|View back over Matadi from road to Boma|
We stop on a cliff on the north bank of the Congo so that I can recover and take some photos back over Matadi. A group of young men approach: 'Good morning, Mr. white man; hey boss, chief, you got something to drink?' All mimed with gathered fingers touching the mouth in physical demonstration of the French word for tip – pourboire (to drink).
|Road to Boma|
There's a massive 700-year-old baobab tree inside which he is said to have rested his imperial bones, a very impressive, huge multi-trunk affair that is hollow inside, providing quite a large room, with an opening cut for entry. There's a natural opening at the top where the branches start.
|Boma's old metal cathedral and modern monstrosity|
|Inside Stanley's baobab|
We resume our three-hour grand prix back towards Matadi, past little towns, some of mud brick and straw, others of proper bricks and corrugated iron, past kids holding up dead rabbits and parts of larger
|Map of Stanley's voyage down the Con|
The late African afternoon is lingering and golden, the sun blood red in the haze. By the time we reach the north bank, the bridge south is already lit, the hills are twinkling with Matadi's extensive spread, and we're home. But not before a smilingly friendly 'Good evening, Papa' from one of the soldiers guarding the bridge, 'you got some coffee for me to drink?' Shit, no, never touch the stuff! And once more Didier's zipping comes to the rescue.
|View over a Boma neighbourhood from the cathedral|
|Bulk carrier in Congo with Angola in background|
|Boma statue recalls slavery under Belgian rule|
|A Boma street|