Ah Spent Three Days in DR Congo Tryin tae See a Volcano—an a Day an a Hauf o It Wis Traffic

Kinshasa's ring road at fower-thirty in the efternuin becomes a caur paurks withoot an end. Ma yellae taxi wis wedged atween larries, motorbikes, an pedestrians balancin hail bunches o bananas on thair heids, gaun absolutely naewhaur. The driver, a young lad cried Pascal, rowed doon his windae an got intae an argument in Congolese French wi a phone-caird vendor — no aboot signal reception, but acause the vendor thocht the Leopards could win at least ae match in the neist Africa Cup, an Pascal said: 'Gin the Leopards score a single goal Ah'll gie ye this taxi.' Fitbaw is Kinshasa's maist effective icebreaker. Traffic is the saicont.

The Democratic Republic o the Congo sits in the hert o Africae, capital Kinshasa, population ower 100 million. Its laund aurie is fower times that o Fraunce, yet it haes fewer than 3,000 kilometre o pavit roads. Whan Ah telt friends back hame Ah wis gaun tae DR Congo tae see a volcano, maist fowk's reaction wis: 'Ye ken Mount Nyiragongo last eruptit in 2021, eh?' Anither common reaction wis: 'Ye ken hou bad Kinshasa traffic is, eh?' Ah wis aboot tae find oot.

Kinshasa is a ceity ye hear afore ye see. At five-thirty in the mornin, the neebour's radio begins tae leak Congolese rumba — that lazy, irresistible groove that maks Wast African hiplife an Cuban salsa baith feel insufficient. By nine, the mercat's shoutin haes become a conductorless symphony — fish sellers, uised phone-charger vendors, saicont-haun suits, leevin chickens, ilka vyce fichtin for survival on the same frequency. At noon, the Congo River ferry blasts its horn — a note sae laich it vibrates in yer kist. At sax in the evenin, the kirk choir begins rehearsal — Congo is the warld's mucklest Francophone kintra an ane o its maist fervently Catholic. At nine at nicht, the fitbaw commentary explodes frae the open windae o a bar — Chancel Mbemba's name rowin lik an African drum pattern. Ah spent twa days in this ceity an nivver wance felt alane.

The road east frae Kinshasa is a patience endurance test. Three hunner kilometre can tak ocht frae echt tae twal oors — dependin on the wather, the frequency o gaits crossin the heichwey, an the probability o an ile tanker brekkin doon. Ah feenished a hail bag o roadside grilled plantains — crispy ootside, saft inside, spreinklit wi coarse saut an chili — an the road still wisnae clear. But Ah gradually noticed somethin: at ivry clachan entrance, thaur wis a patch o beatin yird, an on ivry patch o yird, barefit bairns playin fitbaw — some wi plastic bottles, some wi a bundle o cloots tied intae a baw, whiles a fadit real fitbaw whase plastic skin haed worn throu tae shaw the threids inside. Ivry patch o yird wis a miniature Warld Cup. The 'staunds' wur flipped plastic buckets. The referee wis a passin gait.

Virunga Naitional Pairk lies north o Goma. Enterin the pairk needs an airmit ranger escort — no acause o wildlife attacks, but acause this region haes been repeatedly criss-crossed by airmit conflict ower the decades. The ranger wis a young man in his early thirties cried Emmanuel. On his richt shin, an auld scar — '2008, a chimpanzee. No an attack — it juist jumpit doon frae a tree an trippit ower me.' He telt this joke withoot smilin. He'd been on ower 120 anti-poachin patrols, an he said that comparit tae the volcano, poachers wur faur less predictable.

The clim up Mount Nyiragongo begins at 1,989 metre abuin sea level, in tropical rainforest. The first twa oors: air thick wi moisture, legs cuitit in glaur. The vegetation shifts frae braidleaf tae fern tae scaittert moss, an syne — syne aw the green disappears. Abuin three thoosan metre, the grun becomes black volcanic rock. Ivry step crunches, lik walkin on burnt biscuits. The temperatur draps frae thirty degrees tae echt. The guide said: 'The noo ye unnerstaund why Ah telt ye tae bring an extra jacket.'

Hauf past seiven in the evenin. Ah stuid on the crater rim. The warld's maist active lava loch churned twa hunner metre ablow — no rid, but some unnameable shade o orange, the internal organs o the sun, the bluid o the Yird exposed directly tae the air. Nae guardrails. Nae airtifeecial licht o ony kind. The ainly illumination wis that rowin loch o moltent rock. The wind pulled upwart frae the crater fluir, cairryin sulphur an a laich-frequency rummle — no really a soond, mair a vibration ye feel in yer banes. Ma climmin companion — a student frae Goma — lay flat on a rock at the edge an said naethin for ten fu meenits. Syne he said somethin in Lingala. Emmanuel translatit: 'He says — as a bairn Ah thocht volcanoes wur things frae mythology, drawn in textbeuks. The noo Ah'm no shair ocht.'

On the wey doon, ma legs wur shakkin. No frae fear — creatine an fatigue. The scaittert lichts o Goma glowed ablow, the Congo River a dark ribbon in the nicht. A wee loun pyntit at ma hikin beuts an said in French: 'Tu es allé au volcan?' Ah noddit. He gied me a thoombs-up an ran aff. Goma's fitbaw pitches are pavit wi volcanic ess — the baw bounces at a slichtly wrang hicht, the spin defies staundard physics. But the bairns here hae lang syne adaptit. In DR Congo, ye're aye adjustin tae a bounce that disnae follae the expectit laws — whither it's fitbaw, traffic, or a volcano wi a temper.

Back in Kinshasa, a mornin rain wis faain. Pascal's taxi wis stuck on the same ring road — or at least ane that leukit identical. The radio wis playin rumba; he wis hummin alang, drummin his fingers on the steerin wheel. Ah askit him gin he still thocht the Leopards could score. He smiled: 'In Congo, optimism is a survival skill — as important as kenin hou tae bargain.' Ootside the windae, Ah saw a young man wi a fitbaw at his feet, rainwatter sploshin aff its surface, catchin the licht. Pascal's radio switchit frae rumba tae match commentary — Chancel Mbemba haed scored again. He rowed doon his windae an shoutit at a complete stranger on the pavement. Naebody unnerstuid whit he said. But ilkane smiled.