Congo Kinshasa: An everyday tragedy in the Congo!

I don't even want to share this story.

I'm in Kinshasa, Congo's capital. 

We have a tiny flat here, for the times when we're passing through, or taking a break. 

Kinshasa is a dirty, chaotic, dangerous megacity of more than 17 million people. The roads are in poor condition and the overuse of cars and taxis means lots of traffic congestion. There are some small buses and shared taxis, but most people pack themselves into minibuses, 4 rows of 4 to a seat, plus two with the driver. The very few traffic-lights there are are usually ignored. Accidents are frequent; emergency services, non-existent. 

When we first moved in here, on the 2nd floor of what will become a medical centre, Judith's cousin, Gracia, and her two teenage children lived next door, in a larger flat. We share a common balcony area which overlooks the yard below. Gracia moved out when the rent went up and Jenny and her husband moved in. Jenny also had a teenage daughter from her husband's previous relationship. We got on fairly well with them and their friends, who often spent time at the flat. 

Jenny

This morning, Jenny was sorting out some clothes to dry on the balcony railing. Papa Charles, the watchman, asked us to go downstairs to chat with Mama Jumo, the building's owner, about the rent. 

It wasn't long afterwards that Meghan, leaving the flat to go to university, passed Jenny in the yard with a bucket of clothes ready to hang on the line. 

At 9:30, Meghan said goodbye to Jenny and set off. 

At 2 pm I went to collect our laundry from the washing line downstairs, because it had started to rain. I passed the bucket of laundry that Jenny had left under the clothes line. I thought no more about it and carried our dry laundry back upstairs. Not long afterwards, Meghan sent me a messsge, telling me to collect our laundry from the line because the rain was torrential where she was. I told her not to worry, because it had already stopped raining here. 

At 4pm I heard a commotion on the shared area. It was shouting! it was crying! It was wailing! AfterJenny had left her bucket of washing, she climbed onboard a packed minibus, which had carried her and her brother-in-law towards the suburbs near the airport. They were on their way to a prayer group. Suddenly, they were involved in an awful accident! The minibus rolled over. Both she and her brother-in-law were cut to pieces and were killed instantly along with a lot of other people! 

We didn't know at the time, but it had happened not long after we'd seen her at 9:30am, around 10 o'clock.

At the scene of the accident, people gathered around. The market thieves and pickpockets descended. Jenny had died instantly, her head and legs ripped from her body in the carnage. Nevertheless, one thief stole her phone. He didn't stop there. He found Jenny's step-daughter's number and called her, describing in detail what had happened.

Others who died couldn't be identified and so family members still don't know. 

Jenny braiding Stage's hair earlier this year

Eventually, the story spread, and by 4 pm friends and family had returned to Jenny's flat. 

The tradition here is to let it all out. To shout out in anger. Why did this happen to me! Who sent this evil to me! And to cry in grief! To wail! To let everything out! 

When 30 women come together like that, right outside my door, it's frightening. Thankfully, Meghan is representiing me. She'll sleep on the veranda with the other women. Tragic!