In Europe, a scooter is a kid's toy. In the Congo, it allows people
like Ahuma to earn a living. His ancient scooter is made of wood. Ahuma built it himself. It allows him to be a transporter. My scooter can carry up to 500 kilos. I can carry several loads. Manioc, cabbage, carrots, peanuts. Wait a minute. Your brakes don't work. You'll die for nothing. Risking his life on a daily basis
brings in the equivalent of €100 a month. That's as much as a teacher would earn. On the other hand,
his life hangs by a thread. I use this to brake,
and I've soldered the handlebars. Loaded down
with four 100 kilo sacks, the<i> chukudu</i>,
as they call it in the Congo, is hardly maneuverable. The secret is the ability
to balance the merchandise and have the muscle power
to push on through. You need to be strong.
Otherwise, you can't drive a<i> chukudu</i>. Ahuma delivers his cargo
20 kilometers down the road at the Goma market. At full throttle, he reaches speeds
of up to 30 kilometers an hour. There are an estimated
5,000 scooters in the region. In these parts, it's said that
a man who wants to get married needs a<i> chukudu</i>. After 3 hours of alternating downhill
and flat stretches, Ahuma reaches Goma. The large, bustling city of 400,000
is a commercial crossroads. Potatoes, corn, manioc,
and every sort of crop from Kivu, the breadbasket of Congo,
passes through Goma. At the Vatican transport company,
the staff is trying to perform miracles. Sylvain, give me the box of machetes. Twenty-four kilos. Anise, one of the drivers,
is wondering how he'll manage the 12 tons of freight,
when his truck can only carry 10. In the freight there are mattresses,
clothes, motorbikes. The company director
packs the merchandise into skips. His depot is full. As his trucks
seem to always be on the road, the rotations take far too long. You see all this stuff
that's crammed into here? It's because of the roads. The depot is saturated. When the roads used to be good it used to take four days
to reach Kisangani. Nowadays, it can take up to a month. Tanzania, Burundi, and Rwanda, all use Congo
as a transit for their goods. Thousands of tons of freight
travel along National Road 4 heading for Kisangani, where they're loaded onto boats
for the capital, Kinshasa. National Road 4 is a 1,200-kilometer-long
obstacle course. I pray to God every time
that I arrive in one piece. It's a sticky bog,
through which hundreds of drivers struggle every day
to advance just a few hundred meters. The road is a virtual
open-air prison. I've been here for four days. If we don't do something now, the people of Kisangani
will die of starvation. The Congo has been called
a giant with clay feet. It's four times
the size of Texas. Just 2% of its roads are asphalted. Yet, it's an immensely rich country. Gold, diamonds,
and precious metals could have made it
one of the wealthiest nations on Earth, were it not for the ravages
of 40 years of dictatorship and chaos. Anise's truck
starts to resemble a skyscraper. With a tower of cargo, the truck will pitch
and toss at every bump. Tighten the ropes. Its weight alone
could tip the truck right over. We have to fasten everything
because of the roads. If anything moves,
the whole lot will tumble. Then we'll never
make it to Kisangani. To carry the extra
two tons of weight, the mechanics try their best
to reinforce the truck. We're replacing the suspension
to deal with the awful road conditions. The strengthened suspension
provides Anise with some peace of mind. We're hopeful when we drive. We never know
when we'll get there. We'll fight our way
through and make it. Fighting is the best way to describe
how to tackle the roads in the Congo. The 1,200 kilometers
between Goma and Kisangani are an epic odyssey. As soon as you exit Goma,
the road turns to track. Unexpectedly,
after 250 kilometers, there's a stretch of
60 kilometers of proper surface. All too quickly left behind. That's the end
of the Itsha road. It just gets worse from here. There have been
a lot of accidents on this road. I pray to God to give me
the strength to drive the truck, and to protect us
against all the perils of the road. The truck is struggling
under its exceptional load. It's a good thing
that I changed the suspension. Anise is pleasantly surprised. Apart from one large hole,
the road has been quite good. He's making
a steady 20 kilometers an hour. By day four,
he's closing in on Mambasa, a town that marks
the halfway point of his journey. I should reach Mambasa
by 8:00 p.m. at the latest unless the truck breaks down. The next morning,
his truck is acting up. I have to stop.
There's something wrong in the back. I'll check,
but I think I've broken down. It's the chassis that's split. Two extra tons
have taken their toll on the truck. Luckily he is not transporting
perishable food. Help would only
show up ten days later. Anise is discouraged. Yet, he doesn't realize the breakdown
has actually saved him from disaster. The road is about to
claim another victim. Erick, aged 43,
is an experienced driver. Let's go. The road network
began to get worse at the same time that Congo was granted independence
from Belgium in the early 1960s. Erick remembers the days
when National Road 4 was trouble-free. Problems like this rarely arose
when the road network was good. When the road was in good condition,
the going was good. Since it's impossible to know
how long a journey might last, the drivers are paid per trip
by the transport companies. Erick earns €200
for each return journey. Whatever I earn,
it's to feed my family and to send them to school. So it's difficult for me. He can easily double his salary
by taking passengers on board. He has 20 for this trip,
and all of them paid the equivalent of $10 to get to Kisangani. It may be uncomfortable,
but it's the cheapest and best way according to the travelers. You can go by a minibus,
but it's more expensive. I prefer trucks to minibuses because trucks can deal
with any kind of situation. A truck is more powerful. It can force its way
through the worst of the mud. The only alternative
to National Road 4 is to fly, but the tickets cost 20 times as much. It's a fortune, as 70% of the population
survives on less than €1 a day. God's will is always done. It must be his decision
to make me poor. There are about
30 tollbooths like this along the way. At each one, the fee is €4. The money is meant to be used
to maintain the road, but it usually ends up
in the pockets of the bureaucrats. Kilometer 380 is a perfect example
of this kind of racket. The road here
is a little more than a swamp. Eventually, Erick has to ask
his passengers to get off. It's too dangerous
to stay on board, as the potholes cause the truck
to shake violently the whole time. We have to stop here to try
and fix the hole that's in front of us. The bus is still there. The minibus has been stuck
for about 5 hours. Come on, dig. This is where
it starts to happen. This is where
the small holes are. There are some very old holes
along the 300-kilometer stretch. There's a truck ahead
that's got stuck inside a hole. You can hardly see it anymore. It's the mother of all holes, and these are
the grandchildren, the newborn. No one wants
to spend the night out here. All the men,
Erick included, lend a hand. You're not pushing hard enough. We'll never get through that, guys. There's no other help here,
so we need to help ourselves. Article 15 is literally about
how best to make do and survive. That's no joke. In the 60s,
the province of South Kasai really did introduce
an Article 15 into its constitution. Making do as best as you can. It's what most Congolese
have to do every day, and helping your neighbor is part of it. I'll get through with God's help. It's Erick's turn to get stuck in. Without helping each other, I don't think that there's any way
we'd be able to make it on this road. In any case, this is the road from hell. Erick picks up his passengers again, but getting back
onto the roof requires agility. Kivu province has been ravaged by war
for more than 20 years. Rebels have been trying to get hold
of its natural resources, such as gold. Some locals have taken advantage
of the chaos to attack travellers. There are a lot of bandits
here who stop the vehicles then take the drivers
or passengers hostage and demand ransom for their freedom. Are you not scared? Of course, we're scared, but then,
you don't eat, and if you don't eat, then you become a bandit too. If you want to survive National Road 4, the unwritten rule
is don't drive at night. Erick has little choice
but to break that rule as there's no village in sight. At around midnight,
he can finally switch off the engine. What's happening, Erick? Well, the road up ahead is dangerous. So I'm going to take a break here,
where there are some houses. The nightmare begins. In such villages in the bush, there's no water or electricity,
let alone hotels. So the passengers improvise a camp. A woodfire and some blankets
will see them through the night. We're fine because
we're used to this sort of thing. It's not the first time. They share what food they have. We eat just once a day. I'm not hungry tonight. It doesn't matter
whether you eat or not. We're fine out here. Christiane is an engineer by training, but after being out of work,
he's turned his hand to the lumber trade between the Congo and Uganda. In any event, we salesmen
are at the mercy of our own fate. There's nothing we can do about it. I quit university
to make a few deals out here, but we can't because of the road. The road is our enemy. Yes, that's right. A good night's sleep
might come in handy, as a sea of mud
is waiting for them tomorrow. Eight hundred kilometers away, Rubaya, Masisi
wakes up amid an infernal racket. Just 12 months earlier,
this town was a small village. Nowadays, thousands of Congolese
throng its streets. There's plenty of work here. Providence is what's hidden
inside these bags filled with Earth. They're from the hills
that overlook the town. Thousands of men
are working deep underground, extracting coltan. It's a precious mineral
used in all aspects of electronics, from computers
and mobile phones to satellites. Praise be to God Almighty
for having protected me. I slept well and woke up in peace. It's now time to go to work. Amani used to be a teacher, but dreams of riches
made him trade in his books for a pickaxe. Amani doesn't work on the surface. He's a miner.
A<i> crezeur</i>, as they are called here. The others are porters. About a dozen of them
fill the bags with coltan. The gallery is about
15 meters underground. The 40 degree heat is unbearable. Amani and his colleague
work in 15-minute relays. I'm digging up a mixture
of coltan and manganese. I've been working here
for about three years to earn money
for my family back in Goma. I have a wife
and five children at home. Some of the porters are children. Don't you go to school? To afford school, I need to work. I'll work this year
and go to school next year. What class are you in? I'm in year five. The mine belongs to a company
that pays them on what they produce. How much do you earn? Well, it depends.
If you dig up a lot of the minerals, you make a lot of money. If you produce little,
then you earn nothing. He works 10 hours a day
on average and makes €140 a month. A meager salary,
considering the risks involved. The rock easily crumbles. Do you see this block? When a good chunk breaks off,
it could bury people alive. Just a few minutes later, a small landslide. In May 2013,
the mountain buried 47 workers. The dust makes me
sneeze the whole time. The porters take
the sacks of coltan to the river, four times a day, to sift it. A one and a half hour long descent
with a load of 50 kilos. Most of those doing the sifting are kids. Some are as young as eight years old. Mr. Crispan is in charge
of this operation. Look, there are two minerals. The black one is coltan,
and the yellow one is manganese. Manganese is one of the most
common metals in the world. It's one of the components
used to make steel and aluminum. To get the mineral,
you need to filter it many times. The substance doesn't
run off with the water. It just drains off like the dirt. I don't know what
the coltan or manganese is used for. I know it's in
much demand in the West, but I don't know what they do with it. Mr. Crispan sells the coltan
for between €3 and €4 a kilo. Once refined, the metal will be worth 200 times more
on the international market. Amani sees his family
just once a year at Christmas. His entire life revolves around the mine and his dream of finding
the motherlode of coltan. For now, I plan to stay here
until I find a rich vein, that will make me enough money
to be able to go back home and see my children and wife in Goma. After a night under the stars, Erick, the driver,
is back behind the wheel. There's still 400 kilometers left
to reach Kisangani. The journey will be an epic. The ground is damp, and with every passing truck,
the ruts only become deeper. This is not good. They barely manage
10 kilometers an hour. A driver coming from
the opposite direction warns them of a bigger problem
further ahead. He said that it's simply awful. That there's no way through up ahead. Erick heads into the equatorial forest, which is incredibly humid,
even in the dry season. It's a trap for trucks. Erick stops as an enormous traffic jam
has brought everything to a halt. About 50 vehicles are stuck. Erick is worried. It's a whole row of vehicles. How long will it take? Up to a week. This 45-ton truck
is responsible for the jam. Its trailer has been stuck
in the mud for four days. They've tried everything
to extract it but without success. The driver is obliged
to offload some of his cargo. You have to lighten the load
when there's a hole. Another truck comes along after that,
and tries to tow you out of the hole. Drivers and passengers
help carry the dozens of bags of rice. They weigh 100 kilos each. Some frustrated drivers
try to force a way through. Get out of the way,
you're blocking all these vehicles. They can't get through. The lighter four-wheel-drive vehicle
manages to get by. The drivers of the other cars
try to follow suit. The driver of the truck
that's bogged down is furious. He'd been told back in Mambasa
that the road was good. The supervisors told me
that the road was tarmacked. I'd even heard that on the radio. How are we meant
to deliver our merchandise? What kind of government
is there here? We've been here for four days. We've been
sleeping here for four days. Everyone's stuck here. Hundreds of passengers
pass the time the best they can. Most of them are fatalistic. We're here, it's tough for us. The wife doesn't eat much. We sleep out here
like the monkeys in the forest. All this makes us wonder
about where this country is headed. What will happen to the Congo? We're hardly free here,
it's like being in a prison. The truck that's coming
from the opposite direction won't make things any easier. The jam is now total. As if by magic,
a digger suddenly shows up. This could be the beginning
of the end to the mess. It's from one of the many
Chinese companies that have moved into the Congo. The government has awarded them
construction and road-building contracts. The locals, however,
don't trust their quality of work. The Chinese kickback
a percentage to the government. They bribe the ministers and in return,
get the contract to rebuild the roads, but they do nothing about that. They are just here
to pillage our mineral resources. The crane, however,
proves to be remarkably effective. A car at full speed
almost hits a pedestrian. Freeing the second truck
is another matter. The mud is up to its chassis,
and it will need to be lifted. It's a delicate maneuver,
as the trailer could be ripped right off. Once its sorted things out,
the digger will try and fix the road. The workers have even called
in a bulldozer to pack down the earth. The Congolese find it suspicious. So much hardware
is uncommon out here. The first cars start up again
but are soon forced to halt. Soon, everyone understands
that they're going nowhere, as the road has been improved
specifically to allow a convoy through. There are more vehicles
behind the military vehicles. We have to wait,
and then try to get through ourselves. The military are headed
for the areas around Goma, in a major offensive against the rebels. The civilians look on
as the newly-refurbished surface is churned up
by dozens of trucks and tanks. The Chinese workforce has disappeared. Faced with a new disaster, tempers flare. Well, the people<i> are </i>angry. They're still stuck. If you stay there, you'll have problems. Move your truck. There's another free-for-all. Everyone wants to get on before conditions
make the road impassable again. How long have we
been here now? It's at least been seven hours. How far have you come? Since 7:00 this morning,
we've done less than three kilometers. Come on, move instead of talking. Erick and his passengers
will be stuck here for three days and nights. Their calvary doesn't end there. It will take them
another three weeks to cover the remaining
400 kilometers to Kisangani. Making do is part of life in the Congo. Most people in the Kivu region
have no electricity or gas. Instead, they use charcoal. Charcoal from this little village
is known for its quality. Christian's family has been
in the charcoal business for generations. This is where I buy the charcoal
that I later sell in Goma. Come on, let's do a deal. Sixteen euros. Nineteen euros. No, no, that's too much. It's not worth more than €17. It's the weight
that makes it a good charcoal. Twelve thousand,
13,000, 18,000. The equivalent of €15. I'll take two bags like that one. Each bag weighs almost 100 kilos. Tying them up is an art. Once the package is made,
it needs to be closed properly before putting it on the bike. That's why we brought
all these rubber bands. It must be really tight
because of the terrible roads. Tying up the package may be an art, but covering 300 kilometers
on a bicycle is a science. The bags have to be carefully balanced
so they don't fall off mid-route. Okay, now we're ready to hit the road. Goma is 50 kilometers away. The first 10 kilometers are not that flat,
so Christian needs an extra pair of hands. The youngster charges
80 cents for two hours of pushing. You can go now, thank you. Managing 300 kilos on your own, with a pair of flip-flops as brakes,
is quite an achievement. Christian makes three or four trips a week that earn him about €120 a month. Charcoal is as good as diamonds to me. I can feed my family. Six hours later,
and Christian makes it into Goma. The last three kilometers are the worst. Christian is exhausted, but one ambition keeps him going. To buy a motorbike with his savings. It's very hard going. It's tough, but I made it. He says that after buying the motorbike, he will quit the charcoal business and get into
a much larger-scale transportation. Trucks take about a month
to shuttle between Goma and Kisangani. On National Road 4,
the kings of the road are the bikers, who can make the journey in one week. The drawback is that
they can only carry so much, and it's recommended
not to give them anything fragile. See, this is how we carry 30 kilos. Since leaving Butembo,
I've fallen over 100 times. With such a load,
the only suitable place is on the petrol tank. The bikers always travel in a group,
helping each other out when needed. It's not too deep,
the motorbikes will get through this. The truck is the first
in a long line of vehicles. The line is impressive. It stretches for over two kilometers. At least 400 trucks are parked
alongside the road in both directions. This is kilometer 320. It's between the towns
of Nia-Nia and Bafwasende. The motorcyclists are the only ones who can make their way
through the huge swamp. This time, the trucks have been stuck
for more than a week. No one's going to come and help them. You see this hole? The water comes up
from below the surface. No one can get by. The shopkeepers are concerned. All the humidity is not good
for their merchandise. Especially the foodstuff, which quickly goes bad
in the back of the trucks. There are beans and onions. We'll have to throw those. It hits our incomes,
and the authorities do nothing. This road has never been refurbished. What will we do? We can't work while we're here. We're held to ransom
by the military, police, by everybody. What can we do? How is it that
in the neighboring countries, you can drive 800,
even 1,000 kilometers in two days? However, in the Congo,
which is a rich country, where there are gold
and diamonds everywhere, why are we left to rot on the roads? See how many people are stuck here? What kind of life is this? Those trapped on the roads
are left to fend for themselves. To make a good barbeque
using damp charcoal, an exhaust pipe is essential. I'm in a bad way. The only source of water is the river. I'd like the government to fix this road. It's the main artery
to the west of the country. If they don't do something now, then people in Kisangani
will start dying of hunger. The trucks are a microcosm
of the country's economy. Stagnating as its road networks
fall increasingly into ruin. One man is certain
that things will improve, thanks to the hand of God. I thank God that, when our bus
had an accident on National Road 4 and a truck loaded
with 30 tons of goods hit us, we were sent flying
to the other side of the road, and yet, I emerged without a scratch. Stories of miracles
that have occurred on National Road 4 abound at the church
of the so-called City of Refugees, where people who have been abandoned
by their state can find some solace. Pastor Jules welcomes them
into his evangelical church. The preacher promises that
he will deliver the world from misery and disease,
all caused by evil spirits, apparently. Jesus said, "In my name,
you will chase away the demons." "You will heal the afflicted." "Many with incurable illnesses
will come here." These people that do come here,
they will be cured." We will chase the evil spirits out of the bodies
of those that have come here. Open your mouth. Now kiss your husband, quick now. Now you will share passion. It's not magic, it's pure and simple. We look to the Bible
and the hand of God that guides us. Amen. War, poverty, illness. The Congolese people
face no end of suffering. Yet somehow, it still cannot dampen
their joyful exuberance.
