UN Flight Taking Me Back Home

I have always had a thing for men in uniform (maybe not entirely coincidentally my two boyfriends were also more or less involved with their respective countries’ armies, although I rarely/never saw them in their officer attires). Anyhow, this could potentially be the one underlying explanation of why Eastern Congo does not entirely freak me out. In a space where there are hundreds of thousands of soldiers and numerous rebels belonging to God knows what factions, all carrying some pretty scary guns around and going on some terrible plundering/raping/killing sprees for any or no reason, I have managed to keep my emotions under control fairly easily. On top of it all, of course, there is the very large MONUSCO contingent (the largest anywhere in the world), trying to keep things relatively calm around here, so if you don’t bump into Congolese armed men then the Blue Helmets are certainly going to show up in your way pretty much wherever you turn.

However, I have never before been in a ‘military’ situation just like this morning, when in Kinshasa I was taken to the UN Terminal, to hopefully board a UNHAS (United Nations Humanitarian Assistance Service) flight to Goma. Backtracking for a second: my new employer, just like most major NGOs in Congo which have massive field operations requiring extensive travels, does not allow us to fly on any national carriers, given their horrible security record and measures. And, quite frankly, after the latest plane crash in Kisangani just a few days ago, I was quite happy to oblige and go for the safe UN flights. The only problem there: they are quite rare and extremely coveted, so more often than not the already exclusive people on the list get bumped and have to wait for another week or so until the next flight becomes available, as well as hope that no other more exclusive people called in all sorts of emergencies take over their seats again.

So yes, arriving at the small terminal I had strong doubts I’d be allowed to check in, but somehow this was my lucky Tuesday. After a couple of rather quick screens, during which I only had to present my new work-card and Ordre de Mission, I entered the waiting room only to find myself literally magnetizing the gazes of tens of men-in-uniforms, putting together the funnies looking ‘army’ ever: Nigerians, Chinese, Uruguayans, Egyptians, Congolese and Nepalese are the ones coming to mind now, some 12 hours later, when I can hardly believe that I was part of that scene. Too bad, however, that I had not quite anticipated that, so I was so NOT looking at my best (after being quite a knock-out in Kinshasa this past week) ;-) But so it happened that I was still a bit sleepy at 6.30 a.m., and wearing my field clothes since the rest of my luggage had been in the meantime shipped off by DHL (at a whopping price of $430 for 30 kgs).

With the burden of all those looks on me, which I clearly did not quite know how to handle, I thought I should keep myself busy and for starters decided to use the restroom. The ladies’ toilet, clearly marked, opened however with a urinal, which obviously threw me off balance even more. The next thing to do, after coming out of there quite startled, was to pace the big room and take a look at the strangest collection of posters I have ever seen: how to be safe around a helicopter; how to fight HIV stigma; how to approach the apron at the terminal; and, finally… how to take a UN flight. This last note was basically a list of all the things that had gone somewhat wrong with these flights in the last few months. Among them, bird attacks and humans crossing the runways to-and-from their fields just before planes landed. What was missing was a note about the UN plane that crashed in April (in which someone working for us actually perished), to give these ‘safe flights’ a more realistic touch…

Slowly, passengers for different destinations were called up front and handed a piece of paper acting as a boarding pass, and sadly it turned out that on my flight there were not going to be any men in uniform after all… Finally my turn came as well for the Kinshasa-Bukavu-Goma-Kananga-Kinshasa flight, and I boarded this really cute plane whose shape reminded me of a baby crocodile, with a really long, slender nose. It turned out it was actually a Mexican plane, and the crew consisted of the most endearing, chubby, middle-aged steward I have ever traveled with. He performed his duties in a rather homey manner as well, so I really totally enjoyed the flight, dozing off now and then and dreaming of Uruguayan soldiers.

When we landed in Bukavu, some three hours later, I felt how I was finally coming home, returning to the East after this crazy Africa criss-crossing from the past three weeks. I then came close to tears when we flew from Bukavu to Goma, over the most spectacular Lake Kivu landscape, and literally brushing by my dear Rwanda, of which I basically recognized every hill, hotel, beach. So close and yet so far, as upon arrival I actually handed my passport to some stranger who was returning to Kinshasa on the continuing flight, so that the guys at HQ could finally take it to immigration for my new work visa. I will henceforth be stuck in this country for at least two months, so God pray there’s no emergency or anything of the kind coming up!