Trip to Kinshasa: Chaos, Charms, and Close Calls

Trip to Kinshasa

If there’s one country that has remained shrouded in mystery for me, it’s the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). As a student of history, this is one nation that has suffered the worst of both worlds colonized by a brutal Belgian regime and, post-independence, plagued by relentless conflict. From the tragic assassination of its first Prime Minister, Patrice Lumumba, to its rebranding as Zaire, the humiliating defeat at the 1974 World Cup, and the legendary "Rumble in the Jungle" boxing match between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman DRC's history is filled with drama, pain, and paradox. Despite it all, this country remains critical to Africa’s future, holding some of the world’s most coveted resources. Sadly, it often seems there are vested interests determined to keep it from functioning. Personally, I believe that if Africa is ever going to work, the transformation must begin with the DRC.

Arrival: Lagos Vibes in French

But enough of my historical rambling let me share my actual experience visiting Kinshasa. As soon as I arrived at the airport, it felt like Lagos only this time, swap English for French. Have you ever been on a flight with Congolese passengers? My goodness they're loud! Very, very loud. Conversations flew across the plane, some people were on video calls it was rowdy, chaotic, and noisy. Normally when I travel to places like this, I avoid checking in luggage. But during my layover in Addis Ababa, the airline insisted I check in my hand luggage. Despite it having a priority tag, it was one of the last bags to arrive on the carousel.

The Pickup That Almost Wasn’t

Still, I told myself this was a minor setback. I had arranged for an airport pickup by the hotel and expected to see a driver holding a placard with my name. I landed at 12:10 a.m. but only stepped out of the terminal at 1:30 a.m. due to the baggage delay. Outside, a swarm of taxi drivers immediately surrounded me, offering rides. But my driver? Nowhere to be found.

I decided to wait a few minutes, double-check my messages, and confirm the pickup details. The hotel had acknowledged my arrival time and confirmed a driver had been assigned. I called the number provided. After three rings, a sleepy voice answered and promised to call me back. Fifteen minutes later, I called again. This time, he said he had arranged for someone else to pick me up.

As I kept scanning the crowd for someone holding my name, I noticed a man who looked like he was also looking for someone. I approached and asked if he was from the hotel thankfully, he was. That’s how I finally left the airport at 2:00 a.m.

Nighttime Kinshasa: Street Sweepers, Roadworks & Soldiers

Driving into the city in a rickety cab at that hour, one thing that struck me was how many cleaners were on the streets, sweeping. There were also some ongoing roadworks. Interestingly, there were no visible garbage collection points the cleaners simply swept dirt to the side of the road. I was later told that this is their daily routine, and that during the Pope’s visit, the streets were spotless

We got to the hotel around 2:45 a.m. after first dropping off another passenger. On our way, we passed several trucks loaded with heavily armed, stern-faced soldiers. I silently prayed they would not open fire on our speeding cab. At the hotel, I was warmly welcomed and given many apologies. Apparently, someone confused 12:10 a.m. with 12:10 p.m. what a convenient mistake.

The Chaos of Kinshasa

For the next few days, I experienced Kinshasa’s chaos firsthand. First surprise? Both left-hand and right-hand drive vehicles on the road. Kinshasa is infamous for its traffic, and there appears to be no effort to manage it no traffic lights, no traffic wardens, just a survival-of-the-fittest mentality. Drivers without licenses, dilapidated vehicles, and zero enforcement, it’s a jungle out there.

The Escape Plan (Almost) Fails

When it was time to depart, I was warned that traffic could be horrendous. My flight was scheduled for 12:45 a.m., and was informed I could leave by 9:30 p.m. by then the traffic would have subsided. I opted to leave by 8:30 p.m. instead, just to be safe. As expected, the driver only showed up at 9:30 p.m., telling the hotel he was "around the corner."

We finally left the hotel at 9:45 p.m. after haggling over the fare. The airport is typically a 40-minute drive. About 15 minutes in, we hit traffic. The driver assured me it would only last 10 minutes. I relaxed and even dozed off briefly.

The Motorbike Gamble

Suddenly, I was jolted awake by a loud bang. The car shook. We had a flat tire. It was 10:30 p.m. He tried to maneuver the car to the roadside, but no one would let him through. After some struggle, he finally got there and began changing the tire. I started to panic a bit it was now 10:45 p.m., and I hadn’t checked in yet. I quickly did an online check-in and, since I had no luggage to drop, figured I would still make it if I arrived by 11:30 p.m.

It took the driver about 30 minutes to fix the tire, and we finally got back on the road. By then, the traffic had started to ease, and based on the driver’s estimate, we should reach the airport in another 25 minutes. But just a short distance ahead, we hit another major traffic jam. It was already 11:30 p.m., and I had a decision to make. At this rate, we wouldn’t arrive at the airport until around 12:30 a.m. which would be too late to catch my flight. Without wasting any more time, I immediately negotiated with the driver to help me find a motorbike to continue the journey on my own.

Yep, I decided to take a bike with my luggage to continue the journey, which was about another 25 minutes to the airport. As we weaved through the traffic, I couldn’t help but notice a major gridlock up ahead. It was a T-junction where some vehicles were struggling to turn left while others tried to go straight a simple traffic problem that could have easily been solved by either traffic lights or a traffic warden. So much time was being wasted because of this basic issue. I was grateful I took this decision as it would have taken the car ages to get through that point.

The Whammy Trilogy

I arrived at the airport at 12:15 a.m. and rushed to the check-in counter. They had closed and were on their way to the boarding gate. Fortunately, I had checked in, selected a seat, and had no luggage to drop off so I thought, what could possibly go wrong? My whammy was just about to begin.

At the immigration desk, after checking all my documents, the officer asked for a physical boarding pass. I showed him the one on my phone, but he insisted on a printed copy. It seemed my inability to speak French was frustrating him, and after some back-and-forth, he eventually waved me through. I passed through the security screening without any issues and arrived just in time for boarding. I was relieved I had made it. Or so I thought.

As part of the final group to board, I had a few minutes to spare and decided to grab a snack since I hadn't had dinner the night before. While walking around the small boarding area looking for souvenirs, as I always do in the countries I visit, a woman suddenly approached me. Because I don’t speak French, communication was difficult, but I had a strong sense of what she wanted this was my second whammy.

She wore a vest indicating she worked for some revenue authority and carried an official-looking receipt book. Eventually, with the help of another passenger who translated, I was told that all passengers departing Kinshasa must pay a $50 airport tax. This was news to me but thankfully, I had some cash on hand. As soon as she walked away to prepare my receipt and return my change, I encountered the third whammy.

At the boarding gate, I was stopped again because I couldn’t produce a printed boarding pass. I explained that I had checked in online, had my boarding details on my phone, and that I had no checked luggage. Their response stunned me: “In Kinshasa, online check-in is not allowed. You must be manually processed.”

That Divine Encounter

I stood there, stunned, reflecting on my life choices. Here I was past midnight, on the verge of being stranded in a French-speaking country over a simple piece of paper. I couldn’t help but think: There must be an easier way to make a living. I pleaded with the staff, using what little French I had picked up from Duolingo, trying desperately to appeal to their humanity. Just as I was losing hope, the duty manager overheard the commotion and asked what was going on. I explained the situation again how I had checked in online, had no luggage to drop, and all my documents were in order.

He looked at me for a long moment, and I like to believe he had a divine encounter right then and there because he finally nodded and said, “Okay, I’ll take you on board.” I was almost on my knees thanking him. Just then, the woman returned with my receipt and as expected, my change was short by a few dollars. But I didn’t care. I clutched the receipt and made my way through.

I was the last passenger on that flight.

Reflections on a Nation

As I sank into my seat with a massive sigh of relief, I thought to myself: That was far too close for comfort. And then I began to reflect on this country the Democratic Republic of Congo. A nation full of promise. A true giant of Africa. Yet a country constantly at war with itself. Many people I met referred to it as the Francophone Nigeria. Like I said earlier, for Africa to truly rise to its full potential, the DRC must work. It holds the future of the continent.

Au revoir, Kinshasa!