On leaving the Fairfield Building, Ishmael would be moved to a cage in the menagerie of the Darryl Hicks Carnival during its weeklong gig in our town. From that point on, till the Zaire transfer was arranged, Ishmael would go where the carnival went. Naturally I had some questions, like, Why a cage, for God’s sake? Because there’d be a panic if anyone caught sight of a gorilla that wasn’t behind bars; the local law would be down on them in a flash, bristling with weapons. And, If they could afford all this other stuff, why not leave him at the Fairfield Building until it was time to put him on a plane? Because the carnival had all the various licenses, permits, and connections that were ultimately going to be needed to put him on a plane—and Ishmael not only didn’t have them, he couldn’t get them.
“You’re going to have to trust us on this, Julie,” Ishmael said. “None of this is perfect, but it’s the best that can be done under the circumstances.” I had to settle for that. But the first time I went to the carnival, set up on an empty lot at the edge of town, and saw Ishmael in his cage, it nearly broke my heart. Though I had to eventually, I couldn’t face him that way yet. I was embarrassed—not for him, for me. Even knowing it was irrational, I felt personally guilty for his being there.
A lot had to be done—that’s an understatement. The plan was that I would leave at the crack of dawn on Monday, October 29, and (all going miraculously well) get back around midnight on Friday, November 2. This meant I was going to miss a week of school, and the school had to be cooled out on this. This departure date gave us time to:
Organize plane reservations;
Get passport photos;
Get passport;
Get visa application;
Get shots—tetanus-diphtheria booster, hepatitis-A immune globulin, yellow fever, cholera (not all on the same day!);
Begin taking antimalaria tablets (two weeks before leaving);
Get medical and dental checkups;
Get tickets and travel insurance (including medical);
Get international health certificate;
Get French phrase book;
Get medical supplies: aspirin, antihistamine, antibiotics, stomach aids, diarrhea medicine, salt tablets, calamine lotion, sunscreen, Band-Aids, bandages, scissors, antiseptic, mosquito repellent, water purification tablets, lip balm, facecloth and hand towel, moist-towelette packs, Swiss army knife with scissors, tweezers, and nail file;
Get a backpack and a tummy pack to put it all in.
Now if you happen to have lost your mind and are planning to vacation in Zaire this year, you can follow the above list right down the line, except that now you’ll need a currency declaration form (which was eliminated in 1980 and reinstated in Kinshasa in 1992).
I needed an eight-day transit visa, but they wouldn’t issue one by mail to someone my age. I’d have to visit the Zairean embassy in Washington when I was actually on the way.
More important than all the stuff I needed to get and get done, were all the instructions I received from Art, repeated almost daily for three weeks.
“You’ll be met at the gate at the end of every flight. Stay put till your escort arrives. Don’t wander off. Stand out in the middle of the gate area in plain sight.”
“You’ll be taken care of at every destination from the time you arrive till the time you leave, so you don’t need to take a lot of money.”
“Travel as light as possible.”
“In the air, sleep whenever you can, as much as you can. When you arrive in Zurich, it’ll feel like the middle of the night to you, but it’ll be the beginning of the workday for them. When you arrive in Kinshasa, you’ll just be getting ready to face the day, and they’ll be getting ready for dinner and bed. In the short amount of time you have, there’s nothing you can do about this except sleep as much as possible.”
“Don’t get involved with the people you meet on the airplane. Be polite but have a book with you that you’re interested in.”
“Go into Kinshasa knowing it’s probably the most criminally dangerous city in the world. People are routinely robbed and killed in the street in broad daylight—especially foreigners. You won’t be, because you’ll be heavily protected, but you have to understand why you need that protection. Don’t get cute. Don’t play games.” (This aspect of the journey is one we hadn’t stressed to my mother, needless to say.)
“There’ll be no signs at the airport, no announcements on an intercom. Follow the crowd toward the terminal, but my brother Luk should meet you before you get there. Remember that you’ll be met by Luk and no one else. He doesn’t look like me (we had different fathers). In fact, we hardly look like brothers at all. He’s tall and gawky and wears thick glasses. If you have any doubt that it’s him, make him tell you your name and his brother’s name, and if he can’t do that, it isn’t Luk and you shouldn’t talk to him or have anything to do with him. Stay with the crowd from the airplane and talk to no one but Luk.”
“Luk will have two people with him—a bodyguard, who’ll be armed to the teeth, and a driver, who’ll stay with the car (otherwise it’d be stripped or stolen). The bodyguard will stay with you while Luk takes your bags and passport through customs.”
“Don’t wear sunglasses. They signal ‘big shot’—a target. Don’t carry a purse or wear jewelry—they’ll be ripped right off of you, bodyguard or no bodyguard. And don’t stuff pockets to bulging—someone with a razor will open them right up and be gone with their contents before you can even open your mouth. Compared to Kinshasa, Times Square in New York City is as safe as a Sunday-school picnic.”
“Have copies of all your documents and keep them with you at all times in a traveler’s belt under your shirt.”
“Don’t expect the police to protect you—even in the airport. There’s nothing like airport security. Nobody is making this place safe for tourists. Roaming bands of kids and beggars will grab whatever they can and ta
ke off with it.”