Goma in central Congo is a dangerous place. I know, I have lived here all my life. Dangers exist in many forms, there is poverty and social risks and there are gangs of rebels who exist to exist. The gangs give kids purpose, a role and some meaning where otherwise there is nothing. The main danger in Goma however is not the rebels or war or the poverty but the lack of hope that many people feel. There is no escape route from poverty to the freedom of a richer life. The pursuit of change is sought though the force of hand rather than the strength of mind here. People look around and see everyone in the same position, it is just the way life, no one develops into anything better.
“Go to school girl, you will be late again, and you know how that makes me stressed” I hear my mother call. Mother is determined in her belief that education is the most important thing in life. Education is like faith to her, you just need to do it and believe in its value. Good things will come as a result, just have faith. She never had the opportunity to get an education and she now fights the daily battle of a poor life, rich in the hope that her children will be educated and have opportunities she never had.
I am almost 6 years old, where each day I walk across town to my school. I carry a bright blue bag with big white letters, with my writing books and pencils inside. Some soldiers left them here before moving on, on to the next war or maybe back to their homes far away. Many of my friends have the same bag. I travel the same familiar route to school, across the busy dirt track lanes, between houses until I reach the main street. The street is alive at this time in the morning, full of motorbikes, trucks and animals and all the people in between. The bustling street gives me a sense of calmness, things are normal. I turn right at a tyre yard and take the shorter route through a road passing the back gardens of some houses. This is where I pass Arthur. Arthur is a mural I pass every day, but he feels alive to me. At first I found him scary, I always wanted to take the longer route, but my mother told me not to worry that Arthur is just a representation of us, he watches over us and protects us. Arthur does remind me of some of the men in our town, he is tired and a little bit broken but he is wise. Wise in his own world, practised in his environment. But more than his wisdom I see his hearth and his integrity; I see this entrenched deep into the wrinkles of his face. I know Arthur did not go to school, I think he was more like mother, educated in life, learning through osmosis.
In school I learn every day, I learn how to read and how to write and add and subtract. I enjoy the stories most, it doesn’t really matter what they are about, but I prefer the ones from faraway places where people live completely different lives.
School will continue for me and one day I will enjoy the opportunities that education brings, whatever that may be. I have faith in that. I will be different than those who have come before me in this town, not in terms of integrity or honesty or work ethic, but have the knowledge to build on these values, and to use my strength of mind not hand to create a better life for all of us.
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