Angola: Where Peace Brings Hope.

Over the last few years, my work has taken me to some pretty unusual places, the names of which generally provoke expressions of bemusement and/or horror on the faces of my friends and family. My most recent destination is better known for its civil war, diamonds and extensive oil reserves than as a travel destination. Angola. A country ravaged by almost 30 years of civil war which only came to an end with the signing of a peace agreement in 2002.  Angola has now entered into a new period of peace and regeneration; however, the scars of war are still all too visible.

From my experience, you never know quite what to expect on arrival in a foreign country and this is particularly true when it comes to Africa. As we make our descent into the airport of Angola's capital city Luanda, I am overwhelmed by the density of the ramshackle huts below, which stretch as far as the eye can see. The red soil, so typical of the African continent, can just be made out between the rows and rows of makeshift housing. Traffic appears to be at a standstill on the roads below. 
 

On arrival at the terminal, the culture shock is immediate with the same disorganised mayhem which seems to reign in most African airports. I join one of the many immigration queues and patiently wait my turn alongside the hundreds of other oil and gas industry workers. Exactly 2 hours and 15 minutes later, I finally have my visa stamped and receive a grunt from the immigration officer which I assume means that I am free to head out to the arrivals area where, in theory, my driver should be waiting.

Luanda is a crazy city. The heat, noise, mass population, dense traffic and resulting pollution provide an instant shock to the senses. There are people everywhere, mostly teenagers and children dodging in and out of the traffic trying desperately to sell their wares. These range from bread rolls, mobile phones and ladies’ shoes to axes and machete knives. Car-jackings are common, landmine victims beg by the side of the road and children as young as 2 years old play in open rubbish tips. 

Barrios (townships) are commonplace and often only a few metres from heavily guarded colonial-style villas. The modern office blocks of De Beers and Total dominate the Luanda skyline overlooking the Ilha do Cabo, a narrow pine-fringed sandbar where, at a price, you can sample some of the excellent local seafood and dance the night away in surroundings worthy of the Côte d'Azur. And from the 2km-long bay area, commonly known as la Marginale, you can witness one of the most beautiful sunsets in the world.

During my time in Angola, the most interesting of my journeys outside of the capital was, by far, the visit to the enclave of Cabinda. Situated between the Democratic Republic of Congo and Congo (Brazzaville), Cabinda is the source of much of Angola's oil wealth. It is also home to a decades-long separatist conflict which still simmers under the presence of the government troops sent to subdue the rebellion.

Feeling slightly apprehensive, I step onto the tarmac at Cabinda airport and am pleasantly surprised to see a new European-style airport building. As I have my visa checked by smiling customs officials, I can't help thinking that I am being lulled into a false sense of security.

This sensation continues as I am collected by Joao (our logistics manager), a jovial "white" Angolan who fills me in on the local situation and gives me a guided tour of the town and its surroundings in a four wheel drive pick-up.

Joao tells me that we are sticking to main roads in order to avoid landmines; a grim reminder of man's inhumanity to man and of an all too recent war. The sights, on the other hand, prove to be a real feast for the eyes; beautiful Angolan women carrying loads on their heads and babies on their backs, others selling dried fish at the market or singing while washing clothes in the river. As we pass, we are greeted with waves from smiling locals and some children even blow me kisses. Since the end of the civil war, expatriates, although still relatively rare, have become increasingly common in Cabinda.  And despite a superficial feeling of security, the threat of kidnapping by the largely underground rebel movement is still very real.

Leaving Angola, I realise that it is, above all, a land of profound contrast and incomprehensible extremes—a land where rich and poor cohabit and where running water and electricity remain comparative luxuries for all but a highly privileged few.

Yet, in spite of this great social disparity, widespread poverty and corruption, the Angolans are a remarkable bunch. They are the eternal survivors of Africa whose formidable spirit and optimistic and fun-loving nature in the face of a tragic legacy in which every day is a struggle should inspire humility and hope in all of us.