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. 

Marie

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.

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".

Marie - interested in horizons new

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." (She was actually 27 at the time, but we thought she was 18)

"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!

Congo Kinshasa: Happy New Shoes!

 

“What will 2023 bring us?” I asked Judith. “Never mind that,” replied Judith,  ”the owner of the main centre wants his rent! Put your walking shoes on, withdraw some money from Huang’s store and take it to the centre. After two days of non-stop rain, the roads are extremely muddy.” In 2014, I invested in a pair of shoes. After wearing flip-flops, prising my feet into good supportive shoes felt uplifting, and would carry me across the bumps and crevices of the eroded dirt tracks.

My shoe when it was new!

Huang’s shop is about a mile away. The sun was out now and it was getting hot. I took the money and set out to our feeding centre. It was 2 miles uphill and the sun was now relentless. Sweat trickled into my t-shirt, but my shoes held the muddy road well.

At the centre, I chatted with parents of the few resident children there. I gave Judith’s sister the rent, tightened my shoelaces and strode out towards our house.

Francis Hannaway
with Judith's sister, Leticia

The roads are always full of people: women carrying huge baskets of firewood, school children in their smart uniforms, men pushing handcarts full of bricks. People said hello, but I didn’t want to break my step. A quick “Hello!” in reply and I kept going.

Perhaps Judith will have a cold drink for me when I get in, I thought. I saw our house ahead and, curiously, heard my steps being echoed. With every step I took, it was as if something was tapping underneath one shoe.

Judith greeted me at the door, but there was no cold drink.”Because of the 2 days rain, I’ve got no charge in my phone, neither have you. Go to the Catholic Procure and get Fr. Christiantus to charge them.” I showed her my shoe. Part of the heel was detached; it was only a bit, I’ll buy some glue. Off I went – it’s only a 10 minute walk. Dark clouds rapidly appeared in response to the baking heat, and large spots of warm rain started to fall – and something else. This time like someone clapping in time to my steps! I looked down at my other shoe – the whole of the underside of the shoe was slapping the bottom of my foot!

Fr Christiantus Nna

Fr. Christiantus laughed and gave me a pair of house slippers and a lift home.

“During 2023, I’d like to buy some new shoes!” I told Judith, on arriving.

“Never mind that,” she said, “ I’ve made a list of what we need …” And with that she gave me a list of everything that’s worn out over 8 years of running the centre: cooking pots, spoons , plates, cups, buckets …

So, here’s hoping our New Year gets off to a great renewal! Happy New Year to you all!

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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