It is a grey, overcast morning in Brazzaville. I am sitting outside on the hotel grounds, the nice part where there is a nice pool—there is another, depressing part, where of course I am staying. Why could I not stay in this nice part? I ask you. But of course I didn’t know it existed until after I’d already moved rooms once and almost went into the deeply inferior, sad and dirty little pool. Very odd layout.
I arrived at 6 am yesterday. And then the challenges began! I descended from the plane and got on the bus, which just took us a little ways over to the terminal. People immediately began to go in all directions, and I couldn’t understand what the difference was. Then I found myself beneath a doorway reading VIPs only, so I just stood there (and stood there and stood here)—there was obviously a protocol for Big Men, who went right in front of me.
