Congo Kinshasa: missing children return to the fold

We moved our malnutrition centre to a new house; it’s quite close to our home. The parents turned up with their children with the notable absence of little Ruth, 5, and Julie, 8. Ruth had been missing for several days but her parents did finally return with her. It was the fourth time they’d absconded. When she arrived, she’d lost even more weight; she was in quite a state, needing to get checked again at the hospital. But at least they’d turned up!

Judith Hannaway at the centre 

Judith chatting with a neighbour
at the new centre 

The one who remained missing, was little Julie. We knew that she lived close to the new centre, so I set off with Judith, to find her. We asked the stallholders in the street and they’d send us this way. We’d arrive at a house thinking she was there, and they’d send us another way. The sun was hot, no breeze. Eventually, we gave up. 

Poor Ruth had lost even more weight
and was in quite a state

On the way back, a young woman waved to me from her front garden. 

“Hello! Have you just returned from Kinshasa?” 

She said she hadn’t seen me for a while, so assumed I’d been away. I asked her if she knew Mama Chantal and her daughter, Julie. She did. They lived opposite!

She left me to mind the house and the wares she was selling: twists of sugar, salt, cakes of locally made soap. Judith went with her, but when they returned they told me that Julie had suffered a crisis and been admitted to the sisters’ medical centre about a mile away. The sun was even hotter now, but I was determined to see her.

I marched to the medical centre, but they were not there. Despite my hat and bottle of water, the walk back became a challenge in the sweltering heat. I was doing too much in the tropical midday sun. The rest of the day I stayed indoors drinking water.

Two days later, Julie turned up! They’d been to visit family in another village. Julie, happy to be back, held out her hand for me to shake. She was soon wolfing down everything we gave her.

Julie was soon wolfing down everything
we set before her! 

I checked on Ruth, who has her own room, with her mum. 

“She doesn’t like the food,” pleaded Mama Chantal. 

“I can see that,” I replied. “And she doesn’t like me, and she doesn’t like our centre. But, don’t forget, Ruth’s not your boss, you’re her boss! You have to make her eat. We’ll give her warm milk with a little sugar, every hour.”

Mama Chantal told me that she likes omelette as well. I made sure she had it, as well as her other food.

I was very pleased that both little girls had returned to the programme.

Congo Kinshasa: trolled for a light-hearted post!

Judith and I are in our 9th year of treating malnourished children, here in the rainforest town of Basankusu. It's tough going: extreme heat, having to watch some children decline and die. Even though we've saved the lives of over 5,000 children, we've seen over 100 deaths. Donations are extremely hard to come by and so we live a frugal life. No car, I walk most places. My nails, lashes, and eyebrows are my own, no tattoos. No designer this that and the other, we often wear the clothes you gave to the charity shop.

Marie - interested in horizons new

So, between  the serious bits, like trying to get a blood transfusion at midnight, for a 3 year old, we try to have a bit of fun. Sometimes I post light-hearted things on here. It helps engage with potential donors. And it's fun. It lifts our spirits.

Yesterday, Marie, my niece through marriage, moved in with Letie at the new malnutrition centre. She's helping with general chores. She's 18 and very pleased when people compliment her looks. Like many girls with poor prospects, she dreams of marrying a rich man. (feminism is in its early days here!) She asked me to post her photo and to say she's looking for a rich "mondele". "Mondele" means any white person. The idea of countries is vague; the general term for developed countries is "mpoto".

It was fun, positive and a lovely distraction from our oft upsetting work. I felt happy and relaxed.

The first comments were from supportive friends. These friends have given moral and financial support over the years.

"Marie, 18, is Judith's niece. She'd like to marry a rich European." 

"So would I!" replied one friend. 

"Me too!" replied another. 

Imagine how deflated I became when I started to get flack! 

Trolls are online bullies. They've never commented on the work we do. They've never sent words of encouragement. They've never sent a fiver for our funds. But - after almost 9 years - they put a damper on the bit of fun Marie and I were having. 

They're supposed to be friends! The moral police, telling me what I can and can't post. No donations in all these years of hard slog, nothing. The funny thing is, one of them only ever appears on facebook in bikinis or very skimpy clothes. If I criticised that I'd be attacked again. Who are they? Incels? 

Marie - levelling the path at 

the malnutrition centre 

We live in the real world full of social connections, friends, fun-times, sometimes we  clown about. I can't help thinking it was an ageist thing. 

I've just come from our great-aunt's wake. I called in at the centre on my way home. Marie was drawing water from a well. 

She doesn't have a phone. She doesn't have Facebook. She doesn't speak English and struggles with French. It was a bit of fun. 

"Put it back on," she implored. "I want everyone to see my beautiful photo - and try and get me a rich "mondele!"

Congo Kinshasa: using a steps counter in Basankusu

I set my phone’s steps counter to start, and strode out towards the malnutrition centre; it’s about 3 km. I was soon joined by Jacques, a bricklayer who’s building a house for a friend. We chatted along the way, passing youths in smart white shirts on their way to school. I called in at the convent, where I normally say hello to Sr. Marie-Therese and her team of seamstresses. Today, she wasn’t there – so I bid farewell to Jacques and continued to the centre.

Carrying firewood

Things are getting busy again at the centre. Fifteen children, in various stages of malnutrition, sat down to eat. Most were at the end of their treatment and would soon leave the programme. Two little girls were notable exceptions.

When 8-year-old Julie first arrived, we thought she wouldn’t last the night. 

Judith gasped. “Our funds are so low, we’d be better off helping another child with more chance of recovery.” 

I agreed, but suggested we give it a go.

The other child was 5-year-old Ruth. Although she only showed moderate signs of malnutrition, she soon went downhill because her mother disappeared three times with her to faith healers.

Today, Julie was busy tucking into her beans and rice. The change in her was incredible.

Ruth was nowhere to be seen. 

“They’ve disappeared again,” sighed Judith. “They’ve given an address, but no house number! We’ll send a search party this afternoon.”

Papa Simon kept me company for some of the return journey. He’s paralysed down one side and has made his living by cutting grass with a long jungle-knife. He told me how his bamboo bed had collapsed and he needed £5 for a new one. I’ve known him for years and try to help when I can.

Suddenly, I was surrounded by about 15 chirpy little schoolgirls on their way home from school. A girl in a blue frock smiled up and said, “You’re Papa Francis, aren’t you? And your wife is Mama Judith!” They were so full of beans, laughing and chatting as they accompanied me, that it lifted my spirits. I stopped worrying about little Julie and the absent Ruth,

“How old are you?” I asked. “I’m 4,” came the reply. I told her she couldn’t be 4 if she was already in school, - and then ensued a lively discussion amongst them all, like a flock of chickens who’d just been thrown some grain, about how old each one was! What a treat to see healthy children, going about their daily lives!

Now I was close to home. I saw a woman and her teenage daughter sitting at the side of the road. They’d been to their forest garden and were returning with a heavy load of firewood. The sun beat down and they were having a rest. The woman asked me to take a photo. Imagine having to carry such a load before you can start cooking!

Eventually I arrived home and checked my steps counter. It hadn’t worked!