Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1960-11-20
Congo's Capital Is Now Existing
In State of Suspended Animation

@AS SA4@s VA4S SNA HCOo 6A doACW,
the seats are not properly
locked into their sockets (Which
means that someone is depos.
tied on the floor whenever the
plane hits an air pocket.
All over the Congo the ash
trays are full and the carpets
askew. It is not that people are
not there to empty them or to
set them straight. It is Just
that the Congolese don't know
quite what to do and. few care
enough to tell them. -
It is surprising how much
the absence of these little
things detracts from ones sense
Of security.
Leopoldsville's new NDjili
Airport is magnificently de-
signed in the modernistic FASH
ion and blazing with light. It
is also empty. Your footsteps
echo. as they do in a cathedral.
The Congolese hostess leads
you to the waiting room and
leaves you. There are no i'm
migration formalities for the
nimple reason that there are
no immigration officers. It is
all most disconcerting.
You wait. Half an hour
passes, then an hour. Finally
your baggage appears.
There is someone to inspect
It. He wears the olive green
uniform Of the mutinous Force
Publique (now rechristened the
Congolese National Army and
q rifle with bayonet fixed is
flung across his back.
u. N. Man Near
You open your suitcaSe-you
are not asked if you have any
thing to declare-and he leafs |
wordlessly through your clothes
with his large. gentle African
hands. An unarmed Moroccan
wearing the pale blue beret Of |
the United Nations stands be-
side him to see that he steals
nothing.
One gets the impression that |
the inspection Of baggage Is a
ritual with a significance above
the search itself. an almost |
pathetic demonstration Of in
dependence. For one thing, the
Force Publique corporal (this |
Is an army without privates) |
obviously is unsure of what he
is supposed to be looking for.
The suitcase Of one of the
Greeks contains a small wooden
box nailed shut which could
contain a pound or two Of un-
cut heroin. The corporal passes
it by without comment and the
customs inspection is over.
Then you wait. There are not
enough airline buses to service
each flight and no taxis are
available. Finally, after waiting
an hour for an overdue flight
from Stanleyville which never
arrives, you leave in solitary
splendor aboard a 44-passenger
bus.
Like War Days
Beyond the comforting glow
OF the airport is the utter dark
ness Of the moonless African
night. On the horizon are the
lights Of Leopoldville. The
roads are empty and the drive
to town is quick.
The hotel, of course, has
never received your reservation
request but they find space for
you. American dollars are in
demand.
It is rather like the war days.
The hotels are damned with
uniforms: Egyptian, Swedish.
Indonesian. Malayan, Ghanai-
an. the Red Cross. There are
few women. only worn, sad and
averaged prostitutes.
Within a square, perhaps a
thousand yards on each side
in the center Of Leopoldville,
there is light and activity. Such
restaurants as remain open are
doing a good trade.
The bars which still have
liquor are full. The seedy night
clubs are going full-blast.
The streets are patrolled by
armed Ghanaian soldiers walk
ing in pairs. But when man
crosses from one island of light
to another, he walks just a bit
too quickly and keeps his gaze
fixed straight ahead a little
too firmly to convey the illu-
sion Of security. One no longer
wanders aimlessly around the
streets of Leopoldville after
dark.
Daylight Confidence
In daylight ones confidence
returns. The sun shines and the
buses run, although they are
nearly empty because the
people have no money. There
are fewer vehicles on the road
both because of the decline in
the white population and be-
cause no spare parts are availa-
BILE. When one breaks down, it
Is left where it stands.
There is enough to eat but
the distribution system no
longer works very well. The
animals in the ZOO and the
prisoners in the jails are still
fed. One Of the two daily news
papers is still publishing.
But the courts no longer
function. If you catch someone
breaking into your house, you
trun him over to the police.
Depending on the tribe of the
malefactor and that of the ar
resting officers, he is beaten
UP or released.
Sometimes he is thrown into
Jail and forgotten. Eventually
somebody releases him or his