What do you DO?

It is hard for some people to picture life in Kinshasa: I think they have images of jungle mixed with Poisonwood Bible situations and dilapidated buildings.

Funnily enough, it’s actually pretty normal. For example the electricity works most of the time, there are some very nice restaurants (and you don’t get cholera from eating the salad, or even a runny tummy). And there are all sorts of things to do. Almost everything is within ten minutes drive, and you can usually park really close.

One of the star shows is the French Cultural Centre which has art exhibitions, films, dance and music. The shows come from all over the world, at great expense, no doubt, and one feels really privileged to be able to see them. Because of the warm climate there’s no need for walls – the entertainment area consists of no more than a huge roof under which everything takes place. They have excellent lighting and sound equipment, and next to it is an enchanting café and bar under the trees. Last week we went to a fabulous jazz concert and more recently a fascinating documentary about Kinshasa's polio victims who have formed a band, followed by a Q&A session with the directors. The film had a standing ovation at the Cannes Film Festival.

And then, of course, there’s the Belgian centre. Interestingly, but not surprisingly, the French speaking Belgians (Walloons) have got the upper hand (vis-à-vis the Flemish half of Belgium) in the Congo. Lucky Congolese, I thought, not to have been colonised in Dutch. Anyway, to prove their benign influence, the Walloons have a small theatre (Walloon-Bruxelles Centre Culturel) in the centre of town. Almost invisible, entered by a small door from a scruffy street, it holds some very interesting events.

We heard about a chamber music concert there. To us, with memories of the delightful music of Buskaid in South Africa, it sounded like a fun evening of mixed Mozart and local music; probably played with more gusto than skill. To my colleague, who politely turned down the invitation, it probably brought back memories of those precious events, attended by the blue rinse brigade nursing tiny hankies to catch their sniffle; the intervals where people speak in hushed voices for fear of spoiling the atmosphere; and possibly an overweight soprano performing tragic liede.

We were told to get there early, and sure enough the theatre was virtually full ten minutes before the nominal start (half an hour before the actual start, as everyone knows). We were the only two white people: no one took any notice except that occasionally someone would catch our eye and give a nod of appreciation. The audience were chattering away, obviously looking forward to a fun evening. Behind the stage were two flags announcing the 50^th Anniversary of Independence, which is a month away, but for which preparations have begun in earnest. One of the flags had partially fallen off.

The evening starts with a small speech about the Independence celebrations, about the need for us Congolese to be proud of our heritage, and for the importance of diversity. The speaker appeared to be warning the audience not to dismiss the music of Beethoven and Bach just because it was different.

The orchestra comes onto the stage. The men are wearing dark suits and ties over brilliant lime yellow shirts. The women have little yellow beads in their hair. There are eight string players but that was where the conventional chamber orchestra ended – a guitar, saxophone, flute, piano and drums are there as well. Clearly this was not going to be just Mozart.

When they struck up the first number it sounded so simple, musically, that I thought we were in for an evening of nursery music – the sort of music that a school orchestra of 13 year olds would play for their end-of-term concert. But before long it was clear that though the tunes being played by the strings were very strong and simple, there were fascinating rhythms and complexities coming from the other instruments. They played with great energy and professionalism, resting only a few seconds between one piece and the next. There was no conductor: that role was divided between the first violin and the drummer.

The task of placing the music into a conventional category proved impossible. A mixture between pop songs and German oompah music is the closest I can get.

It was clear that for the audience this was pure bliss. They all knew the music, and at certain points would often burst into spontaneous applause, or shout their hurrays. At the end of each piece, suggestions as to what should be played next were shouted. The orchestra took this adulation with great modesty, trying hard to look as if they were in charge.

As the evening wore on inhibitions began to break down: hands were being waved, and the participatory noise levels rose. People started singing along. A young man in front of us got up to dance, and soon there were little groups gyrating in the aisle. The best moment came when another young man, moved by gratitude to the orchestra for giving such joy, got onto the stage and started handing out money to the players.

Chamber music?

One of the more esoteric places is the cinema. It was started recently and shows a mixture of French and English films, projected from DVDs. Esoteric because there is usually no one there – it feels such a shame. This was a brave new venture – as Kinshasa has been without a cinema for years. Indeed most of the Congolese have never been inside a cinema. To reach it you climb to the second floor of an otherwise deserted office building. There are no signs to advertise its presence and even the front door is anonymous. Very strange – probably a tax avoidance trick (or royalty avoidance??).

Then there is the British Embassy. Every Friday they have a barbecue, which anyone attend. It’s run as a club, and if you join you can also have lunch there or after work drinks at any time. I’ve never come across an embassy in recent times with such a relaxed attitude to security. During the World Cup they have been showing matches, and they had big screen coverage on election night. If you go there you’ll see all nationalities and people from all stations in life, from penniless NGO/backpacker types up to ambassadors. Congolese are as much in evidence as expatriates.

Restaurants? One of the nice things is that many of them are out of doors, so if you protect yourself against mosquitoes (and there really aren’t many of them) you can have a lovely meal in – wait for the cliché – the velvety night air. There are several very good Indian ones, Chinese, Japanese and Portugese. Belgian, of course. No special Italian ones – maybe they consider that the ingredients are not up to scratch. And, plenty of Greek and Lebanese. The wine is mostly French, but Portugese and Spanish are popular and occasionally South African. There are a few are very posh restaurants where you can have a very special meal if you can afford it: prices are very high.

And when we don’t go out, we can resort to that archaic form of entertainment: reading. We’ve started reading French books, well, sort of French. They are rubbish American books translated into French, which tend to be structured more simply. And if you don’t want to read you entertain. Not too bad, really.