Double standards

It looks very promising – our hotel in Likasi. It’s fronted by a broad veranda on which people are enjoying a midday drink. At each side of the front door white marble Italianate fountains (fake, and not working) demonstrate this is not a doss-house. In the main dining room, which serves as the bar and reception, there are smart white leather chairs, with stylish stitching, on stainless steel frames. A large flat screen television is placed at the end, showing a French news programme. Light fittings in the form of bottles indicate that this is also a place to have fun.

My allocated room is the most modern room in the place: the corridor wall is entirely glazed. This is rather unnerving, but I accept it, not wanting to make a fuss. It is only when I realize that one cannot lock the sliding glass door that I feel I have a reason to ask to be moved.

The next room I’m given is bigger and better, and I explore it with interest. The taps (see picture) are state of the art stuff. Ever the optimist, I notice that there’s no towel, and fetch one from the previous room. I hang it on the towel rail which promptly falls on the floor. Woops! There’s no soap either, so toddle to go and get some from the reception. Everything looks good. I try the tap – nothing. “Sorry, sir, we have a problem of water.” There is a mini-bar fridge: I check inside – empty and warm. Anyway, at least there is a TV which has three channels.

Now for lunch. We are given a flashy menu. It consists of huge dishes which we just don’t feel like. I tentatively order soup. “I’m very sorry, but soup is only in the evenings.” Try again. “What’s in the ‘Sandwich Parisien’, I ask. “I really don’t know,” comes the reply, “I’ll have to ask the chef.” Then as an afterthought he says, “But even if I found out, it is not available.” We cogitate interminably, and eventually settle for a plate of chips each. Quick and simple.

While waiting for the chips to arrive (1 ½ hours later) we share details of the rooms. My colleague has a window without mosquito netting and no air conditioning, and is dreading the mosquito raids of the night. Unlike us, his room has an internet cable. But it is very short and located in the clothes cupboard, so you can only use it if you’re small enough to sit in the cupboard.

After our chips we adjourned to our rooms where I was to do some work. No power in the electric plugs. “Don’t worry,” says the waiter cum receptionist, “the electrician is coming.”

Dinner time brings its own challenges. Since our lunch was so late, once more one doesn’t want a huge dish. “I’d like some soup,” I say, with confidence. “Oh, sorry, no soup today. You see you have to have water for soup. . . “ I settle for spaghetti bolognese, and try eat as much as I can without deeply offending the chef.

At $80 per night one has to wonder what the owner thinks he is doing with such appalling service and maintenance. Maybe he doesn’t care. But if he did, he would be sitting on a gold mine.

The next night we went to a restaurant in town, which has Indian and local dishes; well cooked, in contrast to the hotel. Moreover, the evening was spiced up by some domestic drama. We were waiting for our food when a huge row broke out. The antagonists were a strong 40-ish man wearing a tee shirt and a wrinkly white man who looked as if he has been here since the 1950s. He was wearing the colonial outfit of shorts and long socks, and was clearly baffled by the offence that he had caused. But he was being gripped on the shoulders by the irate man, whose eyes were bulging in their sockets with anger, and who stood a menacing few inches from his wrinkly foe. At first the contretemps was static, with an ever-growing audience as people left their seats to get closer to the action until the manager intervened and they were hustled outside. A few minutes later the row subsided and the wronged man came back inside. His victim obviously preferred to go somewhere else.

We pieced together an account of what had happened. The white man had entered into conversation with a black woman who turned out to be the wife of the tee-shirted man who was morally outraged and immediately attacked the old man. Judging by his reaction, the old guy clearly had no idea that he was doing anything wrong, but that wasn’t the point.

I’ve no doubt that some financial compensation was eventually demanded and paid to settle the dispute, probably $10.

After the drama, the black man joined a friend of his for a beer near us. The “wife” wasn’t with him. No doubt she continued to sit at the back to entice other gullible people.