Basankusu: A meeting with Sister Doctor Vicky

In my last blog entry, I talked about the setting up of a new supplementary feeding centre. I want the centre to be independent of me – for it to stand on its own two feet (if it had feet). The local volunteers who run it, who cook the meals, who give training to the mothers and the nurses who look after the medical side of thing, all live on the bread-line … so, the centre will always need financial support from outside. In an ideal world, neighbours would look after malnourished children who live near them. 

Sister Vicky visiting our nutrition project
a few days after our meeting

Unfortunately, the conditions that create malnutrition are complex. Given the general poverty in the population, neighbours can become resentful of helping people who are – for whatever reason – unable to help themselves. “They are lazy!” “They are taking advantage!” “They are stupid … or disorganised!” or, “Life is difficult enough finding enough to feed my own children,” are some of the responses you might hear. Family is first, clan is often second. Because of these factors, and the fact that Basankusu is a sizeable place, the need for a centre for treating malnutrition remains a necessity.

Some months ago, a young woman, called Maggie, came to see me at, Maison St Joseph, the Mill Hill house in Basankusu. She told me that she was a qualified and experienced malnutrition trainer. She chatted in a relaxed manner and seemed a really lovely person. However, I’m always wary of so-called experts – Congo is full of them, and a lot of the people I’d dealt with had knowledge about food groups which would be about the same level as I’d taught to Year 5 children (9 and 10 year-olds) in England. I decided, at the time, that I had enough experts around me – but would keep her in mind.

This year, Sister Doctor Victorine (Vicky) gave Maggie a job at our Catholic hospital as a nutrition trainer for families with malnourished children. Sister Vicky called me to her office for a chat.

“Maggie ran a supplementary feeding centre in Bokakata for twelve years,” she enthused, “She’d still be there now, but our funding ran out. She really is an asset.”

I didn’t think she was old enough to have worked anywhere for twelve years, but then I found out that she has four children herself and five grand-children!

Sister Vicky, who is a nun from Basankusu’s own congregation – the Sisters of St Theresa – told me that she wanted to use my services.

At Nellie's house

“I like the structure of your project,” she said, “I like the training work you’re planning to do in the village of Djombo – I like it a lot. So, perhaps we can work together. Malnutrition is increasing throughout the diocese and our funds are so limited we can often only give advice. Maggie is available to help you – why don’t you take her to see you your work?”

Sr. Vicky gave a rare smile and raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you can help us at the hospital because we are sometime overwhelmed with cases of infant malnutrition. Powdered milk is very dear in Basankusu – but some of our sisters are going down the river to Mbandaka for meetings. Why don’t you send an order with them to buy your milk in bulk there? Then I can send my severe cases to you.”

I agreed that it was a great idea. “So, your patients will buy the milk from me?”

The eye-brow went up again, and she gave another wry smile, “Ah, Francis … you will give it. It’s the same work that you’re already doing, isn’t it? In return, you will get support from all our staff … and I will come to see your nutrition centre.”

The meeting was over – I was now accepted as a useful chap to have around and our nutrition team had gained status within the diocese.