Congo Kinshasa: Mbandaka to Basankusu by river

We set off to Basankusu at 6 am, 28 February, repleat in waterproofs and orange lifejackets. The river was calm. We gave places to Antoine Mbula, an ex-Mill Hill student whom I taught in the 1990s, and Moise Lofinda, who is the boss of the bonobos re-introduction project in Basankusu. The wife of one of the protestant pastors also joined the trip - she sat in the bow of the boat and cooked for us. The driver, who was owner of the boat and motor, asked if we could take a young couple and their 2 children. We reluctantly agreed because we were already full.
Cooking on board was done in a charcoal burner. They put the burners in the bow and in a plastic bowl and put a couple of inches of water into the bowl, so that the heat wouldn’t damage the boat. We brought some beer along and Judith and I shared a bottle during the first hour of the journey. The cool of the morning started to lift and I took off my raincoat.
It wasn’t long before we started seeing various river craft. A baleinier, literally, a whaling boat, is a barge or series of barges, or whatever might pass for a barge, being pushed by a small tug-like boat. They are often over laden with goods and people, who camp out on the deck and others on top of goods, or even felled trees.
We travelled north from Mbandaka, hard against the current. sitting in flimsy plastic chairs. Our canoe was about a metre across; Judith had paid for a cover to be erected with some bits of wood and some ole roofing sheets, so that we wouldn’t be exposed to the blazing sun.
Then we came to the tributary of the Lulonga River, the river for Basankusu. We stopped after a couple more hours. The driver wanted to visit someone in a tiny fishing village. We took advantage and used it as a comfort stop. More beer was brought out and we each drank another bottle.
And so the journey continued. Now and then people would call out that they had fish to sell. They would come alongside and haggle over the price - but it was always cheaper than the price in town!
As evening came, so did the threat of rain. The river was very low and a few times we ran aground on sandbanks. The propeller on the outboard would sometimes get tangled in weeds or grass, and we would drift aimlessly while it was being sorted out.
The wind picked up and the sky turned grey. The calm river suddenly became like a choppy sea. Waves with sharp peaks appeared and it looked like we might have trouble. Fortunately, it all passed within 30 minutes and the water became calm again.
Night came. I tried to sleep in my chair. I regretted accepting the young family on board, because it gave us less room to spread out. I must’ve dozed now and then, and eventually the sun appeared again. I looked for Judith in the seat behind me - she wasn’t there! Then I saw her under the chair just waking up on the floor.
The pastor’s wife got the charcoal burner going and we were soon drinking coffee and eating bread and sardines!
We started to speculate on what time we would arrive in Basankusu. Originally, we thought that 24 hours would be enough. Failing that, surely we’d get there by 12 noon or perhaps 1 pm. During one of our stops, Antoine confided in me. “They’re not using the motor at full-throttle,” he said. “They want to go home with some fuel themselves. You paid a high price for this trip, but they’re trying to take advantage again!” I agreed and relayed the message to Judith. Judith didn’t want a fuss, but said she’d tell the driver. “Perhaps they want to conserve fuel to be sure of arriving,” she suggested. And so we continued.
As we got closer, we saw a huge masua, a really massive riverboat, with people looking out of windows down its side. It had run aground on a sand bank and seemed incapable of shifting itself. Perhaps they would sit there several days until the river released it again. Perhaps they were already digging away at the sandbank. We gave it a wide berth.
The first view of Basankusu was the red light at the top of the telephone mast. Judith and I turned on our phones, racing to get a connection. We were able to land at the ABC beach. It was 7 pm - 36 hours in! Lots of Judith’s nephews and nieces came down to help us carry our things. Then we saw our watchman struggling with the boat’s driver. What on earth were they doing! They were locked in a tight bear-hug of a struggle. The watchman had been following events and had come to the same conclusion as Antoine - the driver had conserved fuel and was now going to go home with it! We were happy, though, to let Judith’s family spirit away our goods and cases, and went together on foot to our house.
More beer? Yes there was!
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[@michaellubuy7563]

*I'm from Congo Kinshasa , living in USA we are so proud of you to visit our people. Thank you for your enthusiasm*

[@Drew-627]

I like your videos

[@FrancisHannawayMonsieur]

Thanks Guelord. Where do you live, and when did your dad leave Basankusu?

[@kakungulukenneth163]

waw. You are so amazing. Thanks for dedicating your valuable time to uplift the lives of the people of Basankusu. I will be in Buta early next year,will I be able to meet you?

[@FrancisHannawayMonsieur]

Thank you. You can also see my work on facebook. Are you from Basankusu?

[@Benali2058]

Francis, Hope you are doing well. What about Baringa?

[@aimerancemoke8973]

Vous êtes courage soyez le bienvenu dans notre beau pays la RDC.

[@FrancisHannawayMonsieur]

Merci !