Barging through the Congo

The Congo River is the lifeline of Central Africa’s largest country. For traders, the river is the only way to tow their merchandise.

By ARNE DOORNEBAL
Barge on Congo River 521 (photo credit: Courtesy)
Barge on Congo River 521
(photo credit: Courtesy)
around the clock, cooking on charcoal stoves like they are at home. Men debate together or play a game of checkers. Orange Fanta caps are used as checker pieces, playing against the blue caps of Congo’s Primus beer.
Their board is made of cardboard.
A constant flow of wooden canoes approaches our ship. Once attached to the Sowidaja, the villagers climb on board, selling chikwanga (cooked manioc), bananas, charcoal or edible larvae to the cooking women. The Congolese eat almost everything that inhabits the rain forest; every now and then someone sells a freshly caught monkey for less than $10. Another vender sells crocodiles, which are still alive and tied together with the tail between their jaws. This way the meat won’t get spoiled. A green monitor lizard gets the same treatment.
Wema carries a smoked snake. “They gave it to me in the village, although I don’t really like the taste of snake,” he says.
Very few Congolese have official jobs. The majority of the people get by on small-scale business.
“I estimate that 90 percent of the Congolese are part of the informal economy,” says Daniel Botteman, the Belgian owner of the Sowidaja. People who do have jobs are underpaid. Lower government employees receive salaries ranging from $20 to $35 per month, if it comes at all. Present-day Congo has very few industries, forcing many people to earn money by trading goods over large distances.
“In fact I am an electrician, but I’ve been trying to get a job in the capital for many years now,” says Wema.
After trying in vain, he has now resorted to trading fish.
IN THE port town of Bumba and nearby Lisala, there is a change in the clientele aboard the ship. Tshibuabua, Bulungu and their colleagues from northern Congo disembark.
With their new motorcycles fully loaded with merchandise, they disappear into the forest. They use bumpy dust roads, hoping to reach home after a long road trip and make a maximum of a few hundred dollars.
Papa Doris, a successful trader, leaves the barge with enough merchandise to fill up an ancient truck. He proudly shows the vehicle to me, made by the German company MAN. “It has been used during World War II by the German troops,” he claims confidently.
In Lisala, we are still more than 1,000 km. away from the sprawling Kinshasa, which has grown into a metropolis of over 10 million inhabitants. In contrast, the shores after Lisala are scarcely populated and very underdeveloped.
A teacher who visits the ship while it is stuck on a sandbank for four days tells us how he pedals to his school for hours before teaching 60 pupils with the help of just one book. Mobile telephones and electricity are nowhere to be seen within hundreds of kilometers.
Most fish traders come aboard here after dangerous maneuvers with their canoes. The fish is lavish here, of good quality and cheap. Villagers sell jerry cans full of palm wine, the aroma of which mixes with the black smoke produced by the fish traders, who have started smoking their commodities.
Wema laughs when I complain the trip has taken two weeks, and we are just halfway along. He has been away from home for two and a half months.
“It took a while to travel 1,000 km. upstream,” he explains. “We used a very old ship, which was overloaded and contained big trucks. We slept under them to stay dry.”
The Congo River, also known as the fleuve (“river” in French), is increasing in strength toward the ocean, causing boats that travel upstream from Kinshasa to move at a snail’s pace, sometimes not exceeding 5 km.
per hour.
Wema drinks a sip of untreated water from the fleuve and continues. “Of course, I did not come emptyhanded to the fishing grounds. In Kinshasa I bought 200 second-hand T-shirts from Europe, for $100 in total. But in the fishing villages I sold them at a dollar each, doubling my profits. I got rid of them all within six weeks, so now I am traveling back home to Kinshasa with the fish I bought.”
A man named Jean-Claude joins our conversation. He carefully holds a stack of invalid banknotes, printed in 1977, showing a picture of Congo’s former president Mobutu Sese Seko in his younger years.
“I bought them for $3 each in the villages,” he says proudly. “In the capital, I will look for rich American tourists who are willing to pay $100 for them. Do you know any?” WHEN THE Sowidaja reaches the last large port of Mbandaka, the month of May is coming to an end. The rear deck stinks, a stench caused by a living crocodile that continues to produce excrement despite not being fed at all. The passengers have been joined by three monkeys, four goats and two huge ducks. The families back in Kinshasa will be happy. This time, the ship did not lose any passengers. It isn’t unusual for people to fall from the narrow edge and drown.
After more than a month of thick forest cover, the landscape suddenly opens up. Through the “channel,” where the river is suddenly narrow and deep, we approach Kinshasa. It’s been five weeks since we left Kisangani.
Everybody is tired: the crew, the passengers and the traders. Most of the passengers spend the night in the open air. The lucky ones are protected by mosquito nets. Others brave the risk of sleeping just inches away from the edge of the barge.
“Last night it started to rain,” says Akilimali, Wema’s friend and fellow fish trader. “Then we squeezed ourselves to the walls of the engine room, which was a bit warmer. The upper deck protected us a bit from the rain. Luckily, the shower lasted for only one hour, this time!” As soon as we come within the coverage area for mobile phone networks, we all switch on our phones.
Akilimali calls his wife and tells her he will come home today.
“In fact, we are married to our fish,” he tells me, laughing. But there is a serious undertone in his statement.
After three months of hardship, his stay at home won’t be long.
“Normally I can be with my family for two weeks before traveling down the river again,” he says. “But now I am tired. Maybe this time I will afford myself to stay at home for three weeks.”