It was Monday and we were going to the river Congo port. We stopped our car in front of the port gate because we didn´t want to pay the entrance fee. Šárka rather stayed in the car and I went alone through the crowd of people towards the landing-stage. The Brazavile port was  suitable for passenger boards, for a ferry and a small cargo pontoon. What was important for us there were customs officers, border police and immigration police. The seat of the officers was in the old buildings where there were many passengers, beggars and homeless people. I passed the rubbish lying everywhere and went straight to the port office. I sent away beggars and guides,who tried to offer their help (they would arrange everything instead of me, but they wanted a lot of money). I managed it myself. I asked about the car ferry. Unfortunately I learned it didn´t work and it wouldn´t for a long time. So there was no chance it would be fixed soon. I could use a cargo pontoon, but the price for the transport was too high 1.000 USD, it was nonsense to pay such expensive transport. The ferry cost 100 USD. We had to solve it somehow. There was the only bridge but it was 700 km far from here, in the Democratic Republic of Congo. It was a different country, it had the same name ie. Congo (Kinshasa) though. I got in the car and told Šárka about the ferry. We bought some water and I studied the map carefully. There were three frontier crossings on this side of the river. One was right here, the others were in the west of Congo (Brazavile) somewhere  in the jungle.
We chose one of those and we set off in an hour. We went back along the road leading to Brazavile, after 100 km we turned to Boko where there was a frontier crossing. Surprisingly there was an asphalt road up to Boko. We could see no frontier gate but the police stamped our passports and carnet, we went on. Behind the village the asphalt changed into a dusty road. After a few kilometres we passed by a stone board with a notice „Belgian Congo“. It was a remain of the colonial frontier but there were neither  policemen nor  customs officers. The road was getting worse, we drove around some very bad parts of the road and went on through the bush. We entered the territory of Democratic Republic of Congo.  After a few kilometres we stopped in front of the locked gate. What should we do!  We let the car at the gate and we were walking to find help. We could see a village and DRC flag hanging on a pole.We were sure we were going the right direction. When we were a bit closer  the villagers (shocked a bit)  were running towards us. They were not used to any visitors less so the white ones. We were a bit afraid of what would come next. A villager took us to a local policeman who was sleeping. We woke him up, first he didn´t understand what happened but the locals explained everything. He tried to find the gate key then we came back to our car parked in front of the village. We were accompanied by a crowd of villagers. Our arrival was a big event for them. The car check took a few minutes. The policeman was looking for guns, he didn´t find anything so he unlocked the gate and let us go futher into the village. We stopped and they checked our passports, they stamped them and they wanted us to pay for it. I refused to pay a penny. The local police insisted each passport and carnet stamp would cost 10 USD – that was 40 USD.  Shit! I was furious and told them I didn´t have money. I offered to give them two packets of soup and they accepted it. At last we were leaving.  I had asked about road condition. I had beem told to go down to the river Congo. We had to be careful because the road was damaged by heavy downpours. The road was really in a horrible condition. Our  Toyota was lucky it didn´t overturn . (It happened we couldn´t see the depth of the holes when it was dark.)
At last we caught a sight of the light by the hutches in the darkness.  So we arrived to the river Congo and we found out there was a small ferry so we didn´t have to travel far to Matadi where there was a bridge. Of course we would go to Matadi later to get our visas to Angola. Fortunately there was an asphalt road on the other bank river. A crowd of people came to see us and we asked where the ferry was. They showed us but the ferry would work in the morning. It was dark and it was dangerous to transport a car. We parked by the river and we were preparing our dinner. The river was quite close our car so I took a torch and tried to find some crocodiles. I didn´t see any so we went to bed and fell asleep.
At six in the morning the small tracked raft was ready.  It was suitable only for one car.  We had to be careful and park the car right in the middle of the raft. It took a few minutes to cross the river. We anchored by the river bank and I drove down the sandy beach. We paid 20 USD for the transport, unfortunately we had only a 100 bank note and they didn´t have any change back  – it was a problem. We offered to give them some food ( soup and a little rice) instead of money. They agreed. We didn´t expected we would use the food for paying so often. The locals were satisfied as we were.
We asked where to find a road, because we couldn´t see it. A hunter showed us a scrubby route in the bush. We were climbing up the hill, we could recognize the surface of the road full of potholes. We were driving 150 km to a small village where there was an asphalt road. Hooray! We were hurrying to Matadi. On the way we came across the cement factory with a restaurant for local Chinese employees. Policemen had recommended it to us, they had said the restaurant was good. It was true, they offered Cola, food, chips etc.
We were hungry. I tried to order a chicken but I couldn´t speak French so it was not easy. The waiter didn´t understand so I tried to cluck for a while. He grasped the point and asked how many pieces we would like. I explained we would like chicken with chips for two people…. After an hour he brought two roasted chickens. We didn´t understand, but we laughed. Never mind, we ate one chicken and we took the another to eat it later. ( So it happens if you can´t speak French.) It was bad with English there.
We arrived to Matadi where we met George with his wife (the couple from Yaonde mission), they were travelling the same route to South Africa Republic. They had experienced the similar journey to Brazavile and they were trying to get the visas to Angola as well.
We met at  the Angolan embassy. They had been there for a week, they were trying to get their visas to Angola. Unfortunately they had been refused for a few times. Hopefully they would get them today.  George told us about all absurd requirements of  Angolan embassy. It was ridiculous, unbelievable. (If you are an European you will never understand African behaviour, it is different world, different mentality.)  We were waiting in the embassy full of hope we would get the visas. The door opened at 11 a.m. and we were told they couldn´t give us the visas. The reason was the consul wasn´t at his office, but we had seen him before entering the embassy building. They didn´t answer and closed the door again.  After a while the door opened and they handed George the passports with a visa stamp. They were so  happy they had their visas.  We weren´t lucky, they told us to go to Kinshasa to another Angolan embassy. I was furious. I didn´t understand it, this was the third Angolan embassy we had been to. None of them was willing to disscus with us. We needed transit visas valid for 5 days, it cost 30 USD.  By the way George paid 100USD/ a person. We were determined to pay the same sum as well but the embassy didn´t care. They were  idiots.
We needed the transit visas to Angola otherwise we couldn´t continue our journey.  If we didn´t get the visas, there would be only one possibillity – to go through the central Congo to Zambia. We would have to travel through the famous N1 road to the areas of diamant fields and  further through 2500km long green inferno to Zambia. It would be horrible and very dangerous route. I couldn´t tell Šárka she would kill me.
We  left Matadi, again we were on an asphalt road, the route to the capital city Kinshasa was 350 km long. I hoped we would be lucky this time and the another Angolan embassy would give us the visas. I was starting to pray! On the way to Kinshasa I called the Czech embassy in Kinshasa, I wanted to know if they had any contacts in Angolan embassy who could help us. Unfortunately they didn´t. I explained the situation to them, but they couldn´t help us.
We arrived to Angolan embassy on Thursday. They told us to come again on Monday. We were looking for an accomodation, a parking place was enough for us because we slept in our car. We found a beautiful mission in the west,  near the town. They were very kind to us, we could park our car there and we could join them. We ate in the local canteen like other missioners. OK super, we had a temporary home. It was terribly hot weather so our car engine was working and the air conditioning as well. The fuel consumption was 8 litres per night but we could sleep.
They cooked well in the mission, but every course was a  fish. We had fish for lunch and the dinner was the same, everday we had fish. We called the local canteen the fish restaurant.
It was Monday  and we were hurrying to the embassy. However we didn´t get the visa, we had to go to Czech embassy for recommendation. We got it and went back, we hoped it would be without problems this time. We were told to come back on Friday!!! Oh, no, we had to wait again!!!  We were both angry. Thanks God we could stay in the mission, we were satisfied there except for one thing-fish.
I am sure we will manage it. So it is Friday, we are in Angolan embassy again. We have been waiting since early morning but they refused us. We have to wait till next Wednesday. I am fed up. I have told them to give me back our money, passports and photos. We won´t  wait any minutes. There are only one solution- we are going through central Congo to Zambia. It is Friday 12 o´clock, our visas to Congo are valid a week, till Saturday.  We have 8 days left. I know it will be dangerous but we are going for it. Šárka is crying she wants to fly back to Europe. She is fed up with everything.
Hot weather and thanks to the red-tape we are facing the central Congo. We are have  a snack and I am trying to calm Šárka down. She is quite OK and she is reasonable now. She has decided not to fly back home, she is going with me to Zambia. We  have shared our plans with the people in the mission. However we have learned it is not possible to go to Lubumbashi because there aren´t any routes. (it is on the Zambia frontier) The way doesn´t exist. We are sure there is a route. Our friends told us. Their journey took 16 days and it was very difficult. They said it was a hell. We have to make it up in 8 days otherwise we will be in big troubles. We have to leave Congo very soon because our visas will expire.  They could arrest us or we will pay a high fine. So we have packed and set off. There are 2600 km to go, 500 km on an asphalt road, the rest is nothing but jungle and bush.
Keep your fingers crossed. Milan and  Šárka