Herbal Remedies: Toni Lyn's First Trip to The Heart of Africa

Djolu (yellow 1) in relation to Kinshasa (green A)

I just returned from a 10-day trip to Djolu, a town in central DRC that was in many ways an appreciated break from the hustle and bustle of big dirty Kinshasa. To get there, I first took a small commercial plane to Mbandaka, a town on the Congo River and northeast of Kin.  The flight was not very exciting, small but like a plane you'd take from MI to Chicago.  Maybe the most interesting part was that the people I was going with, 3 men from a small American environmental-education-through-film NGO and 1 from the large international conservation NGO, had scheduled to pick me up at 4:45 AM for the flight.  It seemed like a bit overly cautious to arrive at the airport so early but since I was getting a ride I didn’t argue.  Since I had to wake so early and I had a lot of work to do the night before, and an extra excuse since the MSU v UM basketball game was on from 130-330 am (though in the end I couldn’t watch or listen to it, only track the written updates on ESPN.com), so I decided to pull an all-nighter.  Matt was kind enough to join me so we sat up working and reading, respectively (Matt is engrossed in The Poisonwood Bible – his SEVENTH book here, a good read to give some background on DRC. One of the others that he has read and recommends if you’re interested in DRC history/current events is King Leopold’s Ghost).  Anyway, at 4 am the car shows up.  Now, let’s review our physics – time is relative.  For example, if you have a weekend where you don’t have a lot going on and you sit down to watch a movie on Saturday night, the fact that the movie is 2 hours or 2 hours and 45 minutes probably won’t matter too much.  However, if it is 4:00 in the morning and you are rushing to finish some things and pack before you leave on a 10 day trip, 45 minutes is a BIG difference.  However, this would merely be the first (albeit, the earliest possible) time among many in my trip to remind me “T.I.A.” (this is Africa), and that definitely applies to schedules.  Although granted I have more experience with things being really delayed en Afrique than very early, but…TIA.

The plane that took us from Mbandaka east to Djolu was very small, a charter plane with just the 5 of us and two French pilots.  It was neat to be up in the air watching all the vast Congo forest stretching for miles and miles and miles (I almost wrote kilometers!).  

Then we each got loaded behind someone on a dirt bike and raced off 4 km to the Djolu research station where we are spending our time.  It was one of the best things I’ve done in DRC so far, which is good cuz I ended up spending many many hours on the back of a bike this trip. 

The objective of our trip to Djolu was to film villagers asking and talking about what they can do in the forest and how to divide the forest into different uses (“zones”) to accommodate best the different needs of the villagers as well as national and international interests (hunting, firewood, industrial logging, conservation, carbon sequestration, etc.).  The footage will be the major part of a film funded by us (the US Forest Service) and I am tagging along to help and also just to see some of DRC (it’s my first time outside of Kinshasa).

I was pleasantly surprised to be told there would be internet at the field station where we’d be staying and thus not too surprised that it turned out to be broken (although the group that runs the field station was).  The only other major logistical difficulty, if it can be called that, was that we only received meals (which was really the only way to eat) @730am (stale bread, bananas, and lemony hot water) and @3:45pm (pork, fish, chicken, fu fu (traditional dish, sort of like giant polenta balls but made from manioc/cassava), and pundu (traditional dish of manioc leaves, basically chopped sautéed greens)).  This was a strange schedule regardless but since we weren’t expecting it we ended up waiting for hours for lunch the first few days, and then again for the dinner that never came (albeit more hungrily for the former than the latter).

Our schedule had us visiting villages from 18 to 70 km away from Djolu, as well as meeting with people from Djolu itself.  We traveled by dirtbike, the other non-Congolese (American) on the trip driving himself and the rest of us, including some local assistants, riding on the backs of bikes.  Along the way we saw hundreds of people, mostly children, and I did my best to wave and yell “Mbote!” (Hi in the local Lingala) to everyone, often in response to their calls and waves. 

Once we arrived in the villages, we would sit at the front of a formal circle of seated people and introduce ourselves in French, usually translated by our AWF guide into Lingala, and then I would disappear into the background and the filming would begin.  Sometimes it was of a big meeting where people were cued/cajoled to ask/answer questions about zoning and use rights, sometimes one-on-one interviews of local chiefs or women, sometimes shots of action scenes like hunting or cutting trees.

Like most of the film shoots that I’ve experienced at field sites (the only place that I’ve had the experience, but I’ve had several), I found it pretty stressful.  For one, the work is demanding and stressful for the filmmakers as a few movements placed wrong or a few moments delay can make a big difference.  This is exaggerated when one does not share a common culture or language and thus split-second communication often devolves into shouting or even jerking and dragging people physically.  It’s pretty uncomfortable.  The other difficulty is the timing.  We sit for hours with little to do and then abruptly are rushed to the next place, only to sit again with nothing to do.  Of course, the cameraman and his assistant aren’t doing nothing, they’re running around, but I’m not that useful.  I spend most of the time doing background reading but occasionally interact with the local children, particularly by conspicuously and slowly flipping through the colored pictures in the Lonely Planet, asking the kids how to pronounce the names of leopards and pangolin in Lingala.  There is little more that we are able to communicate.  I am as curious of them as they are of me but it is nearly impossible to bridge the gap.  When we do finally seem to make contact, it inevitably ends with being asked for money.  

This was setting out to be the pattern of things but I was unfortunate enough to have a run-in with a, well, I don’t know what it was.  Presumably an insect, though I was wearing long sleeves and long pants.  Let’s just say that when people offer you a chair everywhere you go, you shouldn’t act overly tough because you want to change their mind about you being a weak soft white person, you should accept that you are a weak soft white person and take the seat.  After 2 days of sitting on the ground (if that was indeed the cause), I got bit through/under the shirt by an insect(?) that I never saw and only noticed when my arm started itching like nothing in my life has ever itched before.  For about 20 minutes I turned into a raging lunatic, walking and then pacing through the village while everyone else continued with the film work, tearing at my arm and wondering how I could rip it off.  After a bit I recalled my wilderness first aid training, and the first aid kit I was dragging around everywhere, and pulled it out, tossing its contents haphazardly as I hadn’t the mental capacity to do anything in a disciplined way.  I searched desperately for a remedy (You’re F*&*in KIDDING me, I didn’t bring any Benadryl?!!) and finally gave up, consuming something that was for all intents and purposes probably a placebo (hayfever medication?), but hey, science tells us placebos work, right?  I resumed pacing, interrupting it only to (impatiently) take a picture of three Congolese guys whose request I couldn’t deny.  I eventually made my way to David to complain of my desperation and the Congolese cameraman suggested an herbal remedy (well, he suggested suggesting it for several minutes until I YELLED at him in English to just TELL me what it was, which wasn’t at all helpful since no one speaks English here but I had lost almost complete control of myself) and when we finally communicated clearly, I interrupted him with, “Okay, you want me to pee on my arms?  Fine, sounds good.” And I ran off to the woods to do just that, with the American filmmaker yelling after me that I would have to be quite a contortionist to manage such a thing.  And yes, I did pee on my arms (both were on fire at this point, with my belly and upper chest just beginning), and maybe it did help a little, but honestly it was hard to tell, so I crouched there with my underwear around my ankles and my own urine dripping from my arms until a village woman came to get me to tell me that everyone was leaving.  Well, she didn’t speak any language that I knew more than 4 words of but that’s what I figured out.  She also “told” me that I should be careful of the corn stalks because they sure are prickly, poor soft fragile white girl must have gotten scratched by the corn stalks and now her arms hurt.  I explained that I had been wearing my over shirt (which I blame for all of this and had removed and will never wear again) and that it was insects.  She seemed very sympathetic that the insects that they live with every day must have been very hard on me.  Anyway, I spent the next 4 days in misery over the rash that had spread across half my body and is just now finally going away.

That was not the only insect encounter of course, though certainly the worst. For example, everything gets covered in tiny ants.  The package of cookies that my colleague brought with him from “civilization” is inedible (well, not according to the ants swarming all over it for days now), our “lunch” left out from the night before (maybe it was actually supposed to become dinner, gives a new meaning to leftovers), even my bed when I wake in the morning (and more and more when I get in it at night, though I do my best to brush them away).  My nights were extremely uncomfortable because of my rash and I went to bed most nights before 8:00, though I would sit up and read for hours, unable to sleep with the itching and the noise (it is always noisy here, there are about 10 roosters and they crow every 10 seconds from 530 am to 530 pm, plus random music parties every other night, the sound of the generator which actually only provides power 3 hours/day, even a scratchy crappy signal from a radio that my wallmate plays every night til after 10 and every morning starting around 5).  I also was reading a very good book (Book 12 of Wheel of Time (again), 1050 pages which I easily finished during this trip).  Anyway, although the ants are not ideal, they assiduously cart away all of the insects that attack me unsuccessfully (due to a very useful mosquito net) or successfully (if they are too small to be bothered by the mosquito net) throughout the night.  In other words, as disturbing as waking to a few dozen ants in your bed, it is perhaps preferable to waking to a graveyard of insects that tried to attack you throughout the night.

There are good moments too.  We take the dirt bikes 70km to a village where we filmed a 60 going on 90-year-old chief (who later gives me a present of raw coffee beans wrapped in a giant leaf and I give him a cheap rubber animal-shaped bracelet off of my wrist) with a leopard skin hat (for real) singing and dancing and chanting with his clan this amazing song in a way that I can’t describe except to say it was one of the best experiences of my life (and is still stuck in my head);

we roll the bikes and tight-rope across log bridges through villages where I wave and wave and the air rushes my arms (blessed relief) and the driver and I share my headphones and jam out to Michael Jackson’s Thriller (Africans LOVE MJ);

the Women’s Association gives me a present of eggs and I am later told that a present of eggs means that you have been accepted; surrounded by villagers in a far away village, I put a baseball cap on drawing stares and laughs from everyone around and I end up in a full belly laugh when my colleague suggests that it’s not a girl wearing a cap that is making them react, it’s just that they’re not fans of the Detroit Tigers; gather pebbles with the guardians and play a makeshift game of Mancala in the dirt with the Congolese workers; I have my first HOT water field shower (bucket bath); I work with the Pygmy cook to learn how to make fufu (local cassava dish, kind of like polenta); I am greeted warmly nearly everywhere we go.  I have had the chance to think about my situation, my work, my goals, my life. 

But in the end, I am very, VERY happy to be “home” (back with Matt), and I am going to take a long long bath and eat some pizza! (...after I get over this terrible bout of food poisoning - don't eat the airline food on Congo Air!)

Checkers!

Toni Lyn is out in the field.  A place called Djolu. I'll let her tell more about it when she gets back but if you look at a map of the DRC that shows forested areas and non-forested areas in different colors and look at the center of the forested area, you will find Djolu. Toni Lyn is in the center of a rain forest that would stretch from the Mississippi to the Atlatic Ocean. She is half way through a 10 day trip. That is as much of an update as I can give because there is no internet and no cell coverage. A few days ago I got a 2 minute call from her on the satellite phone they have and she sounds like she is having a good time.

Just before she left we made friends with fellow Americans Karl and Olivia. Toni Lyn knows Karl through the work network here and they invited us over for pizza, beer and the NFL playoffs. Later in the evening Karl mentioned that he was going to build a chicken coop in his backyard. I volunteered to help him. Below is a picture of the sprawling A-frame "chicken house" as his son Ty calls it. We pieced it together out of salvaged lumber from the crates his furniture was shipped in. What it lacks in structural stability is made up in the creativity and resourcefulness with which it was constructed. We decided the worst thing that could happen if it collapses is they have chicken for dinner. We still need to put up the shelter portion where the chickens nest and add the chicken wire but it is coming along.

Can you do the chicken dance? bok bok bok

Karl and his son Ty and the almost finished frame of the "chicken house"

This weekend was also the first hash of the new year - I was finally able to go running. We went to a lake outside of Kinshasa called Lac Ma Vallee and it took about 2 hours to get there but I was able to sneak a few pictures on the way without anyone noticing. We did a little over a 10k in the usual hot and humid weather. The terrain consisted of several steep sandy slopes (the kind you are tempted to sit on your butt and slide down), 10 foot tall grass as tough as razors, dodging trees, and at one point a 20 foot wide stream crossing. It was awesome.

This is the main road leading through Kinshasa about 2 miles from downtown.

A line of shops about 1/2 hour outside of town. Notice wide open storm drain between the road and the sidewalk. Watch your step!

Lac Ma Vallee where we ran this weekend

If you squint you can see a bucket balanced on this guys head. Cool.

A view from the half way point of the run. Notice the terraced rice fields in the center.

The terrain was so rough plants started growing between my toes. Also, cut off soccer socks make great gaiters.

Business is still moving at 6 PM on Sunday night as we head back to town.

Random thought:
Lately I have been working up the courage to walk around the neighborhood. Just outside our gates is a group of people at stands selling bananas, pineapples, mangos, manioc plus other strange items like small orange packets of Kleenex. For some reason, anyone who sells stuff here sells tiny orange travel packs of Kleenex. I have never seen anyone actually use a Kleenex here. I never see Kleenex lying around with the other garbage.

Random image:
Look closely in the middle left of the image below. These two old guys are playing checkers. The table is painted in the checkerboard pattern and the pieces for each side are yellow and blue beer bottle caps. That's right: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.

Are you ready for some futbol?

Last Thursday Matt came home with a soccer ball (or as they say here: ball). Our driver Aime was very excited. He immediately became very conversational. Do you play? Are you good? Where will you play? My responses were: Parfois, Peut-etre and Je ne sais pas (sometimes, perhaps and I don't know), in that order. The following day, Toni Lyn and Aime came home from work at around 5PM to find Matt playing futbol (soccer) in the courtyard with one of the security guards of our apartment compound. As soon as they could park the car they were out and playing too. Barefoot. Well, Toni Lyn was wearing her (dress) socks. It was pretty funny to watch her kick around in business attire.

About 20 minutes later Toni Lyn bowed out suddenly (after stopping 3 goals) and we all agreed it was time to quit anyway. Aime stepped forward and asked Matt "Do you want to play on Sunday?"
(Someone was able to afford the $40 cost of a ball and now we can play.) Matt said "Sure, where? when?" Aime made him pick a time that worked best for him (as if his schedule is so busy that it needs to be worked around). Eventually, Matt and Aime agreed that 9AM Sunday was a good time for Aime to come by because that was when the most people could play. Although it was pretty clear that whenever the guy with the only ball for miles wanted to play was a good time for everyone else.

A little while later Toni Lyn confessed the reason for her abrupt exit from the courtyard game. Blisters! The courtyard is pretty sandy most of the time and playing in your socks doesn't give you that much traction. Also, it is made of stone and had absorbed 8 hours of blazing sun. When you feel the skin detach from your foot it's time to call it quits. OUCH! Nothing like giant blood blisters on both feet before heading into the bush for 10 days. You should have seen the blood squirt when she popped those things. It was a bloodbath...literally.

That has to hurt!

Sunday rolled around and Aime picked Matt up for the game around 9:30. When they got to the field they found a game already in progress. So, while they waited for the match to finish, Aime introduced Matt to nearly a dozen nephews, cousins, brothers and other family members. It turns out Aime's uncle's house is across the road from the field. It is a pretty nice neighborhood. It appears to be an area where foreigners lived 50 or 60 years ago before the Congo won its "independence" and all the Europeans and Americans left the country. Congo became independent on January 17th 1961. They elected a president named Patrice Lumumba. Two months later the CIA conspired with Mobutu (at the time a colonel in the Congolese army) to assassinate him, apparently for economic reasons. Then, when Mobutu was voted out of power, the USA helped stage a coup to get him back into office. It was the old knock 'em down, then step on their throat so they won't get back up strategy. What followed in the Congo can only be described as 30+ years of fear, hunger, corruption and violence under President Mobutu. True Story.

The field. The sod guy is coming on Tuesday.

Anyway, the match finally ended and a new game could begin. The family and now some friends and Matt walked across the field to play. Kids started gathering around the field asking to join in. Players filtered in and out of the game making it hard to keep track of who was on whose team. Nobody seemed to really care or take it that seriously though. There is always that guy who pays more attention to the score than the game, but for the most part, everyone was just glad to be able to play. It was a good day.

Matt probably being schooled by "The best player in the neighborhood". Matt is talking to Aime, our driver, in the middle picture.

After the game Aime's family tried to convince Matt to start a business installing water purification systems in Kinshasa. They think he could do a lot of business here. Bottled water is not cheap and Engineers are few and far between in Kinshasa. Interesting.

Random image of the week:
It is not uncommon to see women (and sometimes men, but mostly women) carrying huge baskets or tubs or whatever on their heads. This week Matt was walking through the central market when a woman came around the corner with a huge (possibly 30 - 40 gallon) old metal basin with chipped white enamel and at least 18 live chickens inside balanced on top of her head. The chickens' heads were all looking out and around possibly wondering in their chicken way What is going on?! The woman's face was as calm as could be. How does she keep them from jumping out?

SHAKEDOWN: Paying a bribe, 11 cents at a time

Lately we have been searching for something to write home about.  We actually talked about it yesterday. Although there has been some turbulence around the recent presidential elections including two presidents (one elected, one not - you pick which is which) and weekly demonstrations from opposition to the "official president", and oh yeah Christmas and New Year's Eve, it feels like not much has happened. Matt actually decided to write a story about surfing in New Zealand. Then a gift of a story fell into our laps - almost literally. So. the surfing story will have to wait a few days.

While we were in our little yellow roller skate of a car being driven to lunch by our driver Aime (pronounced Aymay), we had the unfortunate luck of having to stop (first in line) at an extremely large and busy intersection where 3 police officers were standing at the corner. Almost immediately one of the officers stepped out in front of the car to block our passage. As another officer moved in to take his place the officer approached our driver's window and asked for his documents (presumably, here and later they spoke almost entirely in Lingala, the regional language).

After a couple of minutes and some audibly stressed tones and tense body language by both our driver and the officers we were directed to pull up to the side of the road.  Our driver Aime got out to converse with the officers. At one time there were 8 in the group as other officers filed into and out of this strange happening. Picture 8 men in uniform (some with automatic rifles) surrounding our 120 pound 32-year-old driver on the side of a bumper to bumper intersection 6 lanes wide. We talked amongst ourselves in the car. Yep, this is happening. This is a shakedown. Toni Lyn locked all the doors.

Aime came back to the car without his documents and one of the officers followed him.  The officer tried to open the door to the back seat. In fact, he DID open the back door (where TL was seated). Wait, weren't the doors locked?  Oh yeah, the car has an electrical glitch and occasionally randomly unlocks the doors on its own. Damn. So the officer opens the door, and Aime reaches past him and shuts it, arguing with him the whole time. But the officer opens it again and gets in the back seat (next to TL). In retrospect, Toni Lyn admits that she was "flabbergasted...speechless" - a rare circumstance for her :) But we don't want to speak to the officers in French because we've always been told playing stupid (ie non-French speaking) was the best tactic. Aime says calmly and reluctantly, "He wants some money." (in English). Matt turns to the officer and asks him calmly but directly "Why are you in our car?" The officer stared momentarily surprised and then responds that he can't/won't speak English to us but that he can explain in french (all in English). Matt continued in English, "What are you doing in our car?" The officer said, "Give me ten dollars." Then the other two original officers stepped to the window.  Matt said "If I give you ten dollars you must get out of our car." The officer agreed. Matt pulled ten dollars out of his pocket and handed it to the officer in the back seat. "No" he said, "Give to him (Aimee) then he give to me". Ahhh. That is how they justify shaking down foreigners in the passenger seat. If the money comes from the driver's hand then they were only citing the driver for some violation of the "rules of the road". 

The other officers, seeing the money jumped into the game. One yelled "Twenty!" So the officer in the back seat, untrue to his word, stayed in place. "I gave you ten dollars now get out of the car" from Matt. Aime shook his head in disgust and handed him another $5. The officer at the window asked, "How much did you get?" (in French) and when the officer responded $15, he nodded and the back seat officer got out of the car.  And they all walked away. The problem was, they took Aime's license with him. Aime prepared to drive away. "Wait! What about the documents?" Toni Lyn questioned (in French again, of course - we only talk to Aime in french unless we're helping him learn English). "He is keeping them" Aime said. "No, you need them." said Toni Lyn. Aime got out of the car, walked back to the group of officers (very bravely), and asked for his documents back. The officer followed him back to the car and asked for another $5.  Finally, Toni Lyn lost it. She felt like there was nothing to be done, that all 3 of us were helpless in this situation.  So she did the only thing she could think of.  She dug in her bag past the US $20s and $10s and $5s and found a stack of 100 Congolese Franc bills (100 Francs = 11US cents). Then full of rage she proceeded to open the door to get out to pay off the officer (and probably scream at him). "Please don't get out of the car" Matt said. "Good idea" from Toni Lyn. So she slid over to the window toward the officer he said "No, no", indicating that the money had to go through Aime.

Now picture Toni Lyn paying off the rest of the $20 bribe, 11 cents at a time. She laid one after another after another 100 franc bill into Aime's hand directly in front of the officer, very obviously and deliberately and sloowwwlly, counting from one to ten in french ("un", "deux", "trois"...) five times to pay the final 5USD. Sometimes the little things are all you have. We got the documents and drove away. No ticket. No signature required. No explanation for being pulled over. Nothing. Just a few dollars lighter.

Our first shake down! I guess there is a first time for everything.

New Zealand, a.k.a. Paradise

Happy Holidays from the Southern Hemisphere

  Neither of us had ever been to New Zealand before this trip and really did not know what to expect.  Basically our only mental images of New Zealand were from the Lord of the Rings movies. It turns out the entire place was formed by volcanoes (including Mt. Doom) over millions of years, and it shows.  It is hilly and rugged and its jagged coastline is dotted with islands and peninsulas.  New Zealand is an amazing place. 

Anyway, we went there because Toni Lyn was the chair of a symposium at the Society of Conservation Biology conference in Auckland.  We decided we should go a few days early because how often do you really get a chance to go to New Zealand?  Plus, if we are going to cross 11 time zones to get to a place, we are going to spend some extra time there.

Greetings from Auckland the morning of day 1

After 30 sleepless hours of flight we finally landed in Auckland, grabbed our rental car and hit the road.  Then, after six hours of the curviest roads we have ever driven, we arrived in Tauranga, a coastal town set at the foot of Mt. Manganui with a good-sized shipping port and lots of little shops and restaurants. We promptly passed out in the sun on the sandy beach and woke up sometime later, sunburned and delirious, to scale the mountain.  At the top we watched people jump off the mountain to paraglide over the ocean. It was very impressive.  Sleep was good that night.

The top of Mt. Manganui

How cool is this?

The next couple of days were rainy and cool. We spent most of the time on the road traveling from one visitor attraction to the next, of which there are many on the North Island of New Zealand.  We went to Hobbiton, some of the thermal pools that are common all over the central North Island, a waterfall at the top of (supposedly) the largest lake in the Southern Hemisphere, a boat trip through glow worm caves (sorry no photos but picture the coolest thing ever cuz, why not?) and an ecological preserve Maungatautari Ecological Island (http://www.maungatrust.org/) where they are attempting to protect, breed, and restore populations of birds that have been eradicated or severely diminished on New Zealand from the invasive mammals like cats and pigs and weasels (there are no native mammals on New Zealand).  We covered a lot of ground and without the best breakfast in the world and a good rest at the incredibly hospital Hilltop Views B&B (www.hilltopviews.co.nz) at the half-way mark we probably would have not made it back to Auckland.

HOT! HOT! HOT! Thermal Pools!

At home in the forest

You can count on your fingers how many of these are left in the world

There are nearly 4 million people in New Zealand and 2 million of them live in Auckland.  Amazing - half the country's population is in one city.  It is a big place but doesn't seem like it.  People there are genuinely patient and friendly and honking seems to be taboo - SOOO nice.  Downtown was full of people but it didn't seem crowded or noisy and there were tons of shops and museums and other fun things to check out.  Our impression from a week in the city is that there is something special about this place and its people.

A view of Auckland from the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere

The 99% is world wide.  Nice job guys.  Keep up the good work.

Matt making friends with Lord Auckland

The conference was great, Toni Lyn's symposium and her talk went well, especially if the dozen people that had standing room only in a much too hot and thus a little stinky presentation room were any indication.  The opening night there was a Maori (the indigenous people of New Zealand) drumming session and mid-week we took a dinner ferry out into the Western Pacific ocean.  The closing night party had a Maori band and dancers (mostly old school American covers).  Toni Lyn also got to see a bunch of old friends from Berkeley and even Stony Brook which was great.

For our last two days in NZ, we followed up on a lead for some good food and wine.  The family of Berkeley friends (thanks Greg and Ali) runs a winery and restaurant called Casito Miro (www.mirovineyard.co.nz) on Waiheke Island, a ferry trip away from Auckland.  After spending the morning walking along the beach, we hiked about 10 minutes up a hill, turned onto a narrow gravel road lined with flowering trees and grape vines and were greeted for a late lunch in a greenhouse-like building overlooking the vineyards.  After meeting the family we ordered a bottle of wine and enough food to feed half a dozen people.  We miss good fresh food SOOO much in Congo. Everything tasted like it was just picked that morning and prepared by your grandmother (if she is/was an amazing chef of course).  Halfway through the meal the owner came by and gave us two half bottles of the red wines they were bottling that day (we just happened to be there for one of the few days in the year that they are bottling).  Long story short, if you are in NZ, Waiheke is worth the trip and if you are there, you MUST eat and drink wine at Casita Miro.  I'm not sure if you can find their wine in stores, but if you can, you won't be disappointed.

Very excited about food and wine at Casita Miro

It was actually a bit hard to come back to DRC after our wonderful escape to the South Pacific but we ended up stuck in a hotel room in Johannesburg for 4 days waiting for the election situation to cool off in Kinshasa so in the end we were happy to be back "home".