WARNING: This post is as dark as it is long. I tried several times to make it beautiful, but painting a story of Angola, without touching upon the life of the people would be yet another dagger in their hearts.

Luanda is the capital of Angola, which boarders the Atlantic on the west, the DRC (north and east), Zambia (east) and Namibia to the south.

After we left Porto Do Namibe, Angola, we luxureated at sea for a day and docked in the port of Luanda, Angola the following morning, flanked by a pair of tugboats guiding us to the pier.

I never thought this day was going to turn out the way it did. It was like looking through a pair of binoculars at something you know is out there, fiddling with the focus until the subject was perfectly clear and you are startled by it.

One evening we were on the phone with a nephew, telling us the good news that a baby is on the way (Congrats Tim & Jen). He asked us, ‘What has been your favorite port of call?’ A perfectly reasonable question. Meredith and I looked at each other, blankly at first, then arrived at the same answer. It is not so much the ports of call, which were all terrific, It was about the experience–– the humanity of it all. Leaving Angola has put everything in focus.

We had an early morning excursion and a full day ahead of us. We boarded one of two mid-sized buses, and looking out the window was a police motorcycle escort. Did we really need that? Angola is a war-torn country and had been fighting since the early 60’s. Although a democratic country of elections, an outgoing President is not leaving without a fight. There is always a coup.

The popularity of the current President is very low–– Once promising a social agenda of equality, he kept everything for himself. Saying anything negative about the current President will most likely land you in prison. Educated, smart people are a problem here. Our guide, an IT graduate. told us there is no work for him and when he is not giving tours he stays home where being smart will keep him out of trouble. Another big factor and the elephant in the room seems to be the tight relationship of the governemnt with China and China has been a presence through Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, the islands and throughout the Indian Ocean, Madagascar and the continent of Africa. Angola is a county ripe with corruption–– a cockroach mentality of grabbing what you can.

We saw hundreds of building projects, unfinished, abandoned and forgotten. I can see pseudo developers hatching schemes of building apartment buildings, resorts, luxury town homes. They hire builders with promises of riches, hoping to find buyers–– some who want to get in early–– then take off with the money leaving builders and early adopters empty handed. There seems to be countless government backed projects equally unfinished. Where is the money going?

Informal Settlements, as they are called, are cobbled together by whatever materials a person can find, each wall of one unit depending upon the structure next to it for support. But there is one common factor–– these structures are covered by satellite dishes. Information is power. I don’t know if you have ever seen the Sci-Fi District 9, but it depicts the division in Africa, ironically using aliens stranded on earth who have run out of fuel and food being kept in these informal settlements. It was a powerful movie and one of my all time favorites.

The story of Isabel dos Santos  is heartbreaking but not uncommon in these poor countries. She has amassed billions from Oil (Shell) and fled to Spain where she lives lavishly. There are countless concrete block walls serving as property lines for unfinished communal plans. They are everywhere in the countryside, claimed only by nature and a few goat herders. With this kind of poverty, one would think the cost of living would be cheap in Angola. The reality is $100 USD in the States goes a lot farther than $100 USD in Angola, where a bag of rice in Angola sells for $25 USD.

Our guide says that $100 USD would last about two days for a family. When we asked about the wildlife outside of the city, which is so beautiful, where savannas of tall grasses and baobab trees stretch along one side of the highway into the mountains and on the other, beautiful plains that run down to the sea. He told us this land was once rich in wildlife, where elephants would wander into communal areas and the people would help steer them back and away from people. There were monkeys, antelopes and other wildlife here. We saw no wildlife, hardly a bird. The reality is that they were all eaten because of the hunger from years of fighting and corruption.

We passed through towns where billboards boasted products and services promising a better life. They stood tall above the streets, but down below, the people looked like leaf carrying ants, laden with empty jugs for water, fuel and cooking oil, wanting to refill them somewhere. The living conditions are about survival, only. There is no sanitation, water and electricity is scarce and tapped to exhaustion. Medical facilities are far and few between but have no medicines. What ever medicines are available are unafordable.

Our first stop on the tour was to a military museum, a fort built by the Portuguese in 1576 called, Fortress of São Miguel. It was beautiful, but sad for our guide, whose parents were gunned down while attending a former Presidential rally, where several white X’s are marked at the base of the statue of Njinga Mbandi, Queen of Ndongo and Matamba (1582-1663), whose story is impressive and I am sure the people would love to have her as President today.

Then we were off to see The Agostinho Neto Mausoleum, but it was closed. Our guide and Police officer talked to the guards for about ten minutes and finally they let us inside the grounds to take pictures, but we were not allowed inside. I’m not one for having a headstone–but this was the coolest headstone I have ever seen, like some alien artifact. Yet I can’t help but think of the expense of this one thing. There is a mansion at the top of a hill in Luanda, where an ex President’s mother lives and the hill seems to be held up by the informal settlements below.

Then off to the National Museum of Slavery, once serving as a processing point where approximately 5 million trafficked humans were processed, out of the 12.5 million overall coming out of Africa. I have seen drawings of this place and learned about the slave trade in my days of schooling, but never had I envisioned I would actually be standing on the grounds, touching the bronze cauldrons that held the holy water where each slave was baptized. That I would walk the same path into the home of Alvaro Mattoso de Andread, the owner and slave trader, and touch the same plaque–– the symbol of the Order of Jesus Christ that each slave touched–– where their palms last touched a piece of their homeland: baptized, branded and sold. That I would see the shoreline, now picturesque with colorful skiffs, where slave trade ships once loaded their human cargo, shackled by the legs and laid out below deck shoulder to shoulder.

Yet the building itself has no memories, only those who pass through these walls and take those memories with them. Maybe… Just maybe the best port of call was here. In these rooms that gave us the overall experience of this cruise. Everything was now in focus.

Before going to our next point of interest, we walked across the street from the museum to an outdoor market filled with hand carvings, masks, baskets, and such beautiful work, an inventory that seems far more than what could possibly be sold to tourism.

A person coming to Africa, looking for accessories for the home or person, needs a container ship.

Back onboard we were heading to a point high above the sea known as Miradouro da Lua (Viewpoint of the Moon). But there was a slight problem. Our driver received notice that the road was blocked due to a truck fire. There is only one road, EN100. With sirens and a blinking blue light, our police escort bypassed the waiting traffic, ushering us to the front row. There was a lot of head scratching, more talking, but finally our Police escort had everyone move aside and our guide told us not to breathe in as we slipped by.

Now I know why we had the police escort, because without him, we would have waited several hours.

We arrived at Miadouro de Lua, but once again there were issues at the entrance. More talking by our guide and the Police escort with the attendants at the gate, which is a pole counter-balanced by a concrete block.

Finally, we were allowed to enter the great Miradouro de Lua and found that we were the only vehicles there. The point is no more than a dirt parking lot, more craft items for sale, and a stray dog.

One would think they would be begging for someone to visit here. Miradouro de Las did offer some beautiful views and gave everyone a chance to stretch our legs on this nine hour excursion.

It was a beautiful day, we were under the sun in gorgeous weather and some pretty spectacular views of the coast. Hakuna Matata (no problems). After more photos and parading by the crafts laid out, we headed back into the bus only to have more issues trying to leave. More talking by our guide, the Police escort and the attendant at the gate. Finally the gate was opened and we could leave.

Next stop was at an eco lodge/restaurant called the Kwanza Lodge, The roads are meant for Toyota Land Cruiser LX off-road vehicles (as seen in one of the images), making the ride in our bus a bit bumpy.

However, we got there without gate issues. The Kwanza Lodge must be the only game in town. I spoke with a local there and apparently it is a destination and a point between for safaris with a national park near by. The countryside is indeed breathtaking, unspoiled, but rugged.

There are boat charters here and I am sure if we had more time would have taken one to explore up river and down to the ocean. However, after being on Crystal Serenity, this would be seriously roughing it–– even for me who was raised in a feral environment and at one time I would have rated the Kwanza Lodge up there with a Ritz-Carlton.

With the day coming to an end we started back, but the truck fire was still going on. This time there was a crane in the other lane, its tripods out and completely blocking the road. Our Police escort said something to them and the next thing we knew, the crane was lifting its tripods, moving off the road and we were escorted by. That is when things really got interesting.

The dress