Congo Kinshasa: Polly's pain in the butt

I'll call her Polly. She lives over the lane from us in Kinshasa. The life and soul of any gathering, she'll stand on the table after a few drinks and recites all the old songs from the village. She's a lively character and, despite her being loud at times, we like her a lot. She works as a domestic in another part of Kinshasa. A few weeks previously, she had malaria and so came to take $50 of the money we mind for her, to pay for a course of injections at a local clinic.

Polly - after her ordeals

Two weeks later, Judith rushed into our tiny sitting room, laughing. "Where's our tincture of iodine?" she blurted, still laughing as if she was up to mischief. We'd used it for appendicitice wounds. I got it down from the cupboard. "What's it for?" I asked.

"Polly's got a boil on her bum!" Judith giggled. "Well, it's a wound. She had an injection a couple of weeks ago and it's become infected. I'm going to dress it for her." She hesitated a bit and then said, "Well, it's quite big, could you do it?"

I'd dressed quite a few wound recently, including Judith's appendix wound. But the fact that it was on a woman's bottom was amusing Judith no end. 

"Let's have a look," I said - a bit embarrassed really, but dressing a wound is dressing a wound. 

The next thing, Polly's in the room, she's dropped her trousers and is showing me her bare bum! Around her waist was a long string of plastic pearls, which, Judith told me later, were some sort of charm). There, in the middle of one buttock was a hole, big enough for a finger to fit in. There was white puss inside.

The clinic that had given the injection was obviously a dirty, filthy place, with no concept of hygiene. The infection would definitely become worse, and possibly gangrenous as it progressed inwards. Our giggling stopped.

"No, Judith," I said, "this is serious. She's ignored it for too long. I want her to go to the lovely hospital that we use. They're proficient in cleaning wounds and they'll give specific anti-biotics for deep wounds. This is beyond us."

Polly and Judith looked at each other. It started to dawn on them the seriousness of the situation. They agreed - and off they went.

The hospital is a charity. It's not expensive at all - and only a 15 minute walk away. They specialise in all aspects of good childbirth practice, but treat all comers.

They made quite a fuss over Polly. 

"Oh, là là ! How could you leave it so long? That's really deep! Who on earth did this to you? You must never go back there! We need to clean it inside."

They cleaned it inside by putting an  antibiotic liquid onto gauze and pushing it inside and then removing it. They repeated this three times. They explained the gravity of the situation. "If you hadn't come to us today, it would have progressed further. Eventually, you would have become disabled - even lose your leg." They noticed that she had generalised swelling. Her face was puffy and her feet were also swollen. The infection had already spread. 

Polly came to us with a prescription for lots of medicines that would be used - including those for cleaning the wound. She made 4 more visits to the hospital and when the wound started to heal, came back to show me. We could hear her a mile off - she's always loud and laughing about things around her. Judith saw her first. "Francis, I'm sure you don't want to see her bottom again!" We giggled again. She was out of danger now, and we could be light-hearted once again. Judith went to inspect and I didn't need to blush a second time.

This morning, about 6 weeks after it all started, Polly came to thank us. The normal loudness was turned down and she told us profoundly how much she appreciated our help. Judith winked at me, gathering up some bread and our thermos of hot water and took Polly to sit outside on the balcony area, to drink tea.

Congo Kinshasa: married three times to the same woman

I got married to Judith – three times! The first time was a traditional wedding. It took place at Judith’s uncle’s house. The women of the family hid Judith away. I went there with my friend Huang, Basankusu’s only Chinese shopkeeper. He acted as my “dad” and spoke in my place at the wedding. Similarly, someone spoke on behalf of Judith’s dad. Questions were asked: “What have you come here for?” Huang gave the answer as if it was him: “Marriage!”  

“Well,” continued the father’s spokesman, “I have a lot of daughters. Which one do you want?”

Wow! Judith and Francis' wedding! 

Even though Huang was easily able to name the bride as Judith, they then proceeded to parade a series of young women in front of him to see if any of them would do! The women, who’d hidden Judith in the next room started demanding money to bring her from England. Huang replied that she was only in the next village and he would pay for a bicycle-taxi for her. Then, when all distractions were exhausted, he showered the women and girls with banknotes, (worth 20p each!), and sweets. Judith was brought into the room and the dowry was paid to her family. It was very funny! 

A week later was the civil ceremony, in front of the Territorial Administrator. We’d agreed the price, as $100, 2 crates of soft-drinks and 2 plastic chairs; we paid it all. Judith was in full flow the night before this 2nd wedding. Dress, hair, make-up, but we still hadn’t been given a time to arrive. When we sent Judith’s sister, Leticia, to find out, she said they had no record of the booking and we’d have to pay again because the agent who took our money had run away with it! We had no choice. We finally got to the Territory, and stood on a balcony in full view of the street outside. Everyone came to gawk. The ceremony included taking a glass of orange Fanta and holding it for Judith to drink from, and then she held the glass for me to drink from. Judith was a bit enthusiastic and mine nearly came out of my nose! 

The 3rd wedding was at Basankusu Cathedral, a week after the town-hall one. The preparations started weeks before, calling in pigs, sheep, goats and chickens from family members and keeping them fed and watered until the day. Dancers came to our house for weeks before, to practise dancing to the latest pop songs. 

The evening before the wedding, the cooks and the servers (known as the protocol) arrived. Cooking would go on all night. The generator that would light up our garden and play loud music arrived and started to do its work. The butchers arrived. 

Judith decided not to sleep. She would survey the cooks in case they stole food. I decided to get some sleep. What, with the sound of the generator, the music, and the chopping of meat, just outside my window, it wasn’t easy!

At 7:35, the next morning, we joined the procession behind the 2 priests at Basankusu Cathedral. We subtly danced our way in with the readers and the altar-servers. We made our vows and exchanged rings in a mass that lasted 4 hours! The choir was amazing, the congregation euphoric at every stage!

We lay low for much of the afternoon, at Huang’s house, but arrived back at the house to find 200 people sitting in our yard! We sat like king and queen. We ate, drank and people of limited means gave their modest gifts. We were spirited away at 9 pm. Only an hour later, a heavy tropical thunderstorm dispersed the guests (who would have stayed all night!) And that was it – we got married three times!