I read a blog someone had began…Kinshasa how do I love thee….and I am constantly reminded of this, though I think why do I love thee. Most of my queries are not related solely to Kinshasa but Africa in general. It is a constant question about why I am here and feeling so at home when there are definitely sights and systems that simply should not be.
I have been trying to fast for Ramadan and am constantly reminded of how hungry people are. Being hungry makes you very tired and everywhere I see people sleeping, all I can see is how they are starving too. This is the point of Ramadan, to make you aware of the suffering of others. I cringe when I remember times I’ve heard people use the word ‘lazy’ as a descriptor and even when I remember Mama Rochelle dozing off on my back porch. To be fair, people doze off many places, I view it as a form of waiting, but also I have now this extra veil. Hunger is exhausting.
While I am riding through the streets noticing the hungry, tired people catching naps on slender wooden benches or hard concrete steps, I cannot grasp the systems that keep them trapped. Clearly a better standard is possible because many are living it here. But how can it be made accessible? There are many who do not have electricity or running water in their homes, and I can’t think of a single reason for this.
I amuse myself when I am out by guessing what kind of house each person is coming from. It is a great curiosity for me. I saw a woman who had just bought an extension strip and so must assume she has electricity. I try to make a guess about the people in cars but it is not possible yet for me to discern the taxis from the other cars. As we sat outside a store the other day, I kept thinking people were stopping to pick up their friends, the way they coasted to the street edge just long enough for the person to jump in. Only after ( I think my intelligence may be diminishing here in Kinshasa) did it occur to me that they were taxis. I don’t know how you can tell if you’re jumping into a taxi or some kind of crazy terrorist- kidnapper’s car. Just part of the risk I suppose. Chalk it up to another strange reason we all love to be here.
Earlier that same day at the market, I had stopped to regard some oranges someone was selling. At times, my French completely fails and I cannot process the numbers. It finally occurred to me that this particular corner was not one where I wanted to be trying to make a purchase. So I apologized and walked away. Immediately a group of boys came following me, asking for money or food. I caught one reaching his hand into my plastic shopping bag. I made a look of mock surprise and a local “Heh?!” and, luckily, he snatched his hand back and I stepped onto the bus. Just after however, this group of boys was joined by a few older and all began yelling something about a photograph. It seems someone took their picture, which is not allowed in the downtown area. (Can you really imagine a city where no photographing is allowed?) I can’t be sure if this was a real event or one fabricated by the boys in order to demand money (punctuated by threats to call the police.) Even the driver had difficulty getting them to go on their way. Surely this is not the reason why we love it here.
Finally, I went out to see an amazing concert by Youssou N’Dour. The very poignant billboard announcing his show presented one performance at a certain hotel for $200. I opted for the next night at an outdoor arena for $30, chair not included. I took the boys and we really had a good time. Of course, we waited for hours until the show started and Nabih fell asleep. Once it finally began, Mohamed simply could not sleep. It was that engaging. Youssou N’Dour invites many performers to liven up his show, dancers, drummers and others. I thought it would be so amazing to see him in Africa. It wasn’t until after I arrived that it occurred to me (that diminishing intelligence again, I think it’s related to all the burning garbage sending off toxic, brain-damaging waves) that the concert was not accessible to most Congolese. Figure $5 a day- this would be a week’s salary. I could never attend a concert in the States that cost as much as a week’s salary.
There were many Congolese but just as many etranger. And it was amazing to see him in Africa. It has been a long time since I have heard strong and powerful music. I remembered so many things about who I used to be.
That is something that happens here in Africa too. It is very easy to feel cut off and left out. It is very easy to get caught up in the rhythm of work and home, a simple life to be sure, pleasant but also neglectful. I really came to find a service and sometimes I allow myself to become just as busy and self absorbed as I did at home.
Leaving the show at night is a feat that definitely calls for outer awareness however. As we walked to the car, the groups of boys quickly assembled. They followed us to our car, and others to theirs, demanding a fee for ‘watching’ the car. The guy who was driving thoughtfully opened our side first and quickly got the boys and I inside. They seemed to surround him with even greater urgency as he made his way to the driver side door. They can get pushy and insistent. I think it is something you know will happen and pretend to have experience with, but I don’t see how it can ever get less nerve racking. It must forever remain a tense moment because there are too many variables to allow a set policy to be effective. Just as things were getting a bit too hands on, another boy came up, loudly sending the others off. Then he, in turn, expected to be the grand winner for saving the day (or night.) Finally, however, the guy who was driving managed to slip some money to the young boy who was originally commissioned for the job. Certainly, we cannot count this in the ways we love thee.
Truthfully, I simply do not know why I am here. Others, and I think there are many, would readily say they do not actually love thee and are here for various reasons financial and career related. Perhaps I have some of those. Just as I have some days when I want to scream in frustration at the lack of internet connectivity or the complicated steps involved in making a phone call. There are the days when trying to complete a simple act, which has now become a twisted contorted version of its former self, is enough to send me over the edge, but still I can say, I do love thee. Just don’t ask me to count the ways.
