Why?

Kinshasa is divided into 26 communes, rather like London is divided into boroughs. The only difference is that Kinshasa – at about 11 million people – is bigger.

No, that’s not the only difference. We’ve just paid a visit to the local government headquarters of one such borough – what we would typically call the Town Hall. This is one of the biggest communes in Kinshasa, with a population of over 500,000. It is near the airport and includes the second largest market in Kinshasa; but its most important asset is many square kilometres of well-watered flat land along the banks of the Congo River, which is, in effect, the market garden of Kinshasa. Everything about its location and population size suggests prosperity.

Let’s then look at the town hall – the seat of the “bourgmestre” the title lower level mayors are given (since the city Kinshasa can only have one mayor). We enter a small compound, directly off the airport road. On the right are a number of rooms, each of which bears the title, in large letters over the door, of their function. We start with the police. Then it is water and sanitation. Then it is sport and recreation. Opposite there is youth and gender, and beyond (the biggest one) is finance. As we pass these “departments” we see that most consist of only one or two rooms. All are dark, and a silent generator sitting beside a stripped-out electrical board testifies to the fact that nothing works. At the end is a small hall where citizens, sitting on white plastic chairs, are waiting patiently for something to begin. 

We are ushered to the bourgmestre’s office located upstairs in the sole two storey building. The stairs are tiled, but many tiles are broken or missing, and the stair itself has a thick layer of a sandy dust. So thick indeed that the patterns on the tiles cannot be seen. The walls are disgustingly grubby.

First, as protocol requires we go to the deputy bourgmestre’s office. A small TV is playing the local news – obviously he has an electrical source that others do not. By way of introduction he explains the potential of the commune, but emphasises the poverty of the people.

Then we are introduced to the bourgmestre who says much the same, and welcomes our support.

We are too polite to ask about the obvious lack of care for the premises. We are too polite to ask where the money goes: they have several good sources (though . . . all the receipts from the market (big bucks) go directly to the Kabila family). And we are too polite to ask what everyone does all day in offices that are without power and too dark to even read. We leave wondering what impact we can have in such situations.

There’s one unusual feature in the situation: the bourgmestre is a woman, and as her card proudly proclaims she is also a Reverend. Will this make any difference? Don’t hold your breath.