Shore Leave

The usual reasons for abandoning a blog that would otherwise be a major outlet for expression while on a sojourn in an African country boils down to one of three possibilities, presented here in beautiful, neat bullet points.

• 1: You're in a routine and there hasn't been that much to report on
• 2: Your stress level is raised because your company's employment pool is rapidly shrinking
• 3: You have no idea when you're coming home

Which door is my answer lying behind? Turns out, lovely blog readers, it's all three.

Kinshasa has been the land of quiet, constant routine. It turns out my suburban lifestyle and compound living in a third world country have a lot in common. You shelter yourself from possible undesirable elements, you only know the area you slowly find for yourself, you are constantly naive about the reality of the world around you, you crave amenities and convenience, and the main bane of your existence is your daily commute.

The routine has its upsides. I'm getting in shape, smoke free, and have much more time to find other useless habits, such as improving my arabic. Arabic?

Well, it seems that the word from the pneumatic tube reaching to the far reaches of the dark continent from the frigid north of Canada has informed me that I will be going home. Sometime. In the future. In a week. Or two. Or three. The truth is, I have no idea when I'm leaving, or even if I still have a job. There's not too much information coming down the pipeline, and the one downside of working a job in a far and verdant edge of the world far from 21st century convenience is that information trickles. It flows, it diverts, and cleverly manipulated into a cascade of tidbits, queries, requests, and empty replies. By the time it reaches me, I have no real clue what's going on with where I work, or what my state is.

If I do end up in Chad, it will at least be a new wind. With a lot of sand in it. Chad is one of the poorest countries around, and an eclectic mix of Christianity of Muslim faith. It's also called the Dead Heart of Africa. Should be interesting.

I will try and posting more, but with the increased flying, the necessary routine from cutting out one of my most cherished and disgusting habits, added to the fact that my idle thoughts are currently being prioritized to wondering:

a) When I will be leaving

and

b) If I have anything to come back to.

But life is good and I'm still ahead in the game. It would be nice to get back to Canada, but talking to others who have been here and come back, it begins to haunt you for the first while back. Africa is a hard drug to kick, and it's a love affair that envelops you. I'm already thinking of other ways I can get back here, although in the flight deck and not in the cabin.

Week 3/4

Well, it has certainly been a while since my last post. Since I've only flown three times, there really is no real excuse, besides the guilty pleasure of having fun in and around Kinshasa and other places.

I am in Uganda now, staying at the Lake Victoria Hotel, now known with the co-operatively as the "Libya Hotel", due to the fact that Mr. Khadafi, the infamous Libyan dictator stayed here recently, and decided to buy out the hotel. Satisfied with his new purchase, he left onboard his 340 with 10 crew and 1 passenger: himself.

I cannot state how beautiful Uganda is compared to what small parts of Africa I have seen. Between it's lush mountainous vegetation in the west and central regions, to the savanna of the east, to the sublime lake front and the flow of the Nile, Uganda is the African heaven on Earth. I will certainly post more on Uganda, but first I'd like to throwback a week ago to the horrors and wonders of one day spent in the Congo.

Two Sundays ago our base manager put together a tour of the Thysville Caves in the Bas Congo, near Matadi. This place is known to be the starting point for Marlowe, the "protagonist" in Heart of Darkness, the Joseph Conrad book based in what is now the DRC

It was an apt comparison. This place was the start of a long trend of some horrific scenes and news in the Congo. On the way there, barely out of Kinshasa, we were witness to the body of a young boy, around 10 or 12, who had half his head cut off by a rogue car tire. The scene was graphic and brutal, and treated as such, but somehow it seemed so banal in the third world atmosphere of this country. Further along, there was the leftover carnage of a Pain Victoire truck which had a head on collision with another car. Our driver translated from the locals as to what had occurred what looked like only a few hours before. Eight people were dead, and we headed on to the caves.

The Thysville Caves, known by the pre-independence moniker, were absolutely stunning. The cave was low but vast, and according to our tour guide, stretched for over 3 miles underground. Being a derelict tourist spot, the only safety was corroded railings teetering on the bring of crumbling and the innate knowledge of our guide, who seemed to do this as a sort of second job. Needless to say, we only ventured a mile in. But all the supposed danger was worth it. Our group was witness to a beautiful waterfall pouring into a small pool around stalagmites. Inside, blind fish of a river species adapted to the dark over a course of thousands of years. It was well worth the $100 paid for this trip, and although only getting one hour of sleep before, has stayed in my memory as the highlight of the tour so far.

Other than that, the Dash 8 crew now based in Entebbe are fattening up like calves and becoming complacent. We eat too much, and do too little. I wish I could say more, and I probably do have more to say, but the comfort and laziness of a well developed African country is contagious. I find myself taking hours to do something I would accomplish in minutes, like this blog. We have been having fun, but I have to blame it on the Entebbe culture and our eagerness to get away for a little while from the raw reality of Kinshasa.

I will try and post more on a daily basis, and even give a rundown of even our most elementary days. Until then, I'll sit and be content at the luxury of the Lake Vic, and perhaps one of the many jewels of Africa, Uganda.

Week 1: Mr. Moon and Scouring Bullets on the Ramp

Well it's been one week since I've arrived back in the beautiful tropical garbage heap that is Kinshasa, and it's been non-stop ever since. I've been assigned to my previous residence, number 97, and discovered one fact of Common Living: If you leave anything behind, even marked, it's now up for grabs. I wasn't surprised, but was still hoping to at least find some flour and spices in the notorious party house that is "nonante sept" (Little tidbit of dialect difference; the Congolese use "septante" and "nonante" for soixante-dix and quatre-vingt-dix. It's a little easier, although I bet that the Belgians find it provincial.)

The first work assignment granted was to be backup for flying around the Le Plus Grand Fromage, Mr. Moon. In town to review the current MONUC operation and its transition to MONUSCO, or the stabilization phase of the UN mission, the Secretary General flew out of Kin to two other places on a four day trip. Our job was to support our other bird and sit on the plane for two hours a day, just in case the first plane broke down. This to me seemed to be a waste of time, as he was utilising two crews for a minute and very slight situation. However, never count out the gluttonous logistic needs of high ranking officials in the world. So the only real work our crew did was on our tans on the tarmac of N'Dijili Airport.

Although this was a bit of an inconvenience for us red eyed and spoiled crew members, it was a little refreshing to walk the tarmac on the relative calm of a Sunday morning, looking around at the wounds of a country. In the cracks of the apron, 7.62 bullets, intact minus the cartridge, could be found in abundance. A mechanic and myself found 12 pristine bullets, a little worse for wear from the weather, but nontheless fired. The guesses passing around were either from celebration at retaking the airport in one of the regional clashes a few years ago, or perhaps even earlier. Other than that, "Kin la poubelle" is the same as ever.

Gemena, bullet holes, and the Weekend of Shame

The last week has been quite a fun one.

I managed to fly in to Gemena for the first time. Situated in the north end of the DRC, Gemena looks like a picturesque rural Congolese town. At least that's what I thought until the crew piled into the Ops van. The 4runner was decorated with a lovely bunch of bullet holes, with one running through the passenger seat through to the rear hatch. Knowing how the operation here isn't too big on van cleanliness, I was glad to see an accompanying blood stain. But besides that, Gemena was a beautiful place.

Later in the week I was back in Gemena again for a VIP flight. The Minister of Defence was picked up and flown there, awaiting a badly tuned band and honour guard on the ground. It was quite the presentation for a small town, and one of the few very memorable moments from this tour. There was something almost childish about the presentation. Guards were slouching, the band was out of sync and lacked sheet music, but regardless the importance of the visit emanated through the air.

The mission here is pretty much the same. Things are very chaotic, which I guess is the result of managing the logistics of 19,000 personnel. I do believe that there's good being done here, but it's mostly about the money put in, not about the organization.

In other news, a new group of personnel arrived for us this weekend. Chaos ensued. Things were a little quiet here, but now with the arrival of some new blood, I can forsee the weekends becoming a little messier than usual.

All in all, there's another 24 days to go here before coming home and finishing up the license. I can't wait.

Week 5

It's been hot, sunny, and full of work this week.

Last weekend was another outing to a Lebanese bar called Crystal with the crew. The place knocked the socks off of a few lounges in Toronto, and best of all you could smoke. I have to admit that it was a little bit of heaven. Soon after getting there, some Lebanese girls came out and did a fantastic dance. We did get a few too many looks for staring too long, as the Lebanese aren't exactly fond of a bunch of white people in their bar. Luckily we had a connection from the British embassy who was in with the bar owner. A bunch of drinking and a few hours later, we were packing into a UN 4 X 4 and heading home at 5 in the morning.

As for the week, I managed to get a glimpse of Mbandaka, Kananga and Kamina. All are little godforsaken airports that look like a first world airport after the apocalypse. It still makes me sad to think of how beautiful this country is, and how far it's fallen after 35 years of rampant corruption.

Corruption here is also very intriguing. Kabila, the head of the government after his father's assassination, is backed by the United States, but ironically most of the foreign interests popping up here are Chinese. All road construction is done by the Chinese, funded by steel and materials provided by the Lebanese, who have a chokehold on the import/export business. Investment here is not done without bankrolling officials, and then you have to pay through the nose for all raw materials through the monopoly. It's not surprising that there are few business interests here right now, but I think the Chinese are slowly sneaking in and setting up an infrastructure that will soon rout the monopolies held by other raw materials processors. It also helps that Kabila's military and post secondary education all took place at PLA schools in Beijing. I think the next five years here will be very interesting, as well as volatile.

On a side note, I just wanted to say a few words on some vignettes here that have help fill out a more objective view of the Congo here.

*Every downtown trip to Kinshasa involves being accosted by amputees. Some are belligerent, others honestly hopeful of help. If you give them money, it's not uncommon to look through the rear-view mirror and be thrown around by some other vagrants (who always have all four limbs), and ends with them taking whatever money you gave them.
*Taxis are blue and yellow VW vans that love to lose tires, axles, or engine parts during our drive to the airport. Like sardines in a can, these vans often resemble clown cars. Given the state of the cars, and the amount of passengers without seat belts, it's a sure bet that these contribute to the actuary tables petering out at around 52.8 years.
* "Papa" is the best way to address and old person. And by old person, I mean over 35.
* Russian pilots sure do live up to their stereotypes. Either that or they love to wash their clothes in vodka.
* I have met two tourists in the Congo. Both of them looked shell shocked.
* Garbage burning is a national hobby. Black soot lines just about everything, including the inside of your nose.

I'll try and keep some more updates coming.

The "Medevac" Myth

Another day, another dollar I did nothing for.

Today was aviation standby, aka "The Medevac Shift". For those flight attendants who have sat on reserve, you know the seething hate we have for Reserve shifts. From 0700 to 2100, I am within 10 minutes from taking off for a flight that almost assuredly will not go. This is because:

A) Our planes take quite a while to fit out for medevac flights.
B) Our planes do not have any permanent set-up for patient flights, so plugs and outlets for rebreathers, fibrilators are not available
C) Air Ops ALWAYS cancels the flight if we are called.

So, in a nutshell, it's a day off with all the stress of a working day. Oh, and in all probability I won't fly until Tuesday. Then again, with all the blizzard reports that are crawling through the internet news, I will not complain. There's a pool, a restaurant, cold beer, and it's 34 degrees.

Right now it seems there is a surplus of crew. Since the RJ got back from Haiti (Where in two weeks it did a whopping 1 flight), things have been a bit overstaffed. I'm boiling it all down to bureaucracy, and those sneaky little cheap Georgian pilots undercutting everyone in town. They should really get into the used car business.

Boredom

It's Tuesday, and I haven't flown since last Thursday AGAIN. Now most people wouldn't complain to have six days off, but all in all for your first introductory tour, it's a bit unsettling. I've had no time to get into a routine here, and when you still have to prove yourself to your co-workers, it's a hard battle trying to get into the swing of things with one flight a week under your belt.

I still can't argue with the setup, as I'm still paid the same whether I work one hour or sixty. All in all, there's nothing really new to report, except little things are starting to encroach on the quality of life here. For instance, it's impossible to find any replacement clothes that aren't either incredibly expensive or grossly out of size. I'm in the need of new socks, and for some reason most Congolese love pictures of kittens or mangoes or other unprofessional pictures on their socks. Not exactly the impression I want to give when the head of the mission stares down at my feet during take-off.

Will hopefully post more pictures soon (and have more opportunity to take them when I get off this compound).