Save the Children? or kill them?

One of the embassies, which will be nameless for reasons which will soon become clear, decided to celebrate a major national holiday differently. Instead of spending money on an expensive reception, the staff would “volunteer” to start a clean-up campaign in one of the major streets of Kinshasa. They would thus demonstrate how, in a comparatively short period, and with comparatively few people, it was possible to make a difference. This would act as an incentive to the local people to follow their example, to be helped by the embassy’s donation of plastic sacks into which to put the garbage.

Regular readers will not have missed frequent references to the state of many streets in Kinshasa, so will know that this project was, indeed, serving a great need. They will also recall several rhetorical questions about how people can conduct their daily business in such a filthy environment, and why nothing is done about it.

On the appointed day the embassy staff were given gloves and plastic bags. Each was allocated a section of the road and set to work. It was truly disgusting in terms of both the contents, which included rotting entrails, human faeces and the like, and the stench.

They soldiered on. An important part of the project was that this would send a message to the local population who would, seeing how effective the whole thing was, have a light-bulb moment: “Oh, it’s so easy, let’s join in”.

They did indeed join in, but not quite according to plan.

The boys enjoyed it most. They would follow the garbage picker and gibe at him or her:

“Hey, diplomat, you missed this one”, or

“What about this, are you blind?” and so on.

Then someone had a more fun idea. After a section had been cleaned up, they would get a bucket, fill it with garbage and empty it on the clean bit. This gave them the chance to taunt the pickers even more:

“What sort of a job are you doing? Call this clean?”

“Look at this. Come back and pick up this!”

This initiative gathered pace, and before long all their good work was almost invisible.

This was almost the last straw and it was not long before the poor, heroic saviours of Kinshasa’s streets gave up and went home to lick their wounds.

The truly last straw was that our informant caught typhoid from her work. Her gloves had got torn, and she had not washed her hands with the thoroughness that was necessary.

As she endured the cracking headache and stiff neck that typhoid brings she made a vow: NEVER AGAIN.