I realize that Life in Congo Part 1 and Part 2 left a rather unfavorable slant on life here.

However, if you reread those posts, you will realize that the first one dealt with my fears while arriving here, and the second one with my first impressions, which were full of contradictions from what I had prepared for. Rather than squalor and homelessness, I saw color, vibrancy and teeming masses of people making a niche for themselves in a structureless society.

But now that I have been here for a few months, I can tell you that this is actually one rather fine place to live, in its own way. There is color, music, friendliness, and people go out of their way to do whatever they can to help you. Certainly they are doing it hoping for some money, but the truth is that they are satisfied with about 50 cents, and although it’s the home of trickle-down economics, fortunately I'm on the upstream side. For as little as $10, you can get someone to come to your house and skillfully make a shirt, pair of pants, curtains, furniture or dinner. If you need milk and eggs, someone will literally run to the store buy some, and deliver them to you. If you want your garden planted, someone will come dependably for $5 a day, cut the grass, plant tomatoes and peppers, pick the fruit when it’s ripe, make a chicken dish, and serve it hot when it comes out of the oven. All with a smile.

A typical day begins with me walking to school from home. The housing I get initially looked like a somewhat dilapidated adobe structure, but after seeing what the options in Kinshasa are, I realize that this is pretty solid fare. And if the air conditioner goes out, the plumbing seizes up, or the porch gets a leak from a mango falling onto the corrugated plastic cover, someone is there in minutes to repair it. Sure, it has its idiosyncrasies, like the dozens of millipedes that I find on the cool tile floor in the morning on my way to the shower (I used to gather and flush them, but now that I know they are harmless, it's live and let live), or the swarms of flying ants that appear magically at 10pm every night and hover in front of the TV screen (now that I turn on another light, they hover over there instead. I hear that they are delicious eating, but it’s the big ones that are best and these are the small ones). But these things only serve to remind me that I really am in the depths of Africa.

The walk to work passes through about 1/4 mile of a bona fide rainforest we have on campus. The ecosystem in the lower Congo basin can support a full-fledged 3-tiered canopied forest, but the urbanization has cleared it out for about a hundred miles around. However, a remote corner of our campus that used to house Bonobo monkeys has reverted back to its primordial state, and my walk to work takes me through its heart. I always pause under a dense bamboo cluster, where the path opens up from a tunnel of dark hanging vines and smell of sweaty rotting leaves, to a cavern-like amphitheatre canopied with a bamboo arch, and I listen to the family of African Grey parrots whistle and caw. In the distance I can hear a family of monkeys howling, and usually some small animal of some sort dashes through the deep undergrowth when it hears my arrival. One morning last week, I met one of the gardeners coming out of the undergrowth with a machete and a plastic bag. I asked what was up, and he showed me what he gathered. Every night, he lays open a papaya and covers it with leaves. Then, the next morning he uncovers the fruit and picks up the snails that are feasting on it. Most are bigger than your fist, with some as large as a softball. He steams them and has escargot for lunch each day.

After emerging from the rainforest (where I find most of my best feathers for tying flies), I walk through a patch of mango and papaya trees that produce fruit throughout the rainy season, which lasts half the year. I often breakfast on the freshly fallen fruit, peeling the mango skin with my penknife and eating the papaya whole. There is also an avocado tree with the best avocados I have ever had, but often the workers have beaten me to them. Once they realized that I like them, too, they started leaving a few lower down that I can reach while they climb to the upper branches to get the others.

Speaking of climbing, the bravest man I ever saw in my life works here. And that's saying a lot, since I spent years working whitewater rivers and know some folks who do things that would make most folks pucker in horror. This little man has the job of keeping the trees trimmed on campus. Many of our trees are old oil palms, standing up to 100 feet tall. He takes a palm branch, strips the leaves off, and wraps the central stalk around himself and the tree. He closes the loop by tying the end with a grapevine knot made with a single half hitch on each side, then he shimmies his way up the tree barefoot just like telephone pole climbers do with their thick 4" nylon belts and spiked boots. I have seen him perched in palm trees, 100' over my head, hacking at dead leaves with his machete inches away from the delicate belt that passes around his back, with his bare feet jammed out in front of him against the tree. He often stops there for a few minutes and munches on palm nuts before he climbs back down, singing a song.

There is a local woman named Rachele who makes lunch for the workers. She comes in at 12:15 each day with a huge tray balanced on her head, and in a little clearing in the jungle, sets up a bamboo table and some lawn chairs. The workers have the ground swept off with palm leaves before she arrives to make it more pleasant. Every day is the same thing: bread made from cassava paste, beans and rice, dried fish, chicken, and hot pilipili sauce. I am the only "mun’dali" who eats with the locals, and we always have great conversation. Sometimes she brings a special dish just for me that I love: shani, wild mushrooms and steamed greens. Shani are large, barely fried caterpillars, and to my initial surprise they are incredibly tasty. Sort of like raw hot dogs.

In the evenings, I sometimes head into town with my girlfriend for dinner, but it is very expensive. However, we can sit at an outdoor venue and drink beers for $1 each, and listen to Congolese music. The Congolese music scene is historically well-known, and the reemergence of local bands is a clear sign that things are getting better. The beat is half reggae, half afro-rhythm, and melodies are always tight 4 or 5 part harmonies. Many songs are modifications of what must be old tribal rhythms, sung in Lingala, and people get up and sway at their seats to the music. The most popular dance closely resembles the 'grind', and dark-skinned beauties with perfect bodies will stand there, eyes closed, and slowly, sensually twist and thrust their way through song after song... it’s nicer than I can describe. I pretend to not notice when I’m sitting with my girlfriend.

fishing on the Congo, rainy season

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