Hey.

Before I get into my story, I especially owe a couple of you some big thanks (and you know who you are). It’s taken a while to assemble all the pictures I had to show you, but let me get that out of the way first—

You are really are awesome. No it’s really true— as you’re about to find out!

So ok— on to this month’s episode (ha hah, like i send these out every month!). I fear i’m about to abuse you by making this too long, but read on, because i think you’ll find it fascinating, if not heart-wrenching.

So here we go.

Patrick in Congo

Someday I’m going to write the whole story of Patrick and me. It started in Johannesburg in 2010, so it’d be very long, but for now, let’s just start in Congo, a month or so after he completed his training as a driver of giant mining trucks. This was last year. Here’s Patrick:

Patrick was on his way to a job interview on the back of a motó (motorcycle taxi), when Ghislain, the motó driver, mistakenly pulled out right in front of a big truck.

Of course the motó was crushed, and so were Ghislain’s legs; Patrick was badly banged up but (thank God) nothing serious. Both were taken to the hospital but Patrick was released after a day. Patrick’s wife, Christelle, and their son, Blessing, were very relieved to have him home alive. By the way, Patrick and Christelle have since had a daughter, Julianne. So here are Blessing and Julianne. Cute kids!:

The thing about Chinese hospitals in Congo, though, is that they run more or less like auto shops. You bring your car in and say, “Fix the water pump”. They’ll do it, but unless you tell them to check your carburetor too, they won’t even look at it. And anyway, repairs are quid pro quo, cash up front— no cash, no repair. So the hospital didn’t even bother to check Ghislain’s concussion, and he died from brain swelling two days later. Their excuse?— “How could a poor man pay for that kind of treatment anyway.”

Ghislain and Nicolette

Ghislain was from the poorest class of people in Congo. He didn’t really have any relatives in the area, was illiterate, and spoke neither French nor his tribal language of tschiLuba, but only Swahili, which is a mix of Arabic and the baNtu languages common to East Africa. What this means is that he had no people, no culture, no roots— and this in turn suggests that he came from a family blown apart in Congo’s mostly unknown World War 3.

Anyway Ghislain had been supporting a wife and seven kids on the $50 a month he got from driving his rented motó; his wife brought in a few dollars by selling tomatoes in the market also. The wife’s name was Nicolette. I know all this because i asked Patrick about him when they were in the hospital and got the whole story. How could anyone hear all this and not be moved by what his death would mean for the eight people who depended on Ghislain?

So i started adding another $50 to the support i was sending Patrick while he looked for employment (part of the saga of how they’d come back from Johannesburg). At least Nicolette and her kids would keep going as before, though this wasn’t going to lift anybody out of poverty! But I couldn’t do much better than that, as we have some 20 other kids whose school fees or other needs are constantly coming due in Uganda and South Africa. Maybe in the future, I thought, we can get at least one of them into school. Anyway, here’s Nicolette and Ghislain in the hospital:

Back to Patrick

Christelle sometimes tells me Patrick “thinks too much”. Meaning: he worries a lot. Of course, in his situation, who wouldnt? Well, some time after he’d recovered from the accident, he “fell down” (passed out) on the street and got taken to the hospital. Many Africans have severe ulcers— something to do with h. Pylori, i think. The hospital got him going again, and he left with a prescription. But the pharmacist had apparently faked his pharmacy degree, and filled it with a drug that nearly killed him. When he recovered from that (more hospital), he went to drag the guy to the police but he’d disappeared. Apparently he actually had killed someone else in the meanwhile.

Well, after getting his meds straightened out, Patrick did ok for a while, but then he “fell down” again. Turns out he’d been suffering for some years from a herniated groin and something had gone seriously wrong. He hadn’t wanted to tell me because he knew it would be an expensive procedure, but the doctor told him, Either we operate now or you die. So ok! We operate now!

Well, the doctor left something inside him, the wound got septic, and they had to open him up again. But at least the hospital didn’t charge this time. Anyway, Patrick got all sorted out and now he’s ok, except he has to take medicine every day and be careful about his diet.

A Tragic Visit from Grandma

While all this is going on, Nicolette’s mother comes down from Goma to help out with the kids. Goma is some 1100 miles north of Lubumbashi (Congo is vast), right near the southwest corner of Uganda. It’s also one of the areas where there are occasional outbreaks of ebola, and guess what. Grandma no sooner gets to Nicolette’s than she comes down with ebola and dies, but not before giving it to two of the kids. One of them dies, the other is quarantined and survives. So Nicolette now has six kids, ages 15, 12, 11, 9, and twins of almost 6, and no mom.

Christelle Visits the Hospital— Twice!

A couple a months go by and Christelle calls me up. I can tell from her voice that she’s “not good” (even though her English isn’t very good either). Turns out she’s got appendicitis. Bang! There goes another $100!

She comes home, is mending well, goes out to take care of some business, and “falls down” in the street. This time I tell Patrick to take her to the Catholic sisters’ hospital, which is cheaper. They cut her open from hip to breast and remove a fibroid tumor of 5 lbs. The Chinese who took out her appendix saw it, but they didn’t even bother telling her about it because, “You don’t have the money to pay for it anyway”. I pay the sisters a couple hundred dollars— the Chinese would have demanded $2000— and she comes home after a week or so. I’ll spare you the picture of Christelle in the hospital; she has a very long wound and an even longer tube.

Nicolette’s 12 year old is a girl named Prisca. About a month ago, Prisca came to Patrick to bring some tomatoes and to get the $50 i’d just sent. While she was there, Congo went on lockdown because of corona, and public transport ceased. Since Nicolette lives in a rather deep village, Prisca now becomes a semi-permanent member of Patrick’s family. Fortunately, they have a sectional couch she can sleep on, not very comfortable but it will do. Here’s Christelle and Prisca:

And here’s a challenge for you— how are we supposed to get the money to Nicolette and the other kids now, during lockdown? Well, read on!

Mulumba and the Tomatoes

A little later, the oldest boy, Blanchard Mulumba, 15, takes his mom’s tomatoes to market. On his way back, there’s an armed robbery and he takes a bullet in the leg. I’ll spare you that picture; as Patrick put it, “You won’t eat meat again— I’m telling you!”

The police take him to the Chinese hospital, but by now i know the Chinese love neither humanity nor mercy but only money, so when Patrick tells me all this, i text back, “PLEASE arrange for Mulumba to transfer to the Catholic sisters’ hospital TOMORROW!” I send $300 to pay the Chinese (for one night!) and Patrick negotiates another $250 with the sisters, who expect they’ll have to keep Mulumba for two months. You can imagine what keeping him with the Chinese for two months would cost.

Of course, Patrick has to take food to him every day; the hospital doesn’t feed its patients. But Patrick has a friend with a motó, so this costs only a liter of gas and a couple of dollars every now and again, plus of course the food.

But a few days later Patrick texts me to let me know that Nicolette has come down with coronavirus and the soldiers have quarantined the family.

So I text back, “i’m guessing prisca is still with you, yes? So who is taking care of the other kids?”

Patrick writes, “I’m the one whom taking care of the 2 kids [Mulumba and Prisca], those other kids they are under control of government for checking them because they was staying the same place with the mom.”

Patrick also mentions that two chinese guys were murdered outside his house that morning. “They find the bodies in the morning. Is like they beat them.” Hmmm. I guess i’m not the only person who thinks the Chinese aren’t doing Africa many favors. But then, nobody is doing Africa many favors. Congo is the richest country on the planet, but— you’re getting the picture of life as the locals experience it.

Patrick Becomes a Dad Again

Then on May 7, Patrick texts me, “Hi John I’m phoning you but you wasn’t answering me, you can call me back please, Nicolette shes gone, she leave this morning call me when you get the message please.”

In other words, Nicolette has died. Patrick will have to break the news to Mulumba in the hospital and Prisca at home.

“Because They Are Human Beings”

The kids who were quarantined for corona meanwhile test negative and have been released. On hearing of Nicolette’s death, one of their neighbors took the twins, but couldn’t take the others. So Patrick volunteers. “I had to take those other ones too because they are human beings, we can’t just let them go on the street.” It seems traumatic to tear a family apart like that but what can we do?

So now Patrick has four of Ghislain’s kids—

• Blanchard Mulumba, 15, in the hospital, who doesn’t yet know about his mom;
• Prisca Mulumba, almost 13,
• Enoch Kabeya, 11,
• Stino Katende, 9;

and two of his own,

• Blessing, who just turned 5, and
• Julianne, 7 months.

Christelle sent me a picture of Patrick (center) with Enoch and Stino; “They are making a vegetable”, she wrote:

One Big, Happy Family— in Two Rooms

I’d already told Patrick i wanted him to get an apartment closer to the sisters’ hospital, in case there are any more medical troubles. Fortunately, he found a two-room that costs only $50/month more than he’s paying now— and it even has water. Two rooms will be big enough to accommodate all of eight of them for now. But he needs three new mattresses— the boys can sleep two to a bed, but the girl can’t sleep with them. Even a cheap foam mattress costs $70 in Lubumbashi. Everything is surprisingly expensive there, because it’s a mining town with lots of foreign money in circulation. In fact the local currency is the US dollar.

Fortunately, some people (thank you again!) sent some unexpected contributions, so i paid the rent and sent the $210 for mattresses. The kids are no longer sleeping on the bare floor. But I’m beginning to wonder how eight people can live in two rooms. Patrick hasn’t said anything though.

Alas! Mulumba!

Patrick didn’t immediately tell Mulumba about his mom. Like, what do you say to a young man who’s been shot up, is in the hospital, and no doubt wishing his mother could bend over him once again and press her hand to his brow?—

“Sorry, buddy. You’ve already seen your mom for the last time ever.”— ??

Here is one sad young man, the firstborn of seven, who found out a day earlier that he’s lost his mom.

Are you heartbroken yet?

I sure am.

The guy in the green shirt is Patrick. He’s sad here of course, but you can see from his other picture at the top of this story, that he’s a very likeable fellow with a charming, round Congolese baby face, a sweet disposition, and a good sense of humor. You may also be surprised to learn that he’s also a black belt in judo. I can tell some other stories about that, but i won’t. I will say that, in getting to know Patrick, I came to understand why Congolese masks are often very round:

Anyway, throughout all of this, i’ve never heard Patrick complain, except once or twice he’s wondered why God is making them go through so many fiery trials. But he accepts it and soldiers on. He often gets up at 4 in the morning to go and pray for all these people and for the Africa Fund and its contributors— i.e., for YOU, dear contributor— at the grotto in front of the local Catholic church, which is otherwise closed because of lockdown.

St Nicholas in Congo

So it looks like your St Nicholas Africa Fund now has a branch in Congo. Our first task, apart from helping Patrick and Christelle get working after the country opens up— and Christelle could open a beauty salon if we had $1500 for licensing, tools, and rent— will be to get the kids speaking French and English. They’re already working on that. Later, we’ll have to think about some kind of education and job skills. Mulumba is already old enough to start working at 15, but if possible i want him to at least be fully literate and capable of math. And apparently he’s got a little French and can already read somewhat. One step at a time, though!

The Odds in “Deepest, Darkest Africa”

You may remember those racist, pre-Disney cartoons we used to see on tv in the 50s. The place they always called “Deepest Darkest Africa” was basically the Belgian Congo. There’s some truth to that, not in the sense that the land is filled with black natives dancing around cauldrons of boiling missionaries, spears in hand and bones in noses— but in terms of the deep, dark social realities of neo-colonialism. Congo is the richest country on the planet when it comes to natural endowment, but in terms of the economic realities that its people face, it is indeed still “Deepest Darkest Africa”!

Yet as i hope you can tell from Patrick’s story, the people who were born there are for the most part the most patient, gentle, and good-natured folks you could ever meet. It’s a real privilege to help them gain skills, find work, and figure out how to survive and make a living amid the most impossible circumstances created by our greed for Congo’s wealth. Critical parts of your cellphone come from Patrick’s district and nowhere else! But the Congolese get nothing from it, of course.

Defying the Odds

It’s been a very expensive year for the Africa Fund so far, not least because of Patrick and his family. Yet Congo has always been a sort of side-project; our main work has always (mostly) been supporting education in Uganda. We’ve been able to respond to the extent we have, for the most part only because we haven’t had to pay Uganda school fees during lockdown.

And this past month we paid for a critical breast cancer operation in Kampala, and hospitalized seven members of a family of eight, who’d come down with typhoid and malaria. Everyone is recovering well thanks to your help. But the thing is, the Uganda government has yet to come up with the promised lockdown assistance, and some of our people badly need food. We’ve helped them too— and we’re preparing to do so again— but Uganda is starting to open up (even as numbers are starting to head north!), so we’ll see how we manage as we go forward.

South Africa is opening up too, and we have a university student there, with a $500 payment due next month!

By the way, here’s Claver Kwenzongo, another South Africa student that we helped out a while back—

He’s on his own now. This is the sort of thing that gives us a sense of accomplishment!

Lemme tellya though, sometimes we get to the bottom of the barrel. How often I’ve prayed, “They’re your kids, Lord, and all the money in the world is yours; you know we have nothing, you take care of them— and pardon me, because i’m sure you don’t need reminding— but the bills are due!”

Well, and never, in the 16 years we’ve been doing this, has Jesus ever let us down. The fact astonishes me, actually. The theologian in me wants to sermonize about God’s faithfulness, but i’m all too aware that people do suffer on a level that gives lie to all our easy answers. I don’t know how it works. But i can say that it does work— because of YOU.

The Bottom Line

God’s reign comes into being through YOU— YOUR generosity, YOUR compassion. So it’s time for me and Patrick and his family and all the kids in Uganda to say Thank You again.

Oh, and by the way, Mambo, our faithful project manager in Kampala, badly needs a new computer ($350).

But I hope that, through what i’ve written, you’ve seen how you’ve done an astonishing amount of good, more than you ever guessed. I doubt you were keeping count, but I’ve just explained how you’ve directly rescued some fourteen people, ten from death, and two of those more than once. Well, and we lost a couple too. But we press on.

Please be generous.

And btw, in case you’re interested, check out this story for insight into the coronavirus in Africa.

Thank you.
And let’s keep going!

Because Jesus Christ himself thanks you.

ST NICHOLAS AFRICA FUND

John Burnett, Director

CLICK HERE TO CONTRIBUTE—
http://stnicholasmarin.org/africafund/!