Mission in the forest #1

For the first time I go on mission in the forest, in the small village of Likouala.
My journey does not begin with good omens: father Ruffino, the priest who will accompany and will host us at his mission in Zanaga (a town 25 km from the village) doesn’t want me to leave without my passport. The problem is that my passport is lying at the immigration office for a month, waiting for the visa renewal. I can not get out of Brazzaville without my passport, unless to pay all the cops who I’ll meet on the road. The solution is maman Odile, a policewoman who works at the airport and has good contacts to the immigration office. She can retrieve my passport in one day. I find that I risk of having to remain at home only the day before: my attempt becomes a race against time. The flight to Dolisie, frome where I will then reach Zanaga by jeep, is at 11.30. Early in the morning I reach Father Ruffino, but at 10 I’m still in front of maman Odile’s house waiting for her to go together to the immigration office. By coincidence, the President of Burundi is arriving for an official visit to Brazzaville. Every time President Sassou moves, the city gets stuck: military and police close the access to roads where the presidential procession will pass. For the visit of a foreign head of State is the same story. This case takes away my little hope of being able to get to the airport on time, and instead it will reveal to be my salvation.
I arrive at the office with maman Odile that's almost 11. The director, who must affix his signature on the visa, is still not there. While Odile exchanges pleasantries and jokes with her colleagues, I sit on a bench at the reception. This room on the ground floor, badly lit and rather dirty, reminds me vaguely of a betting agency on Monday afternoon. I look up to the window in front of me that faces the street and I see the big statue of Pierre Savorgnan de Brazza, the Franco-Italian missionary that founded the town. The office where I am is just opposite the memorial where are placed the ashes of the man who for some is the mythical founding father, while for others he’s just one of the many other unscrupulous settlers who plagued Africa. I notice a strange discrepancy in the monument, which is far from being a masterpiece: the head is too big in relation to the body. With a little self-pity I think that only one hundred years ago it was enough to arm yourself with courage and recklessness to explore the world. Today, the infernal machine of bureaucracy will not let me do my job, unless oiling the gears with a few thousand francs. To some too much and to some others nothing, I tell myself. This gives me frustration, and meanwhile time passes, Savorgnan is always there with his head too big and I start trying to get me one reason why I missed the plane. While these thoughts are crossing my mind, maman Odile remembers me and comes and sits on my right. She smiles kindly: her expression seems to say, “I'm sorry but here it works like that, but everything has its remedy.” This is what I read on her face at least, or just this is what I continue to think for an hour. I watch her better, I try to divert my thoughts: she is a big middle-aged woman vaguely insecure and mother-looking . She tells me she is sorry and she’s doing everything possible. Just to change subject, I tell her that we live in the same neighborhood, and she asks me what I do in Congo. I explain her briefly and in the meanwhile it comes to my mind that even to come to Congo though I seriously risked to lose my plane in Paris, because of a problem arosen at the last moment. Suddenly her eyes undress insecurity to explain me the origin of my troubles: all about my horoscope, no doubt.
I stop for a moment. Then I say, not to disappoint her, yes it could be. After that, the conversation inevitably dies, indeed calling into question the stars is a blow to my already frustrated moral of this slow morning of early February. It's almost 11:30, I say that okay, I will join the others in Dolisie the next day with the first flight. Then, suddenly, an all dressed up boy occurs in the office, with a little pile of passports and yellow preprinted forms under his arm.
Maman Odile looks at me and her face opens on a big smile: she tells me that my passport has arrived, it’s enough just to put a stamp. At about the same moment, from the airport arrive some encouraging news: the flight is late and nobody know yet what time is scheduled for takeoff. The arrival of the President of Burundi knocked Mayamaya. Thank you, President.
After a race car (luckily without crossing any barrier of the police) I succeed to arrive on time and I also have to wait about an hour before boarding a 30-seat twin-engine, that to Laura looks like a toy, but that it worthy offer its service and that after 40 minutes of flight over the thick Congolese vegetation, lands in Dolisie, first step of this trip.