I wish to point out that although the Republic of the Congo is a geographical fact, along with the cities of Pointe Noire, Brazzaville and the Congo-Ocean railway; this story and the characters therein are entirely fictional and no reflection on this African country or its culture.
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Ever since I had seen a television documentary about the Republic of the Congo railway, I had been desperate to travel on that line myself, even if it involved travelling to faraway Africa. The programme had stirred my imagination and Africa was somewhere I had never been before. It all sounded so exotic and interesting. I loved anything to do with railways, so I just had to go.
The Congo-Ocean railway links the Atlantic port of Pointe Noire with Brazzaville, a large town situated on the Congo River over 300 miles away. Brazzaville is in fact the capital city of the Republic of the Congo and bears a heavy French influence. I did my research into the railway and into the Congo's dark history of slavery. It seemed an interesting place to go on a holiday and so unlike anywhere where we had been before. I was keen to ride on the railway link and see the capital, while I knew that Debbie my holiday companion, would be fascinated at the thought of going to a country so different and exotic.
The railway was built by the French during the nineteen twenties and thirties and was lapsing into disuse after the end of the Civil War in 1997, before international help and investment allowed it to flourish again. For me, as an enthusiast, it had a fascinating history, covering the engineering problems of railway construction in that part of the African Congo with its conflicting wet and dry climate. Also, woven into that history, was the terrible human consequences for the vast labour force needed to build it. In those times there was an almost contemptuous disregard for human life by the French company charged with fulfilling the contract.
However, things were different now and with modern diesel locomotives and railway carriages, the line was up and running again. From all reports it was operating quite successfully and proving to be a magnet for tourists such as myself.
I knew I would have to take my ex-wife Debbie with me, because, in spite of a failed marriage, we still went on holiday together. We had divorced a few years ago, but still remained good friends. There were no children and few assets from the marriage, so there were no hard feelings on either side from the fairly amicable settlement. In fact, she now lived near me in the same block of flats in Bristol and I was always bumping into her. She had no romantic attachments at the time, so I went round to her place and told her about the holiday that I had in mind.
And, although she hadn't seen the T.V. programme herself, she was keen to go. I did try to point out the danger and difficulties there might be in travelling around that relatively poor country, but, there was no putting her off. She wanted to go to Africa and that was that. It was a visit to another hot country of course, but, that certainly didn't deter her. She loved the sun and she liked the heat. In fact, I had a theory that the heat turned her on, sexually; either that or the abundance of black men. Whatever it was, she always seemed to be like a bitch on heat when we visited countries like that. Not turned on for me, of course, cos we didn't have a physical connection anymore. But, she seemed to get into all kinds of sexual situations and I was always a keen and fascinated onlooker. I enjoyed that as much as anything.
Anyway, the more I read about the current situation in the Congo and the existing culture, the more I learned that there were lots of things linked with security and safety which might have caused some alarm, even with her carefree attitude. However, I just played them down or didn't mention them. If I had told her about everything I had found out, it could have put her off and then she might have changed her mind about going. And that would have been a big disappointment for me, because I liked her company and I couldn't think of anyone else who would want to go with me.
It was Debbie who took it upon herself to book the air flight out to Pointe Noire and the flight back from Brazzaville; more complicated because they were not direct flights. She also booked the hotels we would stay in and got all the details about the railway journey down to Brazzaville. We decided to share a room with twin beds rather than go to the additional expense of booking separate rooms. However, both of us knew that our time together as man and wife was now firmly in the past. Now we were just holiday companions. Anyway, It seemed that she had organised the whole thing very successfully. She was good at that.
Once our tickets arrived, I concentrated on learning as much as possible about the railway and where we were going from books from the library and various website pages. Meanwhile, Debbie told me that she was reading appropriately themed books and watching such movies as "Black Emmanuelle" and "White slaves of Africa." That amused me no end, but, no doubt, it helped get her in the right mood. I guess it also showed how her mind worked at times.
We flew out from Heathrow on the 20th May at the beginning of the country's dry season and stepped down the aircraft steps at the temporary Bamba Airport in 90 degrees of bright sunshine. We had landed there because of runway difficulties at the main airport. Debbie was wearing a cool, but, colourful, short sleeveless cotton summer dress, which was flapping around the top of her lovely tanned thighs in the little breeze that was blowing around the arrivals entrance. As usual, she was getting lots of attention from the black airport workers and fellow passengers.
We sat in a waiting room, feeling the intense heat as we waited for clearance. Nobody seemed to be in much of a hurry. It was not a busy airport as it rarely took foreign aircraft. I had our passports and other documents ready for inspection, while Debbie leaned back in her seat and splayed out her long shapely legs for any guy walking past to inspect. She felt hot, and, to get what cool air there was under her dress, she had pulled it up so high that I knew that her white panties must be showing. She was also fanning her face with a newspaper trying to cool down. Guys walking past were looking alright, some unashamedly staring, because, Debbie had a pair of legs on her that would stop traffic.
Her introduction to the Congo was to be singled out by two armed uniformed security officials, as we walked past their desk, set up in what was little more than a big corrugated shed. Given her leg show in the waiting room, it was no surprise that the men wanted a closer look at her. So, they made her wait while everyone else went through and walked towards the exit door. Then with a guy on either side of her, she was more or less frogmarched through to a back room, ostensibly, to be searched for illegal substances or anything else that you weren't allowed to bring into the Congo. I knew there wouldn't find anything like that, because, we had been very careful about what we brought with us. What concerned me was that there was not a woman official in sight as the two black men pushed her inside the room and closed the door behind them.
Instead of following the other passengers out of the building into the sweltering heat of the concourse, I came back to the now deserted building and walked across to where they had taken her. The next door room was vacant, so I slipped in there hoping to overhear what was going on. However, it was even better than that, because, there was a one way observation window into that room. I could see them, but, they couldn't see me. So, I had a front row seat on the search and interrogation they were about to do on her.
They were speaking a kind of guttural French, but, I knew a little of the language and could easily understand them. And, from what they obviously had in mind, I guess Debbie could too.
They made short work of opening up her backpack and looking through it. Debbie's panties and nighties caught their eye and were carefully examined and appreciated before being replaced. Then they tipped out the contents of her handbag onto the table. A few condoms fell out along with coins, lipstick and other odds and ends. It was all put back except for the condoms. A sign of what was to come perhaps. I could tell they were just going through the motions at this stage before the main event. Then they got down to the main reason for detaining her.
"Take off your dress" growled the senior man, smacking his short baton hard into his palm. Debbie looked shell-shocked, but, she could see that this was not a man who was going to accept any kind of disobedience, so she started to unbutton. Not long afterwards, her dress slid down her curvaceous frame onto the floor and she stepped out of it. Both men gasped when they saw her in only her panties and high heels. She was naked from the waist up, as she never wore a bra on holiday. Boss man stared greedily at her large sized breasts but was not satisfied; he stared down at her panty clad crotch and made a downward gesture with his finger. He wanted her panties off. (And who could blame him)
Give Debbie her due, she didn't panic, scream or make a scene as most women would have done in that situation. Instead, she obeyed the instruction and down they came, slithering easily on her smooth tanned legs. She stepped out of them and cheekily handed them over. I could see they were gobsmacked at how quickly they had got her naked. Big man sniffed hard at her panty crotch enjoying the scent of her sex as they looked at what they had uncovered.
At first, they just stared...and stared at her long shapely legs, big tits and delightfully shaven vagina. They just took their sweet time ogling my ex-wife's sexy naked body, as if they had all the time in the world. And it wasn't as if Debbie or I could do a damn thing about it. Meanwhile, she just stood there proud and defiant, her nipples stiff and erect, just as they always were when they were under close male scrutiny. Her auburn hair was almost red under the bright ceiling lights, matching the isolated little landing strip of pubic hair above her pussy. She was a beautiful white woman wasted on these black Congo security guys, but, for the present, she was naked, vulnerable and, most definitely, under their control. The fact that she was not alone and had a man waiting outside for her didn't seem to faze these men at all. Debbie must have known then what was going to happen.
