School of hard knocks

Is this a country of failures or is it a country of superhuman effort in the face of adversity?

Both.

A little while ago, at the invitation of an ambassador we went to a concert given by an orchestra which consists of members of the Kimbanguiste church. This is the third largest church in the country and has its origins in the DRC. Its founder believed that men and women are all equal, whether black or white. He preached respect for law and the ten commandments, hard work, and love for fellow humans. For that (especially the black/white equality message) he was locked up for 30 years by the Belgians.

As we drive to the performance in a little convoy – the ambassador’s car first, flying the flag and looking quite impressive, and us – we have a sense of getting deeper and deeper into unknown territory. None of us has the faintest idea where we are, or how to get back, but we have our driver for that very purpose. We are surprised by the lack of interest in our posh motorcade. The only person who seems to take any notice is a schoolboy who delights in touching the ambassador’s car.

It is clear that we are expected. As soon as we arrive we are ushered into a posh portico, and thence into a Louis 14^th style living room where we are given a history of the orchestra, which has recently been the subject of a film. A large flat screen TV behind us is showing a British football match. In due course word arrives that all is ready and we walk across a muddy little street to a community hall. A tiny generator buzzes outside to power the few strip lights in the cavernous space which is more like a warehouse than anything else – metal beams support a corrugated iron roof. The floor is rough, dusty concrete. A row of seats has been prepared for us, each of which has a name on it so there is no doubt about the protocol of the seating. There are speeches of welcome, with lots of emphasis on the respect due to an ambassador.

The orchestra is led and conducted by our host who is the grandson of the church’s founder. It has about 200 members, the majority of whom are self taught. What is more, many of their instruments – violins, cellos, flutes, etc are home made.

The music begins. That’s when we realize that everyone else in this vast space, apart from us six, is in the orchestra or choir. They totally fill the hall, and the noise they make is deafening.

If I were to be honest I would say that as musicians they have a long way to go. There were moments of dischord, fluffed entries etc, and the conducting was heavy and somewhat mechanistic. But those tiny flaws could never obscure what really mattered: the players truly loved music, and to them it was an opportunity to enter a different plane. You could see in their faces the happiness that comes from doing something that you really love, and the peace that comes from being involved in something beautiful. I couldn’t help comparing the performance with a school orchestra, where the musicians are working so hard to do it right that there is no real joy: this was the opposite – the music took charge, and the few mistakes didn’t matter.

We were told that they practice together three times a week, and many also practice alone whenever they get the chance. When you think of the struggles of daily life in Kinshasa and problems of transport, water, electricity and all the rest, this is truly amazing. Their clothes talk of their poverty and it is clear that this is amateurism of the best sort.

The concert ends with extracts from Handel’s Messiah. The choir is truly fantastic: absolutely beautiful voices, especially the sopranos, and have perfect delivery. The English words strike an interesting chord, and I find my eyes filling with tears, not only because of the strange coincidence that English music should be their favourite piece (well Handel is an honorary Englishman), but also the sense of privilege of attending this performance just for us.

At a completely different level I am deeply moved by the sheer heroism of these people in getting it all together, and as we leave, after some soft drinks and snacks, feel completely humbled by the achievements of people who have come from absolutely nothing.