Zyphera

I don’t know. I wake up and I do not know.

My first thoughts in the morning are confusing. As the morning mist on Lake Kivu, a cloud of billions of tiny droplets pollutes my brain. Because when we start the day with you, we never know. We do not know if we will have electricity, if we will have running water. So, we do not know if we can take a shower. We do not know if the phone network is operating. We do not know if someone will shoot today. You know if you are going to hear shooting fire today? Maybe people will die. This, we know every day. Maybe tonight we will be in Kigali?

And I planned a lot of stuff to do today. Yep…we have to plan the unpredictable. Anyway, this is my strategy. I plan all even if I know in advance that nothing will happen as planned. Maybe the road will be blocked. So we’ll stay the down town. Maybe we will be stuck on the road: a demonstration, flat tires or simply a quagmire. Yeah … that’s it: quagmire! A word that we don’t often use in my place. Here it works for two things: cars and alcohol. When your car is submerged in mud or your brain in alcohol, you’re stuck!

See… today I woke up at 5:30 am to go running and go early to the hospital. But because of yesterday rain, too much mud to run. My spare tire is deflated. I’ll not take the risk of taking the road without spare tire. So I called the taxi driver. Today, it’s good: the network works. That’s right: today, I’m lucky! I do not know what you’re playing at!

I’ll tell you one thing: in my place, something bad happens occasionally. Here, we call happiness, even thin, a chance … because it is not often that it happens.

So I leave Muhumba. You know your Muhumba is a little Beverly Hills of the city. Classy … we have everything -meaning water and electricity. Ok … not all the time but enough to save it. I know we’re the rich people in the city, locked and staring at each others. Shit … we wouldn’t like that neighbors’ poverty affects us. It’s a little business district with the INGOs and the United Nations offices. So I leave Muhumba. Then … I don’t know! I didn’t know that there was construction work on the road to the hospital. We make a detour from Independence square to Industrial then Kadutu and then we find back the way to the hospital. Some have heard these names … few have practiced them! Your road tires me.

We miss crushing a dozen of kids wandering on the road. I don’t know. They seem skating as they slide on the mud. I’m tired of seeing people walk in the mud. And all these old small women, like ants, who are caring twice their weight on their back. It makes me think I should buy you shoes. In short, it sickens me. I need to throw up when I feel your misery. Because your misery smells, you know that? Even my housemaid smells misery. My roommate asked him to have a shower. It bothers me these “expats”. You know those white: your pimps. Yeah I know I’m white too. I don’t want to see them anymore. I can’t. It is beyond my control. Maybe I’m racist or jealous … I don’t know.

Dozens of trucks delivering bread, cassava, primus beers. Some which I’d rather not even know the content. Tell: what are you hiding?

Damn … yesterday, fourth time to be stopped by police officers in a week. Well…I have a new car. Maybe they think that “I have eaten” as they say. Here, we don’t spend money: we eat it. I’m tired of wasting time with these idiots. Alright, this time I was wrong. The car’s insurance had expired. So I said « okay, I’m going to the police station to rectify it. » When the officer recognized me, he apologized for having disturbed me. For once he had done his job properly!

Between big white 4*4, motorcycles and hundred pedestrians, I cross the city in the taxi. The rear trunk plays castanets to the rhythm of rocks and holes on the road. The car slips on the mud. I’m not even afraid. At first, I was afraid of you, I thought my heart will stop. And finally: since we don’t know what we will die from, better not to die out of fear… it would be a shame! But it bothers me: this misery, these white, and your children.

You make me tired Congo. I hate you and love you with an unexplained love. You’ve reserved some surprises: good and bad. Especially fears. I’ve never felt so stressed, so enthusiastic, so disappointed, angry, excited. You made me wait hours and months before I get satisfaction from you. More…I paid. An expensive cost: my best years, my family, my health. Prostitute! Right, you’re a bitch actually. Like all whores, you sell yourself. And it is because you do not respect yourself that others do not respect you. And I like a whore. Shit … how did you do that? I wanted to give everything for you to become a respectable woman.

At the end of the road, I find Doc. The « M.D, » as they say. There, perched on a hill. Future Nobel Peace Price they say. You gonna to tell me that he is the good surprise? Certainly. Please, don’t tell me he’s the only one. Because there … it is not a surprise, it’s a miracle.

You see, between Muhumba and Panzi, Baraka and Uvira, and Shabunda Kilembwe … I’ve watched you. In fact, you’re not shy … just complicated. These muzungus … they say that Kinshasa is not you … Bukavu is not you …. the Congo is Bunyakiri, Mbuji Mayi, Lulingu. Yeah…that’s what they want from you Congo: that all your faces look like violence, misery, ignorance, isolation … and then it must be sexy too! You see, like the flaming and moist deep forest. It’s beautiful on their pictures! I told you you’re a whore for them.

You have thousand faces and they are all yours.

You’re too complicated Congo. It makes me tired. See, I tried a hundred solutions to your problems … Every time you do the same to me! You make me believe it will work and when I do, you let me! I do not want any other. I wanted to be different in your eyes. I’ve listened you and followed you. Even when I didn’t agree. Then I tried to compromise. I’ve even forced as necessary to a child, too unconscious of danger. By the way…what are you exactly? a whore or a child? I’m talking bad to, eh? I wouldn’t look to your eyes if you had ones. I told you: I paid. And what do you give me back? I wanted you, Congo. I have a right to happiness. I will be happy when you’ll be happy, Congo. I don’t know. I don’t even know why I love you. You see, with my words, I reject you … so you take me back! Maybe if I pull hard the elastic, you’ll slam on me. I left you twice. A call and presto I was back again. I have not even taken the time to forgive you. As a teenager with a broken heart, I fell into your arms too happy that you want me again. Then I’ve trusted you again.

I still love you, even more. See… I speak badly to tease you. Because now I know who you are. You do not impress me anymore, I’m not afraid anymore and I don’t admire you anymore. I know your exact value. In fact this is love: to love you for what you are, even if I don’t like everything, even if I don’t admire you, even if you don’t excite me. That’s all I know.

I wake up in the morning. There are two things I know: one is that I do not know, and the other that I love you. This time it will be my rules. I will take distance, to observe you. I need a rest from your condition and you…you have enough swains waiting for you. Don’t worry, you and me, it’s something. Many people think that you are lazy, childish, irresponsible … and victim. I know you’re not. You’re more than that. So here we are! I leave you for some time. Let’s say we take a break. I’ll visit you. From where I’ll be, I will work for you and all others. Maybe I will open a brothel. Come on…Congo, I tease you! And note that I’m talking to you better! Because people don’t respect you, I’ll show them who you are. I will teach them respect! You know, don’t misunderstand: your pimps are not happier than you, Congo. But they don’t show it. If they would do … you won’t be afraid anymore. If they would, you would be the one who manage their brothel. Don’t worry, Congo: I’ll build you a new house, in a nice neighborhood. Then you will raise your children in joy and peace. When you’ll settle, I will keep the door as you have kept mine over the years.