How is real life in Congo

Ilenia Mallus
Sep 15, 2015
5 min read

When I went to Congo last year, I promised myself to write in a diary what happened to me every single day. Of course I didn't, as I was too busy living the moment and honestly, a bit jealous of my experiences to even share them with a piece of paper.

But now it's time to reveal, because people need to know how amazing Africa is.

Going to Africa has been my dream for ages, but I got the opportunity really casually.

I was home in Sardinia 2 months, and I heard about a person who has been to Congo 2 years before, so I decided to send a message to get some info.

I got the number of a nun, who lives in Sardinia but has congolese origins, embassador of an organization which raises money for orphans in Congo.

It didn't take me long… I called the nun, introduce myself, and ask if I could join her during her next trip (which it should have started 2 months after).

It was thank to “the law of attraction” or “God-knows-what-other-kind-of-magic”, but the nun accepted to take a stranger and helped to prepare all the necessary things.

I felt like I was LIVING THE DREAM, but the same didn't happen to the people around me when I let them know. Support was nowhere to be seen, as they thought I was totally out of my mind. “Africa?? You will resist 2 days and then you can´t fly back soon as tickets are so expensive; there is Ebola/Malaria/Hiv/Syphilis…; It´s a Third World Country with wars and evil people and BLA BLA BLA.

Bullshit. I think I have never been so focus on something in my life like that time, that I let all these negative influences let me pass through and started my journey.

We stayed at the nun's uncle place in Brazzaville for 3 weeks and in a village near the city for 1 (the trip lasted one month), so I was fully-immersed in the culture, costumes and lifestyle.

Brazzaville is kind of chaotic, with crazy taxi drivers, fruit & vegetables stand, colourful dresses and dusty air as roads are not paved.

When out, the nun and me always used to get stopped by totally strangers as it was not common for them to see a congolese nun with a white girl. My nickname became “Mundele”, which means “white” in their local language. Everywhere I went, I used to hear that word, but not in a derogatory way. It was like in an “admiration-respect” way.

Women were giving me compliments about my hair and giving me small presents like fruit,honey or other local products. Men were making comments of other kind, but still very polite.

Everyone looked so relaxed and not worried about anything, just enjoying their life made of the most simple things.

We usually visited the nun´s sister, mother of 5 kids aged between 6 and 18 whom I fell so in love with.

Communication was not that easy. French is their official language and even though I studied it at school, I could not express myself as I wished. Still, after trying so hard, I managed to learn some new worlds!

The kids and me used to go for walks (promenade was one of those new french words I learned) and it became a “routine” to buy a chocolate or a fizzy drink for them. Ah... how can I forget those excited eyes?

Food was good and fish is the most popular, done in many different ways. They also have some crazy and tasty fruits never seen in my life.

What I will never forget about is something called “Fu-Fu”, a mix of flour and water eaten like a sort of bread. Women work this mix so hard, and then they divide this mixture in small balls, that people eat together with other food. It is so basic, but it fills you up so much.

Then there is something called “Magnoca”, a sort of potato that grows in the mountains. You just take it off the ground, remove the skin, and eat it like that. It doesn't really have a mind blowing taste, but I loved it.

As I mentioned, people were so smiling warm, caring and cheerful.

It happened that I have been approached by someone asking me for some of my clothes, and I did, as what for us can be cheap or of a low quality, is fashion and special for them.

But I also experienced another side of this land: corruption.

As we all know, Africa is rich. It is just forced by the powerful thieves, to wear the mask of hunger,so the 1st world Countries can feel pity and send money which will never reach these people.

Coz honestly, I don't believe in most of these organizations that show on tv images of dying kids who can barely stand with flies all over their faces. Governments are selfish and they rather see their population dying then feed them.

Africans are just “unluckier victims” of a system which wants all of us to die.

In Congo, I also managed to go to the club with a “carabiniere” met in the Italian Embassy.

It was sad to see beautiful/2km-height-legs-provided girls running after old and untouchable white men. Because white is money,some of them think.

The carabiniere also told me few stories about system in Congo, for example the police.

When police stops someone for routine checks like driving license controls, they ask the poor drivers for money and if they don't do so, police will never give them their driving license back.

We stayed in a village for 1 week. It was like a meeting with all the orphans the nun takes care of.

The village was in the middle of literally nothing but trees, just “houses” every few km and, of course, not electricity.

We stayed in a sort of house built by previous volunteers, with 4-5 bedrooms, a kitchen and a little church.

The toilet was a hole on the ground surrounded by high canes, and so the shower.

Nearby there was also a lake and a river, where the kids used to wash themselves (the “shower” was only for me and the nun for some reasons).

Days passed so quick playing with the kids, going to work in the fields, singing, dancing around the fire and cooking.

I can´t describe the beauty of waking up at 6 in the morning and have a shower in the middle of the nature, with the sun rising and the birds singing.

I stayed there one month and I swear, it was the best time of my life.

They say that once you visit Africa, you will always miss it and have a sense of nostalgia that will haunt you for ever. It is true.