by David Nees
“Poor bastards,” Roland said. “How long do you think they’ll be stuck there?”
Santu shrugged. “However long it takes. They are traders. They must get their goods to the city. There’s no other way, so they do whatever it takes. One must be strong to drive these roads. It is brute force and a powerful will that gets you through.”
“And they do it every day,” Roland said.
“It’s their work. And the traders, the people with goods to sell in the city, they need this service, so the demand never ends.”
“Road improvements would help a lot. Got to wonder how many hours, days, are wasted on this slow transportation.”
Chapter 13
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T he four men arrived in Kasongo late that night. Santu found a small hotel with bad beds. They ate in a local restaurant nearby and retired, exhausted to their rooms. Roland, after inspecting the beds, opted to put up his tent in the room. Part of the way through the night, all the men except for Santu were up with explosive diarrhea. When morning came, Santu got up and the others wearily roused themselves.
“Tough night?” Santu asked Roland. He knew the answer but couldn’t resist a dig.
“As if you didn’t know,” came the reply.
“Me? I slept like a baby.” Santu grinned at Roland, who scowled back at him.
“You’re never gonna forgive me for spooking you at the river, are you?”
“I forgive you, Roland. I can’t hold a grudge against someone who can’t control his bowels.”
“Fuck you,” Roland said, but he couldn’t help but let a grin creep onto his face.
After meeting outside, the group decided to forgo breakfast for some fruit that Santu purchased at a stall.
“Mangos and bananas,” Marcus declared. “They’re safe.”
“Unless that’s all you eat,” said Dan.
The two gas stations in the village were run-down, one had a man working a hand-cranked pump. Dan decided not to risk getting bad gas. They would try to make it to Bukavu on the south side of Lake Kivu. The town had a population of around eight hundred thousand and was much more commercial than Mbuji-Mayi. The lake brought tourists, which brought money, which brought better hotels and restaurants. Everything flowed downhill from the tourist money. The roads were paved and they would have an easy ride from there to Goma on the north side of the lake.
“Bukavu tonight?” Dan asked hopefully.
Santu shook his head and pointed to the sky. There were clouds gathering. Far too early. It would be a rainy day.
“The road is unimproved. The rain won’t make it easier. There are no towns along the way, only small villages, so we will have to camp and eat from our own food.”
“I can live with that,” Roland said. I like my tent better than I like bedbugs. And our trail food will sit just fine with my stomach.” He turned to Santu. “Can your stomach handle our decadent western food?”
Santu smiled. “Remember, I am a man who has a foot in both worlds. I can handle your food. It is not challenging like our local Congolese food.”
“Iron stomach, huh?”
Santu nodded.
The road was much of the same as the day before, but with Dan’s improving off-road skills, they were getting better at navigating around the sink holes. Despite their efforts, as Santu had predicted, the evening found them still out on the road. They pulled over on a side path that led into a village located just off the road. On their drive, they had noticed that the main road sometimes diverted around a collection of huts—a village—just like a modern highway.
Santu collected some wood and made a fire while Marcus and Roland broke out some camping meals.
“You can set up your tents along the side of the path. No one will run over you at night,” Santu said as they were sitting around the fire and eating. The camp meals were enhanced by a mango for each of them as dessert.
“Where are you sleeping?” Roland asked. “You can crowd into my tent if you want.”
Santu shook his head.
“I’m sleeping in the truck. Safe from the leopard.”
“Hmm,” said Roland. “You’ll beep the horn and scare him off if he comes around?”
Santu smiled. “I’ll try. But they say you never hear him until he has your head in his mouth. Then it’s too late. He drags you off into the bush never to be seen again.”
Roland looked serious. “He better bite fast and hard. There’ll be about six 9 mm rounds in his hide before he gets into the tent.”
The next morning, they ate another meal. Marcus ran into the bush to empty the remains of the meal from the night before.
Nine hours later the road improved to graded dirt, signaling their approach into Bukavu.
“We will go to a lodge out on one of the peninsulas. It’s called The Lodge Co-Co. It is very comfortable, quiet and clean. They cater to tourists, many who want to see gorillas. There is an extensive business around hiking into the forest to look at the gorillas.”
“Is that dangerous?” Marcus asked. “I’ve heard male gorillas don’t like intruders.”
“No. These gorillas are used to humans, especially white ones. They know they aren’t there to take their harem away, or kill them. In some of the more backward parts of our country, the villagers think killing and eating a gorilla, especially a male makes, you strong. But that doesn’t happen here.”
“Still, it’s probably intimidating. They’re so large,” Marcus said.
“Chimpanzees are more dangerous. They have bad tempers. In the bush, when you come across them, they scream and throw their shit at you. They will try to surround you and they can tear your face off. You must act large and aggressive, while backing away.” Santu shuddered. “I don’t like chimpanzees.”
“Sounds nasty. Quite a technique, throwing your shit at someone. Never tried that myself,” Roland said.
“But you’re not above it, are you?” Marcus asked.
Roland smiled. “You never know. My motto, do whatever it takes to win.”
“We better get some gas first,” Dan said. He pulled into an almost modern looking gas station and stopped.
While he was filling up, Santu got on his phone and called the lodge. He was able to secure two rooms.
“How long?” he called out to Dan.
“One night.”
“We should stay two nights. We can clean ourselves up, enjoy the town, and be more civilized for our arrival in Goma.”
“We’re not seeing a welcoming committee in Goma. One night. We’ll do all our cleaning up in Goma. Don’t worry. You won’t be out of a job when we get there. I’m going to put your skills to good use while I do business.”
“That’s good, boss. I was hoping you’d say that.” Santu beamed a large smile in Dan’s direction. His mood seemed to elevate with the news of his continued employment.
After showering, which was not easy in the small tubs with no curtain, the men headed out to eat. Santu directed them to the Orchids Safari Club. Santu said it was the best restaurant in Bukavu and that they deserved the treat.
“You sacrificed much for your company. They can surely allow you a small luxury such as this. It has the finest French cuisine in all of Eastern DRC.
Dinner consisted of an appetizer of sambaza, a small, sardine-like fish, fried whole to a crispy finish and eaten bones, head and all. After a tentative try, Dan and his two partners pronounced them delicious. The main course was a tilapia from Lake Kivu served with mashed potatoes and a delicious sauce on a bed of edible greens. Dan indulged in two bottles of white wine and they finished with a Crème Brûlée, which Dan pronounced the best he’d had outside of France.
“Okay, let’s go. I have another treat for you,” Santu announced as Dan paid the bill. He had to dig into his US dollars as the restaurant did not take credit cards.
“Where now?” Dan asked when they were outside.
“We go to a great bar. I’ve heard about this even back in K
inshasa. It’s well known, like the Orchids Club. It’s called Starco and they serve the best mixed drinks. They also have an excellent selection of Belgium beer, which I think you’ll like.”
They got into the Toyota.
“Why do I have the feeling you’re punching your bucket list?”
Santu looked at him with a question in his face.
“Bucket list. The list of things you want to do before you die.”
Santu smiled. “I’m not planning to die. But I promised myself that if I was fortunate to get here, I would visit these two establishments. You have to agree, that was a good meal, was it not?”
“It was,” Roland said, interrupting. “Now let’s get on to Starco. I have a few beers I want to hoist. Then go back to sleep on a good bed with no bedbugs.” He paused. “That is, unless a Bukavu beauty wants me to entertain her. Then my friend, you may have to sleep in the Toyota another night.”
Chapter 14
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G eneral Zhang sat back in his office. He needed to stop and think for a moment. He had just received an encrypted message on his computer. His superior officer, General Wu, was coming to see him. Wu was the highest ranking general in the army. He had the ear of Xiong, China’s President and Communist Party General Secretary, the man who held absolute power in the country. Wu was going to be traveling soon to Djibouti, a small country on the horn of Africa enclosed by Eritrea, Ethiopia and Somalia. Its importance was that it had a great harbor in a strategic area, the Gulf of Aden, guarding the approach to the Red Sea.
This happy demographic had made Djibouti host to the largest number of foreign military bases in the world. Especially unusual for such a small country. The US had a base there. Japan’s only foreign base was in the country. The Italians had a base there; Saudi Arabia was building one as well. Russia had made inquiries and Djibouti had reached out to Turkey.
Zhang knew Wu was going there to wrap up a deal for China to build a large naval base which would dwarf the other nation’s installations. It would be a strategic outpost for China’s further dominance of the region. Zhang assumed there had to be another reason besides proximity for Wu to visit him. He’d heard the increasingly militant tone coming from President Xiong. Perhaps events were progressing beyond rhetoric. Zhang knew a time would come when his country would roll the dice to complete their control over the South China Sea, starting with Taiwan. The long-standing argument was how would the US react? Had there been new developments in this discussion?
Zhang didn’t like the thought of his work being interrupted. His work was stealthy and slow. Its purpose was to entrap the DRC without them realizing they were caught. They would become a vassal state to China as their debt and dependency grew. Some would object, but the real benefits China would bring through Zhang’s efforts would help to offset any contrary views. The immediate issue was that he might have to put his work with the warlord and Dieu on hold for a while.
*
The evening at Starco went well with everyone getting enough top-quality beer and mixed drinks to satisfy themselves. Santu especially seemed to enjoy the night out at the expense of his employer. The patrons consisted of many tourists, some businessmen and the occasional prostitute, glamorous and dressed to kill.
“They are not for you,” Santu said to Roland, who was admiring the view. “Unless you have a lot of money to spend. These are professionals.”
“I can tell the difference, never fear my friend. I’m happy to enjoy window shopping. It’s free.” He grinned at Santu. “I’m quite capable of finding girls who like me for what I am, a handsome, strong, sexy male.”
“You fit two of those four categories,” Marcus said. “Not sure about the handsome and sexy parts.”
“You wish you had my charisma,” Roland said.
“There you go again. You guys using big words. It always surprises me,” Dan said.
Roland turned to him. “Just because we’re—”
Dan held up his hand for Roland to stop.
“Just because we’re your bodyguards, you think we aren’t educated? That it?”
“Almost,” Dan replied, smiling.
Later, the four made their way back to the lodge. Santu navigated while Dan drove with Marcus and Roland singing songs…or trying to, Dan thought.
When they got to their rooms, Dan dropped into his bed, bone-tired, full of good food and drink, and fell into a deep sleep.
The next day the four met in the dining room. There was a continental breakfast laid out which could include an omelet, much to Roland’s pleasure. The men ate and then checked out and packed up the Toyota for the drive to Goma.
The road was well-graded dirt with sections of blacktop. It ran along the lake with occasional forays into the interior to link a village. Dan noticed greater prosperity in the region: there were more vehicles on the road, still overloaded with people and goods, but more nonetheless. The villages looked neater and cleaner; the houses better constructed. The road took some unusual turns, running out along peninsulas jutting into the lake, then looping back. All in pursuit of connecting as many villages as possible.
The views along the lake were spectacular, and the turns into the surrounding hillsides also brought attractive vistas. The fields were neat with various vegetables growing along with groves of oil palms and coffee trees. Dan remarked on the coffee trees.
“Yes,” Santu said. “We’re getting back into the business. The area is very good for coffee growing. Rwanda has a head start, but we’re going to catch up.”
“Someday people in the US will pay too much for designer coffee grown in Eastern DRC. You’ll just need some good branding to get the job done,” Dan said.
“We will be happy to take your money,” Santu said with a smile. He was obviously proud of this beautiful area and the evidence of growing prosperity.
“Where are the mines and all the ecological mess we studied?” Marcus asked.
“Back in the hills, further from the road. Here the land remains in good shape, cared for, because that is how it produces income. In the mining areas, the land gets torn up because that is how it produces income.”
The towns they passed through all had street-side markets with attractive fruit piled neatly on tables. Dan couldn’t resist and stopped so Santu could purchase more fruit and some potatoes to boil later for their lunch.
They stopped on a hilltop where they could pull off the road, and Santu started a fire. Dan boiled the potatoes, and they ate them with relish along with camp meals and fruit.
“Now we’re eating in style,” Roland said after they had wolfed down the food.
“That started last night,” Marcus said.
After packing up, they got going again and in two hours were entering Goma.
“Not bad. Six hours altogether,” Dan said as they drove into the city.
Goma was the capital of the North Kivu province and located on the north shore of Lake Kivu. It boasted a population of around one and a half million people.
“See that volcano?” Santu asked, pointing left to a large cone shape. It erupted in 2002, sending a flow of lava into the city and destroying forty percent of it.”
The volcano loomed menacingly, seeming to tower over the city.
“It could erupt again…but life goes on. You can still see some of the devastation. Lava is hard to remove,” Santu said. “People have moved back and rebuilt their homes, shacks more accurately. Right on the lava fields.”
They drove down the N2, which was one of the principal streets in Goma. Dan looked around as best he could with the busy traffic and pedestrians dodging their way across the road. The scene shifted block by block. Neat buildings with metal or breeze block walls, shops open to the street and displaying what they were selling or servicing, then dilapidated shacks with patched-together walls.
UN vehicles drove past on the road. Some were, Dan noted, armored troop carriers with a machine gunner on top. Looking down the side street
s, he could see piles of volcanic rock pushed aside on the regraded roads.
“Looks like they just crushed the lava and used it to grade in new road beds,” Dan said.
“Refugees do much of the work. They break up the lava and collect the smaller rocks in sacks for the graders to spread. Many women work at that. They have nothing else. They earn very little, but that is better than nothing.”
“Refugees? From what?” Marcus asked.
“From the volcano, of course. Many had to flee with only what they could carry. Then the lava claimed all they left behind. They returned to nothing.” He stared out of the window for a moment. “Others are victims of the rebel wars. A rebel group, M23, attacked the town in 2013. The UN didn’t do much. They left it to the army, the FARDC, to fight them. Now the UN patrols around the city as if they are protecting it.”
“Is Goma still under threat?” Dan asked.
“Many rebel groups, not just the M23, are all around the city, in the hills. They mostly terrorize the smaller villages and towns. They also compete for control of the mining further north.”
As they drove along, they passed some unmarked pickups with armed men in the back. They had a semblance of uniforms, but didn’t seem like regular soldiers.
“There are armed militia groups within the city,” Santu said. He nodded towards the pickup that went past them. “Ones like that. They are very local and act to protect their neighborhoods. There is a large FARDC compound a half mile north of here, but many feel the need to provide their own protection. They don’t trust the army. The compound provides some economic help as does the UN compound. Poor people crowd into shacks around them for security and to sell to the soldiers when they have some money. Selling to the UN soldiers is more profitable.” He paused, then added. “It is very dangerous to wander around in that maze of shacks.”
“You’ve done that?” Roland asked.
Santu shook his head. “No. I would never do that. But I’ve heard stories.”