Bunia

When we were in Bunia, there was some kind of event at our hotel and these were some of the police officers comprising the security detail. My co-pilot asked if he could have his picture taken with them. They agreed, put down their beers, preened a bit, set their beret's at just the right angle and took a second or two to get that stance denoting dashing authority right. Then I took the picture. They were very pleased with the result and I emailed them a copy. My co-pilot got his dashing and daring stance right, right off the bat. He's been practicing for years.

Bunia was an unremarkable place from our point of view; not so big and not so pretty and not much to do. Our hotel did feature the never dull bath towel; bright, bright colors guaranteed not to fade even after 1000 washings. As a towel it made a pretty good squeegee. I'd never been to place where the door latches were installed backwards.

The town was filled with small displacement heavily muffled, two stroke motorcycles. They were like so many pre-pubescent Harleys. They had the look right, just no power to go with it.

An unremarkable place for us Bunia may have been, but from the point of view of the people who live there, it is one of the first levels of hell. There has been and still is a lot of violent death in the region.