Congo Kinshasa: Tiny Tim at the malnutrition centre

 

It always amazes me how early advertising for Christmas begins, and that’s long before Advent has even started. Advent is when we take stock of how we live, in preparation for the Nativity of Christ. Even so, we’re already buying presents and decorating our homes. We might start to watch some classic films, like A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens … and perhaps that helps us in our reflection.

Judith and Francis Hannaway

In the story, set in snowbound Victorian England, Ebenezer Scrooge is a character we’d like not to be associated with.  But we might be left feeling uncomfortable in recognising some aspects of our own selfishness. The Ghost of Christmas Present shows Bob Cratchit and family trying to enjoy Christmas. Tiny Tim, a very frail child, is with them. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come shows a different scene. Tiny Tim has passed away. Scrooge is urged to change his ways, to improve his life by loving his neighbour, in this case, the family of his underpaid worker, Bob Cratchit.

As it happens, here in the Congo, at the malnutrition centre, we accepted a little boy called Tim, Timothé in French, and yes, he was tiny. All the children are frail, even the plump ones  because of the swelling. As we’re always short of food stock, Judith asked me to make a special push for funds.

“I’ve heard that during Advent people in Europe like to buy presents,” she smiled. “I’m sure people will support Timothé’s treatment.”  She wiped her hands on her apron after stirring a huge pan of beans, sweat from the midday sun glistening on her forehead. The heat in the rainforest is relentless, even in December.

Our “Tiny Tim” was very underweight. He didn’t walk with a crutch like in the story, but had difficulty standing. His swollen feet were painful and his left eye was almost closed because his face was also swollen.

I took some photos of him with his family to post on social media. Two months treatment on our feeding programme, including medicines, would cost around £250, Not only that, we also have another 30 ‘Tiny Tims’ at the centre. Sadly, the spectre of Christmas Yet to Come is only too real here; we’ve lost 5 children since September. There have been certain times when we’ve become dangerously close to running out of food to feed the children, as well.

“Christmas shopping in Hull, York, Bridlington and Middlesbrough is in full flow,” I told her. “It’ll be difficult to distract them from that!”

“Like Ebenezer Scrooge,” she continued, “he spent time in reflection. He bought Tiny Tim and his family a turkey. He got his life in order.”

Scrooge was left with a choice, his life wouldn’t continue to be just about himself, but it would include some social action. What better way to prepare ourselves for the coming of Christmas!

Wishing you all a peaceful and reflective Advent – from Francis and Judith.

In the words of Tiny Tim, “God Bless us everyone!”

 

Congo Kinshasa: Judith's Flight

I finally had a short break in Middlesbrough, and when I got back to Kinshasa, Judith was keen to get back to Basankusu, to buy more stock and survey the work at the centre. I had to stay in Kinshasa for a few weeks to get another 3-month stamp in my passport. Judith called a few contacts and secured a place on the 16-seater plane going to Basankusu’s palm-oil plantation. Mentioning her headteacher father’s name was enough to secure a seat. The plane would go directly to Basankusu. 

Judith Hannaway

Then she told me that she was giving away the seat. “Don’t worry,” she smiled, “I’m giving it to the General Councillor for Mill Hill Missionaries – he’s just arrived for a visit. They’re going to get me on another plane the following day!” 

Fr Philip Adede MHM, was pressed for time; he needed to get to Basankusu in a hurry. And so off he went. Judith got a call the day Philip went – “your new flight has been cancelled”. Now, she was stuck. Fr Patrick Lonkoy MHM had welcomed Fr Philip, but, having also been left behind, would now find another flight with Judith. 

Eating in a Lebanese restaurant the evening before
Fr Philip's (2nd from left) flight to Basankusu

They arranged a flight the following morning, Saturday, at 6 am. It would take them to Mbandaka. We often fly to Mbandaka; it’s at the point where the Equator crosses the Congo River. After that, to get to Basankusu, it’s necessary to travel by river for 36 hours Still half asleep, they both arrived at Kinshasa Airport. At about 10 am the flight was cancelled – but not to worry, it would go the next day. Judith’s brother lived nearby, so she stayed there. 

The next morning they were told – “0h, we don’t fly on Sundays!” While all this was going on, there was a national fuel shortage – not just for cars, but also aviation fuel. Perhaps that was the problem. Monday’s flight was postponed to Tuesday. People were starting to get angry, not least of which was Judith. Tuesday’s flight was postponed till Wednesday. 

Fr Gregoire, a Basankusu priest, arrived to take a flight on Wednesday. That flight also didn’t go. Fr Patrick was starting to panic. “Fr Philip is returning via Mbandaka – I need to be there to help him.” He asked about another flight, and, after paying something extra, was on his way. 

Fr Gregoire and Judith reluctantly reclaimed their cases and went back to Kinshasa. They were eventually offered a place on Saturday morning, a full week after the first attempt. There were to be 2 flights. Fr Gregoire was placed on the first. Judith was left again. The other passengers got very angry, and started banging on the counter. They pushed forward and there were scuffles with the airline staff. People tried to climb over the counter to see the manager. The police came in! It was chaos. The flight was cancelled. 

The 16-seter plane which took Fr Philip
directly to Basankusu

We don’t know if the fuel shortage was still a factor; there’d also been torrential rain in Mbandaka. But it was more likely to be the fact that the passengers had become a safety risk. 

Sunday morning, Judith finally flew to Mbandaka. Fr Philip and Fr Patrick were able to return on the same plane. Fr Gregoire was waiting for Judith – and on Monday morning they set off for Basankusu by river, arriving, exhausted, early Wednesday morning. 

Congo Kinshasa: A second opinion saves Brigitte's leg!

 The doctors looked concerned. Mama Te-te had taken her 4 year old daughter, Brigitte, to hospital because she hadn’t been right for a long time. “She’s got severe circulation problems,” said Dr. Philippe. “To alleviate that, we’d like to amputate one leg.” Mama Te-te was speechless. Her lovely, chatty little girl? Cut off a leg? It can’t be true!

We weren’t really happy with that and decided to send her to Kinshasa for a better diagnosis. A scan of her heart wasn’t available in Basankusu. 

Brigitte during her treatment

Judith and I were already in distant Kinshasa. We arranged for a riverboat cabin, to go 300 miles to Mbandaka, where there are regular flights to Kinshasa, a further 370 miles. The boat would leave on Thursday. Well, perhaps Saturday. No, come back on Tuesday!

Te-te and Brigitte found another boat - a 20 foot wooden canoe with an outboard motor, which was carrying goats. The river journey lasted 24 hours. 

It was the first time that Te-te had been to Mbandaka. It had tarmac roads, normal cars, instead of the handful of 4-wheel drives of Basankusu. She felt like she’d arrived in a big city – so what would Kinshasa be like?

Our friends put them up for a couple of days, and guided them through the small airport. The next thing they knew they were in Kinshasa. 

Te-te was in awe! “How do people get down from those high-rise blocks of flats?” she asked. There was much to discover.

Judith went with them to the hospital. They did some blood tests and gave some antibiotics. They made an appointment for a scan and x-rays on the other side of Kinshasa, at the University Clinic. 

On the morning of the appointment, Judith took a motor-bike taxi, just before sunrise, to collect Te-te and Brigitte from where they were staying. Suddenly, 2 machete wielding bandits sprang forth. They had no idea she was carrying £500 to pay for the hospital tests! The driver put his bike down and both he and Judith pelted the thieves with stones from the road – causing them to flee. They just managed to race away on the motorbike when a bigger group of bandits came rushing to help their friends! But Judith’s driver had already sped past them. The hospital fees were intact and the scan went ahead.

Over the next few weeks they had other appointments, more medicines were given, and a diagnosis was arrived at. 

Brigitte was suffering from TB, which is completely treatable, and some other deep rooted infections. She has a genetic condition, which she’s had since birth. It’s called Sickle Cell Disease; blood cells get broken because they’re misshapen. It can cause pain and tiredness. She’ll need looking after all her life with frequent doctor’s visits for infections and even transfusions. 

The good news is that Brigitte didn’t need to lose a leg! What I’m looking for now are sponsors to help Brigitte to supplement her diet and medical fees each month. 

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!

Congo Kinshasa : Helping amid tribal conflict

Joseph is 21. The total breakdown of medical services in his village left him in a dire position. The doctors and nurses had been forced to flee, and Joseph’s pain became worse. Eventually his family got him onto a boat that would call in at Basankusu, 60 miles downriver. When he arrived, his appendix had already burst; he had an intestinal occlusion (we think from being beaten) – which means that nothing could get through.

 

Joseph receiving medication
the evening he arrived 

It was already late afternoon when he arrived. Dr Eric called Judith to the hospital. “I know you normally help malnourished children,” he said, “but this young man has fled, in fear of his life, and has no-one else to help him. Without an operation he will die.” Judith told him we’d been stung before – he might die anyway and then the family will ask for money for his funeral, including food for the family and his journey home. We can’t risk such expense! Dr. Eric suggested that the family sign a disclaimer letter. They would welcome any help we could offer, and put in writing a statement that they wouldn’t pursue the matter further. After they, and a witness, had signed the letter, the doctor gave some antibiotics and other drugs to calm his system. We paid for his first medicines. Joseph had escaped from the village of Djombo. Djombo is often beset with ethnic conflict. This time it had got out of hand. The Gombe tribe is the majority. The Provincial MPs had appointed traditional chiefs only from the minority Mongo tribe. Regionally, Mongo are the majority, but not in Djombo. The MPs had gone as far as providing automatic weapons to the Mongo groups. The result is carnage, with bodies strewn all over the place, and 347 houses burnt to the ground. Doctors, nurses, teachers and so on, as well as a lot of the population have been forced to flee. Police from the city of Mbandaka, have been deployed. The operation took place the next morning. Dr Eric called me to buy the compresses, gloves, syringes, anaesthetics and so on, necessary for the operation. I whizzed off into town to collect the money at Hung’s shop, dropping off Judith at Basankusu Cathedral for Christmas Day Mass. I left Dr. Eric to his work, and joined Judith at Mass. 

Joseph a few days after his operation

I’m pleased to say that the operation was a success. Joseph will spend at least 2 weeks in hospital. 

So our costs will begin like this: 

• 15 days in hospital x £8 = £120 
• Operation = £97 
• Medicines and dressings = £80 
• Food 15 days x £5 (including his 2 minders) = £75 

Total for the beginning: £372

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Congo Kinshasa : Francis Hannaway - ce que je fais

Je m'appelle Francis Hannaway.

Je viens de Middlesbrough, en Angleterre.

Cette page en anglais.

Je vis et travaille au Congo. La République Démocratique du Congo, pour lui donner son nom complet, est un pays immense en plein milieu de l'Afrique. Il est couvert d'une forêt tropicale luxuriante. Et je peux cueillir des avocats, des bananes et des ananas dans mon jardin pour prendre le petit-déjeuner.

Mais comment suis-je arrivé ici ? Et qu'est-ce que je fais?

Je vais commencer mon histoire avec mon père. Il était soudeur au chantier naval Smith's Dock, à Middlesbrough. À 29 ans, il a traversé le Canada. Plus tard, après avoir épousé ma mère et avoir eu des enfants, il nous a emmenés à l'autre bout du monde en Australie, où nous avons vécu pendant près de 3 ans. J'aimerais penser que mon sens de l'aventure vient de lui.

Francis Hannaway avec Judith Bondjembo 

Les religieuses de l'école du couvent en Australie nous ont raconté des histoires d'explorateurs : Scott de l'Antarctique, Magellan et le capitaine Cook, bien sûr. Mais c'est David Livingstone qui a attiré mon attention. David Livingstone n'était pas seulement un explorateur aventurier, à la recherche de la source du Nil, il était aussi un missionnaire. J'ai décidé que c'était la vie pour moi.

Nous sommes retournés à Middlesbrough quand j'avais 10 ans. J'ai grandi et je suis devenu enseignant pour des enfants avec des besoins éducatifs particuliers. J'ai également participé à la Catholic Handicapped Fellowship (Association Catholique des personnes vivant avec un handicap), dirigeant un club de jeunes hebdomadaire un soir, et des groupes de jeux le samedi matin ; nous avons emmené nos membres en vacances en été. Cela m'a pris beaucoup de temps. J'ai pris un emprunt immobilier et j'ai emménagé dans ma propre maison, j'avais une voiture, une moto, un travail, une vie sociale, de l'argent en poche – mais tout semblait un peu trop facile. J'avais besoin de quelque chose d'un peu plus stimulant – je voulais une aventure.

Alors, j'ai pensé à mon rêve d'enfant d'aller en Afrique. J'ai réalisé bien sûr que le monde entier avait déjà été exploré – mais j'étais sûr qu'il y avait des choses que je pouvais faire pour aider les personnes vivant dans des circonstances difficiles. J'ai postulé au VSO, Voluntary Service Overseas (Service Volontaire Outre-mer). C'est une organisation parrainée par le gouvernement qui envoie des personnes dans les pays en développement pendant 2 ans. Je suis allé passer un entretien à Glasgow. Ils m'ont rejeté.

Je ne savais pas quoi faire ensuite. J'étais de retour à la case départ. Je suppose que j'aurais pu juste aller en Afrique – le Kenya que j'aurais probablement choisi – juste pour voir ce que c'était. Puis j'ai vu une annonce dans un journal catholique. La société missionnaire catholique des Missionnaires de Mill Hill, en Angleterre, recrutait des laïcs pour 3 ans afin de soutenir leur travail dans les pays en train de développement. Quand je leur ai écrit et leur ai dit que je ne savais pas vraiment ce que je pouvais faire pour les aider, une très belle lettre est revenue du P. Mark Connelly disant que lorsqu'il est allé pour la première fois au Pakistan, il n'avait aucune idée de ce qu'il pouvait faire non plus, mais avait passé les 10 dernières années là-bas à construire des communautés parmi les minorités opprimées.

Les missionnaires de Mill Hill ont décidé de m'envoyer au Pakistan. J'avais envie d'Afrique, mais le Pakistan serait encore autre chose. J'ai quitté mon travail, vendu ma maison, ma voiture, ma moto, réduit au strict minimum ma collection de photos et de cassettes (de l’époque!) et j'ai déménagé à Mill Hill, à Londres. J'ai attendu plus d'un an pour un visa qui a finalement été refusé.

Retour à la case départ.

(Mais, j'ai visité le Pakistan – j'ai fait le tour de tous les endroits où les missionnaires de Mill Hill travaillaient sur une période de 6 semaines avec un visa touristique.)

Et quand je suis retourné à Mill Hill à Londres, ils m'ont demandé d'aller dans un endroit appelé Zaïre. A cette époque, le Congo avait changé son nom en Zaïre – mais l'a depuis rebaptisé Congo. Je n'avais aucune idée de l'endroit où se trouvait cet endroit du Zaïre. Les jeunes hommes qui étudiaient pour devenir prêtres à Londres m'ont tous dit que ce serait horrible, parce que c'est tellement isolé, ce n'est pas près de n'importe où, et il n'y a pas de vraies routes reliant les lieux. Basankusu, l'endroit où travaillaient les missionnaires était en plein milieu de la forêt tropicale. Pas de magasins, pas de téléphones, pas de journaux, pas de McDonalds… J'ai pensé Woah ! C'est exactement ce que je recherche ! C'était en 1992.

Quand je suis arrivé, j'ai été choqué de voir à quel point tout était en panne, à quel point tout était sale et négligé – mais au bout d'une semaine, je m'y suis habitué. J'y ai passé deux ans dans un petit village, à enseigner à de petits groupes de jeunes gens qui voulaient devenir prêtres missionnaires. J'ai appris la langue locale, le lingala, je me suis fait beaucoup d'amis.

Je suis retourné à une carrière d'enseignant dans les écoles primaires de anglettere, j'ai visité Basankusu plusieurs fois après mon passage là-bas, et j'ai finalement fait quelques visites à Kinshasa pour aider un groupe environnemental là-bas. Lors d'une visite, en 2013, je suis remonté à Basankusu, et je suis resté à la mission où il ne restait qu'un prêtre anglais, le P. John Kirwan, du Liverpool. Il a dit : « Francis, tu reviens régulièrement pour des visites ; pourquoi ne viens-tu pas faire encore 3 ans avec nous ? Nous avons besoin de quelqu'un pour enseigner l'anglais aux étudiants et si vous pouviez vous occuper de la comptabilité pour nous, ce serait encore mieux.

Alors, j'ai accepté et j'y suis retourné, en décembre 2014.

Alors que je me préparais à partir, j'ai lu sur le fléau de la malnutrition au Congo. 50% des nourrissons ne vivent pas au-delà de leur 5e anniversaire - c'est incroyable. Avoir des familles aussi nombreuses fait partie du problème. Les femmes accouchent à peu près chaque année et ne peuvent plus nourrir leurs enfants. La pauvreté est la principale cause de malnutrition – mais il y a d'autres causes – un enfant peut souffrir de l'une des nombreuses maladies tropicales et ne pas être en mesure de reprendre du poids par la suite. L'aliment de base est le manioc - c'est une racine qui est facile à cultiver. Ils en font un morceau de pâte et de féculents et le mangent avec tout. Il contient beaucoup de glucides mais aucune protéine. Alors ça te remplira, mais tu ne grandiras pas. On doit manger de la viande de poisson avec sinon vous aurez de sérieux problèmes.

Alors, j'ai décidé de collecter de l'argent et de voir ce que je pouvais faire.

J'ai commencé mes fonctions d'enseignant et j'ai commencé à tenir des comptes, en décembre 2014. Et la chatte de mission a donné naissance à 3 adorables petits chatons. Nous en avons donné 2 et le 3ème type est devenu le mien. Il a bien fait pendant un certain temps, puis un jour, il a refusé de manger. Chaque jour qui passait, il maigrissait. J'ai essayé de le nourrir mais il a gardé la bouche fermement fermée et a refusé tout ce que je lui offrais. Finalement, il est mort et j'étais assez déprimé à ce sujet. Comment allais-je faire face aux enfants malnutris si j’étais bouleversé parce que mon chat est mort ? Je vais devoir me ressaisir.

Alors, j'ai soutenu un groupe qui venait juste de démarrer à Basankusu, je leur ai donné de l'argent pour acheter de la nourriture pour nourrir les enfants malnutris pendant 3 jours de la semaine - pour que ce soit un programme d'alimentation complémentaire, les parents ont toujours la responsabilité des enfants les autres jours.

L'une des volontaires, Judith Bondjembo, a décidé que certains des enfants, 2 ou 3 enfants, étaient si gravement malnutris qu'ils avaient besoin d'un soutien 7 jours sur 7. Elle les nourrit donc elle-même depuis la maison de sa grand-mère, où elle habitait à l'époque. J'ai dit que je le financerais.

Au bout d'environ 9 mois, nous avons constaté que le projet était mal géré – la femme en charge se préparait de la nourriture pour elle-même et sa famille. Judith nous a suggéré de louer une petite maison et de créer nous-mêmes un centre. Alors nous l'avons fait. Nous étions si heureux lorsque tous les bénévoles du premier projet nous ont suivis. Et c'est ainsi que nous avons commencé.

Après 4 ans, la Société Missionnaire a déménagé son établissement d'enseignement à Kinshasa, donc maintenant je suis indépendant d'eux. Judith et moi dirigeons toujours le centre, c'est notre 7e année. Nous sommes en quelque sorte devenus les Services Sociaux de Basankusu. Les gens nous arrêtent dans la rue pour nous montrer leurs enfants.

Alors, à quoi ressemble une journée type pour moi ? C'est comme ça:

Levé à 6 heures du matin, lavé à l'eau du puits.

Judith me rejoint à 7h. Nous prenons le petit déjeuner ensemble.

Souvent, nous avons des parents avec des enfants malnutris qui arrivent de villages lointains.

Nous les emmenons au petit hôpital catholique qui est à côté de chez moi. On les fait enregistrer, on fait l'état civil, l'adresse, le nom, l'âge, le poids, etc. Puis on passe au laboratoire pour faire d'autres tests : le fer dans le sang, les parasites (vers), le paludisme et d'autres maladies sont testés.

Certains enfants ont besoin d'un traitement supplémentaire et sont admis à l'hôpital. La malnutrition se présente sous diverses formes et divers degrés de gravité. Ainsi, nous regroupons les enfants généralement en cas graves et modérés. Les parents sont priés de se présenter avec leurs enfants à notre centre d'alimentation qui se trouve de l'autre côté de Basankusu. C'est juste une petite maison de plain-pied. Le coin cuisine est un abri de chaume à l'extérieur de la maison. Et les enfants s'assoient sur une bâche pour recevoir leur nourriture. Nous tirons de l'eau de notre puits pour nous laver, cuisiner et boire.

Le travail au centre d'alimentation commence à 7 heures du matin. La majorité des enfants souffrent généralement de malnutrition modérée. Les bénévoles participent à tour de rôle et préparent les repas pour eux le lundi, le mercredi et le samedi. Juste après 7 heures du matin, ils boiront du thé au lait avec du sucre et mangeront du pain. Entre 9 et 10, ils mangent de la bouillie. La bouillie est faite de maïs moulu, d'arachides moulues et de lait de soja, avec de l'huile végétale et du sucre ajoutés. Cela garantit une source de protéines et d'énergie facile à absorber. Vers midi, ils prennent un repas d’haricots, sauce tomate, riz et poisson.

Les enfants sévèrement malnutris dorment au centre avec leurs parents. Ils sont nourris tous les jours jusqu'à ce qu'ils puissent être classés comme modérément malnutris. Ces enfants ont souvent les signes classiques de la kwashiorkor : ventre, visage et pieds gonflés, peau pâle qui pèle, cheveux pâles fragiles, léthargie, peu d'intérêt pour manger, souvent irritable – les enfants malnutris sont souvent de mauvaise humeur – quand ils se mettent à rire vous savez ils vont mieux ! Ils commencent les deux premières semaines par un régime de lait entier, en poudre, additionné d'un peu de sucre et d'huile végétale, toutes les quatre heures. Après une semaine, le gonflement est réduit. Finalement, la bouillie est introduite, puis des aliments solides, tels que du riz et des haricots.

Lorsque Judith et moi avons fini de soigner les enfants à l'hôpital, nous prenons chacun un taxi-vélo, sur les pistes de terre accidentées, à travers la ville jusqu'au centre d'alimentation. Nous gérons l'approvisionnement en nourriture, l'entretien du bâtiment et des terrains, la plantation de soja et de légumes verts feuillus, et suivons l'inscription et la progression des enfants sur nos livres.

Le premier samedi de chaque mois, nous tenons une réunion avec les douze bénévoles. Les volontaires perçoivent une petite indemnité pour les dépenses lors de cette réunion. Ils reçoivent chacun environ 16 euros, plus 5 tasses de haricots, 5 tasses de riz et 2 tasses de sel. Les jours spéciaux, Noël, la Journée internationale de la femme, les fêtes religieuses, etc., ils reçoivent souvent la même chose. Habituellement, ils obtiendront une longueur de tissu pour faire leur uniforme. La responsable/magasinière du centre reçoit un peu plus car elle vit au centre et est de garde pour les cas graves. Nous avons aussi une infirmière qui prescrit des médicaments et forme les parents. Au cours de la réunion, présidée par Judith, les bénévoles discutent de ce qui s'est bien passé et de ce qui pourrait être amélioré. Les activités associées, telles que nos jardins pour l'arachide, le maïs et les haricots, sont discutées. Les membres qui sont en retard au travail ou qui ont causé un problème peuvent être pénalisés et leurs privilèges suspendus. Ceux qui ont fait un effort supplémentaire sont applaudis.

Novembre à janvier est généralement une période calme au centre. Mai à octobre est la période la plus achalandée, avec jusqu'à 75 enfants présents. L'année dernière a été plus chargée que jamais en raison d'une épidémie de rougeole, 7 000 morts à l'échelle nationale.

Des enfants à la centre de malnutrition. 

Vers 13h. Judith et moi laissons les bénévoles finir. Nous rentrons à pied.

Parfois, nous avons des enfants à l'hôpital général et nous pouvons leur rendre visite. Il y a d'innombrables incidents où nous devons retrouver des enfants à la maison, mais généralement, nous les obligeons à rester au même endroit. De même, nous devons souvent donner des conseils diplomatiques au personnel soignant et aux infirmières dans les hôpitaux en raison de la fragilité des enfants souffrant de malnutrition.

Après le déjeuner – généralement composé de poisson, de légumes verts et de riz ou de bananes plantain, je me suis mis à organiser des photos et des vidéos à publier sur Facebook et Instagram. J'écris également un article chaque mois pour la Middlesbrough Catholic Voice. Grâce à ces efforts, nous essayons de collecter suffisamment d'argent pour continuer.

Au cours de l'après-midi, nous pouvions parfois recevoir la visite d'une personne handicapée ayant besoin d'un fauteuil roulant. Au cours des 5 dernières années, j'ai fourni 34 fauteuils roulants. La poliomyélite est la principale cause d'invalidité à Basankusu et au Congo en général. Beaucoup d'adultes handicapés n'ont d’autrechoix que de ramper sur le sol - par temps sec, c'est déjà assez difficile, mais par temps humide, le sol se transforme en boue. Offrir un fauteuil roulant à quelqu'un révolutionne complètement sa vie. Si quelqu'un se présente pour demander une chaise (ou un vélo comme ils aiment les appeler ici), je prends des photos, ou je fais une petite vidéo – puis je lance un appel sur facebook pour récolter de l'argent. Nous fabriquons les chaises localement. Ils coûtent environ €350 chacun à fabriquer.

Le soir, nous faisons généralement le tour de l'hôpital catholique pour rendre visite à l'un de nos enfants qui s'y trouve.

Les choses ont beaucoup changé depuis les années 1990, lorsque j'étais ici pour la première fois. Les panneaux solaires et la télévision par satellite ne peuvent être achetés que par quelques-uns – et de la même manière, les téléphones portables sont trop chers pour la plupart des gens – mais tout de même, beaucoup de gens en ont de nos jours. J'ai un abonnement de base pour Canal+ à €7/mois. Alors j'ai les infos en français et Judith a ses feuilletons.

Les jours où nous ne sommes pas à l'hôpital ou au centre d'alimentation, nous allons à notre potager dans la forêt. Tous les bénévoles et leurs enfants se joignent à nous. Cette année, nous avons un hectare de terrain planté d'arachides. Cela réduit les coûts au centre en complétant nos stocks. Une partie des cacahuètes peut être vendue et chaque bénévole reçoit une part du reste en guise d'encouragement pour son travail. C'est à environ 6 km de Basankusu.

J'ai une existence assez maigre, les articles de luxe ne sont pas vraiment disponibles. Nous nous disputons pour savoir si un pot de pâte à tartiner au chocolat est une extravagance ou non. Heureusement, Judith est déterminée à ce que je ne me laisse pas faire et veille à ce que je vive sans mourir de faim.

Alors, comment puis-je tout financer ?

Je prends des photos et fais des vidéos de 2 minutes à mettre sur facebook. Les gens envoient de petits dons, et c'est comme ça que je me débrouille. Je dois générer environ €2.500 chaque mois pour continuer. Cela couvre la nourriture des enfants, les frais d'hospitalisation et mes frais de subsistance quotidiens. Ce serait formidable si les gens pouvaient jeter un œil à ma page facebook pour voir ce que je fais et peut-être envoyer eux-mêmes un petit don.

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Congo Kinshasa : another blood transfusion for a malnourished child

Saturday 11 September 

Here's another lovely little girl, 10 years, called Mama. She came with her mother to my house Wednesday, but because of the nurses' strike we were left to prescribe ourselves, aot the main centre. I visited her yesterday and she'd already made improvements. 

Sunday 12 September 

A busy Sunday morning, so far... 

Little Mama (10) whom I photographed yesterday in an improved state, arrived early. Yesterday, I saw her iron was low (pale eyes/inside eyelids, pale palms). Mum only agreed to iron syrup.

Mama with her mum

Nevertheless, Laeticia was concerned enough this morning to send her to me. I quickly dressed in yesterday's clothes and bypassed the bucket of hot water, which had been brought for my morning bucket-bath. 

On the way to the hospital, I told her she would almost certainly need a transfusion - and she agreed. 

I found Dr. Eric, bright and enthusiastic, outside his consulting room, washing his face from a cup of water. (the nurses' strike is still ongoing). 

Mama's mother told a long complicated story, trying to say her daughter's condition wasn't her fault. She has a lot of issues, but Dr. Eric was able to reassure and encourage her. He recognised her anaemia and convinced mum again that a transfusion was the best way forward. 

Donate to Francis' malnutrition centres. 

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Her oldest daughter arrived. I told her she could be the donor. She refused. I wasn't pleased. "This is your own sister!" but she still refused. Mum told her to go and get, family member, Thomas. The young woman refused again, she didn't like him, she wasn't going!

We went over to the shoddy children's ward (where Martini is sleeping) and got her a bed. 

I returned home (next door) while the doctor and Mama's mother sorted out a donor. 

My bucket of water had cooled a little, but I felt more awake after getting washed. I sat down to breakfast. 

Then the rain started. Fortunately, it was heavy but not impassable, as is often the case in the tropics. Mama Julie told me they needed the 10,000 Congolese Francs (£3) for the donor. (The whole process will cost around £50). 

The rain continued as I popped in to see Dr. Eric taking blood from the donor - which turned out in the end to be Thomas. I smiled and told him to come to my house afterwards to have some sweet, milky tea and bread. I walked back carefully, in the rain, taking care not to slip in my flimsy flip-flops. Everything was going to be alright.

Congo Kinshasa: Red Zone leaves me between a rock and a hard place

 

Work at my centre continues; we've got so many children arriving, it's difficult to keep up. We've got 49 at the centre right now. Parents often bring their children at 6 in the morning, or even at 9 in the evening. Some have such advanced malnutrition that they need an immediate blood transfusion at the Catholic hospital, next door. The hospital is a simple clinic, with only one nurse on night duty. We usually keep a stock of pouches for blood at my house, for whenever the hospital pharmacy is closed. Otherwise, we search through the dark streets to find a private pharmacy kiosk on the chance that they have some. Then we need to wake a donor. Not all of the children make it through the night, but for those who do the long process of recovery begins at my centre - for at least 2 or 3 months. We give them foods with protein to repair the body, and energy to keep them positive. We treat them for underlying conditions like worms, malaria and TB.

Francis Hannaway and Judith Bondjembo

Our hospital bill just for June was £430, plus meds bought outside. Our food bill during May/June/July/August is around £500 each month. Running costs in general are at about £2,000 per month – at this time of year we spend more, November to February we spend less.

Children at the malnutrition centre recently

I was thinking about a visit home, but corona and visa complications make it unlikely.

I was home for Christmas 2019, and stayed a week at Maidenhead, with Mill Hill Missionaries, while I renewed my visa. I came back to the Congo in February 2020, with a return ticket to Manchester, 8 July the same year. (I think I’d decided that I needed more frequent breaks!) The flight was cancelled, but I was forbidden from travelling to Kinshasa for it anyway, because of coronavirus restrictions.

I had the possibility of travelling after my arrival in Kinshasa 27 August, but I was busy with buying stock and registering my charity nationally. The immigration police said they'd tell me what I'd need for a long-term visa. They dragged their heels, issuing a visa for 3 months, and then a further 3 months, as they spun things out again. I finally submitted my application in February and the UK put Congo on the red list. I'm still waiting for my visa and my passport back. I've dodged some more shenanigans from the immigration police during my return to Kinshasa a week ago. (At 9:30 last Wednesday morning, I was told there was a place on a 16-seater which was delivering equipment for a palm plantation at 12 noon. I was the only passenger.)

I have a rebooked flight for 8 July in a week’s time, to Manchester, but it would mean a hotel quarantine (an exorbitant £1750) - and I'd need to get my passport back first, and then it would leave me in the UK without a visa to return. So, I won't be getting on the flight. So much for having more frequent breaks!