Postcards From The Edge: DRCongo
Wednesday November 05, 2008
"Even if we save one child, we have made a difference."
Emile Namwira and his group move at snail-pace. On average they get about 25 regular street kids per week coming in to learn about moral, human and civic issues as well as electoral education. But as Emile says, they give and teach what would not be given or learnt otherwise.
HIV orphans from 8-18 years old are guided by Emile and his small staff. After being ignored and marginalised by society, they are sought after by HUNO, who patiently address each child, working on reunification of the families, and getting the children to react to issues in society through "talking, voting and petitions as oppose to violence, force, hostility and war." With HUNO also offering skills such as sewing and driving, as well as encouraging community service and group activities such as football, they stand tall, deterring self-destruction and teaching the basics that the Congolese street children simply don't have.
Emile introduced my team to a class of promising young girls, all trying to get their lives back on track. We stood in on a sewing lesson as they showcased their skills. Three of the girls asked about English women, before chucking marriage proposals at me (not for the first time this trip might I add). The persistent bunch disregarded the fact I was taken - 18 year old Fatou Giselle said: "That's alright, but do you want a Congolese wife?" To spare feelings, I resorted to lying, making the claim that English men didn't get married until their thirties. I'm not proud, though I had to laugh at the flattery from the girls.
The women had sown gifts for us - traditional Congolese gowns. They were remarkable, beautiful, striking garments. 16-year-old Hornnella gave me mine, before telling me how HUNO had reformed her, giving her a purpose, friends, dreams of being an engineer, as well as realistic hopes of getting married and having three kids.
As I was taking note, she threw in "And you? Do you want a Congolese baby?" To be honest, I wish I could've done more for her, but a wedding ring and a bassinet were certainly not what had in mind.
I retreated to the football pitch (dusty sectioned area) to have a kick-about with a few of the HUNO boys. Oh the humiliation! A little runt done me up leaving me looking like a fat Sunday-league pub baller. Ten nutmegs later and his lightening sandaled feet left me 4 - 0 down. I hit back with a single consolation goal for the England side, but by then the damage was done.
Pride aside, 17-year-old Chadrac took a breather and told me of how HUNO was recuperating his situation. The boy had been homeless since contracting HIV at the age of eight. He was made a garden pet by his family, not allowed near the house. When $150 went missing from the household, Chadrac was blamed and cast away like an unlucky omen.
Since then he has been living in a box, fending off other kids who beat him for having HIV, scrounging in the trash alongside rats for leftovers. Though HUNO don't have the means to accommodate him, the Ronaldo-moving street kid is being taught to drive, and is now part of a football team organised by HUNO. Nevertheless Chadrac is still a lost boy, claiming: "I didn't steal the money. I am innocent. I still don't know why I was pushed out of my home."
Before I left, I handed Chadrac my old Beckham Adidas Predator boots. They cost me little to discard, but meant ever so slightly more to the boy judging by his wide smile (even though they were three sizes too big). It was unfortunate we had to rush away in our van due to the rain and fear of mudslides. With the HUNO girls crowding around our vehicle, I could only catch a glimpse of Chadrac, who ran around the corner to wash his feet and put on the Predators, coming back just as we drove off. Through the window he gave me thumbs up.
This story can be sourced from here
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