Bunia to Beni

Bunia is our point of entry in Congo. I struggle to find words to describe the scene. So I will digress a bit and explain the dilemma.

Yes, things are different in this part of Africa from what I know in my part of the U.S. My lens, my language is that of a white, middle-class American who has know privilege (because of my color), comfort, and, for the most part, efficient systems and processes (or at least systems and processes that are put in place to improve efficiency). I live in a culture that values wealth possessions, accomplishments, and "orderliness." And that is where the contras or tension lies. My vocabulary and lens can too-quickly present life in this part of Africa as "less than" or "not as good as." And I don't want to do that. I have no right to make or imply such judgments. And life here is NOT "less than." It is different. The resources are different. The history is different. The culture, the values are different. So...how do I describe the airport, the terminal, the processes here? They are what they are.

We walk the 100 yards to a blue building where we passengers are ushered into the immigration room--a room roughly 10' share where a man and woman sit at an oilcloth covered table. Each has a blank notebook and pen. These must be the immigration officials, although there is nothing "official-looking" about their clothing: no name tag, hat, uniform, insignia.

They examine each passport, record information on their pads. Those of us who are not African nationals have additional questions to answer. I am the only one who has to fill out the "first time entry" form, so event though i am second in line to begin the process, I am the last to leave.

The form is in French, and my seatmate, who had helped me through check-in in Entebbe, is nowhere to be seen! I get "nom" and a few other directions, but am otherwise mystified as to what information goes on each line. Neither of the officials offers to assist. Thankfully, there is another American on the flight who speaks French, and he translates while negotiating his own entrance with the officials.

The woman examines the form. By this time, I'm the only passenger left in the immigration room. She asks for my picture. I don't have one. She is dismayed at this. An airport attendant comes in and motions vehemently to me to hurry and get back to the plane. The woman asks again and points to the place where she needs to attach my picture. The attendant motions again. His face registering increasing irritation.

The woman relents. She does need to collect $20 for my entrance fee. While she writes out the receipt, the attendant takes a step toward the door, continuing to gesticulate that I must hurry. I must be holding up the plane! I'm not about to offend the immigration officials, however, or leave my passport, so I wait, wishing (foolishly) that she would intervene and explain to the attendant the she is completing business with me. Another minute, and she hands me my passport.

I follow the attendant outside to discover that the other passengers are waiting just in front of the terminal building while some large boxes are being offloaded from the plane onto a pushcart. It is another 7-8 minutes before we board the plane.

The flight to Beni takes another 30 minutes, and it is during this leg that we fly over vast expanses of forest. Congo has been called the "second lung of the world" for its great rain forests. It may well be the "first lung," given the deforestation that has occurred in the Amazon. But that's for another time.

For most of the flight, all that is visible is the forest. It extends beyond my site horizon. It is lush, deep, amazing. I begin to wonder about life under this canopy--the people who live there, the wildlife, the ecology. The books I've read about Congo fuel my imagination.

Soon Beni comes into view. We descend, circle, and soon land on a red, hard-packed earth runway. Our pilot has done his job well. I am sorry to have had to beat down my middle-class, American sensibilities about what is appropriate, right, and fitting for a pilot.