The Heart of... Darkness?

2^nd April – Day 185 – Aru, Democratic Republic of Congo

We'd arranged a visit just over the border from Arua in Uganda to Aru in the Congo where a 1% Fund project was based. From email contact with Ismael, the project's boss, we'd found out that we could get over the border and back into Uganda without paying any visas which would have the advantage of saving us 180$ but would have the disadvantage of forcing us to get in and out of Congo the same day. I've wanted to see this country for as long as I can remember and a day was a bit short but at least it would give a small taster, and I've been looking forward to it for quite a while.

The day set itself up to be a bit of a challenge from the beginning – our bus ride from Kampala was pretty cramped and I slept only a little while M didn't really get any sleep at all – and we were left for several hours in Arua as Ismael firstly waited for the border to open, and then had to take some time for the formalities and to put the final touches on organising our little day out. He eventually turned up and helped us find a place to stay in Arua before picking up his mail from Arua post office, and we headed off towards the border, 15km away from Arua. We arrived at the border full of optimism, which soon faded.

“So, you are going to Congo are you?” the border guard asked us. She eyed our passports and looked up at us again. “And you will be back in Uganda today will you?”. We nodded and smiled. Ismael had done his job well, it seemed. “We have a big problem here. I will have to stamp you out, which means that you will have to pay a new visa when you come back”. Aha. “But let me see what I can do”. We sat outside as Ismael explained that he had been here just yesterday and it had seemed all was fine, although there was a new chief at this post and that he was not as cooperative as the previous one when it came to local cross-border affairs. He was called over to visit the police post as we were asked to stay put, and eventually he came back, explaining that he had tried to be persuasive and explain that our visit was on humanitarian grounds and that he personally guaranteed that we'd be back before the border closed in the evening. We sat and waited. Eventually our border guard came back, asked us to fill in a form and waved us off. It had worked! She looked over at Ismael. “You will bring them back well before we close tonight. Tomorrow is NOT the same. I hope you realise this.” Her face told us that she meant business, and that being late would not result in very pretty scenes.

Congo countryside

We promised to be back on time, and off we went, to a car on the other side of the border driven by an older man with a fantastic Hulk Hogan moustache and a casette player blaring out Congolese music. We were watched by a bunch of moto-taxi guys waiting for business and looked over at the road where a sign informed us that the Democratic Republic of Congo welcomed us. As soon as Ismael was done with the police, we'd be taking another step into the unknown. Maybe it's just my imagination playing tricks on me but it seemed different on the other side – as we bounced along the potholed earth road it seemed a lot wilder – plants had been left to grow wherever they wished, mud huts were planted wherever people wanted them, the trucks so familiar in the rest of East Africa were replaced by guys pushing or riding bicycles – they carried petrol, beer, soft drinks, sometimes with huge mounds piled into the back. Some were trying to pull their bikes back off the floor after they'd fallen. Women walked in long lines carrying their wares on their heads. It seemed like we were driving the only car in the area. It seemed closer to picture-book Africa than anything else I'd seen so far. Pepe Kalle and Koffi Olomide sang to us through Hulk Hogan's tapes as Congolese immigration formalities consisted of little more than a wave through the window as we drove past – it seemed Ismael was on firmer ground on this side of the border. After the short ride, we pulled into Aru where we were welcomed to Ismael's place, met his wife, and got given a breakfast of scrambled eggs and chips.

I wasn't sure what to expect of this little corner of Congo, but if I was expecting anything, Aru was it. Barracks style buildings splattered with red earth were dotted around at odd angles, the earth roads wormed their way around town through these long concrete buildings occasionally fanning out into enormous empty red earth patches. The mud huts seemed to add up to half of the town's buildings. There was a lot of construction going on here as well – bigger houses were sprouting up even if there didn't seem to be much actual working going on, and it looked like there were a lot less people around than we'd have seen in a similar sized place in Uganda. Those who were around went about their business slowly and, unlike my expectations, we weren't treated as much of a curiosity and wandered around the earth paths through the long grass and banana trees peacefully. I took a liking to the place straight away.

M takes a rest after a taxing night bus ride...

Ismael himself was a quiet yet driven guy who'd set up a school for deaf and blind children from all over this corner of the country – some of them came from 500km away, he told us. Meningitis is quite a peril around here and this has led to kids become deaf at a much quicker rate than in other parts of Congo, and from this fact Ismael had resolved to help them out, building on knowledge from his studies. It was a nice place to visit and, although we couldn't communicate with the kids any more than saying hello and thank you as we'd learnt the signs for, it looked like a place where they could get a life for themselves. Ismael told us that in Congo, belief in the dark arts is very widespread and that disabled children are often seen as being punished by God for bad deeds in a previous life. Others believed that it was a punishment to the child's mother for being unfaithful to her husband. Whichever the belief was, the kid would generally be seen as a shame on the family and would be ostracised. He told us that some of the kids were winning their way back into their parents hearts and that some parents are even learning sign language to communicate with their kids but that it's a long, uphill battle and that it will take a long time to change peoples' long-held views. We wish him good luck in his obviously difficult mission.

The entrance to the school, with suitably threatening sign warning against anyone not permitted to enter

The school's main building

It was already around 3pm by the time we got out of the school and Ismael wanted us to get going by 4 to get back to the border post well on time but I asked if we could take a wander around Aru to get to see the place a little. The driving tour that we got wasn't exactly what I'd have hoped for although it was still nice to see the town, which didn't have the feel of a town at all – more of a collection of buildings and huts scattered around which had haphazardly ended up in the same place. Ismael mentioned that they were always happy to have volunteers working at the school. My mind started working.

"The Champs Elysees of Aru!" feat. tree

Eventually I managed to get out of the car as I asked if we could pick up some Congolese beer to take back to Uganda for the evening, and we drove off to the main road (which, I felt quite representative of Aru, had a large tree growing out of it) and stopped at a “shop” which was in fact crates of beer stacked up in the back of a truck, which may or may not have been functional. We picked up 3 bottles of Primus beer and, as soon as we had arrived in Congo, it was time to leave again. As I looked left out of the window, I promised myself that I'd be back. As I looked right into the car, I saw M fast asleep. She'd struggled to sleep on the bus and also had to go about official business concerning the technicalities of schooling for the handicapped in French today so it had been quite a long day for her. We'd both been struggling to keep awake in our meeting with the school's teachers as well and decided to think twice before taking a night bus again...

M deals out detentions, again

We didn't really hang around at the border for long. Our friend from this morning was still there. We handed her the passports which she put straight onto her desk without looking at them. “I hope no one from Congo stamped your passports? You have no more business here. Go.” It seemed like a good idea.

Hulk Hogan's car with, in the background, the beer truck/shop

Ismael and his wife Beatrice had accompanied us back to Arua where we were driven around town and shown the sites (market, discotheque, an 18-hole golf course, and a restaurant called “A Cow at Home”) and chatted more about the project. We also tried out the Primus beers, which passed the taste test quite well.

Mmmmmm mmmmmmmmmmm!