Basankusu: Supplementary feeding program for malnourished children

I’ve become very involved in a project for malnourished children. Sometimes the problem is that the children are not getting enough to eat – sometimes they are eating, but only one type of food. The project, which is run by a group of Catholic and Protestant women, gives 52 children 3 high-energy, high-protein meals, three times per week, to supplement their diet, as well as giving the mothers training in how to feed their youngsters.

Francis Hannaway with the supplementary feeding
 team in Basankusu - volunteers all 

During my first visits, I saw them prepare milk from milk powder, to which they added sugar and vegetable oil. The second meal comprised of a porridge of corn-flour, sugar and ground peanuts. The third meal of the day was boiled rice, with beans and a small piece of pork. 

I saw that they had a spring-balance for weighing the children and asked them to weigh one child so that I could see. The little girl’s shoulder-blades were sticking out and she had a swollen belly. She weighed 9½kg (21 lb). I asked how old she was and was told that she was already 5 years old! I almost cried. At 5 years old she should be at least 16kg … and more likely to be 20kg. She was there with her twin brother who was in a similar condition.

Judith Bonjembo took the malnourished and very underweight twins to her house on the days that the feeding centre wasn't open. We fed the children there and saw a marked improvement in the first month.

This is the video I made at Judith's house on the day our centre wasn't open.

We decided that, for a while at least, the twins should be supported for seven days a week, and Judith, one of the volunteers, said she would feed them at her home every day the project didn’t run. After only three weeks we saw a huge improvement. 

The condition of protein-energy malnutrition is a serious condition – one child, whose mother withdrew her child, has already died. Simple infections can be fatal for each and every child on the programme.

Children enjoying some protein and energy rich food

The project – run by local volunteers – is funded by collecting money locally. They are just scraping together the bare minimum and are desperate for funds. I agreed to an initial payment of £400 (£200 initially and £200 after a month) from money collected in Middlesbrough Diocese, on the condition that I controlled their books … in other words, I wanted to see how all their monies were spent. They not only agreed they were quite pleased that someone would help them like that. The cost of food alone for one week is £200. It would be great to have sponsors for individual children.

The number of children rose from 20 to 51 during the first part of 2015.
Here the children are eating bean, rice and meat.

Click the link to send Francis Hannaway a donation

Francis has a Facebook page dedicated to this nutrition project - 

Helping Malnourished Children in Basankusu. 

You can send a cheque payable to “Mill Hill Missionaries (F Hannaway- Congo)” 

Address: 

Mill Hill Missionaries, 

St Joseph’s Parish Centre, 

PO Box 3608, 

MAIDENHEAD 

SL6 7UX

United Kingdom

(click image to enlarge)

Basankusu: The eye-doctors arrive (Ophthamology Worldwide)

Me, all dressed up in the operating theatre

Isolation makes it difficult to train health professionals; local medical centres often lack the expertise or the latest knowledge. Equipment is also hard to come by. Everything in the DR Congo is imported, and the journey up the river only adds to the already unaffordable prices for medical equipment.

Starting in 2013, however, a team of nine eye-doctors and opticians called Ophthalmology Worldwide decided to help the people of Basankusu in a remarkable show of kindness. They brought with them operating tables, microscopes, machines for looking into eyes, medicines, … gloves – in fact everything that was needed to run an eye-clinic. They ran their project for fourteen days and performed 1,676 consultations. They dispensed eye-drops, antibiotics, glasses – people even got sunglasses and a free hat.

They carried out 150 cataract operations on patients, some of whom had travelled one or two hundred miles – often on foot – to reach Basankusu. I was able to see first-hand the amazing work that they did by being appointed ‘official film-maker’ for their project. (here's the video I made)  The clinic took place at Basankusu’s secondary – but Catholic run – hospital, managed by one of the local Sisters of St Theresa, Sr. Victorine, who is herself a doctor.

“We called in all our personnel, from the far reaches of the diocese, to help with eye tests, and supporting tasks,” Sr. Victorine told me. “The people here are so poor and we don’t have anyone to do this essential work.”

Dr Richard performs a cateract operation in Basankusu - Hilde assists

I talked to the doctors – who mostly come from Belgium – and they told me that the eye-diseases were often at a very advanced stage, a situation that wouldn’t exist in Europe. A lot of the patients were quite elderly, even so, the only way they could be treated was to walk along the rough dirt tracks the great distance to Basankusu. They each paid a token amount, about £1.50 for a consultation and about £17 for a cataract operation. Even so, this amount, when added to the cost of the journey, was too much for some patients. I’m happy to say that these people got some help with that – and I was happy to use money collected in Middlesbrough Diocese to help several people with fees and the cost of their return journey. 

The eye-doctors relax after another long day treating people with eye problems

The doctors of Ophthalmology Worldwide are going to make this an annual event – which really is good news. But this story also highlights, what may seem like a rustic rural setting, is really a place fraught with daily challenges that we in Europe wouldn’t easily recognise.

Ophthalmology Worldwide in Basankusu, DR Congo - my YouTube video

-        Francis Hannaway (Mill Hill Missionaries)

Basankusu: Another orphan enters the world as his lovely mother dies

Basankusu sits in splendid rural isolation, a rural idyll; bright yellow weaver birds busy themselves weaving their nests each evening, filling the air with cheerful chirping, as women come home from their vegetable gardens with heavy baskets on their backs. There’s no TV, no newspapers – just the sounds of the birds, the frogs and the crickets.

But isolation brings its own dangers.

The funeral taking place at her mother's house 

Basankusu sits in splendid rural isolation, a rural idyll

I will tell you about a lovely woman from Basankusu.  I’d spent time during the last couple of years working with her older sister, in Kinshasa. Her mother had also been a well-respected teacher, here. This lady was a well-known nurse who had selflessly helped so many in the community of Basankusu. She was a proud mother of four children and was ready to give birth to her fifth. 

Francis Hannaway

Unfortunately, there were complications; a little boy was born but she herself died a few hours after giving birth. All who knew her were devastated – but in some sense resigned to the fact that giving birth here is always a risk. The hospitals here do their best, but they lack basic equipment and medicines. What would be unthinkable in a developed country has become commonplace in the Democratic Republic of Congo. A young mother and nurse – and not yet thirty years old.

I went to the funeral this morning. She lay there in an open coffin under a canvas canopy, but otherwise in the open air. It looked like she had fallen asleep. I went to find her mother, to give my condolences. She was sitting just inside one of the houses, on the floor, with the women of the family. I told her that I knew another of her daughters and would like to pay my respects. She told me about both daughters and then began to cry, so did all the other women sitting with her.

The funeral continued for some time and I returned home. After half an hour, Alain, the young man who organises schools for orphans came to visit me. I told him about the young woman who had died – but he already knew. “She helped me when I was sick,” he said. “She helped my children, too. 

Everybody knew her – she was so kind. But now, Francis, you can see why we have so many orphans in Basankusu – it is because of the problems women face when they are giving birth.”

Funeral procession passing our house in Basankusu

An hour later, I heard singing and rhythmic clapping, the funeral procession was passing our house. They carried the coffin high and half ran along the road, others following on bicycles; they were doing a circuit of the town – before taking her for burial on the other side of town.

I’d like to say that this was an isolated case – but unfortunately there have been several repeats since then.

Isolation also makes it difficult to train health professionals; local medical centres often lack the expertise or the latest knowledge. Equipment is also hard to come by. Everything in the DR Congo is imported, and the journey up the river only adds to the already unaffordable prices for medical equipment.

The funeral taking place at her mother's house in Basankusu

Next month, I will tell you about a wonderful group of people who visit Basankusu each year and change people’s lives forever. 

Basankusu: Meeting friends and challenges – old and new

Meeting friends and challenges – old and new

As we move firmly into 2015, I’ve made some progress in meeting … meeting old friends and new, meeting situations and challenges. Mill Hill Missionaries used to be the driving force of Basankusu Diocese, in the Congo – now we are a community of only three: Fr John Kirwan MHM from Merseyside, Fr Stan Bondoko MHM who is Congolese, and myself – a lay missionary from St Gabriel’s Parish, in Ormesby, Middlesbrough.

Francis Hannaway in one of the Basankusu schools for orphans.
The children are enjoying sitting at their new desks.

My first meeting – and challenge – was the extremely hot and humid weather; it’s so tiring. To do a day’s work in such stifling heat is sometimes like climbing a mountain. We have had a little respite recently, with some cooler days and a little breeze now and then. We are lucky to have a generator which we turn on for a few hours each evening. It gives us enough power to turn on a few lights, the TV (three news channels are all that’s worth seeing), pump water into the oil-drums in the loft (that’s our water tank), and use the washing machine. The electricity generated isn’t enough to pump water and run the washing machine at the same time, though, so we have to do one thing at a time. As time goes on, you start to get used to the heat … perhaps after a year.

My next meeting was with the teachers and children of the voluntary schools for orphans. Last year I visited one such school, called the School of Hope (see my YouTube channel), and met children who were starting lessons who otherwise would be barred from school because of the cost. This year I was taken to two more similar schools for orphans. It was really uplifting to see the local community making such an effort – teaching children to read, write and count … and to provide meals as well – when so many of the volunteers have so little themselves. A wooden desk for three children costs £10 – perhaps you’d like to buy one to help them on their way.

The children sit on the floor.

I met with my own students, here at Maison St Joseph (St Joseph’s House). Candidates who want to discern their vocation have a long road to travel. The school leaving certificate isn’t considered enough to get them into the seminary. We give them nine months of “orientation” – lessons to set them on their feet before they enter “basic formation” in Kenya. After two years there, if they are successful, they can enter the Mill Hill seminary in Uganda. I’ve got to say, that I couldn’t wish to meet a nicer group of young men and wish them every success in their life-journey.

Happy children with new desks

I met with Bishop Mokobe, the bishop of Basankusu. He welcomed me to his house and chatted about his own experience of travelling, having just returned from a gruelling tour of the diocese by river. He also had some amusing tales to tell about his visits to Europe. Above all, he was very welcoming, very pleased that I had taken the plunge and come to Africa – despite all the terrible things that are happening here, not least, of which is Ebola, of course. He also asked me to teach at the minor seminary in Bonkita, 12 miles down the river from here.

Fr Stan Bondoko introduced me to the Basankusu Youth Choir. They seem to half the ability to improvise complex harmonies at the drop of a hat; when I met them here at Maison St Joseph they did just that. The choir were on their way to spend three days performing at churches in Waka parish of Christ the King. Although it’s only fifty miles away, it took them almost four hours to get there in a 4-wheel drive car – because of the poor state of the roads. Amongst the choristers were some very capable youth leaders who hope to get young people to play a greater role in the life of the local church. Choir members accepted the hospitality of parishioners for somewhere to eat and sleep.

I left Kinshasa over a month ago and it seemed disorganised but peaceful. This week, however, I met with the grim realities of life in a country without democracy and the rule of law. Today sees the third day of protests in Kinshasa; it is to do with the President trying to cling to power by changing the constitution. Cars have been overturned and shops looted. The government’s response is, of course, to open fire on – not just the protesters – but anyone who is in the vicinity. I can’t begin to describe the terrible things that have happened – suffice to say that there are many dead.

You can keep up with the latest news from Francis Hannaway in the Congo on Facebook.

If you would like to send a donation to support the school for orphans,

Send a cheque or contact me for bank details or Western Union

(£10 will buy a wooden desk for 3 children) make cheques payable to, “Mill Hill Missionaries (Francis Hannaway - Congo)” and include a covering note. Send to: Mill Hill Missionaries, St Joseph’s Parish Centre, PO Box 3608, MAIDENHEAD SL6 7UX

Arriving in Basankusu, Democratic Republic of Congo (December 2014)

I arrived in the Democratic Republic of Congo safe and well. Chasing paperwork for my long-term missionary visa and Congolese driving licence took a few days and direct flights to Basankusu were hit and miss (in the end turning out to be miss). Eventually I secured a flight to Mbandaka - on the River Congo, at the Equator - the capital of Equateur Province - with the intention of travelling the rest of the journey by canoe (with an outboard engine).

The day of the flight, the President of the Congo decided to give a speech and, as a result, half of the major routes through Kinshasa were closed. The potholes - the flooding - the traffic-jams ... we eventually made it to the airport with only minutes to spare.

Then we waited four hours before being told that the flight had been cancelled. There was almost a riot. We travelled back in shared taxis - each taxi has a route like a bus service ... and as many people as possible share the ride, sometimes two to a seat. Four taxi rides got me home. The flight was rescheduled to fly two days later and I arrived in Mbandaka after a flight of one hour. I stayed one night at a convent and the local Caritas group arranged for someone to cook a meal for me. They also sent someone to help me buy bread, tinned sardines and water for my river journey.

My journey along the River Congo began at five in the morning; I put my two suitcases and cabin bag - containing my computer and other delicate electrical things - into what looked like a very flimsy canoe. It was less than a metre wide - just wide enough to fit a wooden chair - and sides that looked far too close to the water. Safety features, such as lights, lifejackets, and so on, didn't enter the equation. I was apprehensive, to say the least.

Once I'd made sure that my bags were installed and covered with a plastic sheet, we set off. There were six of us including the driver and navigator. The River Congo is one of the world's biggest rivers - 30 miles wide in places, with numerous islands. Unfortunately, the 40 horsepower engine I'd been promised - and which would get us there in a day - needed some attention; we had to make do with a 15 horsepower engine, which would take ... 25 hours.

We had perfect conditions on the river: the morning started out fairly cool and I needed to put on my full waterproofs to keep warm, but before long it had heated up into the 30s. It didn't rain at all - and this had been my main worry because of my worries about my laptop.

We passed lots of people who were out for a day’s fishing in their canoes. Even children know how to handle a boat and could be seen standing up to manoeuver the canoe with a single paddle, a younger brother or sister sitting in the bow and waving across to us. The river lets sound carry easily across it and we could say hello to people as we passed. What was surprising to me was that even ten miles from Mbandaka people could still be seen talking on their phones, before the signal finally petered out.

As we entered the branch of the River Congo that would take us to Basankusu, the River Lulonga, a soldier stepped forward on the riverbank. He attempted to flag us down – our driver ignored him. Then I heard some earnest chatter from the driver and navigator and realised that we’d attracted attention. The soldier had a gun, of course, and I thought it would be just my luck to get shot before I arrived. A canoe was launched, one with a better outboard engine than ours, and within a few minutes the local authorities had come alongside. They were annoyed that we hadn’t stopped to declare ourselves – but after a few minutes became friendly and let us go. Being an obvious foreigner, I was probably the cause of their attention. Often, there can be so-called ‘fees’ or ‘taxes’ to pay … but on this occasion they let us go without charge.

The first ten hours were tolerable. As night fell, the inability to sleep in any comfortable position became apparent to all on board. The two feet of leg room in front of my chair served as a bed, with my head on the wooden seat and my legs twisted various ways to fit into the space.

At one point, perhaps a hundred miles from any habitation and in the middle of the river, I was awoken from my shallow sleep by the navigator’s shouts of “Yip! Yip! Yip!” I looked up to see us passing at speed into long river grass. We had run aground on an island formed by the grass. It was one of several incidents on the journey which broke its monotony and distracted me from the discomfort.

During the day, of course, the landscape - rainforest reflected in the river's mirror - was spectacular. At night, the stars were dazzling and the river illuminated by the first quarter of the new moon - which on the Equator sits on its back like a smiling mouth. Most of river is surrounded by the rainforest’s towering trees, miles from any human habitation, and the sounds of the forest animals, cricking, booming and hooting, echo across the water.

I arrived, exhausted, at 7 am, after 25 hours cramped up in a canoe. What I came to realise was that if Basankusu was so difficult for me to get to, the people who live here must also feel so very isolated. Goods arriving to be sold in the market are limited because of this isolation and produce from people’s market gardens is difficult to send to markets elsewhere. Once you are here, there is very little contact with the outside world.

I was met by Fr John Kirwan MHM, who made me very welcome.

Holiday in DR Congo - (Part 2) Mbandaka to Kinshasa by plane

I arrived in Mbandaka on Tuesday, after travelling by river the 500 km from Basankusu. Mbandaka is a large town in the west of the Democratic Republic of Congo; it’s right on the Equator and on one of the world’s biggest rivers, the River Congo.

After checking in at the sisters’ maison de passage and then getting a better offer at the Brothers of the Sacred Heart, I called my contact who was buying a plane ticket for me, Alain. He said he would call by the next day with the ticket. Engineer Dally, who I’d travelled with, called me out for a drink and the next thing I knew we were speeding through the streets of Mbandaka on the back of a taxi-motorbike. Clarisse Iwewe, the daughter of a friend and originally from Basankusu, joined us and we chatted, relaxed and in general passed a pleasant evening together.

Brother Sylvain in Mbandaka. He is a religious Brother of the Sacred Heart.

Monday, I had a traditional breakfast with the brothers – I’m saying “the brothers” as if there were lots of them; in fact, there was only one brother, Brother Sylvain, and his aspirant. … so, just two of them. Breakfast was rice pudding as a watery sort of porridge with some ground peanuts mixed in – fresh bread was there to dunk into it … just the ticket!

Engineer Dally had been given a place just across the yard in the diocesan procure, but food wasn’t included. I joined him across the street in a little diner attached to the Hotel Karibu (which means welcome in Swahili). It overlooked the River Congo and so we enjoyed the view, with more canoes arriving, just like ours from yesterday, and bigger boats, too. I decided not to take photos of the river – it might have attracted the unwelcome attention of the authorities looking for money.

My plane-ticket arrived, delivered personally by Alain, and then Dally and I went out for lunch, calling in on two of the Sisters of St Theresa from Basankusu our way. Lunch was at a restaurant, set in a gazebo, called the Three Sisters. It was very nice, with large portions of grilled fish, cassava leaves and semolina (fufu); the price was low, too, compared to what we would have to pay in Kinshasa. A steady stream of hawkers wandered through the gazebo … very much at home and known by the women serving the food. They sold a variety of things, one sold shoes while another sold fruit, and so on …

" It was a relaxing hour or two, doing nothing except talking. I brought my camera out and Clarisse took great pleasure in posing for photos with us all." - Clarisse posing with Engineer Dally

When we got back, we sat and chatted in front of the brothers’ place. It seemed a bit strange to see five or six cows wandering about in the grounds in front of us … a legacy, no doubt, of the missionaries that established the parish. Clarisse Iwewe came to visit but took some persuading to walk past the cows. I don’t think she’d ever seen such creatures before. It was a relaxing hour or two, doing nothing except talking. I brought my camera out and Clarisse took great pleasure in posing for photos with us all.

Tuesday morning, Brother Sylvain kindly knocked on my door at 5:45 so I wouldn’t miss 6 o’clock mass at the cathedral (thanks ...!). After mass, I examined my ticket and noticed that the price written on it said $180. I’d sent $285, so I phoned Alain to see about getting the difference refunded. He told me not to worry and he would sort it out at the airport. Hmmm … I smelled a rat.

Engineer Dally had finally got a ticket paid for by Basankusu Diocese and would be on the same plane as me. Mademoiselle Jeanne-Marie Abanda, who has helped me before when I’ve passed through Mbandaka, said she would send a jeep to take us both to the airport in the afternoon. Jeanne-Marie is a lay-person who runs the Caritas office in Mbandaka.

After bags were packed and goodbyes had been said, we set of fashionably late for the airport, which is only twenty minutes’ drive away.

The usual mayhem began in earnest. Soldiers on the gate started to demand money for entering the airport grounds – one of our co-passengers was an army officer and he argued that Caritas didn’t need to pay. They eventually let us pass. At the door to the airport a group of young men clambered about and started to take my bags. “I’ll carry my own bags!” I commanded. One of the group turned to face me … it was Alain, the one who’d got me my ticket. I relaxed a little and allowed them to continue.

We went inside the small airport building. 

The room was absolute bedlam. Passengers checking-in formed a heaving mass of bodies pushing towards the check-in desk. Voices were raised to create an overwhelming din and in the dizzying mêlée I found my passport, ticket and cabin-baggage being taken from me by Alain’s people. What is going on? I didn’t ask for anyone to give me special treatment here but I felt helpless to stop it happening. Sitting behind a trestle-table were five uniformed men from the RVA (Régies de voie aérienne), or airport police, no doubt looking for easy prey. 

Behind another trestle-table five uniformed health officials. Yellow Fever vaccination cards need to be shown on entry to the country, but someone with nothing better to do, in some government department, decided they would employ people to check the these cards at every airport. Congolese travellers didn’t seem to be asked, but in any case, Congolese people tend to have the vaccination card without having had the injection. They demanded 1,000 Congolese Francs for the privilege of looking at my card – I refused … I’d already paid airport tax, regional tax, tax within my ticket … and now they wanted more tax. They pulled a receipt book out of a drawer as if it was a novelty. I still refused and, as my ticket was taken in one direction by Alain’s helpers, and my case was taken in another direction, I tried to go through the door into the area for passengers. The door was guarded by a policeman. One of the health people called out to the policeman, “Stop him, he hasn’t paid!” I smiled at the policeman, said, “Excuse me,” and he held the door open for me, ignoring the official.

Outside the building, facing the runway, there was an area of plastic chairs and tables as an impromptu café area. I sat down and was soon joined by Dally. One of Alain’s workers called me back into the building to see the dreaded DGM, or immigration officials. I waited a while and was finally called in and asked to show my passport and visa, to give my occupation – missionary – and reason for travel – holiday – and that was that.

Kishasa: Visiting an old friend from Basankusu, Cathy, who now lives in Kinshasa. Here with her parents who had come to stay for a while.

We sat outside for another thirty minutes or so. One of Alain’s people came and explained that they’d taken $30 for mine and Dally’s airport tax; he returned $20 and said there was another $50 to come … but they would return that through a transfer agency on Saturday. (Saturday came and went … I’m still waiting)

Apart from the near stampede getting onto the Airbus 320, and cringing when I was called to the front of the queue ahead of everyone else, the flight was to a high standard. They even had an alternative snack for non-meat eating me … a cheese baguette. We landed in Gemena first and then travelled back down the country to Kinshasa, where Nene had arranged for a driver to meet me.

" ... I was welcomed into the civilised world of high precision wonky and ill-fitting fixtures and a sophisticated level of poor workmanship in all things. The big city is part decaying colonial town, more than half shanty-town, and a growing proportion modern buildings. "

Having left the forest behind, I was welcomed into the civilised world of high precision wonky and ill-fitting fixtures and a sophisticated level of poor workmanship in all things. The big city is part decaying colonial town, more than half shanty-town, and a growing proportion modern buildings. There’s no McDonalds yet and pizza is only available to the select few at $18 a shot. But this is also the place where I have a growing number of friends: friends from years ago in Basankusu, and friends I’ve made in recent years through my work for our environmental group. Somehow I feel at home here and intend to relax and have some fun.

Plenty of work ... even on holiday. Here, RCEN, the journalists Civil Society collective have their national meeting at our Kintambo office.

Very soon, however, I would find myself at work again. Procuring visas for visiting UK journalists from Breakthrough Media, teaching our environmental group members to use conditional formulas in bookkeeping spreadsheets (don’t ask!), and helping to procure wheelchair-bikes for disabled people back in Basankusu, would be jobs I would find myself doing over the first few days of my stay.

There will still be time over the next seven weeks to relax. Eating in an open-air restaurant in the shade of a palm-thatched shelter … perhaps on the banks of the River Congo (the same river that passes through Mbandaka), perhaps with a glass of beer … or two, is all to look forward to.

I’m on holiday, alleluia!

Holiday in DR Congo - (Part 1) Basankusu to Mbandaka by river

I decided to take a holiday away from my activities in Basankusu, where I've been living since the end of last year. Basankusu is just above the Equator in the Democratic Republic of Congo. I would go to Kinshasa, the capital city of the Congo, and recharge my batteries.

[click on the photos to see them full screen]

Basankusu sits in a beautiful unspoilt part of the Congolese rainforest; its inhabitants’ lives bound in a strong Christian faith and equally strong ties to their families and wider clan. Extreme isolation and lack of any form of recognisable road system, coupled with endemic corruption and incompetent governance, result in a lack of commercial endeavour, poor education and poor healthcare, fuelling in turn the downward spiral into poverty.

There is an airstrip. They tell you it’s an airport. I remember a small plane landing there two months ago – only for deliveries, not for passengers.

Getting out of Basankusu has become a real problem.

I was very pleased to be told on Wednesday that one of the professors from our “university” (every town claims to have a university these days) was making a trip in his own large wooden canoe, complete with outboard engine. I would travel 500 km, beginning in Basankusu, along the River Lulonga and the River Congo, to Mbandaka. Mbandaka is recognisable as a town. Quite a few of the roads are tarmacked, and large aeroplanes land at the airport, three times a week, for Kinshasa. The town sits right on the Equator – so passing this point, I would pass from the Northern to the Southern Hemisphere  The river journey would take about 20 hours – starting Saturday at 3 pm and arriving early afternoon, Sunday. I would stay in Mbandaka for two nights before flying to Kinshasa on Tuesday. The man in charge of construction at the new Basankusu Cathedral, Engineer Dally, would make the journey with me.

Although it would be a snug fit, the canoe could accommodate about 18 people. The driver sits at the back with the outboard engine, and someone sits at the front to navigate. The central part of the canoe would have a structure over the middle to hold a tarpaulin – which would not only protect us from the possible tropical rain, but also from the blazing sun. We took our own chairs to sit on during the voyage.

The weather was perfect on Saturday: not much sun, now and then a few spots of rain … but nothing serious. The river generates a steady breeze – I don’t think it’s caused by the movement of the boat, but by the river itself. Even though the temperatures in Africa are always high, this persistent flow of air – and the fact that we were just sitting on a chair for so long – has a gradual cooling effect. Eventually, you start to shiver … hats, jackets, and lengths of cloth are pulled out of bags, as passengers try to wrap up against the cold. I was fortunate enough to have a waterproof coat and trousers, but still needed to pop another t-shirt over my shirt, to keep warm.

The scenery along the river is always spectacular. Lush green vegetation bordering the river is reflected in the pristine water. Small canoes appear from time to time – a man standing up and fishing with a net, an old woman with a canoe full of firewood, a young mother sitting in the stern with a very young child up front in the bow.

We passed Bonkita – 18 km from Basankusu. It’s where I teach each Monday at the minor-seminary. Then, we came to Bokakata and took a comfort break. We met one of the carpenters from the procure in Basankusu. He’d hurt his leg at work, and was recuperating in his home village. Everyone seemed to know him – myself included – and he took us to see a little bar he ran there. There was the distinctive aroma of Pastisse … that was the first time I’d seen that in Congo, and here it was, in a tiny village!

The journey continued. We passed a lot of Ngandas – fishing villages, made from bamboo and palm leaf thatch. Often these temporary houses are built on stilts to accommodate the different levels of the river throughout the year. We saw a larger boat going up-river and a much larger one, crowded with people and piled high with their goods. Night-time came and eventually went, small parcels of food emerged from people’s bags, quiet chatter, then the smell of toothpaste and the sound of teeth being given their morning once-over, and finally the tranquillity of the journey was broken by ring-tones on full volume … as we picked up the phone signal from Mbandaka.

Approaching Mbandaka, we started to notice Japanese Hyacinth here and there in the water. At one point we had to really slow down to avoid it. It’s an attractive plant with a pretty pink flower, and was first introduced into ornamental ponds in people’s gardens. Since finding its way into the river, it has become a menace. Not only can it become tangled in the propellers of passing boats, but, when present in large quantities, it blocks sunlight and causes the demise of everything in the river.

My worry about arriving somewhere new in Congo is the arbitrary nature of the official authorities. There only seems to be one rule – if you’re identified as a foreigner (being white is the give-away) you should pay some money. The level of greed by local officials is the only variation to this. Movement between towns, especially of foreigners, is strictly monitored in Congo. We pulled in alongside another large wooden canoe and started to unload our things. Things were going smoothly when a woman holding a pen and an exercise-book approached me and asked for my papers. She copied my name and visa details from my passport, asked me where I would be staying in Mbandaka and said that everything was in order … and that was all. What? No bribe to pay? No extortionate demand for payment? In fact quite a warm, courteous welcome … what’s the world coming to?

Engineer Dally and I carried our chairs and bags up the hill from the riverside to the road. We negotiated a price with three motor-bike taxis. One carried my big wooden armchair and suitcase, the other two would carry us and our smaller bags.

Mbandaka Cathedral, the diocesan procure, the Sacred Heart Brothers, and the Sisters of the Holy Face of the Infant Jesus, all have their buildings in one compound. We arrived at the sisters’ convent, where I intended staying, and where Engineer Dally said he’d leave his things until he got a room in a hotel. The sisters were very welcoming and installed me into a small room with shower and toilet. The shower worked, but I’d need buckets of water to flush the toilet. $25 US per night – no food

The sisters had a little shelter outside the main building, that’s where Dally and I shared the bits of food we’d brought along – my offering was literally loaves and fishes as Mama Didi, our cook in Basankusu, had packed me up with a Tupperware container of grilled fish and a couple of loaves of bread. Dally had some cassava bread – the starchy local staple … and I also had some roasted peanuts. Someone went to buy beer for us and we were set for our feast!

After eating, I phoned Brother Fuila, who’d made the same journey as us a few days before, but who was now in Kinshasa. He said I should put my chair and waterproof tarpaulin in at the brothers’ place for safe-keeping until my return from Kinshasa in two months’ time. I went across the brothers’ and Dally, on advice from Basankusu diocese, went to find a room at the procure.

Brother Sylvain was very welcoming. He found a room to store my chair and tarp. He also told me that they were expecting me to stay with them, and, no, they wouldn't charge me a penny, and yes, of course, I would eat with them. It didn’t take me long to move my stuff … and he and his student proved to be very good company over the next couple of days in Mbandaka.