With the recent (October 1994) crisis in Zaire and Rwanda, seven other police officers from Toronto and I volunteered for duty in Zaire. Zaire, of course, was for decades the Belgian Congo - the heart of deepest, darkest Africa.

Prior to leaving our mission was established. We would serve as security advisors to the Canadian mission already in place. While in-country we would also provide physical manpower with work projects, and of course, bury the dead. I penciled in one more mission - to seek out new forms of glass insulators never before seen by man! My suggestion of this at our final preflight meeting brought a raft of nervous laughter from my peers, mainly because they knew I was serious.

We arrived at the military airfield in Goma and were loaded into jeeps for the trek to our residence for the first night. Goma is an urban area and the wires overhead were a tangled mess. But insulators abounded! There were glass styles that I had certainly never seen before, and had never imagined, but they seemed to come in only three colours: Green, aqua, and a bright lime-green. I couldn’t wait to get at them but I noticed something else about Goma...everyone seemed to carry a machine gun. I decided to wait until a safer opportunity to seek out glass.

The next morning we headed into the mountains by jeep some 60 kilometers to our new home, an abandoned coffee plantation. The eight of us slept in one room which we shared with several hundred very large bats. It was as close to heaven as you could want. The bats stayed away from us though, probably due to our fragrance ... the only running water in the country occurs when it rains.

In the rural area where we were working there was very little electricity except for the odd generator, and the odd insulator here and there. There were power lines running through the countryside with large green glass pieces on them, I have no idea where this power ended up though because when the sun goes down in Zaire - it’s dark!

After ten days of work I got my chance. Two of us went out on a burial detail and when we broke for lunch we decided to take the scenic route back to camp in our truck...my escort to do some landscape photography and I to acquire glass. Bad move! Not ten minutes into our excursion we were stopped and “arrested” by the military. I use the term arrested in the general sense ... since there are no laws I have no idea what it was I was under arrest for. I thanked God at that moment though that I hadn’t already acquired any glass because I’m sure I’d still be there trying to explain my hobby. Anyway, I was turned over to the “police” and after facing a machine gun during my “questioning” I was allowed to pay my fines and I was released. We headed back to camp, reported the incident and drank the rest of the day away.

Undaunted, I decided to go after the porcelain pieces on the plantation itself. Standing on an aluminum ladder, leaning against a metal pole, holding a metal pin with a hacksaw in my hand, during a violent African electrical storm caused the other members to question my sanity, but this hobby does that to people doesn’t it? But I had vowed to bring insulators home.

When our tour ended things got worse. A shooting took place in another nearby mission and three of their members asked to leave with us. The problem was, we had chartered a tiny plane. With only minutes to spare we all met in the compound and began stripping down our packs so we could weigh in ... some 90% of our gear was dropped on the spot ... including my little porcelain friends and their heavy metal pins! As it was we still all couldn’t make it onto the plane, and two of us “volunteered” to stay behind. We later hitchhiked out of the country in the rear of a Russian cargo plane and met up with the team again in Kenya wearing only the clothes on our backs.

Would I go back to this beautiful continent in search of rare glass jewels again. NEVER! You’ll find me hiking around Ontario where only the odd raccoon and I exchange angry words. The photo below show me reaching for a porcelain piece which was easily out of the reach of the typical Hutu Zairian, who are usually around five feet in height...hence the low insulators!

EPILOGUE: Ten days later, all foreigners fled the area due to a political “crisis” -- we left just in time!