I enjoy navigating the roads of Kinshasa, never knowing for sure how a trek through a 'puddle' might turn out. I don't drive to the village, however, as it is quite a distance and appears to require some careful negotiations. There are some areas where the road narrows and police sit in plastic chairs, manning each side. I have noticed the driver, Charles, and others in the car nodding and waving to them as we pass. I assume they know each other, and that without that connection it might be difficult for one to pass unheeded.I have seen such casual things on the quiet, country roads and always imagine what it would be like to walk them myself. Machetes and machine guns are not unusual. Unfortunately, a white woman walking would definately be.
This last trip, as we were leaving, two of the men generally manning their post from plastic waved us down by the side of the road. There was some discussion in rapid, loud Lingala and I tried to determine the mood of the conversation.
It wasn't easy. There were handshakes and greetings, smiles, head nods but also, clearly, debate. I am always fascinated by how others deal with the shake-down, ever eager to pick up tips. Charles is particularly impressive with his social skills, so I paid close attention. As I heard numbers being thrown around, one of the men left to get something.
He returned with a bottle of whiskey so potent my nose burned with the scent of it. It was offered to the men in the car, refused only by one, enjoyed by two. Admist laughter and male bonding, we drove off. Didn't see it coming but I guess I wasn't completely surprised either. What did I think they were doing all day in the hot sun in their white plastic chairs?
After everyone else had been dropped off, Charles headed to bring me home. It was then that we came across the water route shown above. I feel a kindredness with Charles because he is a skilled and sometimes crazy driver. As he peered out at the water road, I knew what he was thinking. I could almost hear him calculating the turn around time and the huge traffic jam awaiting us if we were forced to take an alternate route. I could see him judging the outer edges of the road and even the distance of the sidewalk. I could sense how badly he just wanted to go for it. We sat there watching the road for awhile, contemplating.
Of course it was impossible. We turned around. He found another passage and we got off again. I became amazed by the people taking shelter under roof overhangs and on small porches. They appeared all lined up along the side of the road, waiting.
It seems so bizarre that life stops for the rain. Everything is on pause. Rain is not new to Africa and I wonder why, in this case, people choose just to stop rather than adapt. Stalls close down, goods get wrapped up and people huddle in small dry spaces patiently watching the water tumble from the sky.
