As it were, I found it hard to even take photos. Capturing one small fraction of the greater picture seemed hardly likely to do justice. Even video, with its ability to move and record sound wouldn't be able to really express the essence that is Kinshasa. It wasn't until my last day, en route for the airport, that I began to snap random images and take pocket videos. I let the recorder run as the taxi moto flashed through the streets, leaving me with a traveling sensation of energy of Kin.
There were many moments I wanted to freeze. One evening, we were sitting and talking with a friend's family. The husband and wife chatting with the us, a few older girls sitting nearby, one playing with her mother's hair. The busyness of evening chores filled the air around us. I imagined trying to capture the moment and knew that the togetherness of family and the fullness of life would be overshadowed by the dimness of our surroundings. It would become an image of absence, highlighting the lack ofs rather than the fullness I felt.
I did come away with a positive story to tell. I encountered the center, La Vie est Belle, a very cute little house on a sweet little street nestled magically in the middle of Victoire. One right hand turn is all it took to be transported from the bustling energy of the city center to an almost suburban ideal. The street was lined with trees and kids playing soccer, teens hanging on the edges listening to music and gathering in that way teens do.
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| Beautiful street |
This place was nearly the exact embodiment of my dream center. Talking with the manager, Peter, revealed we had a lot of vision in common. I told him I saw his mouth moving, but it was all my own words coming out. It didn't take long for us to devise a project together. I proposed presenting their work at an upcoming conference at UI&U and also creating a my own mini-series in response.
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| Entrance to office on the porch and small cafe to the right |
The center has 4-5 rooms which are available for artists who write a project proposal. They can come and do a residency for free, meals provided. I jokingly suggested I'd be sending in my own proposal, and then wondered how much of a joke it had to be. Spending a month surrounded by such creative energy and support sounds like a paradise.
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| Art lined driveway to garage and making spaces |
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| Several work areas here in the back |
I passed another evening or two engaged in great conversation with the artists. I learned about their work with the neighborhood children and they all seemed to express a sense of responsibility for providing a creative atmosphere for the kids to experience. They talked about wanting the children to have toys and a chance to play. They recognized the importance of being creative and building and inventing. Right now they might be working with cardboard, true, but maybe next it will be circuits and sockets and motors. The tinkerers of today could easily become the engineers of tomorrow. I was impressed with their action and insistence. "If the government is not able or willing to step in, then we have to do it," they told me.
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| Artist working with and educating the neighborhood kids- |
Of course, for every story of courage, there is a story of despair. A friend took me to Maluku to see the village, although officially still a part of Kinshasa. He's trying to put together a small organization to work with the children in area, actually taking care of a few and offering dance workshops for the many.
As we walked around the town, children ran everywhere. It was a Thursday afternoon but school was closed due to heavy rains the night before. Apparently attendance is sporadic at best for most kids anyway. Parents don't always see the value of school or they can't pay for the materials. Even though there is a new initiative for free education, there are always costs for books or uniforms or other things that make it difficult to get a child to school every day.
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| My mountain climbing gear....I didn't know |
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| Cozy little spot for rent- about $30- you'll need to run your own electricity lines. Likewise on your own to figure out water, cooking, and toilet structure. |
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| View of the city and across the way Brazza |
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| Some girls with nothing to do but pose for photos |
The houses in Maluku are small, wooden- framed with little windows and cement floors. I pushed aside the curtain in the doorway and squinted to see in the dark interior. There were a few plastic chairs, one soft stuffed chair and a table. Flyers from an annual dance festival in Kinshasa lined the walls.
I didn't notice the baby on the floor. I greeted the young girl, my friend's sister or cousin or some member of the family who was around to help. She was eating and it was only later that I saw the baby, sitting in the shadows, impossibly quiet, eating foufou. He looked to be about 6 months old. His eyes were too big, his legs too small and it was apparent he had a serious lack of nutrients and energy.
My friend, earnest in his desire to help, lacks experience. He's young, has no children of his own and has only ventured into the bigger world outside of Kinshasa few times. He said he'd bought a baby walker, trying to encourage the boy to use his legs but he just didn't have the strength. He asked me if I knew of some medicine that could help- as if the answer would be found in a bottle or a few sips of liquid.
"The child needs a doctor," I told him. "There is no medicine that can help him. He needs nutrients, possibly therapy, and I am not sure if there is something else the doctors can do." It is a dire situation, this child, sitting in a small dark room in a quiet village town an hour and a half away from anyone who might have an idea of what was wrong. There was no urgency about it.
I am sure he is not the only child in need of care and food and attention. Too many children in Kinshasa and Congo in general, lack the basic needs. There is a very real danger of a lost generation. It's one of the hard parts of Congo- the potential to be overwhelmed by the need. But in the end, I realized that just getting back and creating a simple life, doing my small part, it's the best I can do.
I left a little cash and strict instructions to take the child to Kinshasa, to a reputable doctor and to call me with a diagnosis. We'll see what the next steps are- maybe there is something that can be done, or maybe the damage is long lasting. In which case, the child is lucky to have fallen into the hands of my friend, who has a big heart and sincere intentions. He's willing to foster him, take care of him and provide the basics.
I don't know how it happens- how he can imagine and then actually proceed to take in children. It's part of my creative response, an idea I have been grappling with for the last few years. It deserves a post of it's own perhaps, but I wonder how the people live with no money. My friend is an artists, a dancer. He's struggling himself and yet, somehow there is room to take in this baby, and a few others, try to keep them fed and clothed. It's the great mystery to me- how it all happens on less than a dollar a day, as they say.
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| Road back to Kin |
