A system of mutual aid supports the Congolese community in South Africa
Evariste Katanga
It’s the first day of January; the transition to a new millennium has taken just one second. The joy that erupts all around the world is the same joy experienced at the Hillbrow night club Chez Ntemba. The majority of its clients are Congolese. They dance the soukous, known in South Africa as the kwasa-kwasa – the latest hit, Ndombolo, is played over and over again – and as fireworks colour the sky, the revellers raise their glasses to wish each other a successful year.
They are young, between 21 and 31, and they are spending large amounts of money. Where does it come from? How do these immigrants manage to survive so far from their homeland?
Leon Kunda wiggles his hips restlessly on the dance floor. The reason for his joy is simple: his business is very successful. He has just sold five of the cars he brought in from Japan, and the computers he sent to Kinshasa have also sold out.
But if the future seems prosperous for Kunda, it’s not the same for Blaise Muyumba, who arrived without papers, hoping to travel on to Canada. He can’t even find a place to sleep. However, hope has appeared on his horizon on the first day of the new century: a friend has promised to find him a job in a shop belonging to a Congolese who imports clothing from Bangkok.
This network of mutual aid seems to be the only salvation for Congolese in distress. It is based on brotherhood – “bondeko” in Lingala, a word picked up by another young Congolese who has created Bondeko Gardens, maintaining the lush lawns at the homes of rich Congolese in Sandton, Randburg, Houghton and Rosebank.
In the past 10 years there have been three waves of Congolese immigrants who have created a community scattered throughout South Africa. The first wave arrived at the end of the 1980s. Some came to South Africa to do business, both legal and illegal – for example, those involved in the cobalt trade. But there were others buying tons of wheat, sugar, sunflower oil and maize meal to export back to then Zaire. The rest of the first wave was composed of young physicians and civil engineers looking for a new market. They were joined by their young brothers and sisters who were looking for college and universities equal to those in Europe. It is this category which constitutes the upper and middle class in the Congolese community, and thus qualified they have been able to open upscale business ventures across the country.
The second wave arrived after 1992. It was made up of Congolese who believed the dreams passed on to them from the first wave. There was no alternative for them. Zaire was being badly shaken by political troubles: the massacres of students in Lubumbashi, Kasaians in Likasi and Kolwezi in the Katanga province, and the killings of Christians in Kinshasa drove people to seek asylum in South Africa.
The timing was not good for them. South Africa was at a critical phase of its history, and the country in transformation was also beset by misfortunes such as unemployment and urban violence. The Congolese had difficulties in getting work permits and had to survive by selling crafts and creating small businesses.
The bulk of Congolese arrived after 1996, longing for refugee status. They constitute the third wave. Their long journey to South Africa was as dark as the heart of the smugglers who charged R1E800 or more to help them to cross illegally the borders of Congo, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Namibia and South Africa. The smugglers are experts in corruption and forgery, and can easily forsake their “clients” in the bush when things turn bad. But the ease with which they operate proves that African borders are permeable.
A consequence of this last wave is the overloading of people in flats in Berea, Hillbrow and Yeoville. Officials of the Department of Home Affairs are snowed under with work – they must register an endless number of asylum seekers and extend residence permits, valid for only three months at a time.
I am from this last wave, after my efforts to expose a concentration camp for Tutsi Congolese near Lubumbashi cost me imprisonment and torture and endangered my life.
When I arrived in South Africa, I stayed with my uncle, who is a physician in the north and arrived during the first wave. Then I moved to Pretoria and Johannesburg to find a job as an interpreter. I was directly confronted by a world which doesn’t seem to understand the foreigner and his background. It’s obviously the fever of big metropolitan societies. Everybody’s insensitive to other people’s pain.
According to Congolese immigrant Serge Kayembe, who works as a security guard, that’s the definition of xenophobia. Even the Congolese are becoming contaminated slowly but surely, losing their sense of compassion and acting like local people, refusing to help, even when someone is hijacked or raped.
That’s why the churches are getting involved in immigrants’ problems – they’re taking over the job done in the Democratic Republic of Congo by the community. When nobody else can help, Congolese churches provide asylum. They give comfort to Congolese in distress. And they have an informal network of mail distribution and information. If your family writes to you via a Congolese church, someone will find you and pass on the letter.
There are Congolese churches scattered throughout South Africa. The Central Methodist Church in Johannesburg schedules a Congolese service every Sunday. In Hillbrow and Berea, there are at least five Congolese Pentacostal churches: the pastor and congregation are Congolese and the service is in French and Lingala.
Other church-connected groups also offer help. The Desmond Tutu Foundation of the Anglican Church distributes food to the refugees – dried vegetables, sacks of mealie meal, bottles of oil, tinned fish. The Jesuit Refugee Service gives credit at 0% interest to refugees who wish to start small businesses. When I contacted them, I was happy to see my problem addressed. Unable to find work as a translator, I have become a part-time trader.
A Chinese expression says, “Don’t give me a fish but teach me how to fish”. Adds Mbinga Mujiroro, an immigrant from Kivu, “If a brother comes, you must accommodate him and find for him a job to survive in this concrete jungle.”
This explains the existence of hair salons in Hillbrow and Yeoville, and many restaurants and shops where Congolese food can be found. These small businesses give employment to the community.
Kayembe Ngoie – known as Kayembe chez Temba – has opened a successful night club, and Nozi Mwamba earns a good income from his night club, Sankayi, in Rosebank.
There are Congolese photographers and cameramen who cover weddings in their community, and interpreters helping their fellows in dealing with home affairs. One enterprising Congolese bought a red Toyota Corolla from a fellow church member six months ago; he is paying off the car by renting it out for R450 a week to businesspeople passing through Johannesburg.
Some Congolese play the stock market. Others sell fruit and vegetables on the street. To these private initiatives can be added the trading of malachite. It’s a green stone, a combination of copper and cobalt, and it is sold in flea markets everywhere in the form of eggs and soap dishes, small animals, necklaces and ashtrays.
I am studying for my BComm, but I am also a trader in malachite. I sell objects at the Bruma Lake flea market. Summer in Johannesburg is fine, but when it comes to winter, there are not so many tourists. Then it’s slower.
Malachite and other crafts are brought in twice a week by Congo Airlines. The war has not yet affected this sector, and agencies like Gino, Kin Express and Aviation Mondiale facilitate it.
Local sellers deal directly with suppliers in Congo, via their families and friends who are still there. This informal network is the preferred way of doing business in Congo. Others, especially from Cape Town or other cities, buy from Johannesburg wholesalers, who keep many kilos of malachite in the small spaces of their flats. Congolese immigrants export clothing, perfumes, electronic sets and spare parts – and it’s cash in dollars. Thus the South African Treasury benefits from customs duties and taxes, and the goods the immigrants export also help to keep the economy going and create jobs.
The Congolese community is not monolithic. Although an association like Congolese 2000 has the task of finding a solution for a long-lasting peace and democracy in Congo, ethnic associations are organised here to transmit and preserve particular cultures. People from Kivu, Bandundu, Kasai and Katanga provinces meet separately to organise mutual aid societies.
The communication barrier is a principal cause of the lack of integration of many Congolese into South African society. The longer immigrants stay here, the better they learn the country’s languages, and nobody has lost faith in life. They try to adhere to the 15th Article, which doesn’t exist in any constitution except the Constitution of the Street. It says: even if the law should be violated – survive.