Conversations from Guinea - Bissau

Paul  Runge writes of his visit in 1989 to a country with which South Africa had no diplomatic relations

    

                           

 "Welcome to Guinea-Bissau, Is this your first time here?"  The short chap with a beaming face and a crooked tie is called Vasco. He tells us that he works for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and that he will be chaperoning us around the country for the next three days. He shows us to the VIP lounge that is filled with large wooden West African statuettes and masks. Some of the bulbs are out and the room is semi-dark.

Our arriving flight was delayed, it is already quite late and we are dying to get to bed - wherever that may be.

"You will be staying at the new hotel. It's big and comfortable. It's the first modern hotel in Bissau. It shows that our capital is becoming more important. The Portuguese did not leave us much you know".

The hotel is indeed new and modern. After settling in, someone in our party has the bright idea of going for a swim in the hotel pool. Outside, it is hot and humid and there is constant buzz of millions of night insects. All the lights at the pools ide have been switched off and there is a sign in English and Portuguese telling us that the pool closes at 18hOO. But the light from a bright, full moon washes the whole area and we plunge into the shimmering, lukewarm water. Lying, floating on our backs, someone starts telling unseemly jokes and the laughing seriously disturbs the sedate atmosphere of this euro-centric island in the heart of lesser-known West Africa.

The next morning we have a meeting in town with officials of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. We drive past old Portuguese-style buildings whose dilapidated exteriors are partly concealed by overhanging creepers. "Bissau used to be a small town but it has got busier since independence. There are many more Senegalese traders in the streets and more ships at the harbour..You will see tomorrow when you go to the islands with the Minister".

We proceed down a corridor made narrow by piles of old files and papers heaped unevenly against both walls. Even from the dusty waiting room I can see through the glass partition into a storage room filled with more precariously piled documents.

"Not much bloody computerisation going on here," mumbles one of our party. "All these ex-Portuguese places, Angola, Mozambique, Sao Tome, Cape Verde and here-they all love forms and formalities".

The Ministry officials are only a little late. We drink some coffee and warm to one another. "Guinea-Bissau needs foreign investment. We have some old factories that need rehabilitation. There is one here that used to produce welding materials. We will show you".

After the meeting, we take a little walk around the town. Most of the local people on the street are clearly very poor and the better garb of the expats and aid workers makes them stick out in the crowd.

Around a corner, we come across a larger, more decorated terrace cafe. At one end sitting alone is a youngish, blonde girl wearing a United Nations sleeveless jacket. "I'll bet she could tell us a few stories about this place". But there is no time to talk to her because Vasco wants to take us into the interior to a scenic place with waterfalls near the Guinean border.

We find ourselves travelling in 4-by-4's along a dirt road that meanders through swamps and thick vegetation. "During the war against the Portuguese, this was by far the worst place. Conditions were terrible. The real enemy for the Europeans was malaria and all the other bad jungle things. No young boy from Lisbon wanted to be posted here". 

The trucks stop at a clearing and Vasco pushes easily against an old gate. Soon we are lying on our backs on rocks next to a series of gushing waterfalls. "We would like to turn this into a proper

national park. We are talking to the Guineans about it. But we will need money .. ."

Supper that night is at an old hotel that used to be Portuguese army barracks. The former mess is now a restaurant. The menu is limited and when the plates arrive, there is the usual Portuguese tradition of mixing starches-potatoes and rice together.

Our last day is a Sunday and the honourable Minister of Economic Affairs takes us to the port for a trip to the archipelago of islands that lie scattered just off Bissau. Old warehouses, old cranes, old boats, but the Minister walks straight to a snazzy vessel owned and skippered by a talkative Italian who tells us that this is the best country he has ever worked in. "There are quite a few Italian companies that want to develop resorts on these beautiful islands - some have started already". He bangs his suntanned chest and laughs, “We spotted the opportunity long before most of the other Europeans”.

The sea is blue and calm, like a huge swimming pool. We pass deserted islands with glaringly white sands and lone palms.

Suddenly the boat slows down and stops. I turn to see the honourable minister pulling off his shirt and longs. He is wearing a baggy costume underneath. He jumps up onto the rail and dives off shouting for us to follow as he heads for the shore of a pre-selected island. We have been forewarned, have the necessary attire and do the same while a rubber dinghy containing all the barbecue equipment is lowered over the side.

A few swims followed by a few beers and steaks later, we are lying on the fine, white sands staring up at the cluster of palms that provide comforting shade against the heat. One of my colleagues lying next to me belches softly and mutters, "This reminds me of the Mainstay Cane Spirit ad - you know the one with the turquoise water, the lonely island with the one palm tree and the girls". He sits up suddenly. "Hey where are the girls?"

That night in my room, I am nursing a fairly serious case of sun-burn. But I'm comforted by the realisation that I have just completed a quick and privileged crop-in to paradise. But then again, I

recall the words from one of my travel books: "Don't fall into the trap of believing it is all wonderful. While travelling here, one should remember that the country is still very poor and that for most people, life is an ongoing struggle to make ends meet".