Initially, the plan was for me to leave on March 7 from Shamwana, to meet up with a group of expats from Dubie to go to Zambia on March 10 for a week to hang around Victoria falls. The plane was preponed to March 6, at which point, we decided to prepone the big goodbye party which was thus planned for Saturday March 1. Two hospital nurses already had a big male goat ready for the feast. Cans of beer and sodas had been planned 6 weeks in advance on a truck from Lubumbashi that thankfully made it on time. I had specially requested the infamous Bifwebe, the traditional bush dancers and black magic sorcerers from Monga.
Then, on February 29, the strangest day of the year so far, we heard that the plane ex-Shamwana wasn’t going to make it. That meant that Lucas, the current acting project coordinator-logistician, wasn’t going to make it out for his vacation. It was decided by capital – and to this day this appears as a knee-jerk, poorly planned decision – that he would go down to Lubumbashi by car whilst my replacement the new expat doctor would make his way up by car as well. And because Lucas leaving left us 2 women first-missioners alone in the project, it was decided that all the Shamwana expatriates would have to evacuate the next day to the ‘safety’ of Dubie where there was another male and multi-missioner. Of course, there is NO security issue in the Shamwana region whatsoever, things are in the rebuilding phase. We learned all this the evening right before the big goodbye party. I had done the evaluations for most of my medical staff and had started my end-of-mission report. But to learn at 16h00 that you’re evacuated the next morning at 6h00 for 5 days to Dubie for very dubious reasons is for the least destabilizing; particularly when this is the end of your mission, and you’ve got things to wrap up, and a party to plan. I was seething with anger; it was not a pretty sight. I could not stay in place, had to call the Head of Mission to ask for explanations, and was overall quite irate. The national staff who were ready for the party were also quite disappointed. After a few hours of ranting I finally calmed down and resigned myself to the unpleasant situation. After all, I do believe in to making the best of what life throws at us (but I should also be allowed to complain and whine before!). So the next morning, I jumped into the car with a sigh and faced another adventure on the roads of Katanga.
Of note was the bloodred sunset that stained the sky like a bushfire, to add to the overall strange, out-of-this world atmosphere of February 29.
We got stuck four times on the road to Dubie, predictably as this is the end of the rainy season. It took us almost nine hours to get there.
Très sérieux embourbement! L’Unimog nous a tirés de là comme une voiture-jouet, c’était beau à voir.
The few days in Dubie were uneventful, if not boring. After a few hours of soulsearching, I made the right decision to postpone the vacation to Zambia and be out-of-sync with the group of friends in order to do a proper handover and finish the work well in Shamwana, as well as having a nice goodbye party for the national staff. After all, this was it for me and Shamwana, and for all these Congolese friends that in likelihood I will never see again, unlike the expats with whom it’s much easier to keep in touch (vive Facebook!). J’ai tout simplement refusé de partir comme une voleuse et d’honorer correctement le beau travail fait pendant les derniers sept mois à Shamwana.
In Dubie, we were confined to the MSF compound, played volleyball games, and I caught up with my two PPD companions and sisters from August 2007 in Amsterdam. Always being afraid of running out of food, I stocked up on quasi-expired security rice and more beer and alcohol for the upcoming party. The expat group from Lubumbashi, ie our project coordinator, mental health officer and F the new doctor were late by a day coming to Dubie and arrived on Wednesday March 5 to Dubie, after five harrowing days on the roads. Ironically the plane had been reinstituted on Tuesday and flew right over us. We finally all returned back to Shamwana on Thursday March 6 for my last four short days there, just enough for a decent handover to Dr. F. Poor Sir W, my lovely Congolese colleague - whom we’ve come to call that way because he is so considerate and proper - had been working alone (yet again) for a week and he looked quite tired.
The goodbye party was worth the wait. The Finco from capital had paid us a surprise visit for the week-end so he got to attend these ceremonials. The Bifwebe traditional dancers from Monga came for the afternoon and performed on the football field. They started with drawing a magic protective circle around the area where they were to perform; then they danced and tam-tam’d for a good two hours; they were again in trance and the atmosphere was full of sorcery. The whole village was watching. It started raining so they performed an anti-rain dance. Believe what one may, whereas most afternoons see a big thunderstorm fall down on us, on that day, it rained only very lightly over the football field where the Bifwebe were under two mango trees; the storm and showers hit a few hundred meters away. Comme Sir W le dit si bien, “nous ne vivons pas dans leur monde donc il nous est impossible de comprendre leurs pouvoirs” – all I can say is that it was odd and to an certain extent, disconcerting.
There was way too much food! (Of course that is a good thing!) At the last minute, the nurses had decided that one goat was not enough and that they should slaughter a second one; given as I had supplied twice the quantity of rice and drinks as usual, there was plenty of room for meat. In the end, we had too much food and everybody got to take some home. The evening continued with the obligatory floral speeches and Congolese music to which everybody danced. Sir W read his speech where he commented on my speediness – ‘Mayani, comme un TGV’. (Mayani has become my natural name in Shamwana, given by the children - it means ‘grass’ in Congolese Swahili). We finished the party much later than usual, it went on until 23h00, and then the expats continued until 2 in the morning. It was a lovely evening.
Sir W and Dr Mayani posing for the pictures
Lovely ladies in their best outfits at the party
My last Sunday in Shamwana was spent being on call, and spending the afternoon discussing Congolese politics, culture and beliefs over some fried chicken at Sir W’s. A patient with bad bowel obstruction walked into the hospital but in the end, she was not eligible for surgery. "A l’hôpital, c’est la routine", like we say in the morning meetings. We watched part of Season 4 of 24 as usual. Dr. F started working; he is experienced and will for sure do a very good job.
Monday March 10 was the definitive dreaded departure date. The last four days were incredibly intense, taking it all in, as if hours slowed down, one minute at a time. I filmed the daily morning meetings, packed, said a whole bunch of goodbyes and we all went to the plane. For someone who sheds tears less than once a year usually, I cried a handful of times in those four long days. The farewells at the landing strip were solemn and I couldn’t help but explode in tears on the airstrip. The medical team, all male, were all very sad and even one of them was wiping his eyes. To see a burly forty year-old Congolese man hide his tears is indeed very touching. These guys really got to my heart, a part of which is now left in Shamwana...
Hospital crew on my last day
Base crew on my last day
Farewell crew at the Shamwana airstrip, my view from the plane
The original AirServ pilot who first dropped me in Katanga in August 2007 – well, he’s back from Halifax and he also flew me out! Here he is, refueling the plane.
Chatting and goodbyes to the expats in Dubie while the plane gets refueled
So that was it. A lifetime of seven months in the Congolese bush. Goodbye Shamwana, now forever gone in time and place as it was for me. Such an intense and beautiful experience leaves indelible memories.
A la question qu’on m’a posée, si j’ai trouvé ce que je cherchais au Congo? Je crois que oui: des tonnes de bonheur et d’émotions et des moments inoubliables.
And to the question, will I do another MSF mission? From where I stand right now, it’s impossible that I won’t. I understand the converts now. When we are on the field, life is so rich and real, time so slow, and the heart just feels so much. We sense that what we do matters, that we have the chance of not just skimming the surface of life, and that we make a difference ever so slightly. So yes, I would do it again, in time. But who knows what lies ahead on the next turn...
Ciel et brousse du Katanga
