There was a sense of worry as the plane touched down in Kinshasa and I looked at the N’djili airport - on most days it looks almost abandoned or a bus station doubled up to cater to the aviation industry at best.
Yellow walls, almost falling apart, visible mold on the walls – not a very re-assuring sight of an International airport.
Well, 2/3rd of the country is still rain forests – maybe the molds are part of a half hearted attempt to boost tourism, I thought to myself in a vain attempt to feel better. Nevertheless, the wanderlust and the eternal traveler in me geared up for the challenge and I proceeded to douse myself in the magic potion of immigration.
If you’ve ever had a pet dog in the house, you're familiar with that look where the pooch keeps staring at you while you eat – in a desperate hope & wait that something’s gonna make it to his palette too. Now replace the dogs with airport officials and push up the breed from a pooch to a rottweiler.
THAT – ladies & gentlemen – defines the situation at N’djili airport.
Nervously moving ahead, I frantically try to get some signals on my mobile phone – automatic /manual, SMS, MMS, ANYTHING ? I was even willing to accept sexts from my contact in Congo during those moments. The network coverage on my phone fails – and so does my attempt to connect to the rest of the world.
Voila, there I was at the window – a little smile and a sweet Bonjour later – the lady immigration officer was going through my passport pages. Everything suddenly seemed normal and I almost wanted to brush aside all the BS that seemed to have done the rounds about N’djili being one of the most corrupt airport in the world.
She asked for Yellow fever certification – no problem madame, invitation of entry – no problem madame, visa – here it is madame, how much money you have – not much madame, is it your first time in Congo – Yes Madame.
And there it was, our little moment of revelations. Now it was HER turn to smile – a small eye gesture to her superior and there it was – all official wolfpack in that room got into ther hunting formation and slowly moved towards their prey. Me.
20 Minutes into Africa and I was already part of a game safari.Great!
“You come first time, you give me gift, show your bag how much money you have” A couple of “Sivouplay Madames’ later I figured out they meant business and would not budge.
Finally when they realized I was adamant on wasting time, they came up with their winning trick:
“You have return ticket ?” – Yes Madam, see, I have full booking. “Ok, we deport you now on the same plane because you come to Congo with litlet money, you don’t give us $200 gift”
That’s when the alarm bells rang – All those trashy whiskey laden conversations with other travelers started reminiscing themselves in my head and I knew that they WILL deport me if I didn’t pay the bribe, or gift as they preferred to label it.
A little negotiation, charm and puppy faced antic lead to the ‘gift’ being set at $150 – I was unsure whether to be ecstatic or be marooned with dismay when they said “ See you again”.
With the money well spent within the first 30 minutes of arriving I moved out of the airport, welcomed by almost 100 men – all wielding Kalashnikovs and menacingly asking for my passport. Convinced they don’t speak English, I kept mumbling “You wish motherfucker, you wish”.
Getting a taxi is a story in itself – nevertheless – as it turns out – at every traffic signal the cops approach your car and salute you.
No, I do not wear shirt with stars on the shoulder – neither do I look like Moammar Gadhafi or Obama.
They salute you, and then walk up to you asking for a ‘gift’.
The gift can be 1000 CFA - $1 – INR 50.
I had a grand welcome since I was saluted at every intersection by every cop – felt like a visiting dignitary or a police chief – all it cost was $10!
Now that’s what I call good value for money and a nice return gift!
Welcome to Kinshasa !
