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http://www.suntimes.co.za/suntimesarchive/1998/09/06/insight/in05.htm
Inside Africa
THE prospect of spending a Saturday night out in Goma, headquarters of the rebel
faction in the Democratic Republic of Congo, is about as appealing as an evening
on the streets in the government's stronghold of Kinshasa, about 1 300km to the
west.
Both cities are fraught with anxiety and the expectation of anarchy that accompanies war. Foreigners are easy prey for jittery soldiers who have been known to abduct, beat and rob journalists, in particular, for either trying to do their jobs or for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
So it was with some trepidation that I joined a group of hacks and headed into the night in Goma, a city that has been caught up in so many wars and seen so much suffering that the thought of fun, or even night life, seemed unreal.
But in Goma, as in Kinshasa, the human spirit has ensured that there are still sanctuaries of sanity.
Huddled on the edge of this wary eastern Congo city is a little bit of paradise. It's called Le Chalet and it's where the local yuppies hang out.
It's also a place where the war ceases to exist. From the minute you leave a rutted track and walk along the trimmed lawn towards this bamboo-roofed restaurant and pub, you are filled with a sense of normality and, with it, relief.
Le Chalet overlooks a sprawling deep-green lawn which slopes about 50m down to the beautiful Lake Kivu.
The area is surrounded by lush sub-tropical vegetation. Inside Le Chalet, it's warm and comfortable.
It's as if you have been cocooned from the horrors of the Congo war. The clientèle is distinctly up-market, something that seems out of place in this poverty-stricken region.
Le Chalet also boasts what is apparently the only pool table in Goma. There is no charge for a game and little jostling to get onto the table.
This is a place where young locals come to relax and to forget about the possibility that their homes could come under mortar fire the next day.
It's a place where business men mix with commercial pilots and play pool with foreign journalists (who have become as much a part of this ravaged city as have successive rebellions).
There is no talk of the latest revolt. The focus is on the pool game. Everyone manages to communicate with everyone else in a buzz of French, Lingala, English and Swahili. There is a sense of solidarity, as if we are all just relieved to interact as humans and not as participants in, or observers of, an explosive conflict. The most common expression heard in Le Chalet is "no problem".
Out on the balcony, there is a menu which offers a variety of pizzas, at about $10 each (about R60), or local dishes such as tilapia, a fleshy fish from the nearby lake.
A variety of beer is served, averaging between $2 and $4 a bottle.
In between the banter around the pool table, the music of '80s pop band Imagination wafts through to the balcony. The lyrics, It's Just an Illusion, ring very true.
And later, even Bob Marley's So Much Trouble in the World becomes just another tune.
The only reminder of the central African strife is a uniformed soldier, who strolls in to buy a packet of cigarettes.
Around midnight, riding pillion on a local "taximan's" motorbike, I'm off to Coco Jambo, which I've been told is the "happening" nightspot in town.
Motorcycles have become a popular means of public transport in Goma.
You can buzz from one end of town to the other and back (a total distance of about 7 km) for about $5 if you're a foreigner and about one-tenth of that if you're a local.
Whizzing past small spaza shops in the poorer areas and the high walls made from volcanic rock which surround former colonial homes, you suddenly feel part of Goma, of the country beyond its outskirts, and of the civil war. Everywhere there are leering soldiers and potholed roads.
Inside Coco Jambo, locals sway to the sounds of Lingala music, interspersed with more popular '80s dance hits.
"You're very welcome," the barman, John, shouts above the music before asking for $5 for a local beer that usually goes for $2.
Journalists have become an indispensable source of foreign currency.
After we convince him we are South African, he apologises and drops the price. John tells us that he has dreams of living in South Africa one day. Like almost everyone else here, he says he is "very, very tired" of war.
Again the conversation is friendly as locals, keen to find out about life outside this bleak region, talk about how much they want to lead a normal life. But it's Saturday and there's little time for concentrating on such serious matters.
"Go and dance," urges John, "there are plenty of nice girls here tonight."
Later, holed up in our small hotel room, a South African journalist remarks:
"Tonight, I felt like I was back home."
Craig Doonan is the Sunday Times' KwaZulu-Natal bureau chief
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