By his own admission, Foreman was miserable in Zaire, “not least because of the food.” His cook Tyree Lyons, who had worked at the Pleasanton, California, Job Corps site, searched all over Kinshasa for food that George would eat, but he found little that pleased his employer. No one in either camp developed a fondness for monkey meat. Lyons did, however, develop a mysterious ailment that swelled his hands and eyes, which must have been a further deterrence for Foreman’s mixing with the local populace. Rats, insects, and lizards infested his quarters in an old army base, up the hill from Ali’s more luxurious digs. Rowdy, beer-sodden soldiers patrolled the base fully armed and cyclone fencing and barbed wire turned Foreman’s camp into a prison. Except for daily press conferences “we’re restricted,” noted the champ’s publicist Bill Caplan. “Nobody is allowed in the Foreman camp. Government orders.” Seeking relief from the claustrophobic environment, the champion demanded a suite at the Inter-Continental Hotel. Even there, however, Foreman worried that someone might break in and mess with him and his things. As a deterrent, he hired guards to watch his room twenty-four hours a day. Never much of a social being, he would have to live surrounded by so many people who favored Ali.
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