Congo : Photos

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I really think so.

Hoody Fever!

Since 1994, the Congo has been the victim of a civil war that is considered as one of the bloodiest conflicts since World War II claiming the lives of 4 million people and displacing millions more.
Action Against Hunger has been active in the Congo since 1996 and has succeeded in reducing starvation, assisting more than 400,000 people with nutrition, water and sanitation, and food security programs.
www.actionagainsthunger.org

We almost ended up staying in Dungu a good deal longer than we wanted. The UN helicopter that flies in twice a week was cancelled. When we got to the airstrip there were no flights for a week. Jean Charles my OCHA colleague managed to rustle up a lift with MAF.
When the plane arrived they had to refuel. They wheeled out a drum, there was a short discussion as to what type of fuel it was, which the pilot resolved by sticking his finger in and tasting it. I did not know whether or not I should be reassured by this.

We almost ended up staying in Dungu a good deal longer than we wanted. The UN helicopter that flies in twice a week was cancelled. When we got to the airstrip there were no flights for a week. Jean Charles my OCHA colleague managed to rustle up a lift with MAF.
When the plane arrived they had to refuel. They wheeled out a drum, there was a short discussion as to what type of fuel it was, which the pilot resolved by sticking his finger in and tasting it. I did not know whether or not I should be reassured by this.

We almost ended up staying in Dungu a good deal longer than we wanted. The UN helicopter that flies in twice a week was cancelled. When we got to the airstrip there were no flights for a week. Jean Charles my OCHA colleague managed to rustle up a lift with MAF.
When the plane arrived they had to refuel. They wheeled out a drum, there was a short discussion as to what type of fuel it was, which the pilot resolved by sticking his finger in and tasting it. I did not know whether or not I should be reassured by this.

We almost ended up staying in Dungu a good deal longer than we wanted. The UN helicopter that flies in twice a week was cancelled. When we got to the airstrip there were no flights for a week. Jean Charles my OCHA colleague managed to rustle up a lift with MAF.
When the plane arrived they had to refuel. They wheeled out a drum, there was a short discussion as to what type of fuel it was, which the pilot resolved by sticking his finger in and tasting it. I did not know whether or not I should be reassured by this.

LouisJo, a tailor, had his stall set up on the path a Greek orthodox church and the OCHA office. There are no more Greeks in Dungu. He tells me that is also a musician, any kind of music jazz, slow, rumba...

The education subdivision is responsible for a territory with a population of 150.000 this is their statistics department.

Dungu in the far north of the Democratic Republic of Congo borders on the Central African Republic and the south of Sudan. There are no government troops there since the local people asked them to leave two years ago. The infamous Lord’s Resistance Army is in the area, they crisscross the notional borders in the area attacking villages, kidnapping looting and killing. I was there to see what UNICEF needs to do to help. We stayed in sleepy Dungu meeting with local authorities and peace keepers.
In the early mornings I managed to make some time to visit. Dungu is pretty much cut off from the rest of the Congo, in the dry season it takes three to five weeks by truck from the nearest town, longer in the wet season. A small plane or two run by NGOs or missionaries come by in the week.
The town itself is collection of huts under the mango trees strung out along a river. As in many such areas mud huts rub up against crumbling colonial brickwork interspersed with electricity pylons that have long since lost their cables.
I was not expecting the castle. A neo-medieval brick pile looming out of the mist over the river eaten up by the jungle. An old man collecting wood in the overgrown courtyard said that it had been the residence of the colonial Administrator and his first secretary. I waded through the dew wet grasses and went in, or rather I hesitated wondering what was in this hulk and then went in; It was a Walt Disney sleeping beauty’s castle, stripped bare, empty except for birds and bats.

Dungu in the far north of the Democratic Republic of Congo borders on the Central African Republic and the south of Sudan. There are no government troops there since the local people asked them to leave two years ago. The infamous Lord’s Resistance Army is in the area, they crisscross the notional borders in the area attacking villages, kidnapping looting and killing. I was there to see what UNICEF needs to do to help. We stayed in sleepy Dungu meeting with local authorities and peace keepers.
In the early mornings I managed to make some time to visit. Dungu is pretty much cut off from the rest of the Congo, in the dry season it takes three to five weeks by truck from the nearest town, longer in the wet season. A small plane or two run by NGOs or missionaries come by in the week.
The town itself is collection of huts under the mango trees strung out along a river. As in many such areas mud huts rub up against crumbling colonial brickwork interspersed with electricity pylons that have long since lost their cables.
I was not expecting the castle. A neo-medieval brick pile looming out of the mist over the river eaten up by the jungle. An old man collecting wood in the overgrown courtyard said that it had been the residence of the colonial Administrator and his first secretary. I waded through the dew wet grasses and went in, or rather I hesitated wondering what was in this hulk and then went in; It was a Walt Disney sleeping beauty’s castle, stripped bare, empty except for birds and bats.

Dungu in the far north of the Democratic Republic of Congo borders on the Central African Republic and the south of Sudan. There are no government troops there since the local people asked them to leave two years ago. The infamous Lord’s Resistance Army is in the area, they crisscross the notional borders in the area attacking villages, kidnapping looting and killing. I was there to see what UNICEF needs to do to help. We stayed in sleepy Dungu meeting with local authorities and peace keepers.
In the early mornings I managed to make some time to visit. Dungu is pretty much cut off from the rest of the Congo, in the dry season it takes three to five weeks by truck from the nearest town, longer in the wet season. A small plane or two run by NGOs or missionaries come by in the week.
The town itself is collection of huts under the mango trees strung out along a river. As in many such areas mud huts rub up against crumbling colonial brickwork interspersed with electricity pylons that have long since lost their cables.
I was not expecting the castle. A neo-medieval brick pile looming out of the mist over the river eaten up by the jungle. An old man collecting wood in the overgrown courtyard said that it had been the residence of the colonial Administrator and his first secretary. I waded through the dew wet grasses and went in, or rather I hesitated wondering what was in this hulk and then went in; It was a Walt Disney sleeping beauty’s castle, stripped bare, empty except for birds and bats.

Dungu in the far north of the Democratic Republic of Congo borders on the Central African Republic and the south of Sudan. There are no government troops there since the local people asked them to leave two years ago. The infamous Lord’s Resistance Army is in the area, they crisscross the notional borders in the area attacking villages, kidnapping looting and killing. I was there to see what UNICEF needs to do to help. We stayed in sleepy Dungu meeting with local authorities and peace keepers.
In the early mornings I managed to make some time to visit. Dungu is pretty much cut off from the rest of the Congo, in the dry season it takes three to five weeks by truck from the nearest town, longer in the wet season. A small plane or two run by NGOs or missionaries come by in the week.
The town itself is collection of huts under the mango trees strung out along a river. As in many such areas mud huts rub up against crumbling colonial brickwork interspersed with electricity pylons that have long since lost their cables.
I was not expecting the castle. A neo-medieval brick pile looming out of the mist over the river eaten up by the jungle. An old man collecting wood in the overgrown courtyard said that it had been the residence of the colonial Administrator and his first secretary. I waded through the dew wet grasses and went in, or rather I hesitated wondering what was in this hulk and then went in; It was a Walt Disney sleeping beauty’s castle, stripped bare, empty except for birds and bats.

Dungu in the far north of the Democratic Republic of Congo borders on the Central African Republic and the south of Sudan. There are no government troops there since the local people asked them to leave two years ago. The infamous Lord’s Resistance Army is in the area, they crisscross the notional borders in the area attacking villages, kidnapping looting and killing. I was there to see what UNICEF needs to do to help. We stayed in sleepy Dungu meeting with local authorities and peace keepers.
In the early mornings I managed to make some time to visit. Dungu is pretty much cut off from the rest of the Congo, in the dry season it takes three to five weeks by truck from the nearest town, longer in the wet season. A small plane or two run by NGOs or missionaries come by in the week.
The town itself is collection of huts under the mango trees strung out along a river. As in many such areas mud huts rub up against crumbling colonial brickwork interspersed with electricity pylons that have long since lost their cables.
I was not expecting the castle. A neo-medieval brick pile looming out of the mist over the river eaten up by the jungle. An old man collecting wood in the overgrown courtyard said that it had been the residence of the colonial Administrator and his first secretary. I waded through the dew wet grasses and went in, or rather I hesitated wondering what was in this hulk and then went in; It was a Walt Disney sleeping beauty’s castle, stripped bare, empty except for birds and bats.

Dungu in the far north of the Democratic Republic of Congo borders on the Central African Republic and the south of Sudan. There are no government troops there since the local people asked them to leave two years ago. The infamous Lords Resistance Army is in the area, they crisscross the notional borders in the area attacking villages, kidnapping looting and killing. I was there to see what UNICEF needs to do to help. We stayed in sleepy Dungu meeting with local authorities and peace keepers.
In the early mornings I managed to make some time to visit. Dungu is pretty much cut off from the rest of the Congo, in the dry season it takes three to five weeks by truck from the nearest town, longer in the wet season. A small plane or two run by NGOs or missionaries come by in the week.
The town itself is collection of huts under the mango trees strung out along a river. As in many such areas mud huts rub up against crumbling colonial brickwork interspersed with electricity pylons that have long since lost their cables.
I was not expecting the castle. A neo-medieval brick pile looming out of the mist over the river eaten up by the jungle. An old man collecting wood in the overgrown courtyard said that it had been the residence of the colonial Administrator and his first secretary. I waded through the dew wet grasses and went in, or rather I hesitated wondering what was in this hulk and then went in; It was a Walt Disney sleeping beautys castle, stripped bare, empty except for birds and bats.

Dungu in the far north of the Democratic Republic of Congo borders on the Central African Republic and the south of Sudan. There are no government troops there since the local people asked them to leave two years ago. The infamous Lord’s Resistance Army is in the area, they crisscross the notional borders in the area attacking villages, kidnapping looting and killing. I was there to see what UNICEF needs to do to help. We stayed in sleepy Dungu meeting with local authorities and peace keepers.
In the early mornings I managed to make some time to visit. Dungu is pretty much cut off from the rest of the Congo, in the dry season it takes three to five weeks by truck from the nearest town, longer in the wet season. A small plane or two run by NGOs or missionaries come by in the week.
The town itself is collection of huts under the mango trees strung out along a river. As in many such areas mud huts rub up against crumbling colonial brickwork interspersed with electricity pylons that have long since lost their cables.
I was not expecting the castle. A neo-medieval brick pile looming out of the mist over the river eaten up by the jungle. An old man collecting wood in the overgrown courtyard said that it had been the residence of the colonial Administrator and his first secretary. I waded through the dew wet grasses and went in, or rather I hesitated wondering what was in this hulk and then went in; It was a Walt Disney sleeping beauty’s castle, stripped bare, empty except for birds and bats.

Dungu in the far north of the Democratic Republic of Congo borders on the Central African Republic and the south of Sudan. There are no government troops there since the local people asked them to leave two years ago. The infamous Lord’s Resistance Army is in the area, they crisscross the notional borders in the area attacking villages, kidnapping looting and killing. I was there to see what UNICEF needs to do to help. We stayed in sleepy Dungu meeting with local authorities and peace keepers.
In the early mornings I managed to make some time to visit. Dungu is pretty much cut off from the rest of the Congo, in the dry season it takes three to five weeks by truck from the nearest town, longer in the wet season. A small plane or two run by NGOs or missionaries come by in the week.
The town itself is collection of huts under the mango trees strung out along a river. As in many such areas mud huts rub up against crumbling colonial brickwork interspersed with electricity pylons that have long since lost their cables.
I was not expecting the castle. A neo-medieval brick pile looming out of the mist over the river eaten up by the jungle. An old man collecting wood in the overgrown courtyard said that it had been the residence of the colonial Administrator and his first secretary. I waded through the dew wet grasses and went in, or rather I hesitated wondering what was in this hulk and then went in; It was a Walt Disney sleeping beauty’s castle, stripped bare, empty except for birds and bats.

Dungu in the far north of the Democratic Republic of Congo borders on the Central African Republic and the south of Sudan. There are no government troops there since the local people asked them to leave two years ago. The infamous Lord’s Resistance Army is in the area, they crisscross the notional borders in the area attacking villages, kidnapping looting and killing. I was there to see what UNICEF needs to do to help. We stayed in sleepy Dungu meeting with local authorities and peace keepers.
In the early mornings I managed to make some time to visit. Dungu is pretty much cut off from the rest of the Congo, in the dry season it takes three to five weeks by truck from the nearest town, longer in the wet season. A small plane or two run by NGOs or missionaries come by in the week.
The town itself is collection of huts under the mango trees strung out along a river. As in many such areas mud huts rub up against crumbling colonial brickwork interspersed with electricity pylons that have long since lost their cables.
I was not expecting the castle. A neo-medieval brick pile looming out of the mist over the river eaten up by the jungle. An old man collecting wood in the overgrown courtyard said that it had been the residence of the colonial Administrator and his first secretary. I waded through the dew wet grasses and went in, or rather I hesitated wondering what was in this hulk and then went in; It was a Walt Disney sleeping beauty’s castle, stripped bare, empty except for birds and bats.

Dungu in the far north of the Democratic Republic of Congo borders on the Central African Republic and the south of Sudan. There are no government troops there since the local people asked them to leave two years ago. The infamous Lord’s Resistance Army is in the area, they crisscross the notional borders in the area attacking villages, kidnapping looting and killing. I was there to see what UNICEF needs to do to help. We stayed in sleepy Dungu meeting with local authorities and peace keepers.
In the early mornings I managed to make some time to visit. Dungu is pretty much cut off from the rest of the Congo, in the dry season it takes three to five weeks by truck from the nearest town, longer in the wet season. A small plane or two run by NGOs or missionaries come by in the week.
The town itself is collection of huts under the mango trees strung out along a river. As in many such areas mud huts rub up against crumbling colonial brickwork interspersed with electricity pylons that have long since lost their cables.
I was not expecting the castle. A neo-medieval brick pile looming out of the mist over the river eaten up by the jungle. An old man collecting wood in the overgrown courtyard said that it had been the residence of the colonial Administrator and his first secretary. I waded through the dew wet grasses and went in, or rather I hesitated wondering what was in this hulk and then went in; It was a Walt Disney sleeping beauty’s castle, stripped bare, empty except for birds and bats.

Dungu in the far north of the Democratic Republic of Congo borders on the Central African Republic and the south of Sudan. There are no government troops there since the local people asked them to leave two years ago. The infamous Lord’s Resistance Army is in the area, they crisscross the notional borders in the area attacking villages, kidnapping looting and killing. I was there to see what UNICEF needs to do to help. We stayed in sleepy Dungu meeting with local authorities and peace keepers.
In the early mornings I managed to make some time to visit. Dungu is pretty much cut off from the rest of the Congo, in the dry season it takes three to five weeks by truck from the nearest town, longer in the wet season. A small plane or two run by NGOs or missionaries come by in the week.
The town itself is collection of huts under the mango trees strung out along a river. As in many such areas mud huts rub up against crumbling colonial brickwork interspersed with electricity pylons that have long since lost their cables.
I was not expecting the castle. A neo-medieval brick pile looming out of the mist over the river eaten up by the jungle. An old man collecting wood in the overgrown courtyard said that it had been the residence of the colonial Administrator and his first secretary. I waded through the dew wet grasses and went in, or rather I hesitated wondering what was in this hulk and then went in; It was a Walt Disney sleeping beauty’s castle, stripped bare, empty except for birds and bats.

Images automaticaly loaded from flickr with tags : (congo)