42. Zaire, Kolwezi

Kolwezi, nearly deserted streets on a workday afternoon.

We spent the next few weeks resting with the French Family in Kolwezi.  This was, and still is, the town near the huge copper mine that has been the apple of discord in Zaire.  It is supposed to account for 50% of  the Congo's exports and 8% of the world's copper.  It is also supposed to have been the source of the Uranium used in one of the atomic bombs dropped in Japan.  More recently it is the source of different rare minerals that are used in cellphone industry.

Kolwezi, Zaire,  Monday 4th April

(DAN) Today was busy. The “workers” started arriving before 0700, so Mr. French did not find time to eat breakfast until 1030. I spread the vermiculite insulation out on tin roof­ing to dry which took a while, and then I took a steel brush to the hot water tank. Then at 10:00 I took the Land Rover over to get gasoline. Of course, I had forgotten the money so had to come back. There is only one pump in town (4 empty gas stations). They can only give you 20 liters at a time, and at  Z 1250 per liter, that is either $10 a gallon or $2 a gallon depending on where you change your money. We marveled at the “moderate traffic” in Kinshasa and Kananga, but here the streets are nearly deserted. There are no motorcycles or even mopeds. We understand that the going price for day laborers here is Z 5 per day in the country and Z 10 or a lucky Z 20 in the city. When a liter of gas can cost as much as two days’ wages, you bet it pays to walk. This means that the 5-day-old bread we saw sold on the river boat could have cost as much as a day’s wage. Things simply are not rosy here in Rich Zaire.

Next I drove the Frenches over so they could buy a big load of sugar and milk (1000 lbs. of each) for themselves, the Enrights, and the project for malnourished children that Mrs. French runs. Helena spent most of the day making curtain rings out of aluminum for the dispensary that Mrs. French runs. She is also in charge of a wholesale drug supplying system for the entire district.

In the afternoon I drove Ngoy, the mechanic here, over to the “popular” part of town to find a welder for the heater tank. We drove around an hour and a half, and then lacked Z 5 of having enough to pay the man when we found him. Back across the valley up into the mine-European sector of town. I was burning at having to make the second trip in the day due to carelessness, and then when I got to the top of the hill, I got pulled over by a military policeman. He pulled out a little book and asked me if I could read the letters under a well-known symbol, “Access Interdit” (Do not enter). He jumped into the car and said, “I’m going to have to take you in.”

First he made me back up to show me, sure enough, there was the sign, and he had been waiting for someone like me to come along. As far as I could figure, they had taken a random city block, and around that particular block there is one-way traffic. The street goes from two lanes to one lane and back again. Fortunately, I had my international driver’s license which kept him occupied. Then I told him that I had just arrived Friday, I worked for the Mission Methodiste and missed the sign because I was concentrating on the terrible road con­ditions. Our incredible good fortune came through again, and when we got to the center of town, he pointed to another soldier and said, “I’ll get out by my friend”, and gave me back my license. All he said more was, “Next time, etc.......”

The drive into shanty town really shook me in itself. Mr. French mentioned that one reason youth choirs are so popular (65 strong in a tiny church) is that everyone is basically unemployed. I was approached by the youth today asking if I had work “in my store”. Then it hits you as you go through that neighborhood. Now, Helena and I have gone on foot through many a poor neighborhood, but I think it is different when you are in a vehicle. People instead of looking curious looked hungry and mad.

I think this is related to what we have observed to be the two main topics of conversa­tion here in Zaire, the amount of corruption at all levels and the amount of theft at all levels. Or maybe it is corruption at the top levels and theft at the bottom levels; it is all really the same thing. You have on one side the Greek commerçant where we bought the milk and sugar, who left in his 1982 Mercedes Benz. On the other side you have men making $.20 per day or who are unemployed.

At supper the talk centered around the U. N. High Commission of Refugees’ attempt to dispense “relief” here after the war. The cases of medicine that disappeared, trucks stripped, donated products appearing for sale, etc., etc. Enough to make one cry.  Some of the mate­rial was given to the Methodist church, and even some of it disappeared or caused friction when it was not immediately distributed among the Methodist community regardless of need.

Much of the theft is attributed to soldiers as the money that is intended for them gets skimmed off before it reaches them. They are left to fend for themselves.

                                                                                  Kolwezi, Zaire, Tuesday, 5 April, 1983

(HELENA) Yesterday I spent some time on making curtain rings by wrapping aluminum wire round and round a metal tube. Today I spent the whole day on those curtains. I had gotten the wire by unraveling a 2 meter length of thick cable left over from the infamous Inga-­Shaba electrification project (see description farther down), so this morning I cut apart the little springs I had made yesterday! That is the most exercise my fingers have gotten in a long time! We had calcu­lated that we would need 96 curtain rings, so you can imagine it took me a while. In the afternoon I started sewing the rings onto the curtains. The curtains are for the Methodist clinic across the way. They already had used them, but since the heading had been slipped onto the rod, they remained permanently closed. This bothered Mrs. French, if no one else, so they took them down, washed them, and handed them over to me.

Dan spent another rather frustrating day trying to fix the water heater. He is learning a lot about that sort of thing. We are just glad to be given things to do. I myself am getting a bit of cooking experience. The Frenches get up very early, so breakfast is al­ways ready, lunch is prepared by their cook, Levi, but Tove French asked me to do what I would like for supper for all of us. It is mostly a matter of putting out left-overs, but I still have to decide whether to follow Mother’s or Grandmother’s dictums (i.e. Grandmother, heat each little dab up separately; Mother, throw them all together and make one casserole: Ed).

We have been collecting letters since we have been here, assuming that Frenches send their mail through people going to the U. S. A., the way everyone else does. But no, today we learned a whole new system, Gecamine, the mining company, used to send its mail in a pouch to be mailed in Belgium. The post office here did not like that because of all the money they were being deprived of, so they sent a postal employee to Gecamine  Now people buy Zairois stamps, but twice a week Gecamine sends it directly to Belgium. Anyway, that way the mail is much safer and faster than through the main post office. I guess it is only for Gecamine workers,  but the Frenches are able to use the system, too. So, our mail should get to you fine, but your mail will probably take at least 3 or 4 weeks to arrive

It started raining right at the time Dan and Mrs. French were going to take the mail, and it continued all through the night. Sounds mighty nice from inside this nice snug house. The house is nestled, along with that of  the disctrict superintendent and a big storehouse, in among tall eucalyptus trees. Besides those there is a bamboo thicket right across the drive, the yard is covered with grass, and they have really nice shrubs in front of and behind the house. When we arrived last week, they were having a straw-thatched shelter built for breakfast or visiting. It is finished now and looks quite picturesque with a beautiful poinsettia tree framing it from behind.

French's house in the eucalyptus grove.

Kolwezi, Zaire, Wednesday, April 6, 1983

(DAN) About the “Infamous Inga-Shaba Project:” As I understand it, it was a one billion dollar plus project to carry an enormous amount of electricity from a dam on the Congo below Kinshasa to this mineral-rich Shaba (Katanga) region.  Uncle Sam was to put up most of the money and “Papa Mobutu” the rest. Sounds as if it could zip right past the most critical opponents. Well-- #l, Shaba is energy independent and has been since before independence. There are two hydroelectric dams on the upper Zaire that supply the Kolwezi mine complex alone , and two others down by Lubumbashi. They would like to refine all of their own copper and cobalt and need more than they presently have. Rather than build another dam down here or along the Tanzania border, Mobutu insisted that this be connected to the Inga dams 1700 Kms away. Candidly, it is so he can have his finger on “the switch”. For reasons which probably only Price can understand, they are transporting the electricity as High Voltage Direct Current which means that they cannot possibly drop current anywhere along the way. Even though 4 of Zaire’s largest 7 cities (including Kitwit, Kananga and Kamina that now depend on “generators”) are not within reach of hydroelectric facilities. We first began hearing of this project from citizens of those towns.

# 2, Even though the project was finished 4 years late, Papa Mobutu still has not paid his share which is why the current after being tested was shut off by the Swedish sub-con­tractors. Rumor has it that some of the 8000 towers have found their way to the markets of Lubumbashi and Kananga in the form of push carts and metal beds.  At last a successful trickle-down project!

Until a few months ago there was an entire U.S. community here in Kolwezi, and the general feeling as things are being packed up is that Mobutu is just holding out because sooner or later the U.S. will just up and pay the rest. Why? Because most of the world’s cobalt is in this much-fought-over corner of Africa. “We” apparently want Mr. Mobutu to control the switch rather than (horrors) some sort of democratic government. You know the saying, “He may be an SOB, but he’s our SOB.”

Those who lose sleep over the tax money spent on arms can sleep a little better knowing that some goes to development as well.

All this reminds me that while we were in Kananga I read A Nation of Sheep by Lederer of The Ugly American fame. It is AMAZING the things that he was decrying in 1960 (mainly about Korea, Taiwan, and Viet Nam) in our foreign relations, and now we have EXACTLY the same problems!

Today was a Red Letter Day as a shipment arrived from Nigeria. In excess of 28 letters (if you count the letters from other people forwarded by you all, around 35). I took the afternoon off from the hot water heater and simply wallowed in all the news: uplifting letters, down-pulling clippings of Wildcat basketball. Thanks all.

I spent the morning getting the heater back on the wall and getting it connected to the utilities. Funny that last word rhymes with “futilities” which all my efforts turned out to be when it was all assembled. It waited until it was completely filled with water, then resumed dripping.

Helena did not take much time off to read and got all of the curtains ready to put up. As she mentioned, she has been doing the cooking at the evening meals.

First thing in the morning I helped lay out the base line for the garden they are setting up on the property. I wish I could have taken moving pictures of what went on as well. As soon as the string was down, they measured out a wide bed and carefully cultivated till the “dirt was moved real good”. Then the two men walked over to what I was thought was a big, ugly, wicked pig weed (Ed: sounds like tame lamb’s quarter) and began to plant it carefully. (They probably weed out the volunteer spinach.) That is, they took the seed heads and scat­tered them out around.

For lunch we had the company of an aging Danish couple (late seventies) who are appar­ently long-standing evangelists in this area and Zambia. They belong to the Pentecostal church. They were very interesting, but we had some awkward moments. We were talking about our tra­vels, and he said, “Oh yes, join the army and see the world!  Well, not exactly… Oh, he understood, “You are in the army of Jesus Christ!” (squirm).

On the other hand there is a LOT to be admired in a couple that age hitting the road constantly, showing their movies, living here in Zaire in places missionaries half their age declare it is impossible to live.

Kolwezi, Zaire, Thursday, 7 April, 1983

(HELENA) Yesterday I finally finished ironing the medical center curtains, and this morning Mrs. French had me “present” them to the man in charge.

We started the day by going (Dan, Mrs. French, and I) down to the authorities to register. I gather we were supposed to do it the day we arrived, but we did not know that. They really surprised us with their requirements, so naturally Dan had to return later with two photos (the nerve!) and money. While he did that, I went over to the Gecamine hospital with Mama Mutambuela. She is in charge of the program for undernourished children at the medical cen­ter, and she and her 4 children came to lunch on Sunday (her husband is in Lubumbashi furthering his studies). Yesterday she came by to invite me to go to see the Gecamines hospital, so I accepted, albeit a bit nervously because she tends to be impatient with my halting attempts at French.

She went to get some TB medicine for a little girl for whom they are providing food, but she mainly wanted me to see the babies in the maternity ward. She was not able to get permission to visit, so we walked around part of the rest of the hospital. IMPRESSIVE!  It has at least 400 beds, is spotless, and everything is in excellent shape. At the most there are 2 European doctors there, so it is all run by Zairois professionals.

We then crossed the street to the exclusive Gecamines clinic where the rich employees are catered to.  We did get to see 4 babies there (compared to the 40 we might have seen at the hospital; 10 babies are born per day) and stayed there AGES talking to Mama Mutambuelas’s buddies. It was all in Swahili, so I just let my attention wander.

Dan went back with the Land Rover to do business with his “favorite” Greek merchant. He finds it a bit distasteful the way they are so obviously out for as much money as possible. He picked up sacks of milk and sugar, available because their ice cream factory is out of business.

(DAN) Before it got dark, the Hammers arrived on their way through to their station. They have another of these South African Land Cruiser pick-ups, diesel, with the steering wheel on the right. VERRRY NICE. The Frenches were invited to High Mass and a reception for a nun who was taking her vows, so we (Helena) ended up getting supper for the four of us.

The Hammers are from California, and he works with an ag school at Mwanza. This is a “station” about 15 km from the Zaire river, northeast of Kamina. They are pretty isolated (ten hours drive from Luena) and one neat thing is that they get all their electricity from solar panels. They started out with one small unit that they brought in a suitcase. The panel, connected to a motorcycle battery gave them electricity for four fluorescent lights and never ran out on them, even in the rainy season. It cost $500 which is less than the cost of a good small generator. Now they have three of these small panels and can do a lot with them.  I do not think we have fully described the problems involved with acquiring fuel here in Zaire. In any case this saves fuel and adds years onto one’s life!

During the afternoon a man came to the door saying that there was a message for Mr. French at the train station. We drove out there and found that the hospital truck from Kananga which had been on the road for three days now had finally broken down at Mutchatcha . This is a town about 160 km down the railroad, so they had gotten per­mission to use the company phone line.

The truck driver wanted Mr. French to send the Land Rover out to TOW the loaded truck the 160 kms to Kolwezi. Instead Mr. French decided to send Citoyennes Ilunga and Ngoy and me out in the Land Rover to get the broken piece and return. The road is in reputedly bad shape, so this would take all day.

Kolwezi, Zaire, Friday, 8 April, 1983

We did not get off till 0845 because here there are SO many threads to sort and cut. We had to gather every imaginable tool, enough fuel for any surprise, insurance papers, personal papers, and a new one, Ordre de Mission. This is a piece of paper signed by the District Superintendent and the District Missionary saying that the undermentioned are out on the road in the vehicle described for such and such a purpose. That in itself took half an hour to compose and type. I guess that this is designed to keep at bay even the most curious military patrols. Let me tell you, I was more than a bit apprehen­sive when I drove out of here. I was surely glad that Ilunga and Ngoy were along.

We just met one patrol well out of Kolwezi, but they were civil enough. Ilunga did the talking, and I shook a lot of hands and wished a lot of Bon jours. They even guided us past two other trucks and got us on our way. The word here for “White Man” is wazungu, and it says nothing about skin color; it means “important man” (the same thing they call chiefs here) and they really bend over backward. I have even been called the proverbial “Bwana” a couple of times; it is Swahili.

We had only driven 90 minutes when we met a white Mercedes Benz truck that turned out to be the Kapanga truck. They had been able to repair it.  It was trucking right along, so we just picked up two young women from the passengers, turned around, and followed the truck back to Kolwezi. The road was pretty terrible, but as it is the route we shall be taking on our “big trip”, you will hear more about it.

Miss Ruth (the Landrover) and the countryside near Kolwezi

The countryside is very beautiful, another variation of the rolling savannah and open forest. We are at nearly identical altitude and latitude south of the equator as Jos, Nigeria is north, but it is much more humid here; consequently there is more abundant vegetation. The “new” feature in this area is the quantity of the hugest ant hills yet punching up through the grass all over. There is also a plant that looks and acts like sunflowers, yellow, tall, and lining the roads.

We bought four huge sacks of charcoal on the way back, three for the district superin­tendent. Because of the scarcity of fuel, a bag of charcoal which costs Z 25 just 20 kilometers or so out of town costs Z 75 in Kolwezi. Nearly all of the cooking here is done with charcoal.

Mrs. French has a good big electric stove, nice kitchen, and a refrigerator that works. The hot water heater now works as well, with only an occasional drip. It will last until they can get another up from South Africa. South Africa is turning out to be the industrial supplier for this part of Africa as Argentina and Brazil were to Bolivia.

Helena and I spent much of the afternoon packaging seeds. Mr. French has a 50 gallon drum full of garden seeds. They are packaged in cans of 500 grams, and we have been weigh­ing them and packaging for distribution on the trip we are to take. Some seeds are donated from Nebraska, others from the High Commission on Refugees.  He sells these packages weighing 5 grams for $ .25 apiece. Part of this goes to pay shipping and handling, part to pay for the fuel used in the distribution. He says that on principle he always sells them (rather than giving) because if not, people ask for way more than they need and either resell or waste a lot. Cabbages here go for around $ .30 (Z6) so one cabbage will pay for a pack of approximately 700 seeds (I counted). I think that seed distribution must be one of the more important things one can do for development around here.  Something to think forward to. We have packaged onions, cabbage, Chinese cabbage, carrots, eggplant and tomatoes.

Several times we have been served a food here that consisted of cooked, shredded manioc leaves. It is very good eating, and has 14% protein compared to el zilcho in the tuber itself. Wonder if the same can be done in South America. Helena also spent a lot of time in the kitchen.  She and Mrs. French are baking in preparation for the visiting firemen who are coming out Sunday, but that is her story.

(HELENA) During the morning I accompanied Mrs. French to the weekly weighing of the malnourished children. I would say there were about 20 of them, some of them in fair shape and really only needing worm treatment.  Two of them, however, were pale with swollen eyes and feet. I gather that they probably will not make it. Mama Mutambuela did some of the weighing and the translating of Mrs. French’s instructions into Swahili. Another woman did most of the weighing and handed out the day’s measures of powdered milk and bulgur. I just sat there and watched. One of the main ways that Mrs. French checked them was to rub their skin between her fingers. When it was loose-fitting, the child was in pretty bad shape. After that was over, they went next door to where they prepare the food and each mother feeds her child.

Kolwezi, Zaire, Saturday, 9 April, 1983

(HELENA) In order to get a good start on preparations for our trip next Tuesday, Dan and I washed our clothes. We had a bit of trouble with the washing machine (the fan belt kept breaking where it had been mended) and we had to wring out by hand, but it was still much faster and easier than doing all by hand. The rest of the day was spent madly measuring seeds into envelopes and sealing them. Dan did a lot of that; I was back in the kitchen making the cereal we shall always associate with Kolwezi, oatmeal mixed with butter and brown sugar and dried in the oven. That finished, I started in to ironing all of the clothes we had washed, and when I say “all,” I mean  “ALL!” There is  some kind of fly here that lays its eggs in the clothes, and if they are left un-ironed, they somehow get into the skin and irritate it. So here we are with ironed sheets, towels, tee shirts, underwear, etc. It takes time, but I sort of enjoy it.

Mrs. French spent all day getting ready for “Bishop’s” arrival tomorrow. They think pretty highly of him, but frankly, I think everyone carries his rank too far. Why should everything be just so for someone who is, after all, just another fellow Christian?

It had been a tiring day for all of us, so it was doubly sweet to “inaugurate”  the gazebo by having a leisurely cup of coffee with cake in the middle of the afternoon. The termites have already in one week made significant inroads into the wood and bamboo supports. Aside from that it was a very pleasant place to relax, and it was a real treat for all four of us. However once that hour was over, Mr. French was off and running again.

Kolwezi, Zaire, Sunday 10th of April, 1983

(DAN) The day started early. Stan Ridgeway (son of Canadian Baptist missionaries to Bolivia) was flying the Bishop in, and Mr. French had the radio on at 0615. The inauguration service was to be at 0830, and it is an hour’s flight from Lubumbashi, so they had to get an early start. Stan “came on” at  0630, but they did not leave till 0700. Now this may seem irrelevant to y’all, but when you have your bed in the middle (actually next door) of an airport control room and you are trying to get another hour’s sleep it all becomes very significant.

Everything was a bustle getting breakfast ready to send to the airport for ten people and getting Mr. French off at 0730. The Land Rover seats six people (two more in back) and there were to be five people on the plane, but six persons piled in to go meet them: the district superintendent, his wife, his secretary, the school superintendent, the pastor of the church being honored, and, of course, Mr. French. By this time we were beginning to realize that there is a bit more ceremony surrounding the bishops here in Zaire.

The program for the day is the inauguration of the electrical installation at the Manika Church. It is the largest (Methodist) church in Kolwezi with more than 1000 members. Manika is the part of the city that used to be the African township (a la Soweto) before in­dependence, and it is now the popular (populous slum) part of the city. Mr. French considers this event significant because the installation is the first thing of its kind to be done without missionary help, either financial or technical. The church is located pretty far from the end of the city electrical installation, so the whole thing was going to cost 12,000 Zaires, the equivalent of  600 days of pay to day laborers. For four or five years they kept asking for outside help, and finally while the Frenches were on furlough in the States, they got organized and raised the money among themselves. Today the bishop flew out to inaugurate it.

Mr. French took the people from the plane directly to Manika, then came over to pick us up. By the time we arrived, things were beginning to get underway. They had erected a canopy out from the front of the church with 8 truck tarpaulins. This provided shade for the three choirs, the honored visitors, and the stage.

The first event was the processional of the choirs.  Two mixed youth choirs of about 35 persons each and one women’s choir of the same size filed slowly across the area with the rhythmic step we have previously described. One of the youth choirs had black turtle neck (!) uniforms, and the women had shirts made out of blue material and had yellow head wraps (the colors of the women’s societies here). Then came the procession of people who were to sit up on the stage. The young assistant pastor was in a black robe (U.S.-type choir) with a white stole. Next came the pastor and the district superintendent in bright green robes of the same type with bright yellow stoles; then came the bishop himself with a long, flowing robe, white on the outside and crimson on the inside. He had a white, hooded stole that had “Alleluya” embroidered in red down the back. In his right hand he carried a silver and gold (colored?) staff that is a symbol of authority here in Zaire. (Mobutu frequently has his pic­ture taken with such a staff --the handle is a bird’s head--in his hand) There was a man in the congregation with one as well; he turned out to be the chief of the Lundas in this area.

Now the ceremony was all in Swahili, so I could not tell you much about the contents, but the choir music continues to please and amaze us. We are beginning to recognize some songs we have heard before, so the repertoire might not be that large, but each one is executed with perfect precision, in full harmony and full confidence.

The offering procession --where everyone files past two buckets on stands--lasted 25 minutes in itself. The service was three hours long. Of course as in Aymara, we chime right in singing from the hymnal as if we understood every word. There was one hymn that we sang all four verses three times each. This was toward the end of the service when “it was plugged in” and the string of colored lights hanging from the canvas came to life. About that time Helena noticed that the hymn in its original language, English, was titled “Send the Light”.

All of the pastors present (from all over Kolwezi and visitors) had on black shirts and clerical collars. A few of them had the “choir” robes as well, two reds and one bright blue. I wonder where they picked up the use of the clerical collars.  After the service they had soft drinks for some of the honored people, and after an hour’s wait, they had the big meal.  We had been hearing about this meal for some time because they asked Mrs. French to make cup cakes as dessert for the Table de Honor which was to seat 20 persons. These twenty were to be served very special, expensive food. We were originally not supposed to be in the chosen twenty, but somehow ended up being shown that way. There were about 200 other guests at two long tables that had regular fare, big bowls of fufu (different name here) and the manioc leaf sauce along with fish. That food was already on the table and those guests were in place when the Table de Honor filed in.

Perhaps the final touch was that they brought in a 24-inch TV set and video equipment, and all present watched a video copy of the Hollywood production of “Sodom and Gomorrah” dubbed in French, of course.

It had been arranged that the bishop and a busload of guests were going to tour the Gecamine mines and establishment; however the bishop had to return early on the plane, but the busload decided to go anyway. The bus was a 90-seater Blue Bird similar to the one we rode in from Luena to Kolwezi. It was completely filled with those who had been invited to eat and, as we found out later, were delegations from each of the churches in Kolwezi.

As soon as we got going, the entire bus picked up and sang in full harmony, so we had a rollicking, if dusty, afternoon. Our first stop was a staging area, high between the two open pits where earth moving machinery stopped for some reason. These are caterpillar ve­hicles on the same order as dump trucks, but designed to carry 100 or 150 tons at a time. The tires I stood by were about 10 feet in diameter and 4 feet thick. The cab, or should I say “bridge”, could only be reached by a 25 foot ladder up the front of the beast. The entire tour was in Swahili, so we had to settle for visual explications.

Next we drove part way down into one of the pits.  By pits I mean man-made canyons several miles across and maybe three hundred meters deep. Even the aforementioned vehicles looked tiny crawling around in that immensity. They are retooling to change to underground mining precisely because of the impossible amounts of earth that have to be moved to get to rich layers of copper. Even now, with the world economy as it is, the mine is making money, and Kolwezi, alone, accounts for 8 % of the world’s copper and half of Zaire’s foreign exchange.

Gecamines equipment, ca 1978.  From web.

Gecamines strip mine, 1978.  from web.

Our next stop was the refinery, I guess, an enormous building that housed 8 huge turbines which somehow crush the rocks. We were allowed to walk on several levels of ramps through the building past endless vats with a gray bubbling liquid. We were surprised to see some of our companions sticking their hands into this substance. We hope to get another tour of the establishment in French or English, and we shall be able to describe it all better. The sad thing about this colorful, eventful day is that our camera got left at home. (For shame!) The story of our lives.

On the way home the bus took the “scenic route” of Kolwezi and dropped all of the delegations off at their respective churches. It was dusk by the time we arrived home.

We had an extremely pleasant evening with the Frenches over pizza and talked about everything for about three hours. They have witnessed a lot of Zaire’s history these last 31 and 26 years. One amazing thing they mentioned was that all during the Kolwezi massacre (ten days) (see previous post) workers continued to report for work and the mine operated through the entire problem. The guerrillas did not even attempt to sabotage the mine. They wanted it working when they were the ones in charge.