It dawned on me to try the post office after nearly four years in Kinshasa. Like, the Congolese, I distrust any public infrastructures or institutions. But on the other hand, I don’t depend on most of them so I might as well experience the daily struggle.

After hearing that the World Bank threw over 11 million dollars on the postal service, I thought a post card to my parents in Montreal was no great investment to lose. Plus, the Central Post Office is only a 5 minutes walk from my flat.

Right outside the building, you find an assortment of postcards for two dollars and I had my pick on a newer card, since most date back from the 80s.

Inside, there was no line so I was promptly served by Noëlla, a clerk, pictured here with the postcard. I think she was as surprised as I was to be there. Like most transactions in Congo, it was fairly long but it was quite friendly. She asked me not to sign my postcard or else I would have to pay the cost of a full letter. Final payment: two dollars. Well, 75 cents for the lion stamps, and a tip for her.

I was then informed that it should arrive in two weeks.

One last tip, don’t take photos there or you’ll have five cops and entire crowd of curious people on your tail. Although I had to physically resist one of them from taking my camera away, I ended up meeting lots of people by sending a thought abroad. Some friendlier than others.