People are convinced that money is sexy. I remember from my childhood seeing that cartoon intro where Scrooge McDuck dives in to his pile of money for a swim. For some reason, we think that having money on us just feels good, like Demi Moore rolling around in a bed with Robert Redford's money in Indecent Proposal. Well, for those who don't know, paper money is probably one of the dirtiest things in the world.       No, I'm not just talking about the money in Africa. I'm talking about everywhere. While US dollar bills might not show the grime they've got, they're dirtier than stray dogs. Just think about all the hands that have touched that bill over the course of its 20+ years in circulation. Think of how many asses it's been next to as it sits in a wallet somewhere waiting to be spent. Now ask yourself as to why you're opening bathroom doors with a tissue and why you're not handling your money with rubber gloves as there are far more nasty things in that paper than will ever be on the stainless steel door handle.       Of course, now I turn to the situation with paper money in Congo. Yeah, it's dirty stuff and it shows it as you can see below. People are quite poor, so every bill is important. For bigger transactions, US dollars are used, but for smaller ones, the Congolese Franc is in wide circulation (around 550-600 of them to the dollar depending on the day.)       The dollar bills are dirty in Congo as well, but not like the Francs, which points to what is probably a more sub-standard paper that is used for the Francs, which picks up every bit of funk that they pass through, like this fellow. By the way that Franc in that picture will be accepted anywhere, whereas a dollar bill with the slightest whiff of imperfection (like a slight crease or being older than 2003) will be rejected.       In the end, after these monetary dealings, I trust no currency in any country now. My baths in $100 bills will now be tempered with long hot showers afterwards, despite how good the money feels on the naked skin.

While in Kinshasa, I was tipped off to this article which covers the fact that a great many men are convinced that their "junk" has either disappeared or has heavily shrank in size after being cursed by local witchdoctors. I know it sounds like a bad joke, but people are being accused of the "sorcery" and being mob lynched because of it. If there is one think that you don't want to mess with in Kinshasa, then that is an angry mob. They can get out of control very fast.       While it's something that will undoubtedly pass in due course, friends have seen guys showing their stuff to other friends along the street, hysterical that they've been the victim of a shrinking. They're quite worried to touch anyone who has been a victim of the curse and potentially everyone is a possible shrinker, with the exception of the white folk (mundele) who are of course already known to be cursed with diminutive equipment and thusly are immune to the witchdoctor curses, or so the logic seems to go.       The article credits the rise of a religious cult in Bas Congo, which is to the west of Kinshasa as part of the reason for this scare. I don't know how true it is, but this cult was the main reason that we just stayed in Kinshasa, because apparently it was very unsafe for mundele to head out to those parts currently. Of course, this assumption is based on a UN report, which is one of many that extol the dangers of Congo outside of UN compounds, which makes me wonder how they compile these reports in the first place.       Anyways, if you're a guy these days, watch your junk. A curse may be headed your way sometime soon.

Officially, it's legal to take photos in DR Congo, although for professional purposes you are supposed to have a permit. Unofficially, it's a scorned practice.       This is the problem that I've been running in to while being here. If you want to take a shot, you need to be stealthy about it. Using point and shoots is advisable over hauling out the 30D with the 2.8 aperture lens on it that makes it looks like a gun.       If regular people see you taking a photo, they will get in your face about it. This can vary by region though. In the west, they are much more antagonistic than in the east, probably because the west has more people sitting on their asses with little to do but harass people.       The police are the worst of all. They won't let you off without a bribe. Friends of friends have actually been taken down the police station only to argue their way out of bribes though, as it is legal to take pictures. This is a practice that you just want to do for the purpose of being right as they'll detain you for for several hours before you get out of there. Passing off a dollar's worth of Francs will make life go a lot smoother if cops get in between your camera and a shot.       This attitude about taking photos dates back to the Mobutu times when it was absolutely forbidden to take pictures in what was then Zaire. As is the case with just about every aspect of modern society in DR Congo, these old habits are hell to kill off and thusly people get offended of your taking photos of things. Even if it's something as silly as taking a picture of an empty street, someone will get offended in the end if they see you, which can drive you crazy because it makes you think that they should focus more on fixing their streets than harassing a tourist with a camera.       So, here is the problem for me. I like to have photos to emphasize my blog posts, but for this series on DR Congo, the photos are going to be limited. Some will have them and some will not. I will have a nice selection of photos in the galleries once I get to posting them from Spain though.       It's a real shame that people are so assinine about this, as the country is beautifully colorful and the people vibrant and full of life despite their endless hardships that they've had to endure.

As you bump and bounce out of N'Djili Airport, you start to head in Kinshasa proper. It's a long trip of about an hour or so in moderate traffic, of which there is always at least moderate traffic in Kinshasa. The journey is not like that from American and European airports where you start in the middle of nowhere and slowly pick up more and signs of civilization until you are in the center of a bustling city.       Kinshasa is much different. You both start and end in the middle of nowhere. The end point has a great many more buildings, but it still feels dislocated and at odds with itself being a city of 10 million people and the largest French speaking city in the world. It feels like it is still trying to contend with the fact it started life as Leopoldville, a trading outpost on the river that is actually younger than West Coast American towns like San Francisco. It's a bend in the river that now is home to so many.       There are no bright lights of Kinshasa. While the city sits along the Congo River and there is a massive hydroelectric damn further upstream, electricty is very much an ammenity that most are forced to live without. While the center of town (like the Gombe District) has much better power connections, it is mostly expats and the wealthy living there. The endless sprawl of Kinshasans live quite literally in the dark.       The road from the airport passes all the bars and clubs that are packed with people no matter what the night is. They sit outside it in the stifling humidity, their evenings illuminated by candles and the passing lights of cars on the road. As I looked forward out the front window of the shuttle we were in, I could see the dark, smoky veil of cooking fires and pollution descending on the roadway. Silouhettes of people crossing the road were lit up by the streams of traffic, looking like these human shadow puppets strolling through the night.       We reached the center eventually and the building that we would call home for the next couple of weeks. The power was on here, as well as the water. A brief shower rinsed off one layer of the sticking, unwavering humidity before we plunged in to a deep sleep.

Upon arrival in Kinshasa, DR Congo, the first site for visitors in N'Djili Airport, which is definitely not the most pleasant of sites. It's rundown. It's smelly. It's crowded and it is overall a complete zoo.       Previous to visiting Congo, I read up a great deal on the country and this airport was one of my biggest fears. The endless delays in getting through it, the possbility of losing a great deal from your luggage when going through "customs", and then trying to get away from the airport and in to the center of Kinshas were all daunting problems not allowing me to sleep on the seven hour leg of the flight from Paris to Kinshasa.       Once we got there, my fears weren't fully lived up to. They have apparently cleaned up the airport a great deal in recent years and the need to have a "control" to usher you through the airport has lessened. It still sucks though and there are what I consider to be the five levels of purgatory before you are actually released upong Kinshasa.       1. Passport Inspection This is pretty minor and is just checking to see if you have a visa. The line is lengthy and stretches out on to the tarmac as naturally there are no true landing gates for the planes.       2. Passport Control A much longer process. You stand in lines with everyone else as you weed your way through a couple of booths checking each person's allowance to be in the country. This was apparently much faster in the past, but has been slowed down in the last month as the Congolese staff are learning to use some new computers that the EU got them. Once they get used to it, it will most likely speed up. One thing to note here is that no matter how seemingly stupid of a request the police might ask of you, go along with it. They have nothing else to do other than controlling that line and if you feel like giving them shit, they will give it right back. Just be patient and listen to them and respect them.       3. Health Control A minor step to make sure you have your yellow fever vaccination and your immunization card, which if your traveling here, you should most definitely have had.       4. Luggage... Sweet jesus almighty. This is the worst part. You stand along the luggage conveyor for something like two hours or more waiting for your baggage to come out. This may seem like a boring wait, except that there is no air conditioning in the space and there are all these random guys who want to "help" you grab your bags for a tip. It's sweaty and completely not fun, but is part of this journey. The biggest issue here is if you bag was lost, like one of ours was in the tight transfer in Paris. You don't find out that the bag is gone until the very end of all of this and then once you know, you have to register it as lost and then wait until the next flight, of which there are only three a week. Of course you have to get in a circular line (also known as a mobbing) to get in there to register your lost luggage.       5. Clearance and Onward Once you have your luggage, ignore every single person outside the airport. They will forcefully try to grab your bags to again "help" you carry them for a tip. Just cling on to them and keep going for either your ride, the taxis, or if you're lucky enough, the UN shuttle to the center. It should be noted that the taxis will be $50+ to get in to the center. Why? Because it's an hour ride on some of the worst roads ever conceived.       But that's it. Just a few simple steps. Just a few minor hours and you'll soon be in Kinshasa, home to 10 million people and a whole lot more craziness that I'll get in to again when I can get at the internet, which is scarce commodity in these parts.