I called Nawaj this morning and asked him to help me get to the airport and sort out the formalities for me there—and boy am I glad that I did. He showed up at the hotel just about on time, and was in a cheerful mood that belied what he described as a potential bout with malaria. We were at the airport in short order. On the way there we passed under an arch reading "
At the airport, things began like this: We got to the entrance gate. There was a car ahead of us whose driver looked like he was being harangued or shaken down, but Nawej was waved right through. Then, instead of parking in the main lot with everyone else, we pulled in through a corrugated sliding gate and parked alongside the airport officials' cars. Very VIP. Next came an odd bit’ We entered the airport through a side door that opened onto a white woman sitting at a computer. This woman paid us no heed as we walked by. In the main hall, my senses were drowned in a tidal wave of chaos. Far from the chaos of the bazaar, it had an whiff of anticipated pillage to it. Hundreds of Congolese were milling about, shouting, jostling. "This is no place for you," said Nawej's look before he plunged into the crowd with me in tow. He literally budged people out of the way as we proceeded, and I would follow along giving them little afterjostles. It was kind of fun. With most of the throng behind us, we now passed the ticket counters. I noticed that the woman staffing the Air Zimbabwe counter was asleep. And then—get this—we simply barged through security. Or almost did, I should say. Just when I thought no one was going to say a thing, a rather informal-looking guard protested that I hadn't submitted my bag for inspection. Nawej turned around. He gave this insolent upstart a flat stare. "This man," he said, "is my friend. Nous sommes amis.” The guard shrugged his shoulders and let it slide. Now Nawej had me sit down and hand him my passport and plane ticket. And off he went to sort out what he rather slyly called the “procedures officielles.” He came back about 20 minutes later bearing a boarding card and a passport newly graced with a Congolese exit stamp. In presenting them to me, he was the picture of courtesy. I thanked him sincerely. He brushed it off, saying "Mais c'est pour ça qu'on est là."
I did manage to hand him $30. I was unsure what would satisfy him--as so often in African moments of transaction it was left up to me--but this seemed to do the trick. In response to my expectant look, ’e said “Il n’y a pas des problème.” A very agreeable African-style transaction, all tolled. Nawej stood up to leave, and I told him I hoped to be seeing him again within two months—and I do, when I return to make my bid to reach Lutz Kayser's rocket launch site.
Just two hours later I was on my way to
~
While at the Hotel Belle Vue I was approached on two occasions by functionaries of the Congolese government. They both had business proposals. The first one had a clear plan in mind for bringing cybercafes to the Katangan bush. I was tempted to suggest beginning with boreholes, elementary hygiene, and arithmetic, but I humored him. He was a young 38, Katangan, and like members of government throughout most of the continent, very keen to leverage his position as a government official by getting into private enterprise. He was in the ministry of mines. He mentioned a variety of other business opportunities, but none of them outwardly had anything to do with mining. Not that they must. The things he mentioned were refrigerated transport, dialysis equipment, spare parts for graders, and other road construction kit. “Katanga is exploding, my friend. Now is the time to get in." But his eyes were desperate, his demeanor defeated. I could not help thinking that in reality,
The other man who approached me with some commercial interest in mind was a member of parliament, first name Marc. He was elderly and awkward, but also disarmingly earnest and friendly. I gathered that he was also looking for a foreign business partner. The problem was that his French was almost incomprehensible to me, and I had trouble making out what line of dealings he wanted to get into. I did ascertain one thing, however: He was from
~
4.
The last thing I will mention about my brief experience in the
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