Kinshasa: a very special school

I visited Kinshasa during July and August; I’d only been there for a few days when I was invited to visit Sister Marie-Therese Banamea, a sister in the Daughters of Jesus community. “Francis, come and see our school. It’s for all the children of those people who came to Kinshasa on René Ikeka’s boat and didn’t go back. They don’t have a penny to their name – and so the children never normally get to go to school.” 

Francis Hannaway MHM

René Ikeka is a Basankusu man who made it big in the time of the late President Mobutu. He has a riverboat for carrying goods. Many Basankusu people take advantage of it to transport them and their goods to Kinshasa, for free. Most go back and forth several times a year. Others see the bright city lights and decide to stay.

I arrived at the school and saw very polite and well behave children in their classrooms. “The children are all behind with their studies,” she explained. “The youngest in this classroom is nine – but is still learning to read simple words.”

In another room the students were around 16 years old. They each sat behind a sewing machine and treadled it with their feet. An array of dresses was displayed along one wall. “They learn to make clothes,” she continued, “but the main purpose of the school is to teach literacy and arithmetic.”

Francis Hannaway chatting to pupils

After visiting the school, we visited a new development, nearby. Built on reclaimed land on the River Congo, at Stanley Pool, it’s called The River City. It’s a secure island of luxury apartments. To get into it we passed through an area of very poor dwellings, tiny cement brick sheds, huts made from salvaged metal sheets, each housing large families – a real shanty-town. “This is where our children live,” Sr. Marie-Therese said as we passed through. “It’s a real ghetto. There are no facilities, they mostly just sit at home.”

To see the luxury of the The River City, made such an impact on me because of the contrast. At least when these people were back in Basankusu they could grow vegetables and keep a few chickens, but here they were surrounded dirt and pollution. We watched as children collected water for cooking from an open drain.

“Sadly, the girls grow up and turn to prostitution ,” sighed Sr. Marie-Therese. “The boys often become bandits. Education is the only way to save them. That’s why we started the school.”

As I said my goodbyes, Sr. Marie-Therese called to me, “Don’t forget to tell the people in Middlesbrough Diocese about our work to save these children.”

I turned back to wave. “I won’t!” I said.

Outside the school