ABSTRACT
On the cold and snowy post-Christmas night of December 29, 1962,1 boarded the 8:25 p.m. Sabena flight from Brussels to Léopoldville with many Congolese and some Belgian passengers. At the Madrid airport where we were delayed for two hours with engine trouble, I was incorporated into the friendly, animated visiting patterns of the Congolese passengers. Most of them seemed to be members of the country’s new political élite.
