1.  Windhoek and Swakopmund, Namibia

2. Kampala, Uganda

3. Kigali, Rwanda (despite the recent grenade attacks, I still consider Kigali to be one of the safest cities in Africa)

4. Cape Town, South Africa

4. Dar es Salaam, Tanzania

6. Cairo, Egypt

7. Fez/Marrakesh, Morocco

7. Maseru, Lesotho

7. Dakar, Senegal

10. Gaborone, Botswana

11. Maputo, Mozambique

11. Livingstone, Lusaka, Zambia

13. Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

14. Algiers, Algeria

15.  Freetown, Sierra Leone

15. Accra, Ghana

17. Lilongwe, Malawi

17. Mbabane, Swaziland

17. Bujumbura, Burundi

20. Mombasa and, believe it or not, Nairobi, Kenya makes the list on the last position. Still safer than Chicago.

Also, I heard excellent opinions about Asmara, Eritrea; Khartoum, Sudan; and Bamako, Mali;

What these journalists are doing is rather honorable. They travel to the DRC, speak to some of the locals and even make it to General Nkunda, the infamous Tutsi warlord widely blamed for fueling the war in the Kivu provinces. They travel to the mines, film most of their journey and then go back to Europe in search for more additional answers. Generally they don’t get them, but at least they manage to put a face behind this rampant industry.

Personally, after watching this documentary I didn’t find anything new about coltan, but I am, as I said, quite familiar with the topic. But that is not my main criticism to the movie. I was rather annoyed with the fact that these journalists don’t really do a good job at explaining what this mineral is used for. They tell you how it is produced, how it gets to the regional capitals and then straight to Europe or China, but they make no attempt to explain that this despicable mineral is in fact fueled by our hunger for faster and better computers, phones and other similar commodities. The point this documentary misses almost entirely is that the coltan is not a curse on its own. This mineral could arguably bring wealth and economic prosperity to the Kivu provinces. But the war that is happening here prevents that from happening. This war is indirectly financed by us, the Western consumers, and had it not been for our demand and ignorance maybe the militia groups would not have had so much money to continue financing their dirty business. The coltan is indicative of a very simple paradox and if these journalists were more informed than sensationalist, perhaps more of us would have been outraged after watching this documentary. Basically, our money and lack of concern for how cell-phones, PlayStations or computers are made, kills people in Congo. And not only. The  United Nations Mission in DRC (MONUC) is made of peacekeeping troops sent by the world governments to restore peace in he country. Because multinational companies don’t care where the raw materials come from, they pay for the coltan. The money is then used to buy arms that are subsequently used against the MONUC troops. It’s that simple.

As far as the local actors go, the documentary does a fairly good job at pointing out who they are, what they do, where they get their coltan from and how they take it out of the country. One thing I discovered during my stay in Goma two years ago was that various companies would sell other minerals legally and use their business as a cover up for getting coltan out of the country. As coltan is in such a high demand and, for now, it’s pretty much everywhere in Eastern Congo, going into this business is a profitable solution for those Congolese that have the capital to do so.

Overall, this documentary is rather interesting but as I mentioned above, it lacks perspective. I rate it 6/10

Interestingly enough, you can watch the entire documentary here.

Lastly, for you, people who have never seen coltan in your lives, it might be interesting to get a good idea on how this mineral really looks like. I am therefore uploading some pictures that I took in DRC in 2008. In my hand you will see the mineral that so many companies would kill for. At that time, when I posed as a Western young scout interested in buying coltan, I was told that based on the degree of purification, the price varies from 125 dollars a pound to 250 dollars a pound. You will then see that in the pictures attached below, the color varies. The lighter is it, the better it is. Why? Because in the later pictures, the coltan is better synthesized and consequently it is closer to the state needed in order to be used in a PlayStation for example.

[View with PicLens]

If you have dollars, Euros or any major currency, you should make sure you bring 100 euro / dollar bills. In East Africa, you get a better rate for 50 / 100 bills than for 10/20 bills. (EAC)

Whereas this has not been such a problem as in the past years, I advise you not to take pictures in front of the government buildings in the city. Policemen might stop you and ask you to either delete the picture or even try to confiscate your camera. This whole picture-free policy followed the 1998 bomb attacks on the American Embassy in the city. Officials believed that the bombers posed as tourists and took pictures of the embassy from different angles. So they now forbid anyone to take pictures of the government buildings. It’s kind of a narrow-minded policy simply because you can take pictures of these buildings from any hotels neighboring any of these buildings but, you know, it’s the law. Personally, I took pictures in front of all these buildings because some of them are quite beautiful and old. But I always looked for policemen and took the pictures very fast and then left the place while hiding my camera. So it’s up to you if you want to risk having an argument with a policeman or not. Just for your information, at the Parliament you might be able to ask the guards to take 1-2 pictures in front of the building if you promise them that you will be in the photo and not simply trying to take pictures of the building.

***EAC – if you see the symbol EAC at the end of some of the 20 recommendations listed in this post, the same rules apply to all the other countries that are a part of the East African Community (Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania, Rwanda, Burundi.)

Goma, DRC

By walking down the street in my case. I went to the DRC two times in my life: the first time I was a part of an international delegation and flew to Kinshasa, the second time, last summer, I walked into Congo. As part of an experiment I made for my research in East Africa (that of testing all the roads built with Chinese assistance I went from Nairobi to Dar es Salaam, via Kampala, Kigali, Goma, Bujumbura, Kigoma and Dodoma.) Long trip, I don’t recommend it unless you are use to travel under ruff conditions. When I got to Kigali, I had a major disappointment. I honestly did not find anything interesting to do, besides the Genocide Museum, and felt compelled to leave the capital ASAP. I chose to go to Gisenyi, the city that is on the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo. Beautiful city, amazing beaches, very good food and fantastic people. After recovering from malaria – which only made three days of my life completely miserable – I took the First Avenue and crossed the border to Congo. Despite the fact that I had the son of a local diplomat waiting for me at the border, I wasn’t quite able to get to my destination without the usual problems one faces at a border: petty bribes. They don’t bother me that much. I grew up in a country where at the time of my childhood the practice of petty corruption was on the same intensity as in many African states. And as “in your face.” I did not have a visa for DR Congo but I knew I did not actually need one. Border patrols can issue a temporary visa for 30 dollars paid at the border. Given the fact that I was a Muzungu, I immediately ended up in the officer’s office waiting for the visa to be issues. I remember his face very well. Tall, fat, (Politics of Belly, obviously) and with a large grin on his face. If he weren’t black, I would have thought it was the border control between Romania and Bulgaria. He looked at my Romanian passport, smiling. The discussion went as follows (my personal translation from French):

“Mr. Arsene, I see you’ve visited our country in the past. What brings you back here?”

“Sir, I simply love your country. If it weren’t for the war and the ethnic conflict I would be one of the richest countries in Africa…”

“Who are you here to see Mr. Arsene?”

“I am here to visit old friends” (And I gave him the business card of the Congolese diplomat)

“Good, good. Let me give him a call to confirm it.” He calls the guy, my friend confirms that his son is at the border waiting for me. Everything goes fine. The most hilarious thing was to see his grin disappear for a second when he realized who he was talking to. Once the conversation was over his smile reappeared on his face. “Your visa and temporary pass will be available shortly. There’s also a matter of the voluntary contribution…”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that term, sir”

“Well, the visa was paid. You, of course, would make a voluntary contribution that will be charged for the service.”

It did not take long to figure out what he wanted so then I asked “How much should that be sir”

“I don’t know sir. You look into your pocket, take something out put it on the table and we’re all set.”

I reached my pocket and took 15,000 francs (about 22 dollars at that time) and put it on the table. The hilarity of this situation cannot properly be described in English because the English language doesn’t do justice to the situation. And the problem is with the word voluntarily. I put the money on the table and say “here you go”. And the official replies:

“Il est entièrement volontaire, non?” (It is voluntarily?)

And my answer comes: “il est volontaire, je le jure devant Dieu” (It’s voluntary, I swear to God!)

Ironically, this type of dialogue makes my day whenever it happens. True, I had to engage in what many could perceive as an immoral act but that’s beyond the point of discussion. Corruption in the developing world and in many parts of Africa has become a ritual. A ritual with its own rules, social roles and verbal expectations. It’s like a game. As a muzungu you are prone to lose it in a way or another or play your role in an efficient way. The 20 dollars I paid for that bribe was nothing to me. But to that official was most likely one week’s payment. There have been numerous reports about Congolese officials not getting paid in time and it is only natural that many of them have chosen to operate within the informal sector and rip off some people of small sums of money.

I hope that by reading this post you did not get the impression that I was forced to pay that money because I’m white. Color doesn’t play a huge role in these situations. It’s there and you’re more likely to be asked to pay a little more money than the average person crossing the border, but the practice itself is not contingent upon you being white or black. It’s contingent upon your point of origin. You might come from Rwanda, Burundi, Tanzania or Zambia. If you come into the country you have to pay something at the border. It could be 100 francs (12 cents) of 15000 francs. But what’s important is the fact that you pay. There’s no reversed racism going on, but a practice that has been evolving over time. And since you know that, you might as well experience it by making use of your sense of humor instead of allowing such a practice to ruin your stay.

Hakuna matata

Picture taken in Dar es Salaam, September 2008

As I reconfigured this blog as a personal one I would try to share my experiences in Africa as thoroughly as I can. I’ve had quite a ride so far, one that was challenging at times, beautiful, intriguing and no short of surprises. If everything goes according to plan, next summer I will visit the four last countries that are sort of in the way of an old dream I once had: to do what the British once hoped to achieve but never succeeded: Cape to Cairo. The overland travel from Egypt to South Africa on the Eastern side of the continent. Recall that following the division of influence between the Colonial Empires – the British, the French and the Portuguese empires – the Brits wanted to extend their area of influence from North to South perpendicularly. The French tried to do the same from East to West. The Portuguese kept only a handful of colonies – Cape Verde, Guinea Bissau, Sao Tome and Principe, Angola and Mozambique. The Spanish accidently had one colony as well – the Equatorial Guinea, a small country that still holds a disappointing record: the third longest standing president: Teodoro Obiang, in office since 1979.

The last five years have been quite full of meaningful experiences for me. I managed to visit most of the East African and Southern African countries that were a part of the master plan of the British empire: Egypt, Sudan, Uganda, Kenya, Tanzania, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Botswana, South Africa / Namibia (which was a part of south Africa until 1993), and Mozambique (this last country wasn’t under British occupation but falls between the lines of the “master plan”). In the following weeks I will take each of these countries and try to post stories about my experiences and my travels to these beautiful places. I also have a series of fantastic pictures and I will do my best to add as many pictures as I can. The only countries that I’m missing and that I hope to visit next summer are Ethiopia, Eritrea, Djibouti and Somaliland (Somalia was occupied by the Brits but visiting it beyond Somaliland is simply committing a suicide.) Should I have the opportunity to go there I will certainly share my views with you guys as well.

Traveling through these countries was a crucial factor in my understanding of African realities. Having lived in a developing country myself, I did not experience them the same way a “legit” Westerner might do it. Every time I had to deal with bureaucracies, corruption – petty bribes most often – long lines of lack of public services I simply recalled the fact that at one point in my life I had the same problems in Romania. This constant comparison between various African countries and Romania actually served me well. I was able to always enjoy every moment in Africa without thinking too much about the small problems I had to deal with.  And my story will be determined and defined by the good moments I had and not the less honorable incidents I had.

I hate making generalizations about Africa. I generally agree with only a couple of them. Civilization was born in Africa. Africa is for Africans. Every African state has the right to be sovereign and any external influences should be sanctioned immediately. I treat any other generalization with extreme skepticism. But if there is one thing I can certainly think of when the word Africa pops into my head that will always be the two words that to me are the essence of any Africa-related experience: simply surprising.