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Only mad dogs and American tourists argue in the mid-day sun
[line] Christine and I arrived late Monday evening in Kinshasa, much bedraggled after a week in upcountry Zaïre. Our plan was to take the ferry boat northward across Stanley Pool to Brazzaville, then fly on to Douala. It seemed a simple and elegant way to [quoteright]see the lower Congo,
Soon it became clear that Christine was no match for a ton of motorized steel.
At this point the International Incident took place. Christine planted herself in front of the consular car, hoping to give me a little more time to assemble the French irregular verbs that I was hurling through the windows. Okembi choked with rage. He ordered the chauffeur to run over Christine. The chauffer tried to hide under the dashboard. In desperation, I launched into pluperfect subjunctives. The ladies in the back seat gaggled with alarm. Soon it became clear that Christine was no match for a ton of motorized steel. She stepped aside, the car roared away, and we were unceremoniously ejected from the Congolese Embassy. The next 24 hours were a nightmare of picking up pieces and cajoling various suspicious Africans into accepting our bona fides The American consulate was sympathetic and offered to help get our passports back. By the next afternoon we had developed a new travel plan, via Sabou, and felt confident enough of the future to treat ourselves to a swim in the pool at the Intercontinental Hotel. Christine was on her 85th lap and I had just finished a beer when an American Embassy chauffeur appeared at poolside. Begging our pardon, but the American consul would be most appreciative if we could have a chat downtown No hurry any time in the next 30 minutes would do. The American consul, a thoroughly professional diplomat named Sally Beth Bunbrey, received us in her office. A bit of a problem had developed at the governmental level. As a matter of fact, Okembi was refusing to issue any more visas to Americans. Although consuls don't usually have that authority, he was a nephew of the President of the Congo and pretty much did what he felt like. Several aid programs were suddenly disrupted because Americans were unable to cross the river. The Ambassador was not officially asking us, but just wondered if we had considered going back to the Congolese Embassy and apologizing to Okembi... We mulled over this suggestion. I still had some past participles I hadn't tried on him. Finally, the next morning, we trudged out to the Congolese Embassy like good little citizens. After a half hour in the old familiar waiting room, we were led into the presence. Okembi sat in stony silence as I parsed my apologies. Then he launched into a 20-minute tirade. His honor had been abridged. His progress home had been impeded. His lunch had been delayed. He was a man of dignity, a man of the world. Why, he had even been in Paris! Who did we think we were, etc. It was a nostalgic moment for me; I had not been spoken to that way since leaving the Army. Finally he waxed magnanimous. Recognizing our frailties, our insignificance, he had decided to open the border once more to Americans. Peace was declared. We were ushered out. Later, at the hotel, we ran into a very worried American professor. His project to rescue the pigmy chimpanzee from extinction had been stymied by the visa ban. We were able to assure him that all was now well. War between the United States of America and the People's Republic of the Congo had been averted and the honor of Mr. Okembi had been restored.
The intrepid duo from San Francisco wanted to do a fairy tale trek across Africa from south to north. Little by little that fairy tale is turning into the trip from hell! More next month. You can read about George's latest book here!
More Articles by George Towner
The intrepid duo from San Francisco wanted to do a fairy tale trek across Africa from south to north. Little by little that fairy tale is turning into the trip from hell! More next month.
You can read about George's latest book here!