Taking the plunge

What’s the point of living somewhere if you don’t share in the life of the inhabitants – you know, when you’re in Rome . . . etc. But a lot of people don’t see it like that. For example, I suspect that many, if not most, expatriates are only here because of the money. People get paid extra to live here because it’s not much fun. And expensive. So they live isolated lives moving between work, home and restaurants and that’s it. Maybe a spot of golf or tennis thrown in. There’s another factor: most expatriates don’t join in because they are scared to do so. They (we) receive dire warnings from security experts about life out there, and are told to keep within a so-called security zone. Beyond that, it is simply not safe. But. . . .

The Congo, especially in its former guise of Zaire had a formidable reputation for music. Its band travelled throughout the region to great acclaim, and their records sold everywhere. Their music dominated the airwaves. Today their reputation has waned a little, but the old guard are still playing and have a massive following.

It was a concert given by one such former star, Papa Wemba, that caught our eye, and we resolved to go. During daylight we drove to the spot to make sure we knew the way. But during the afternoon before the concert we began to have should-we, shouldn’t-we moments as we confronted the uncertainties of the idea. Finally, we phoned friends who said they’d love to go, and the die was cast. The advertising banner said “Starts at 8 p.m.” Don’t believe a word of it said all those in the know. He won’t start until 1. So we dawdled and eventually got there at 11 p.m.

It is at times like this that you realise the beauty of a warm climate. The performance took place in a space the size of a small European square, packed with chairs and tables, all in the open air. The square was lined on three sides by tiny bars, raised about three steps above the ground. On the fascias above each bar was its name – “Chez Josephine”, “Les Trois Filles Efficaces,” “Modernité” etc. Next to the name of each one was more information, for example, “Staff: Marie, Grace, Clarice”. Thus all waitresses were named. The bars competed fiercely for custom, and after we paid out $5 entrance fee we were met at the entrance by a waitress who escorted us to her patch, and laid out a table and chairs especially for us.

The fourth side of the square was partially occupied by a stage on which was playing an energetic warm-up band. The music was loud, the singers sang and danced, and people enjoyed themselves. At one stage the band leader welcomed the “whites sitting at the back”.

Looking around one had the sense that this was a family-type night club. Yes there were shorter-than-normal skirts, and lower-than-normal tops, but for most people this was just a normal night out. One of the striking things was how smart everyone was, especially the women. When one thought about the dire housing that most came from it was amazing to see the spotless clothes and soignee appearance. Every detail had been studied and designed.

Almost on the dot, 12.45 to be exact, the great man started. His music had a compulsive rhythm and before long people were standing up to perform little solo dances, singing along, waving hands, their faces lit up in an empty grin.

One of the engaging traditions of Central and East Africa is “patronage” where members of the audience can get up on stage and greet the stars. The customary price for this is a small donation pressed into his or her hand. Why not? So, feeling a bit like adolescent groupies, we join a little queue and are greeted warmly by himself,

One of our party was Congolese and her sister and fiancé joined us. We compete to buy each other beer, and before long the little plastic table is sagging under the weight. Sensibly, the waitress doesn’t open the bottles until they are needed.

At 3.00 we decide to call it a day. We drive through streets still teaming with life, feeling, at last, part of the city in which we live.