DRC

We spent the evening in the company of Madame Claudine André, the founder and driving force behind the sanctuary, and one of the other visitor’s Celine.

The next day over breakfast Jools discussed aspects of her work at the Colobus Trust, and her new involvement with Wildlife Direct with Claudine, before we headed off on a tour of the facilities. As the morning ran on I felt fluey again but I had re-checked my blood for malaria the night before, and still no fever. Claudine took one look at me and said “Go and take some doxy and Artemensin, you’ve got Malaria”.

	In Kinshasa, the Jesuits allowed us to stay free of charge in their compound (See Congo page) and even offered an evening meal which gave me a little more faith in religion, I felt like shit though and we opted out for an early night.


			A little perkier in the morning we spent a few frustrating hours around town searching for a company that did white-water rafting on the Congo, subsequently finding out that it’s not happening and probably a good way to get shot anyhow. It also took us several hours to get out of Kinshasa, as the road we wanted was closed and people in Africa cannot give directions (good generalisation). This left us quite late by the time we finally reach ‘Lola ya Bonobo’, a sanctuary set up on the outskirts of Kinshasa for the rare, (definitely not chimpanzee), Bonobo.

	As we drove through the denuded landscape smothered in houses neither of us could imagine that there could be any forest left nearby, but as we rounded the last bend and turned into the drive an oasis erupted before us.

I still wasn’t convinced but in the time it took to walk back to our truck my teeth were chattering and I was starting to shake. I didn’t wait for the test but took some pills and electrolyte and wrapped up in a blanket whilst the result came through, Falciparium malaria. I couldn’t believe that I had been in denial for two days, placing too much faith in the testing kit and my temperature, but now as I lay in the truck fear crept in amongst the chills. I called over one of the guards from the gate, I was now feeling horrendous and pleaded with him to fetch Jools quickly, he sloped off so slowly it almost felt like he was mocking me, I became furious. Maybe he didn’t see malaria as serious, or an emergency, but all I could sense was a callous lack of compassion (I was feverous).

It seemed like ages until Jools arrived, she had been at the far end of the sanctuary and being 7 months pregnant, not the quickest on her feet. Further arrangements took more time but everything was sorted and soon enough I was on my way to hospital. It was all flooding back to me now from the last time I had malaria (in Kenya) and the familiar fever sensations, ‘my hands felt just like two balloons’ (to paraphrase Roger Waters).


	In the hospital the doctor took a look at me from across the desk and offered me some quinine pills to go home with, I insisted that I would like a drip and some i.v. quinine and he reluctantly agreed. After the malaria titre came back from the lab at 3+ he concurred that I would be in for a couple of nights. The first night was hellish, not because of any symptoms but I was on a plastic mattress with a bed sheet that wouldn’t stay on, the aircon was blowing cold air straight at me, no blankets were available and mosquitoes were plaguing me endlessly. Through the discomfort though I was still just happy to be getting the right treatment. By the first morning I was tired but feeling much better but stuck around for the i/v quinine for the next 24hrs. At least this time I had malaria I had medical insurance, and the company were excellent.

	While I recuperated at Lola over the next few days, Jools made herself useful and we had more time to spend with the Bonobos. As the name translates in the local Lingani tongue ‘Lola ya Bonobo’ means ‘Paradise for Bonobo’ and for those few days it was paradise for us also, but we had an adventure to continue and reluctantly we left for Matadi.


	After collecting our transit visas at the Angolan Embassy and being assured that five days was enough to cross the country (they said that a man on his bicycle did it, all 1700km!) even though not one person in the Embassy had ever driven any of, it as they flew everywhere. We said our goodbyes to the Congo river and with absolute ease crossed the border into Angola.