Something like an Airport

   On July 4th, Clement, Patrick, and I flew out of St. Louis into an adventure. Or at lest that is the best way to describe what I thought this trip would be. What I didn't realize was the complete cultural emersion this trip would become: surrounding me in an unfamiliar language, assaulting my senses, throwing by the wayside what I thought was common sense, and teaching me what people had to do when all they knew was to live without. Our final destination: Kinshasa, Capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo, Africa.
   From St. Louis, we flew to LaGuardia then caught a transfer to JFK. Next, we flew to Istanbul where we finally connected to our flight to Kinshasa. It was originally an evening flight anyway but the 45 minute delay for departure quickly made it into a night flight. This flight was interesting because  we flew over the Mediterranean, Egypt, and part of the Sahara before sunset. The flight was a lower class and thus flew close enough to the ground to see the Nile river and houses built in the sand. As darkness brought us over Congo, you could see specks of flames from within the vastness of the jungle. These were the fires of burning vegetation before preparing the soil for planting.
  Oh my goodness....we were on the ground! There was no going back now! First things first, Clement said be sure to use bathroom on the plane, because there was no way she was going to let me use the one at the airport. I quickly learned that I would get nowhere without French as Clement had to help me through customs and every encounter since then. This certainly wasn't the smallest airport I had ever flown into but it was easily the dirtiest. I had no idea what was in store outside its water stained white walls. That would have to wait.
   After customs, we headed to baggage claim (or circus, I think either term works). The bags were indeed being unloaded from the airplane and finding their way indoors, but from there people were crushed all around the carousel. Some chose to climb on or over it, but all were hollering, shouting, or otherwise demonstrating the loudest possible means of communication. I hid behind a few baggage carts while Clement and Patrick invaded the crowd to find a means of catching the luggage. We stood in this manner for what seemed like eternity, but was at least two hours. They held their ground as they watched bag after bag pass by, but theirs was not to be found. Gradually the noise faded as people drifted away and much baggaged remained unclaimed. As it turns out most of this luggage was from the last flight and indeed ours would arrive on next flight in two or three days!
   We continued to wait because even after all this time our rides had not arrived. Clement's brother and Patrick's father were coming to get us. However, they had been stuck in traffic for the last FOUR hours! I was feeling very sorry for them and for myself at this point, but I would soon learn that traffic jams are not uncommon rather they were practically the norm for the Main Street heading to the airport. Finally, they arrived and I walked through the automatic doors into a different world.
   "Ok, the buildings looked like an airport from the outside too. Why were all these people just standing around? Oh, they are working? Oh my goodness, there is trash everywhere! Why are there no trash cans? Whew, made it to the jeep! Just survived my first steps in Africa."
   Clement's brother, Heritier, Patrick's father, Hypolite, and stepmother, Monique had braved the roads to meet us.  We drove though the city, as now the traffic jam had found some means of dissolving. There were no street lights though I could make out the buildings along the road from headlights and a few lamps. I thought perhaps now I was seeing the city at its most beautiful as the lights were not bright enough to illuminate the garbage strewn alongside or the people sleeping there.
   As Clement and Patrick are a married couple, it is against tribal custom for mother-in-law and son-in-law to sleep under the same roof. They have rented an apartment from an organization that supports disabled people run by the Catholic Church. The compound is surrounded by high walls covered at the top in shards of glass. As I would later find out there were many white people staying here for research and work. The apartment was nice and I was just happy to see the running water! And finally a place to lay my head, I was exhausted.
   The remainder of this trip will be posted upon my return home as I have no means of  uploading pictures now, which will make the posts much more interesting.