Democratic Republic of the Congo (formerly Zaire)
Throughout this page I will refer to the country as Zaire, though it is now called Democratic Republic of Congo.
Zaire, now the Democratic Republic of Congo, is the largest country in Sub-Saharan Africa and includes most of the Congo River watershed. The area is mostly rain forest that has been occupied by human hunter-gatherers for more than 90,000 years. The following has been adapted from the internet, with much of it taken from Wikipedia. The first European to explore the region was Henry Morton Stanley, at the beginning of what became a wave of European exploration and occupation. In the 1870s, under the sponsorship of Leopold II of Belgium, Stanley gained fame as the first white man to explore this region. Leopold formally acquired the rights to what was then called the Congo Territory in 1885 and made it his private property. His military unit forced the local people to produce rubber. Between 1885 and 1908 numerous local people died of disease and exploitation. In 1908 Leopold, under government pressure ceded his private property in the region to the Belgian government, and the territory became known as the Belgian Congo.
Belgium granted independence to the territory in 1960 under the name, Republic of Congo. Patrice Lamumba was elected as the first Prime Minister. Much political unrest followed, portions of the region tried without success to secede, and Lamumba appealed to the UN and western governments for aid and support, without success. He then made his request for aid to anyone who would listen, including the Soviet Union. At this point the US and the Belgium government oversaw his removal from office.
In 1965 Mobutu Sese Seko came to power through a coup d'e tat. In 1971 he renamed the country Zaire. His dictatorial government received considerable support from the US because of his anti-communist stance. He was in power when Jill and I visited in 1987. There is more information available from our conversation with the American missionary that we met when we were preparing to fly from Kisangani Bunia.
On the map below, the marker indicates Kisangani, formerly Stanleyville, which is uppermost navigable point on the Congo River.
On January 22, 1987, we crossed from Gisenyi, Rwanda, to Goma, in Zaire. It was like going from night into day. The immigration officers in Rwanda were stiff and businesslike, with few smiles and no invitations to come back. The Zairi officers were just the opposite. with lots of laughter and good natured banter among themselves. There were both men and women working in the office, and one of the women had her hair done in tight little pigtails all over her head. Jill complemented her, and she offered to put Jill in touch with her hairdresser. There was lots of good natured laughter.
We tried to change money, but the office could not accept traveler's checks. We had planned to look for accommodations in the city, and one of the officials arranged a ride with a Belgian woman that he obviously knew, who would take us to an inexpensive place to stay. There they could tell us where we could cash a traveler's check. The Belgian lady spoke no English and we spoke no French, but both she and Jill spoke Swahili, so they could communicate. Jill told her that we wanted inexpensive accommodations, without food, if necessary. The lady took us to the Catholic Mission. We spoke to the lady in charge, then moved in. Since we had no money, we could pay tomorrow when we had cashed our check. What a difference.
We walked to the business area and stopped at a hotel to cash our check. The man behind the desk did not have any cash, but he suggested that we have lunch, and while we were eating, he would find the cash. Very clever. We had a nice lunch, and when we had finished, he had found the cash for the traveler's check, less the price of lunch.
On January 24 we flew from Goma to Kisangani on the Congo River. We had a comfortable flight in a DC-8, and were served a nice breakfast with good coffee. 1987 was a long time ago. We shared a taxi to the city, which was a long way from the airport. Along the way we saw clean looking little huts along the road, and a soldier every few hundred yards, standing along the road.
We checked into the Zaire Palace hotel, into a room with air conditioning. We were in rain forest, and the humidity was high, and the air felt hot and muggy. In the late afternoon we took a long walk to the Hotel Olympia, and back through the town to our hotel. The town seemed quiet, with everything shut and not many people on the streets. The city seemed in disrepair, with many buildings needing paint. There were broken windows in many places, and we saw huge iron gates with massive locks to keep out thieves. There a few nice cars, but mostly we saw rusty broken down rattletraps. There were a few well paved streets, but mostly there were pot holes and dirt.
We returned to our hotel and had a very nice dinner. Though we ate at 7:30, there was only one other person in the dining room. The hotel had the appearance of having once been elegant, but was now in a state of steady decline. It was sobering to think that our guide book told us that this was the best hotel in town.
The next morning we were up and out early to beat heat. We walked down to the riverfront and saw the Presidential Steamer docked there, with soldiers everywhere, guarding the president and his boat. We had been told when we checked into the hotel that the president was arriving, and here was his boat. When the president is in town, all activity on the river stops. Things remain that way until he leaves.
We walked upriver along one of the main roads, and got ferried across a small stream in a dugout canoe. From there we walked through a small village to the river. Immediately off shore there were fish traps in the swift water. We walked upstream and saw Stanley Falls. By our standards it was a relatively small cataract, with several large rocks standing above the surface of the water. It was certainly not passable by the cargo boats that stopped in Kisangani.
Everywhere there were people. In the village there were children with pot bellies, old people sleeping, women cleaning pots. There were many cooking pots made of aluminum with insides and rims polished to a sheen. Everywhere there was evidence of poverty. We noticed that people were carrying food away from the village and toward the city. Fish, and some kind of leafy plant with long stems, were on their way toward the town and the market. Meanwhile, children in the village seemed much in need of food. A strange contradiction.
We made our way back to the hotel by way of the traditional market, where we bought some badly needed fresh fruit. Since leaving Kenya we had eaten mostly starch and fried foods, and this was the first occasion to buy fresh fruit. The bananas were delicious, with a hint of clove in the flavor. The best that I have ever tasted. The oranges were sour and barely edible, but the avocado and papaya were excellent.
In the afternoon we took a city bus ride to the north end of the city, then rode back again. We saw mostly ramshackle houses and hovels. There was only one nice looking school along the way, but it was not nearly large enough to accommodate all of the children that we saw along the way. Next we walked past the Catholic church to the water front, then west along the river. There were beautiful old houses, mansions in an earlier time, that had fallen to ruin, and it appeared that the occupants were doing nothing to prevent the decay. On the next block away from the river, there were a few well kept houses with fresh paint and nice yards. We saw no occupants. The only one in which we saw anyone living was occupied by Africans, and it was beginning to run down. A generation ago most of the town's people were living in villages like the one that we had seen earlier that day. The only explanation that I could come up with was that they did not share the European values when it came to how they lived.
Shortly after we arrived in Kisangani we had talked about taking a river boat down stream overnight and returning the next day, just to experience what it was like. Our guide book talked about the experience of spending a night with a boat load of local people, and we had thought that it would worth doing. We also learned that the presidents boat was docked there, and when Mobutu was traveling on the river, all other traffic stopped, including passenger boats. Now, we had been in town two days, and nobody knew how much longer the president would be in town. We decided to give it up and leave.
The next morning, January 27, we flew to Bunia. See the map below. We flew on a Fokker F-27 and had a very pleasant flight. We flew above the clouds at an altitude that I estimated was 8,000 ft, following a road that eventually led to Bunia. Through broken clouds we could see what seemed to be an endless sea of green jungle that ran for as far as we could see in all directions. The forest ended abruptly and we were over grassland. There was much evidence of cultivation, and a few herds cattle. There were fires here and there, I assumed that were part of the process of cultivation.
Finally, we were down. We passed through immigration and were ready to find a hotel. In the airport in Kisangani we had met an American missionary who was a surgeon in the hospital in Bunia. He was met by some of the hospital people, and they gave us a ride to the "finest hotel in Bunia." This was the Hotel Semliki, which was quite nice, but it had no water. Some problem with the tanks on the roof. We were able to bathe by sponging off using a trickle that came out of the sink faucet. Otherwise, the room was quite nice.
An aside about the American missionary that we had met in Kisangani. He had been born in what was then the Belgian Congo, to parents who were also American missionaries. He had been a teenager at the time that many of the European countries were relinquishing control of the colonies that they had held since the mid to late 19th century. While some of the colonizers, notably the British, had trained the local people in how the government of their country operated, Belgium did nothing of the kind. They had said, essentially, "You want freedom and independence? It's yours," and they left. What followed was chaos. The many missionaries who were working in the country were at the mercy of the native people, who saw them as former oppressors. The white people were rounded up and held in a camp until the people who were now in charge, could decide what to do with them. Fearing what the final decision would be, our new friend's father and several of the others decided to escape. In the battle that ensued, our friend's father and a number of others were killed, but our friend and several others escaped and eventually made it back to the States. Now he was back, providing medical care to the local people. We asked why he came back. His answer surprised me; "It's my home," he said. "I was born and grew up here. These people need help, and I'm here to do what I can."
The elevation of the town was about 4000 ft, and pleasantly dry. We walked the length o the one and only main street, looking into the shops and watching the people. We were left very much alone, which was a pleasant change. In every other place that we have been, people have either tried to sell us things, or they have begged. Here we had neither. We visited the market, which was very large, with a few permanent shops. We met two women who were working for the Peace Corps, and had a pleasant dinner with them at a place near their hotel.
We spent the following day in Bunia. It was raining when we awoke, and Jill was not feeling well, so we postponed leaving for a few hours. A few hours became all day, which we spent lying around and resting. At 3:30 in the afternoon we went for a walk to look for birds. This part of Africa seemed to have very few species, which seemed unusual. I had expected more, and was disappointed. It was time to move on.
The next morning, Thursday, January 29, 1987, we were up before the sun, and it was raining again. We went next door to the restaurant and had coffee, waiting for the rain to stop. At about 7 am it did and we set out. We walked south out of town, caught a ride to a fork in the road, and waited. After a couple of hours we hitched a ride on a large truck that was going south as far as the town of Komanda. We negotiated a price and were off. Jill got to sit in the cab and I rode in the bed with the heavy equipment. We passed through low, rolling hills, then crossed a wide, high plain. There were more low rolling hills and forest as we approached Komanda. If you look at the map below, Komanda is at the fork in the road indicated by the red marker. It was here that we parted company with our ride, who was continuing west to Kisangani, and we were going south.
The next morning, Thursday, January 29, 1987, we were up before the sun, and it was raining again. We went next door to the restaurant and had coffee, waiting for the rain to stop. At about 7 am it did and we set out. We walked south out of town, caught a ride to a fork in the road, and waited. After a couple of hours we hitched a ride on a large truck that was going south as far as the town of Komanda. We negotiated a price and were off. Jill got to sit in the cab and I rode in the bed with the heavy equipment. We passed through low, rolling hills, then crossed a wide, high plain. There were more low rolling hills and forest as we approached Komanda. If you look at the map below, Komanda is at the fork in the road indicated by the red marker. It was here that we parted company with our ride, who was continuing west to Kisangani, and we were going south.
Komanda was a primitive community, literally a wide place in the road. We spent the night in one of two hotels in town. Ours had a cement floor while the other one had a dirt floor. We cooked our dinner on our veranda and went to sleep to the sound of people singing hymns softly somewhere nearby.
To enlarge one of the pictures below, click on it.
Mount Hoyo
We were up before the sun and made breakfast on our veranda, and were on the road headed south soon after. We saw a truck in which the driver was transferring fuel from barrels on the bed and into the fuel tank. After some conversation and negotiation, we had a ride to the Mt. Hoyo turn off. See the map below. The road south from Komanda is the main road from Goma to Kisangani. It is narrow, rough dirt. The locals refer to it as the Barabara Macoubwa, the Big Road.
The map doesn't show the turn off from the main road, but there was a village at the turn off, and we were able to find what we needed. We found two little old men and bargained with them to act as porters and carry our heavy packs. We agreed on a price, and set out. We had some eight miles to go to get to the lodge, and it was already past 8 am. We set out through thick jungle, with the two little men setting a good pace. We walked through thick forest and through clearings that were full of bananas and tall grass. Here and there were villages, everyone spoke and smiled. Between the villages was rainforest full of huge trees and thick undergrowth. Some of the trees reached enormous heights, with tall, straight trunks with no branches very near the tops.
At about the half way point we got a ride on a flat bed truck, us, porters and all. At that, when we arrived, we were both exhausted from the heat. We paid our porters, and I gave both of them some cigarettes. I gave one a web belt that I had not ever used, and he seemed delighted. We looked at the rooms in the lodge, and at the camp ground. We decided on the room because the toilets in the campground were a mess, and there was no shower, only a bath tub. The room was more expensive, but far more convenient for us.
We checked in and got settled. In a little while we were visited by a park guide, who offered to take us on a hike to see waterfalls and a grotto. The waterfall, called Venus' staircase, shown above at left, was pretty spectacular. Note the young pygmy fellow standing behind and to Jill's right. The grotto was a cave full of large bats with 7 to 8 inch wingspans, that fluttered and chattered wildly as we shined our light on them. We walked back to the lodge by way of a jungle trail that was quite beautiful. It had begun to rain lightly, and our two pygmy companions, who had accompanied us when we left the lodge, broke off large leaves and held them over their heads like umbrellas.
As we walked back, we heard what the guide said were chimpanzees. I was amazed. I had no idea that there were chimpanzees in this beautiful forest. I made arrangements with the guide to go looking for them the following day.
On our way in on the previous day, we had passed a pygmy village just before we reached the lodge. There were tiny grass and leaf huts, little dome shaped structures that seemed barely large enough to sleep in. The pygmys were miniature people, some four feet tall, with all proportions in miniature. When they realized that we were staying at the lodge they became pests, begging for money and anything that they saw that we had. One fellow showed interest in a ball-point pen that I was using. I gave it to him, thinking that he knew how to write, but I was surprised when he stuck it into his hair as an ornament. I gave one a Bolder Boulder t-shirt which he wore proudly, as shown in the picture above.
The next morning we went looking for chimpanzees. We met our guide at about 7:30 am, and quickly moved into the forest. We were accompanied by two pygmys, one of which turned out to be the tracker and spotter; our guide followed his lead. He carried a small bow and a quiver of arrows. Jill and I came after the guide, and the second pygmy brought up the rear. This second fellow carried a small hand made music box. Who knew why?
We hiked along a trail, and then into the bush. We followed what had been a trail, but was now over grown. We went down a hill and across a stream at the head of a beautiful waterfall. The undergrowth became thicker, and though the lead pygmy made his way just fine, the guide had to cut a route for himself and the rest of us. We spent a couple of hours like this, with no chimpanzees. We finally gave up. The forest was filled with beautiful trees, some with buttresses that ran out 15 feet from the trunk. Everything as covered with moss, and there was green everywhere. Chimps or no chimps, this was a beautiful place.
We hiked along a trail, and then into the bush. We followed what had been a trail, but was now over grown. We went down a hill and across a stream at the head of a beautiful waterfall. The undergrowth became thicker, and though the lead pygmy made his way just fine, the guide had to cut a route for himself and the rest of us. We spent a couple of hours like this, with no chimpanzees. We finally gave up. The forest was filled with beautiful trees, some with buttresses that ran out 15 feet from the trunk. Everything as covered with moss, and there was green everywhere. Chimps or no chimps, this was a beautiful place.
When we got back to the lodge, there was the usual hassle with the pygmys; they wanted everything from cigarettes to t-shirts to cash. I gave each of them a cigarette, a t-shirt, and some cash. The chief appeared out of nowhere and demanded his due as the head man. I gave him two cigarettes and he went away happy.
Jill and I spent the afternoon resting and getting prepared for our departure the following day. I had made arrangements with two other Americans, the only other guests at the lodge, for a ride to the main road. See the photo above at right; he was Jamie and she was Ellen. They were obviously wealthy and were a little put off by two Americans who traveled as Jill and I were doing; they had arrived in a chauffeur-driven van that had undoubtedly cost them quite a lot. When I asked them for a ride to main road, it was she who had made clear that it was to be no farther. I expressed my appreciation for their generosity.
Jill and I spent the afternoon resting and getting prepared for our departure the following day. I had made arrangements with two other Americans, the only other guests at the lodge, for a ride to the main road. See the photo above at right; he was Jamie and she was Ellen. They were obviously wealthy and were a little put off by two Americans who traveled as Jill and I were doing; they had arrived in a chauffeur-driven van that had undoubtedly cost them quite a lot. When I asked them for a ride to main road, it was she who had made clear that it was to be no farther. I expressed my appreciation for their generosity.
At dinner in the lodge that night we were served a meat and vegetable stew that was very tasty. When I asked the waiter what was in it, he said that it was lamb. I examined the rib cage that was in the dish, and it looked a little too circular to be from a lamb. The only thing that I could imagine that would be shaped like that was some kind of primate. A large monkey, or maybe a chimpanzee? The other couple either did not notice, or they preferred to not open the subject. I said nothing, and we all enjoyed the meal.
The following morning we were up early and ready to leave by a little before 5 am. As we started down the mountain in the dark, I felt that same distance. They were going to Butembo, and would be there by noon, and it would take us the better part of two days to get there, given the time that it would take us to hitch hike. I decided to use a little diplomacy (manipulation) and try to explain to them that we had legitimate reasons for why we traveled the way that we did. When it was more practical to travel by air, we flew. Sometimes we stayed in flea bags, and sometimes we stayed in nice hotels. These choices depended upon our objectives at the time. When we got to the main road, it was still dark, and Jamie said that they didn't feel good about leaving us there in the dark. Why didn't we ride on to Butembo with them? We thanked him and stayed on.
No more than two miles down the road we encountered a truck in the middle of the narrow road. In front of it was another truck that was stuck in a mud hole. Our driver surveyed the situation, and Jamie commented that we had made a mistake in deciding to accompany them. We assured him that we had not. The driver skillfully maneuvered around the truck in front of us, but when we got to the next truck, we slipped into the mud hole and were stuck. We all got out of the van and pushed. After much pushing and digging, and with the help of several men who were riding on one of the trucks, we got out of the mud. In the process we had all gotten covered with mud. That broke the ice. Jamie and Ellen were more relaxed than before, knowing full well that having us along had increased their chances of getting back on the road. We were all covered with the same mud.
We continued down the road as the sun rose. We were traveling through beautiful countryside, with little clusters of huts here and there along the road. As the sun rose and the fog cleared, we got a glimpse of the Rwenzori mountains to the east. Beautiful jagged peaks lit by the sun. A spectacular view.
Another hour down the road, the engine died. The driver got out and checked but could find nothing wrong. He tried starting it again, and it started, but misfired terribly. Lots of speculation about what was wrong. The van had a Volkswagen diesel engine, and the consensus was that the fuel system had malfunctioned. We continued down the road, but we could make no speed. Each time that we encountered a hill I was convinced that we would not make it, but we always did.
Another hour down the road, the engine died. The driver got out and checked but could find nothing wrong. He tried starting it again, and it started, but misfired terribly. Lots of speculation about what was wrong. The van had a Volkswagen diesel engine, and the consensus was that the fuel system had malfunctioned. We continued down the road, but we could make no speed. Each time that we encountered a hill I was convinced that we would not make it, but we always did.
We reached Beni and it was still early. Our friends had a flight from Butembo to Goma at noon that they feared that they would miss. The driver made arrangements for them to ride to Butembo, but there wasn't room for us. We said hasty goodbyes and they were off. They apologized for leaving us behind, but we assured them that we would be fine. Their ride was a pickup truck full of produce, and my last memory of Jamie is of him sitting in the bed full of produce, waving, with a smile on his face.
I saw several species of birds at Mount Hoyo, and have included some below.
At left above are two White-thighed Hornbills, Bycanistes albotibialis, painting by Elliot, Daniel Giraud. In the middle is a Dideric Cuckoo, Chrysococcyx capris, photographed by Johnn Grobbelaar of GROB Images. At right is a pair of Great Blue Turacos, Corythaeola cristata, photographed by Charles J Sharp.
Above at left is a Palm-nut Vulture, Gypohierax angolensis, photographed by Steve Garvie from Dunfermline, Fife, Scotland. In the middle is a Mackinnon's Shrike, Lanius mackinnoni, in a photo by Francesco Veronesi from Italy. At right are two Village Weavers, Ploceus cucullatus. Picture by Charles J Sharl.
Butembo
We walked to the Hotel Beni for a cold drink in anticipation of the hot afternoon, then walked to the market and began flagging cars and trucks. We were there for more than two hours before a truck stopped for us. The truck seemed large, and had only a few people standing up in the bed. We negotiated, then climbed aboard. To our surprise the floor of the bed was covered with people, mostly women with babies. We had second thoughts, but finally decided to go. The floor was covered with bags of grain and there was no comfortable place to stand. The road was rough and rocky, and holding on to the side of the truck was very uncomfortable. The women urinated in little pans and threw the contents over the side. The children urinated on the bags of grain, or wherever. Every time that we stopped, and we stopped often, the men would shout and demand that we get under way. It was a long and trying afternoon.
At last we got to Butembo. We got off at the Hotel Semuliki and had a cold drink. What an experience. The driver seemed to have no concern what so ever for the comfort or welfare of his passengers. He frequently stopped to talk to friends, and left the truck for long periods, sometimes as much as 10 minutes, leaving his passengers to stand in the hot sun. We decided that that was enough of that. No more cattle cars. We wanted to experience how the people traveled. but this was an experience that we did not have to repeat.
We looked at the Hotel Semuliki and concluded that it was a pit; no electricity and no water in the toilet. To flush, one had to fill a container with water at the sink, then pour it in the toilet. No thanks. On the way into town we had seen what looked like a nice hotel on the top of a hill just out of town. We decided to try that. The hill was steep and the walk looked long. We were tired from a very exhausting day. As we were contemplating this, a boy of about 12 years came up beside us. He looked clean, bright eyed, and well dressed. We asked him if he knew someone who would help us with our bags. He disappeared and returned shortly with a couple of friends. We negotiated a price and they carried our bags up the steep hill.
The hotel was called Kikyo. It looked nice and we took a room. We asked the hotel clerk about a bus to Goma, and he said that there was one tomorrow morning. He also said that to be assured a seat, we should buy our tickets as soon as possible. That meant a walk down the hill and back up again, and we did not look forward to that. The boy was still near by, and Jill talked to him through the hotel clerk, and he agreed to do it. I gave him money for two tickets with the promise of a nice tip when he returned with the tickets. Off he went.
We moved in and unpacked, and began to talk about dinner. Some time went by, and just when I started to worry about the boy and how he might have run off with the money, he showed up with our tickets. We thanked him, gave him a nice tip, and he left. Now it was just a matter of getting down in the morning and catching our bus.
We moved in and unpacked, and began to talk about dinner. Some time went by, and just when I started to worry about the boy and how he might have run off with the money, he showed up with our tickets. We thanked him, gave him a nice tip, and he left. Now it was just a matter of getting down in the morning and catching our bus.
Views of and near our hotel. The huts were used by the ascaris, night watchmen who guarded the place at night.
We were up at 4 am to go for the bus. The desk clerk walked down with us to make sure that we did not get lost in the dark. We found a crowd gathered already, waiting for the bus to open. We realized that there were assigned seats, but our tickets were for general boarding; we would have stand, because all of the seats were taken. That was a bit of a disappointment, since the ride to Goma was 10 to 14 hours over rough road. The thought made us a little sick. This was another cattle car. We watched as a woman climbed through an open window so that she could stand beside her traveling companions, who were seated. That was enough. We got off the bus. I collected our bags and went to the office. The man happily gave us tickets for tomorrow in exchange for the ones that we had. By now the bus was jammed full with people standing in the aisle. They jammed themselves into the open door until it could only barely close. It was a pitiful sight.
We had breakfast at one of the local hotels and did some planning. The upshot of all of that was that we would visit the travel agencies in town and try to arrange some kind of transportation that was tolerable. One fellow took offence when we told him that the buses were too crowded. He suggested that we had better hire a plane. We wound up doing that. The biggest travel company in town told us that they could put us on a small single engine plane that flew to Goma once each week, and it was going on Wednesday, which was the day after tomorrow. It would cost us US$50 each, which in 1987 was outrageous. Even so, we took it.
That meant that we had another full day in Butembo. We found a couple of boys to carry our bags up the hill, and we checked back into our hotel. We were still the only guests.
The next morning I was up early to look for birds. When I returned we had breakfast, then took a long, leisurely walk through the neighborhood. We came across a group of students, adolescent boys, who were attending a nearby school. Everyone, including the teachers, wanted pictures taken. We were invited to their school room, where some students were taking an exam. The building was a large mud hut with a tin roof and a dirt floor. The students sat on wooden benches with small wooden desks for writing. There was a blackboard and a few tattered books, and a room full of bright faces. Someone cared about these children. Maybe they had a chance. We all exchanged addresses and promised to write.
The next morning I was up early to look for birds. When I returned we had breakfast, then took a long, leisurely walk through the neighborhood. We came across a group of students, adolescent boys, who were attending a nearby school. Everyone, including the teachers, wanted pictures taken. We were invited to their school room, where some students were taking an exam. The building was a large mud hut with a tin roof and a dirt floor. The students sat on wooden benches with small wooden desks for writing. There was a blackboard and a few tattered books, and a room full of bright faces. Someone cared about these children. Maybe they had a chance. We all exchanged addresses and promised to write.
We continued our walk, passing through cultivated fields, and then through the "subdivision" that sat on the hillside facing our hotel. We had a pleasant lunch at our hotel, and the travel company called to tell us that they would pick us up at 9:30 am, and our flight would leave a 11 am. Perfect.
On Wednesday, February 4, we were picked up at our hotel and driven to small grass airstrip outside the town. The runway was on a bit of a hillside and we watched as the plane landed, running up hill. We weighed our bags and boarded. Our plane was a single engine Cesna 206, and we were the only passengers. We took off running down hill, and were airborne long before we got to the end of the runway.
On Wednesday, February 4, we were picked up at our hotel and driven to small grass airstrip outside the town. The runway was on a bit of a hillside and we watched as the plane landed, running up hill. We weighed our bags and boarded. Our plane was a single engine Cesna 206, and we were the only passengers. We took off running down hill, and were airborne long before we got to the end of the runway.
The countryside looked much as Rwanda had, with cultivation on every square inch possible. We noticed that the villages were on the ridge tops and the hillsides were cultivated. We flew the length of Lake Edward, and then crossed the Rutshuru. Our pilot pointed out hippos, and said that there were thirty thousand hippos in the river valley. Soon we saw the Rwandan volcanoes ahead of us. We flew past Karasimbi, Mkeno, Besoke, Sabynyo, Gahinga, and Muhabura on our left, and Nyragongo on our right. We saw an extensive lava flow, which, our pilot told us had happened in 1982. We landed at the Goma airport and were met by a car that was part of what we had paid for. We checked into the Catholic Mission and relaxed. What a wonderful day.
The following day, February 5, 1987, we crossed the border back into Rwanda, on our way to the Catholic Mission that was called Maison St. Benoit, in an area called Kigufi, which is part of Gisenyi, Rwanda. Our time in Zaire was over.
The following day, February 5, 1987, we crossed the border back into Rwanda, on our way to the Catholic Mission that was called Maison St. Benoit, in an area called Kigufi, which is part of Gisenyi, Rwanda. Our time in Zaire was over.