‘Sightseeing’ in Goma

After all this we finally got across the barrier and started driving into Goma, seeing it for the first time, it having been dark when we’d arrived. I like arriving in places at night and feeling a place before you can actually see it. I was surprised to find out that the lake was right next to the border post; Carlos even got into trouble for taking a picture of the lake without authorisation – just another try to get more money out of us…

Anyway, Goma to me has until this weekend only ever been an abstract place on the border with Rwanda where there had been a volcanic eruption and the Swiss Red Cross had sent blankets and other humanitarian aid goods; I knew a lot about the place without actually knowing it – and it was quite strange for me to finally actually see what it looked like. The road we took led us straight into where the lava must have come flowing down 6 years ago; you could still see how the rock had once been flowing although in most place it has been broken up and used to build little walls around houses. The road was still black and rocky though and I was scared that we would puncture the tyre; the rocks are very sharp!

The place had an eerie feel about it – I can’t say what it was – the darkness of it; the black rocks, the black houses, the shadow of the mountains hanging over it whilst at the same time being hot due to the sun burning down relentlessly. It is not a joyful place and when we stopped to take pictures of a crowd of people carrying a house up the road – I mean how can you not want to picture this? – we got shouted at and once again asked for money. Maybe it was that constant ‘you’re white, so you can pay’ attitude that gave the place a funny feeling. I felt quite aggressed by people just for being a muzungu; but then again, it didn’t look like it was the kind of place where white people come and visit on a daily basis and I have been wondering what it would feel like if someone just walked into my office and started taking pictures of me at work because it was unusual for them; or picturing me waiting for a bus, having coffee, or simply walking down the road. It’s a strange thought.

At one point we passed a ‘police station’ – a tiny wooden shed at the side of the road – and we got stopped by one big scary police woman and her male colleague. She told Tifas that his first offence was not wearing a seatbelt (this came about 10 minutes after I’d said to Carlos – we’re in the Congo man, you don’t need to wear your seatbelt here!). They checked the car papers and then told Tifas that his international driving licence was not valid in Goma; he would have to go to such and such an office and get an extra piece of paper before he would be allowed to drive in DRC… whatever – it meant a 20 minute discussion and more bribes. When he drew the police officers’ attention to the fact that nobody else was wearing seat belts he just got told that you couldn’t compare our case with theirs because we were muzungus. It does suck to be made to pay purely because of the colour of your skin; I wonder whether this is in any way linked to the lovely sector I work in; whether people get the impression that all white people are minted because most of them work for NGOs and the likes, especially in areas like Goma.

Anyway, we carried on up towards the volcano and eventually the settlements gave way to nature; greenness everywhere – here and there displaced people’s camps; little signs displaying names of donors and projects (amongst others also the Glueckskette… - was quite strange for me to see this!) there were people walking their cows and goats, others sleeping in cars, and others just walking somewhere – the contrast between the volcanic rock and the green was incredible. The further up we got the better a view we had of Goma city and its surroundings as well – no words to describe it really.

At around 4ish we turned round to go back and find a nice spot on the lake to watch the sunset. We drove all the way back down the mountain; stopped at a refugee camp where Christine and I were the ultimate attraction for using the latrines – I made a point of not flinching although they were the worst we saw all weekend. I am a proud muzungu and I have no problem using a local toilet – ha! We drove back through the neighbourhood and past the police station – and made a point of showing off our seat belts, which caused a big smile – and in the end this is how you have to take it: with a smile – there’s no other way if you don’t want to go insane.

We ended up in the garden of a restaurant called ‘the chalet’ – directly on the shores of lake kivu – which actually reminded me a bit of lac leman with all the mountains in the background. We took pictures and watched the weather – a thunderstorm on the one side, the sunset on the other – I mean the contrast is just beyond words; the light was electrifying and intense; light and dark at the same time – magical!