A LIFE IN WORDS

Chapter 2: Setting the scene in DR Congo

Chapter 2

Some of the writings in this chapter also appear in the page where the theme is explained further.

Called to Zaïre

In 1980, while on study leave from Bangladesh, CMS asked me to be part of a group looking at a recent feasibility study of a health and development programme for what was then Zaïre (to become the Democratic Republic of Congo [DR Congo] in 1997). From a professional point-of-view I was interested in the study and the potential programme. Then I experienced one of those moments, when one feels both drained and enriched; when the Holy Spirit is a silent but an overwhelming presence. Was the Holy Spirit directing me away from Bangladesh to Zaïre? Certainly the study I was doing at the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine, would be preparing me for such a move.

1982

I quickly adapted to the very basic life at Boga (Zaïre). One of my first trips out took me into the forest area where the pygmies lived. The forest was beautiful. It was like walking non-stop through a Cathedral of trees, with attractive small butterflies hovering over pools of water. At a clinic in the forest, I examined a young girl, who I thought had a very large ovarian cyst. Then the ‘cyst’ kicked me. I was so glad that I had no Swahili – so had not got as far as telling the pygmy that she needed surgery. All she needed was a safe delivery. Apparently she was the mother of three healthy children and pregnant with her fourth! I had thought she was a child, not realising how small pygmies were! I certainly had a lot to learn!

Eight months after my arrival in Boga, Amoti told me to expect some visitors. There was no explanation, but this is not unusual. I prepared some tea and put out mats for people to sit on. In the late afternoon, I saw a line of women coming down the hill, all in bright traditional clothes and many carrying fruit and vegetables on their heads. They presented me with gifts of fruit, chicken, eggs and other food-stuffs, and a new local ‘outfit’ in blue and gold. We chatted for a while and drank tea, and then the women, led by Amoti, prayed for me, and for the health work at Boga. They thanked God for bringing me to them as a friend and sister. Then they welcomed me into the tribe, giving me the name of Amoti, since this is the ‘mpako’ of my key colleague and friend. I was overwhelmed by the honour given to me. Being included in the tribe gave me responsibilities in the tribe which I was keen to honour. However, I was anxious that I should not be so identified with the Hema tribe that I had no clear relationship with the neighbouring Ngity. For this reason I started to learn at least greetings in Kingity and made friends with some Ngity leaders.

Kisembo dies of a lack of peace. Obusinge.

It was late one evening when a little boy called Kisembo was brought into hospital with severe kwashiorkor (an acute protein-calorie deficiency). He was two and a half years old and I had frequently seen him in the Pre-school clinics where children are weighed, parents taught and immunisations are given. But, as I reflected on recent clinics, I had not seen Kisembo for a while. Machosi, his mother explained that a few months ago she had started to attend ante-natal clinic, and it was too much to come with Kisembo. Then she had had her second child, and was bringing him, rather than Kisembo, to the pre-school clinic.

The following morning, when I walked into the hospital, Machosi was sitting with Kisembo in her arms, weeping quietly. He had just died. As Machosi carried his little body out of the hospital, I walked with her with a mixture of hurt pride and compassion. Pride because I had failed, yet again, to save a child with preventable malnutrition, and compassion, because I could feel the pain of a caring mother. “Why didn’t you come to the hospital when Kisembo was first ill?” I asked. “He was not ill!” was the reply. “He had lost his peace”. I felt Machosi’s wisdom and felt she was offering me a key to unlock the local understanding of health and healing.

Later that day I went to Kisembo’s funeral because I wanted to begin to use the key that Machosi had offered me. I made friends with the family, and asked Chief Kisembo what Machosi had meant, in saying that he had died of a lack of peace. He did not know, but he, with Nyangoma Kabarole and myself began an eighteen month research on what ‘health, healing, wholeness, death and disability’ meant to this culture.

From this experience I learned a Hema word which has come to mean so much to me: Obusinge – that which encapsulates the whole of life.

Machosi was saying that Kisembo had lost his Obusinge, his peace and wholeness. He did not die because of malnutrition or illness. From Kisembo’s death, I learned to turn to the wise people of communities before depending on my books, or medical knowledge and experience. If Kisembo had died from a lack of peace, then health care would need to include social, spiritual, pastoral and medical support. Kisembo’s death pushed me into researching the local meaning of health and health care and eventually changed my professional life.

'Obusingi' is a word from the Kihema language (the majority language of Boga, while Kisembo, whose family lived in Boga, was from the Ngity tribe.