Inspired by christine

Maman Christine was the embodiment of all that is good. She was the original Mama Congo. My Mother Africa.

She was full of love and resourcefulness. A human dynamo who was always on the go, spinning plates and rarely dropping a single one.

Christine was also my introduction to this irresistibly charming and unpredictable country.

One hot and humid Friday morning in August, I spotted Maman Christine— though I did not yet know her name — surrounded by a group of young children, from the window of the Beechcraft 1900 my young family and I were travelling in.

As the plane touched down they began to sing and dance, ululating in inimitable fashion. They were there to welcome another family, with whom we had been travelling, and who were returning to Congo for the second time.

As we got into the car that had been waiting for us, there was a tap on the window.

It was Christine: “Madam, you’re the twin family I’ve been expecting. You’ll be needing help,” she said, speaking with characteristic reverence. “Please, let me start working for you on Monday morning.”

Taken aback by this stranger’s earnestness, I conceded, but told her I would need to interview other women before confirming the position.

“Oh madam, you’ll see, once I start working for you, you won’t want anyone else.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Christine was a fireball of energy. My children fell in love with her immediately and the feeling was mutual.

We soon learnt that her motivation for working for us was to provide for the 20 or so “orphaned” children whose care she was tasked with. Chari Secours (literally meaning ‘charity’ and ‘rescue’ in French), an orphanage, was home to a number of children, some whose mothers had died during childbirth and whose fathers were no longer present, others who had been abandoned due to poverty and a few who were branded “witches” by their own families and subsequently thrown out on the streets to fend for themselves. Christine was, for all intents and purposes, their mother.

In Congo, orphanages receive little to no government aid; Christine used most of her salary to feed and clothe the children. She hired help for when she was at work herself and made sure the children were left wanting for nothing. On most nights, her head would hit the pillow well after all the children had gone to sleep, and by 4am, she was already out of bed, ready for the day ahead.

Sadly, as is the case for far too many people in DRC, Christine’s life was cut short prematurely. She died on Friday, March 11, 2016, from a suspected stroke.

She was 38 years old.

Mama Congo isn’t just a tribute to Christine, it is inspired by her and all the other women, like her, who work tirelessly to create a better world.

Soraya Kishtwari