Brazaville, Congo.
After one of these ATMs had swallowed my credit card in Brazaville a day earlier, I wanted to get it back as quickly as possible. I had to borrow some cash from my host, then take a cab to the city center and stomped purposefully to the bank whose machine was so hungry. I didn't get very far. After fighting my way through the busy streets, through street markets where worms were for sale in bowls. at a major intersection, I crossed to the other side of the street and one of the soldiers immediately noticed me. Without hesitation, he followed me and asked a series of questions. With my simple French, he quickly understood the situation, and even though the bank was 50 meters away, he insisted on accompanying me.
Eyes bore into us as we squeeze through the entire line at the bank, bypassing 20 people to get to the front, right up to the reception. My uniformed soldier stands closely next to the woman being served and looks at her seriously. Quickly interjecting, he describes our problem. Annoyed, the woman at the reception tells us to wait for a moment. Then, she looks at me sympathetically but mentions that everything can be taken care of as long as we speak with the bank manager. He is sometimes in his office, but nobody knows when. And whether he's coming today or tomorrow, no one knows either. But he's apparently walking around the city right now, and maybe we'll be lucky if we come back in 4 hours. So, as advised, we leave the crowded bank with quick steps, heading out into the heat and sunshine. Phew, 4 hours of free time. How am I going to spend it? Of course, my uniformed friend immediately suggests visiting a bar.
Nodding, I agree and end up in a dingy bar
where the first patrons are already sitting with their beers at 10 in the morning, watching TV, just like I am now. The beer wasn't bad at all, a super sweet little bottle of local beer, football on TV, old men with tired looks and wrinkled faces.
The bar wasn't too bad; we had fun chatting and cracking a few jokes. After two beers, though, it was enough. Let's go outside, take a stroll! He laughed, asking who goes for a walk here. Well, whatever, but let's not just sit around. The crowds pressed on the sidewalks; people sat on the ground selling plastic items, old phones, hair ties, fruits, and vegetables. They proudly and loudly advertised their goods with insistent gestures, urging people to come immediately and make a purchase. We also got a SIM card, as usual, from the neighbor's boy next door, who then led us to his uncle, who had a 'shop' on the roadside. Sitting on a chair, the two men jostled to help me – filling in information, taking a photo, noting down data, and inserting the SIM card. The process took a good amount of time. The man grinned proudly at the end when everything was done. With a few cents less, we left again, only to realize that the SIM card still didn't work. So, back to the nice gentleman, who first had to endure a scolding from my uniformed friend. At least it passed the time, and afterward, we tried the bank again. To our surprise, the bank manager was present! In a stylish suit, in his large and chic office, he sat on his leather chair, with big glasses and calm eyes. After a bit of waiting, we could enter the office. He could speak English, a welcome change. At the end, he handed me my credit card, gave a warm handshake, and offered a few wishes. Quickly out of the bank!
The longer the day went on and the more beer my friendly soldier had consumed, as expected, the more talkative and creative he became. It was time to go. Together, we also bought a ferry ticket for me, as I planned to cross over to Kinshasa in the next few days. Almost a few days later, he would have come along because he was convinced that he didn't want to lose me, considering I was still as dirty and unkempt as ever, and that I should be his forever. Unfortunately, I declined and thanked him generously and extensively. After all, we had quite an intense and not-so-bad day, overlooking his thousand advances and attempts to kiss. But I don't find that too bad, as long as one can handle it. So, everything was fine; the farewell was short and painless, and I quickly hopped on the next bus to leave the center of Brazzaville, heading south to the small house of my host who was still in bed with stomach problems.
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