There was a time when people measured their time here in terms of how long it was before they could leave. Life was, as they saw it, miserable – only compensated for by the extra pay that they received for putting up with it.
Lots of people have been away recently, what with the evacuations and Christmas. It’s very interesting to hear their reactions when they come back. And what do they say? “I dreaded the moment that the plane touched down”? or “All good things come to an end”? or “I thought of going AWOL”?
No: they said “It’s so good to be back” or “I’ve missed it” or “I couldn’t wait to get on the plane”.
What’s happened? We know all about the “absence makes the heart grow fonder” effect, of course, but that doesn’t explain it all. Things are definitely better: the roads are hugely improved, the police are generally less likely to try and nail you for an offence that you didn’t commit, and the choice of restaurants and shops improves daily. Derelict buildings are slowly being restored or replaced and it seems that power and water shortages are less common. And as survival tensions reduce, people seem less scared and more social than they used to be.
But that’s not to say that it isn’t good to get out of Kinshasa from time to time. It’s definitely rather limited as a town, and diplomats suffer more than ordinary mortals because they are not allowed (for security reasons) to venture beyond the embassy quarter and the main shopping streets.
The classic get-away is to go out on the river, and people love to boast that they go out regularly. Some of the embassies have their own boats, so there’s a chance of added cachet if you can claim to go out on one such. Which is what we did this week.
The ritual is that you go to an island for a picnic or barbecue, accompanied by lots of booze. The islands are not the romantic rocky outcrops with secret coves and golden sands of Treasure Island: they are simply sand banks. Some have a few trees, and some even a fisherman’s hut or two, but they are neither permanent nor beautiful. Nevertheless, it’s so nice to get out of the town that it feels very special.
At this time of the year the river is very high, and on our trip we struggled to find anywhere to land. When we eventually did so, our territory consisted only of a small, and very wet patch of sand, abutting a marshy reed bed. But that was enough, and we set up our barbecue and made the most of it. Luckily it didn’t rain, and people could frolic in the water and sunbathe on the soggy sand.
But it was the name of the boat that brought it all back to me. One had puzzled before about why Embassies need boats: would national budgets really stretch to buying pleasure boats for their staff? Not at all: these are the means of escape when things get really really hot, and all else has failed. When the airport is closed and rebels are controlling the streets how do you evacuate the Ambassador and his last few loyal and fearless staff? You put them in the boat.
(Indeed in the last few weeks a colleague had to use one to get to Brazzaville as the road to Kinshasa’s airport was too dangerous.)
The Germans are best placed for this: their ambassador’s residence is on the road along the river, and on the opposite side is a concrete slipway. During the election period their boat was prominently parked in the driveway with a large German flag flying from the stern.
Politically things seem to have settled down. Electoral protests have stopped. The ban on text messaging, which had been imposed to prevent an anti-Kabila Congolese Spring has been lifted.
What really proves that stability has returned is that the German boat has been put back into storage. Because now there’s no need to get away, is there?
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