Journey through the heart of darkness

 

A review of Crossing the Congo by Mike Martin, Chloe Baker and Charlie Hatch-Barnwell, Hurst and Company, London, 2016.

First, a disclaimer; I drove across the northern half of the Congo in 1970. Roads were bad. We got stuck, had breakdowns, had to scrounge for spares, got arrested suspected of being mercenaries, got sick, got badgered by erstwhile officials. However, we found the people curious, friendly, and generally willing to help. Our trip some 43 years before team Mike, Chloe and Charlie’s undertaking was a walk in the park in comparison. Theirs was horrendous.

The saga told in this book began in London, followed by a long meander through West Africa.  Instead of retracing their route homeward, Mike and Chloe decided to circle down through the Congo and back up north to South Sudan, a journey of 2500 miles. They enlisted a friend, Charlie whose wonderful photographs fill the book and provide visual proof of their trials.  The three canvassed Kinshasa for permits, permissions, and advice. They also endeavored to put their old short wheelbase Land Rover into good enough shape for the trip. (We also drove a similar vehicle in 1970, but ours was in much better condition.) The Congo three barely get a passing grade for vehicle astuteness. Yes, they finally got through, but mostly on luck, not vehicle prowess.  However, whenever they broke down, which was almost daily, they jury rigged a part or just duck taped it back together until a better repair could be made.

Roads were the worst physical problem. They headed first to Kananga, southeast of Kinshasa but the road was destroyed and rutted by huge mining trucks and impassable for regular vehicles.  Then, they tackled the south/north route from Kananga straight to Kisangani 800 miles across the heart of the Congo basin rainforest, a route which had not been traversed by a vehicle in a decade. Because of war and neglect, the road essentially had retreated into jungle - bridges had given way, ferries non-existent, trees fallen across the path. Often the land rover had to be dug or dragged out of mud holes.  The team reinforced stream crossings and even built a raft to cross a river.  The physical effort was enormous and took a toll.

Worse, however, than an unreliable vehicle and abominable roads were the suspicions, harassments and negative attitudes from Congolese, especially those in authority.  Everyone assumed that three foreigners were chickens ripe for plucking.  There were interminable checks of papers and intentions.  No official could believe the three just wanted to drive through.  Congolese society was so corrupt for so long that there was sheer disbelief that the three were not on some nefarious mission. At one point a “big man” had trees felled across the road to impede their progress.  Even Congolese Catholic priests tried to price gouge them. Similarly, the crowds of people the three drew would pilfer as soon as a back was turned.  Occasionally, however, an individual or two would be genuinely helpful, but that was the welcome exception rather than the rule.

This book is beautifully written – mostly by Mike – and lavishly illustrated by Charlie’s photos.  It provides the detail of the difficulties alluded to above. It is indeed a sad commentary that the Congo has regressed so much both in terms of physical infrastructure and human kindness and courtesy in the past fifty years. Indeed, the Congo today is a sad, neglected, desperate place.  Big kudos to the three for their journey through the heart of darkness.

Chuckles and Anguish in Libya

 

A review of 101 Arabian Tales - How We All Preserved in Peace Corps Libya by Randolph W. Hobler.

  In 1968 several dozen naïve American Peace Corps Volunteers confronted 12th century Libyan culture.  This collection of anecdotes from the first volunteers to go to Libya in the late 1960s recounts encounters with huge cockroaches, rabid dogs, male dominated society, cloistered women, primitive sanitation, Islamic strictures, bureaucracies (both theirs and ours) even as they taught  English to fifth graders and learned Arabic from peers.  The idealism and the optimism of the young Americans is infectious as they are alternately bewildered or enchanted by their Libyan hosts. They ate camel burgers, dodged the draft, fell in love, travelled extensively and taught their classes, but above all they made a difference. Their lives were irreducibly changed, and so perhaps were their students and friends. But it quickly came to an end with the coup d’etat that brought Gaddafi to power.  This collective memoir based on diaries and recollections aptly captures the era, the challenges, the despair and the accomplishments of Peace Corps Volunteers sent to bring enlightenment to a most backward corner of the world.  

 This is a very unusual Peace Corps memoir in that it is not one person’s story. Although author Randy Hobler does tell his saga, he makes a point to add and cite observations, anecdotes and recollections of dozens of his peers. The sum then is much greater than its parts. The book is indeed a compendium of all that was experienced by the first two groups of Peace Corps Volunteers to go to Libya.  Assigned to isolated village schools - the women to urban schools - their task was to teach fifth graders English. Along the way they needed to build Arabic language proficiency, which they began in training so as to function in their various communities. They had a tough time, especially the women who were compelled to operate in a society that disdained females.  But for all experience overcame ignorance, flexibly conquered stodginess, brashness and innovation won out.  Hey, they were twenty-one so open to the newness - to them - of a structured, inflexible archaic religious dominated culture.  

The book takes a chronological approach to their experience. First was training in either Utah for the single men or Arizona for the women and married couples.  Mostly training was ineffective. Arabic lessons were meager, TEFL training poor, and cross culture education lean.  The prospect of “de-selection”, meaning you got sent home on specious psychological criteria tainted the whole process. However, the trainees bonded and such bonds would be needed in Libya.

In Libya the now sworn in volunteers dispersed to various posts, some in cities of Tripoli, Bengazi or Derna, but most to isolated villages in the interior and a few to oases far south in the Sahara desert. Aside from enthusiasm, the PCVs were poorly prepared for what they encountered.  No one spoke English and their Arabic was rudimentary.  Students were incorrigible.  Housing was abominable, often a small room shared with Libyan colleagues. Water and food were well below standards. Intestinal or insect generated disease was common.  Above all was the challenge of integrating themselves into their communities.  Folks were uniformly hospitable, but circumstances were bizarre.  PCVs had to learn how to cope in order not to offend.

The book digresses in the summer of 1969 to detail lots of regional and European travel , but then picks up again and closes with the problems arising from Gaddafi’s take over and the resulting expulsion of Americans.  It was hard to leave, but all finally made it out safely.

Finally, after naming so many volunteers during the course of the memoir and relating their individual memories, the book closes with an epilogue of what many ultimately did in life after Libya.

I have read dozens of Peace Corps memoirs and always find the impact of service on the individual writer to be profound.  However, this memoir contains not just the memories and observations of one volunteer but of dozens. It is therefore that much more authoritative. It does encapsulate a time and a country experience - one that was not likely replicated anywhere else.  It is truly an opus of cross cultural blunders and inspired rectifications.   The author’s breezy whimsical style is readable and the book is full of relevant photos. This is a good read. Former volunteers from anywhere will appreciate and nod affirmatively at many of the recitations. Other readers will enjoy the saga - we came, we immersed, we persevered.