands on his shoulders, and then they danced rather clumsily after that.

The day after the wedding, February 27, we went to the wedding feast, which was held in N’Sele, a village on a river to the east of Kinshasa. It was extremely congested driving into it, with shops (portable shops) lining both sides and shoppers clogging the streets.  We finally reached an open area next to an outdoor restaurant, and we parked there.

Down to the water we went (where you saw all the trash).  As elsewhere in the Congo, there were people willing to help us find our way, assist us in finding transport, etc., of course in hopes of a bit of remuneration.

A jolly boatman paddled and poled us across the channel in a dugout canoe.

Accompanying us on the boat was Pirette, a dear friend from Cleveland, who was in Congo helping her mother.  She has a natural gift for languages.  She even knows a Namibian “click” language!

They paddled and poled us across the channel, where there were lots of women selling different species of fish, some of them quite large, as well as a very large eel, with a huge circumference (unfortunately I accidentally deleted the picture I took of it).  

They even had a live Western African crocodile all bound and gagged, so it wouldn’t eat the rest of the catch or any of the vendors and customers. It must have been a hungry crocodile.

I contemplated buying the crocodile to have it made into a new purse for JoAnne, but time was short, and other matters took precedence. We wanted to reach the river itself, but it was too far away; evening had arrived, and it was time to show up for the wedding feast.

We hopped aboard another dugout canoe, piloted by another friendly boatman, who took us back to the village of N’sele.

As we pushed off the riverbank, I was able to capture one final shot of the fish market with the sun reflecting on the water.

The wedding feast was held in the outdoor cafe near our parking place; it had the appropriate name of “Sous les Bambous.” Here the cook grilled the fish we had bought in the market.

Here we see, on the right-hand side of the picture, the restaurant manager in front, behind her Pirette and our driver, Jefferson; while on the left Daryl and Jay dig greedily into the appetizers.

The feast featured an entree of fish, accompanied by all sorts of other goodies. The fish looked like a variety of catfish, but whatever it was called in Lingala or French is lost to us.

Some of us wanted to party all night, but we had to cut short the festivities and return to our hotel, since we were scheduled to depart at 2 AM the next morning.

When we returned to Kinshasa Airport to board the plane for our return flight, Jay couldn’t find his passport.  Nightmare!  We called my son Daryl back at the hotel, but he couldn’t find it.  Not in the car.  Not with the family we had been visiting.  I had just finished telling Jay to go back to the hotel, and Daryl would take him to the US Embassy tomorrow when JoAnne announced she had found Jay’s passport in her backpack.  Whew!  I couldn’t be angry with her because I have been mixing up and misplacing papers all week!

To board the plane, we had to present our passports about six times and our COVID vax cards three times, each time punctuated by a request for a tip.  Everyone wants a tip.  We did not have anything under a $20, so they made out like bandits.