Bandal District

We didn't get the chance to shoot or photograph any Sappeurs yesterday. But we did drink a lot of local beer and ate a lot of goat and went to a couple different terraces in the Bandal District of Kinshasa and had a blast. Except for the part where I accidentally made eye contact with two Congolese Military men across the way who then approached me asking for money and this enormous screaming match erupted around me, with Coco taking photos of them for evidence and everyone yelling at each other and people at other tables joining in and me squeezed in my seat between the blue plastic table and a crowd of angry people, frantically asking Owen "what do they want? what do they WANT?"and him telling me to be quiet and ignore them (somehow).

There was also a "bonjour petit chevre! vous etes tres mignon! oh!!! ...au revoir petit chevre..." moment. I need to get over my Americanized disassociation with meat on a table and where it comes from. It did look like an exceptionally happy healthy goat before it was sacrificed for food.

And of course, there were the children weaving in and out of tables selling tissues and cigarettes. The little boy in the white shirt overheard me learning how to say "Nakanga Photo?" (can I take your photo) in Lingala and got all shy and stood at a distance watching for a while before asking Owen to ask me to take his picture. The other children nearby joined in and giggled when I showed them the image on my camera (thank you digital era) and when we moved locations to another terrace they came too. I didn't have any money on me to give them otherwise I would have emptied my pockets the minute they started telling me they were hungry. I feel better for them, who at least have something to sell, than the tiny skinny kids chasing cars and begging outside the supermarkets.







I'm not sure I'll ever get used to how much people stare at us. It makes sense--we are white in an African country that has absolutely zero tourism industry and where the few expats that live here tend to work for government organizations and seem to keep to themselves. I'm struggling to take discreet street photos where everywhere we go we're a spectacle. Unfortunately the first thing people notice after my skin color is the camera around my neck.

Last night we woke up to the most terrific thunderstorm--much MUCH bigger than the last one. The lightning was so huge and bright that it lit up the entire room, and the sound of water on our tin roof and booming explosions were deafening. Every minute or so there would be another huge flash of lightning and immediately with it an enormous clap of thunder. For over an hour it felt like the storm was right on top of us. I got up to look out the window and the back garden was a lake, inches deep in water. Congolese soil must be like a sponge because this morning the lake was gone and I thought it had all been a dream. The only sign that it happened at all are my slightly muddy bare feet as I walk around the yard with Keba.