We’re just walking along when the road suddenly stops. The iron bars crossing the way do little to ease the tension. The sandbags are gray and dirty and small. They seem like a cheap movie prop against the dramatic backdrop of the gorge behind them. Houses appear perched on the very edge, as if a misplaced sofa might throw enough weight in the wrong direction to send the whole structure toppling down the ravine.The first time we came, one of the houses right on the edge appeared empty. Today a family is clearly living there. Laundry is strung out on lines and young men lounge on furniture in the open living room. (This is the house you can see just to the left in the photo. Yes, its inhabited.)
Mama Vero tells me these houses used to be among the most luxurious, and signs still remain of tiled floors and ornate entranceways. Behind them is a tremendous gorge slowly filling with garbage tossed carelessly over the edge. There is a thin line slung across the ravine and it runs electricity from a house on the other side. It is a surreal situation.
“On attende.” Everyone is waiting for the erosion to creep up to their plots of land and take their houses in a powerful rush of water and debris. The government has done nothing for those who’ve lost their land and repairs don’t seem to be coming. On the way back, I took a quick shot of some boys playing marbles. Some of them jumped up and started to run away. (There was one who willingly showed off his Bruce Lee moves. I took the obligatory photo.) They engage in conversation as we leave, wondering what I will do with the photos. It would have worked out better for me if I were Chinese, Mama Vero says, because they are waiting for the Chinese to come and fix this problem.
That could be a problem unto itself.
I’ve taken to visiting Mama Vero’s house on the weekends. It is rejuvenating to soak up the energy. The small stone paved streets are filled with people and life and casual conversation. I love the movement and sights and sounds. It feels like Africa in a way that the sterile beauty of campus doesn’t. They have taken to calling me Mama Nabih, I suppose, because nothing else fits exactly.
Vero and I are navigating an odd relationship. We trade gifts of food and trinkets with a ferocity that belies our independent natures. I think we are unsure exactly where the boundaries lie, or if they even exist.
Last time I visited, she had taken me to see the erosion, and I was so stunned I needed to go back for photos. This time we found a guide who led us through a maze of rubble to a picturesque spot overlooking the new valley, where many families have settled. Some guys were chipping away at the remains of a cement column to reveal the basic building blocks, which they will then sell. Long, slow work. But nothing is condemned. Work, search, live at your own risk.
Vero lives in her aunt’s house on a parcel of land that is sweetly laid out. They have some nice gardens and several papaya trees. Vero’s aunt has a variety of enterprises going on, raising rabbits, birds and a variety of vegetables. They sell soft drinks and beer from their ‘kitchen’ room and I think they have an arrangement about water as well. She is a great storyteller and on my first visit enchanted me with tales about being a girl scout. (The very absurdity of this conversation is one of the reason I love visiting here.) Yes, they do have scouts in Congo and it sounds like they do much the same thing that scouts in the U.S. do- camping, learning to cook, singing songs, earning badges.
Today, she reminisced about the days when Congo was a land of opportunity and chance. I guess they had a better plot of land at one time, with a larger house and more room for growing vegetables. She laments the difficulty of times now, but they are not doing so badly. They have a section of the house they rent, and Vero has a decent job. They have beans and mpondu to go with their rice and every so often they eat beef or chicken or fish. Many families don’t get that kind of relief.
Lest I have painted too rosy a picture, perhaps I should return to the details. There is an outside bath without running water. The water tap is located in the front yard. There is no oven inside, although they do have electricity (and cable TV.) The floors are cement and the ceiling is tin. Life is organized with buckets, the plastic buckets of Africa that enable dishwashing, hand washing, clothes washing and ‘showers.’
But their plot is green and lush. They have soft furniture inside. The grown sons have done well for themselves with jobs in engineering and computers. The blue plastic lawn chairs are imprinted with Grace a Dieu.
full spectrum of photos on facebook, including the young Bruce Lee......
