It’s a strange paradox. This country, known for the
depradations of bandits and revolutionary groups, with infrastructure that is
far worse than it was in colonial times, and an economy so bad that public
servants either don’t get paid, or get paid very late; this mad country can
really get things done.
We look with amazement at the fact that Europe had to allow
at least a year for certain types of plastic to be banned, and the painfully
slow adoption of rules to charge for plastic supermarket bags.
Not here. The Governor of Kinshasa decided that plastic
shopping bags should be outlawed and lo and behold within a week, yes, just one
week, they had gone. Shopkeepers scrambled for alternatives: paper bags were
one alternative, and another was woven plastic bags of the sort that hawkers
use. These are quite expensive, so of course they charge for them. Some smaller shops are still surreptitiously
using plastic bags, and the women hawkers selling vegetables seem to have a
limitless supply of Obama bags (see photo)
Much the same happened with taxis. Most taxis are little cars,
usually with plenty of dents. They operate on a sharing basis, and try and cram
in as many people as possible. For a short while the rule was that they should
have stripes down the side in the colours of the Congolese flag. So there was a
rush to get colours painted on. But there was no rule about how wide the
stripes should be or strictly speaking what shape. So the net result was
somewhat disorganized. This annoyed the Governor who decreed that henceforth all
taxis and mini-buses should be painted yellow. NOW. And must have a City-issued
licence sticker on both front doors.
The next day the town was like a morgue as all taxi owners
rushed to get their cars sprayed yellow. But . . . within a week there they
were. Yellow everywhere, and all with the official stickers on their doors.
Quite how it was done has never been explained, but done it was. To me it was
amazing that there was enough yellow paint to go around, because there are
thousands and thousands of these taxis – probably 40% of all cars.
Some time ago there was an outbreak of polio in the other
Congo – across the river. Within three days the streets were flooded with
volunteers offering polio vaccine – the sort you take by mouth. At the entrance
of shops, at traffic lights, in the airports, everywhere there were girls with
neat waistcoats proclaiming that they were vaccinators (organized and paid by
UNICEF.but with 100% government backing). Polio was stopped in its tracks.
Maybe it’s because the law is weak that things can be done
so fast. But whatever the reason, it’s impressive.
À propos of nothing, there used to be a café on Boul. 30 Juin called Café de la Paix. In fact, it still might be there. It was there in the summer of 1971, when I was 14.
ReplyDeleteA bunch of us, mainly my elder brother, Chris, and a couple of Belgian friends got together that evening for drinks (I drank cokes, if memory serves. The cokes were always judged according the "batches," as in, "This is a great batch!" because of the uneven mixing of The Recipe at the factory. They could be truly awful!)
But that evening I think we were smoking some Congo Black—I don't think I was, because I had a tendency to get paranoid, but most of the older ones in the party were . . . and one of them was a guy we didn't know very well. He worked for the Peace Corps, as many of the American young people did (who weren't missionaries).
But he had recently—*very* recently—come straight from 'Nam. He was a door gunner, in one of those Hueys you see in all the movies. Except he was real. And he made a big mistake, smoking dope that night, because he began to get paranoid . . . REALLY paranoid.
He began to imagine there were people out to get him, because he was, umm, very stoned. And we didn't know how to calm him down . . . just six or seven of us, most under 18 years old, and him barely older than that . . . back when the war was cooling down, but he had obviously brought a lot of it with him.
I think I just smoked my Marlboros and prayed he'd chill out, because he was freaking us all out a little bit, that evening on Boulevard 20 June in 1971.
Later I heard somehow through the grapevine, years later, that he shot himself with a shotgun.
Wow. That's almost half a century ago, isn't it . . . I wonder if good old Café de la Paix is still there . . .