Once Upon the Congo

by Applewhite, Claire; Harper, Chap

  “Under Papa Doc, talented people leave as soon as they get out of school. The medical school in Port-au-Prince has graduated about 280 doctors in the last ten years. Only three of them practice medicine in Haiti. On the other hand, if Papa Doc is an example of what the school produces, maybe they all should leave.” He felt this observation deserved a long sustained laugh.

  “Canada has more Haitian doctors than Haiti.” He was either in the middle of a sermon or a stand-up comedy routine. John hoped it would be over soon.

  “I do see from your earlier notes that you, or that is, Ms. Hanover’s parents provided a doctor and some other personnel for the trip. That is a good idea. A full M.A.S.H. unit might be better. In fact, the 101st Airborne Division would also be useful.” He smiled and laughed, but didn’t look at them. “We have contacted our most trusted mining contractors in Kinshasa, along with native guides who know that area well. You do know that some of that region is basically unexplored, even in these modern times. You might find Bigfoot.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he gave what was now an expected laugh.

  “We have contacted the Republic of the Congo’s Department of Mines concerning a possible mining concession. They were not opposed to an upstart concession from Haiti since Mobutu respects Papa Doc and is aware that hundreds of Haitians live in his country. Be warned though, if mining there is successful, he just might take it over. If you were prospecting from Europe or the United States, the answer would have been a big ‘Hell, no!’ You are going to a remote area where employment would be welcome. There is talk that Mobutu will nationalize the Union Miniere du Haut Katanga mining company, which accounts for about 50% of their economy. A royalty of twenty percent of the net mining profit will have to be paid to the government of the Democratic Republic of the Congo in the beginning, but expect that amount to grow to 50% or even 100% if they take it over. You are going into a country that may nationalize everything of value until Mobutu is out of office, which doesn’t appear likely for a while. Once you have proof of valuable ore, they will issue the Haitian government a standard ninety-nine year lease, that actually will be closer to a ninety-nine minute lease, if Mobutu so desires it.” He gave a muffled chuckle at that statement.

  “All sales of ore or minerals will go through us in the BIOA here in the Ivory Coast. We will pay you for your share. If minerals need to be sent to processing plants, then those plants will send their revenues here as well. Any questions?” He looked up at the two Americans and peered over some very narrow lens glasses. They could have belonged to Ben Franklin.

  John and Vikki had several questions, and Mr. Petit-Frere answered them with great patience.

  “Sir, if our mine produces at a very low volume, will it be less likely to be nationalized?” John asked.

  “If you can hide the potential ore values from Congolese officials, they wouldn’t be as likely to go in and run it themselves. The approximate location of your search is the middle of nowhere, so I don’t think they will be poking around very often. There is no guarantee. This is a case where failure may pay off.” After that statement, Cangé really cut loose with what was now irritating merriment.

  “Just as an example, Cangé, what if we found some—let’s say—some precious stones of some sort. Could the bank be counted on to sell these in the market slowly and pay all the interested parties without triggering an army march to kill us and take it all away?” John knew this question would alert as to what they might be after.

  “Ha! Ha! This is Africa, my friend! Selling precious stones goes on every day. The Belgians were the best, but Mobutu will not trade with them. Believe me, this bank has the best contacts. We will take a tiny commission to act with great care, and make sure to pay all parties.” He threw in a small laugh. “We can arrange couriers to transport to us what you might find, so Mobutu doesn’t get his hands on it first,” he said with a monstrous grin.

  After a few logistical questions that Cangé answered, John asked if he would recommend a local restaurant. Cangé suggested one of the large hotels would be excellent and safe. Plato did not want to join them, so they left in separate taxis.

  Over dinner, John smiled and looked into Vikki’s eyes. “Who will cheat us first—Papa Doc or Motubu?” he said. They both laughed and tried to imitate Cangé.

  A few days later, the Afrik-Rev left the Atlantic Ocean and churned up the muddy Congo River. The freighter docked at the port of Matadi, the farthest point ships can travel up river on the DRC side, due to cataracts.

  Several anxious explorers waited at the docks in Matadi by the vehicles. The first to meet them was the expedition leader, Sony Bodha, who introduced himself first to Vikki and then to John. Next in line was Jan Leeghwater, a white South African doctor, who looked pleased that someone of his race was going along on this ride. Congolese geologist Marcelin Fofana greeted them and after that the native associates who would serve as porters or gun-bearers. They lined up, and John and Vikki walked the gauntlet as they were introduced to Joseph, Antoine, Jean-Pierre, Ike, Sani, Jomo, and Jaja. Off to the side, were a couple of military types with guns, who were Africans, but not from the Congo. They snapped to attention when the two employers walked up to them. The first to speak was Zuka Koffi. He was almost seven feet tall and admitted to a Zulu heritage. He held his AK-47 to his side while he shook hands with the two Americans. The second mercenary stood a little over six feet tall, was very stocky and appeared to be a weight lifter. He said his name was Earnest Balogun, and he was from Central Africa. John knew there were no shortages of ex-military on the continent, since some sort of insurrection was always going on in one of the fifty-four African countries. He hoped two trained killers would be sufficient.

  “Ready to ride off into the sunset?” Sony asked.

  John and Vikki were pleased he had a sense of humor. They figured some levity would come in handy on this trip. All the luggage and gear was loaded on the trucks and Land Rovers, and they set off on the first leg of their journey. Sony drove the Land Rover for Vikki and John, with Dr. Leeghwater riding shotgun.

  “John, do you have your and Ms. Hanover’s shot records and current meds for me to look over?” the doctor asked.

  Vikki had her records in her backpack and handed them to the doctor. He opened the envelope and started reading the list of vaccinations, softly repeating the inoculations to himself.

  “Yellow fever, hepatitis-A and B, malaria medicine, ummm, booster pills for that, ummm, where the encephalitis…oh yeah—there it is….” He was in his element.

  “Familiar with itinerary?” Sony asked.

  “Only partially,” John answered.

  “Decided to go by road. Ferries not dependable-trucks don’t fit well. Roads are crap and full of fucking thieves and pseudo-military idiots. Spend the night in Kinshasa-take off early in the morning. Go to Kenge, then Llebo and north to Iketa-take the ferry across at Stanleyville. Once there, we go to Batialia and as far as our four-wheel drive will take us along the Aruwimi River—then we’ll be hoofing it. Ok with you guys?” He seemed to abbreviate everything. John hoped he hadn’t planned the trip the way he talked.

  “Tetanus…where is the typhoid…there it is. Birth control pills—what the hell?” He glanced up for a minute. Vikki nodded her head in an affirmative manner. The doctor resumed mumbling to himself.

  “MMR, DPT, and polio all in order. Wish there was a vaccine for African Trypanosomiasis,” the doctor said.

  “What is that shit?” John said.

  “African sleeping sickness, caused by the tsetse fly. No shot for schistosomiasis either, which you shouldn’t get unless you go swimming in the rivers. We need to watch out for rabies and dengue fever as well. Ebola is also found here. The Center for Disease Control should move here since the Congo has them all—including monkey pox.”

  “I’m not going to ask. I hope to avoid petting any monkeys or any other frigging animals,” Vikki said.

  “The natives sell the meat in local markets as bush meat.
I doubt we will be shopping there,” the doctor said.

  “Staying at the Hotel Le Renaissance tonight. Be there less than an hour. Planning meeting after dinner—my room.” Sony relayed in his usual choppy sentences.

  A few minutes later the convoy of six vehicles pulled up in front of a tired looking hotel. Everyone headed for the lobby.

  “Last chance to check gear. Anybody short on anything let me know. Have it for you before we leave. See you—my room eightish.” Sony grabbed a pack with about a hundred loose straps hanging from it and walked over to the registration desk.

  John and Vikki headed for the bar. “Need drink?” John said.

  “Drink, sex, dinner, meet Sony,” Vikki said.

  Now, they had someone else to make fun of beside Cangé.

  Chapter 6

  Inland Congo

  John and Vikki slung their backpacks in the rear of the Land Rover and slid into the back seat. Both were wearing cargo shorts, but knew they would need long pants for the jungle. They were still several hundred miles and at least a week away from worrying about clothing options. The meeting with Sony last night had gone well except that everything he said was an abbreviation of normal speech between humans. He spoke in a sort of linguistic shorthand where sentences started in the middle, were almost void of adjectives and ended where most people would just be getting cranked up. His speech patterns gave John and Vikki fodder for a new style of short humorous sentences.

  “John, got water—snack—need sex—maybe later—hand job then—bug spray—condoms—nice day—might rain,” said Vikki quickly before Sony got to the vehicle.

  “Wait for real sex—no snack—rain for sure—got pills—hate condoms—hope rains—hot here,” John said as he worked hard on the imitation.

  The couple reverted back to normal speech as they saw Sony approaching the car. This time the shotgun position was being occupied by the geologist and mine engineer, Marcelin Fofana.

  “Good morning to you two. I hope you realize the comfortable bed you were in last night was your last for a long time. Hotels are primitive until we get to Stanleyville. Our tents with cots and mosquito nets will do just fine though.” He seemed cheery enough and actually spoke in full sentences which they knew would clash with his seat mate.

  “Off to Kenge—rain may slow us—next stop for petrol—three maybe four hours—need to pee—just yell and I’ll pull over.” John Wayne had to be smiling somewhere.

  “Marcelin, tell us, what type of mine work have you done in the past.” asked Vikki.

  “All kinds, but call me Marc,” he said. “I worked for a while in the big Haut Katanga copper mine, and then I worked gold, diamonds, and even on a little small uranium oxide surface mine. You know the Congo has trillions of dollars of mineral resources that are untapped. From what I have been told about the quarry we are looking for, there is a good chance it was never mined properly,” he said with a big smile across his face.

  John and Vikki knew about the giant mountains of mine tailings that were piled up by the world famous Katanga operation and hoped that wasn’t the fate of their little quarry.

  “Sony?” Vikki was trying to get his attention.

  “Yes, darlin’.” He tried to be cute.

  “Did I hear you right last night at the meeting that the trip just to Stanleyville is 2622 kilometers or about 1600 American miles?” She knew the answer but couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

  “Try to do about 300 to 500 ’merican miles a day. Gas up when we can. Some towns have small guest houses—other places we’ll camp. Should be to Stanleyville five…six days. Is a shorter route but roads piss poor. 2622 kilometers not bad for Africa—big fucking country,” he said, laughing.

  John and Vikki were getting to where they liked the amount of information Sony would give them in such a short amount of time, but nonetheless they looked at each other and smiled like crazy every time he spoke.

  John whispered, “Sony could have written War and Peace in two chapters.” Vikki couldn’t hold back the laughter.

  Marc turned around. “You two kids are having way too much fun.”

  “Well, this trip would be long and boring if we can’t have a few laughs,” John said while trying to compose himself.

  “Marc, you have seen the write up on the old quarry from Stanley’s expedition, and you’ve seen the lab reports on the sample ores. What do you think we’ll find there?” John asked.

  “The fact that there were four diamonds in a small ore sample speaks volumes. All the diamonds were excellent specimens although three of them were small. The large pink one made up for flaws in color and clarity. For pink ones to exist in the ore is something to be excited about. What has happened there in the last eighty years? We will just have to find out if it has been mined during that time,” Marc said.

  “Is there any record of mines in the Ituri region?” asked Vikki.

  “There is no record that a claim was ever formally introduced through the Minister of Mines, the Mining Registry or the Directorate of Mines. But, smaller mines usually don’t get registered and operate until someone in the government finds them. It’s unlikely they would ever find this place. Since much of the area around this location is unexplored, it’s not on anyone’s mining hot spot list,” Marc explained.

  John asked, “Do we have clearance for exploration from the DRC?”

  “Yes. We have a permit which is subject to an environmental impact study and the rights of indigenous or aboriginal people. Both of these issues may come into play since the area is next to a river and according to Stanley there were native villages in the vicinity.”

  “And the uranium ore?” John inquired.

  “Rich…very rich. Since trees were stunted inside the enclosure, it makes me wonder if there might be ‘pitchblende’ which is black in color as opposed to the orange colored ore in your sample. There has never been ore as rich as the sixty to seventy percent pure uranium that was used for the first American atomic bomb. The Manhattan Project got that ore from the Shinkolobwe Mine located right here in the Democratic Republic of the Congo,” Marc said.

  “Where is this mine?” John asked.

  “Near Katanga. I worked at the Haut Katanga copper mine for a while, and we mined a little uranium as a by-product of the copper. The Shinkolobwe, however, is just a shadow of its former self, and I think it shut down in 1960. Mines shut down and then new techniques come out and they reopen. Vikki, kind of like your dad does with the fracking on the old oil wells,” he said, looking back at her and smiling in the hope he said something of interest.

  Conversations about various mines and their history would continue for much of the long trip. Sony stopped in Kenge for gas and a meal break, and then on to Kikwit for an overnight stay at a small motel which looked like someone’s private home. They would spend the night in Kananga, Kabinda, and Hindu before arriving in Stanleyville. They pulled up late at night in front of a real hotel for the first time since Kinshasa.

  “Wow! It is so nice to be in a town that doesn’t start with a ‘K’,” John said.

  “Hate to bust your bubble—natives call it Kisangani,” Sony laughed as he spoke. “Planning meeting—morning at seven—private dining room. Gets rough from here.”

  Vikki entered their hotel room and smiled when she saw a queen size bed. John explored the bathroom and found a huge shower lined in colorful tile featuring African animals. No search for snakes and insects were needed in this room. Being bounced around in the back of a Land Rover would soon be forgotten after a hot shower. They stripped and tossed the dirty clothes all over the room.

  As they adjusted the water to a heat level that was a few degrees below what would remove skin and boil body parts, they stared in each other’s eyes. Vikki elected herself as the one in charge of soap. She applied it to herself and then rubbed her body against John. Steam fogged the glass doors of the shower. John reached over and wrote “save me” on the glass with his finger. Vikki worked up a great deal of suds on
John’s groin which resulted in a full erection. She smiled as she explored it with her fingers. John could wait no longer and picked Vikki up and pressed her against the back of the shower. She eagerly wrapped her legs around him and helped him enter her. Warm water ran over their bodies as they made love. Afterwards they stayed in the shower kissing each other until the water started to cool.

  The whole crew was up at around six for breakfast, at which Sony would give the abbreviated version of whatever fate would befall them on this day.

  Sony was shoveling down eggs and following up with gulps of orange juice and coffee. He buttered an oversized biscuit and worked it into his mouth on top of the eggs. He ate in a modified wood chipper style much like he talked. He was a big muscular man who looked as if he could take care of himself in a bar fight. A scar above his right eye was a souvenir from his time in the Congolese Army. Sony had attended a community college in New York. There he likely learned to talk fast and appreciate John Wayne movies. Once John and Vikki learned about the Duke factor, they would quote lines from John Wayne movies to see if he could name them. He appeared to be another strong, black Congo native, but there was much more to Sony than one saw on the surface. He spoke both English and French, but his choice of language was the John Wayne version of combat-cowboy talk because it was comfortable for him. Sony, however, was the real deal.

  Once everyone was seated and Sony had failed to choke himself to death on breakfast, he began his talk.

  “Best I can tell our island is 185 miles back from the Ituri’s meeting the Aruwimi River. Stats given on longitude-latitude places it dead center between Bafwasende and Bunia on the river. Topo maps show pig trails for a few miles near the river, but we’ll have about seventy miles of wild-ass jungle. Some native villages—’bout the same ones Stanley found. Things don’t change in the jungle. Zuka—take point—Ernie the rear. Hand guns for all. Wear your big boy pants. Gonna be rough. Not up for it—stay in the hotel. Pick you up on the way back,” he said looking directly at Vikki.