“As if it were today” | Tales from Muhanga 7
From the diary of Father Giovanni Piumatti during his time in Muhanga (North Kivu). Reflections still relevant today
Slaves of today. Slaves who ask to be set free….
It is almost noon on Sunday.
A motorcycle arrives from Bunyatenge with three young men: the driver, a companion, and between them the third: at his ankles is a pair of real steel handcuffs, regularly made in Europe, adjustable, locked at the tightest gear.
With every little movement is a cry of pain, they hurt a lot. To make a young man like that cry out, it takes a lot.
The police commander, from the Mai-Mai rebel group in Bunyatenge, shut it down last night because it was giving a little head; but this morning the commander lost the key. They come to ask us to, uh, release him.
The whole of our intervention made me think a lot tonight. I send for Tembó and Msafiri, two young men from our little workshop. After Mass, here in the courtyard, we always have a nice sampling of humanity:- Anwarite, Bielà, Merveille, Cesarina, and many other little girls jumping rope;- Pierino, Benoit, Asifiwe, running after the half deflated balloon;- in the background, the songs of the Golden Mint coming out of the loudspeakers;- mothers and fathers: some in a meeting, some simply chatting, resting…
In a few minutes they are all around, including us : the crowd! and there is reason. There are also Prosperina and Oliva and Concetta nurses, Graziella and Safi and Solanges…; but especially the mechanics.
Tongs, pliers, screwdrivers, hacksaw…; the exhausted cutters no longer cut, but futilely try to nibble at the steel that meanwhile has sunk into those poor swollen ankles.
Many attempts; gentle at first but then increasingly firm. Finally the big grinder arrives: a hissing 25-cm disk that Msafiri manipulates half an inch from swollen flesh.
Mathias throwing basins of cold water on the steel that becomes red-hot; Mbalè and Katè gripping his legs tightly, the escorts holding him behind his back…, the poor man screaming.
Finally, freed!
It is an explosion of joy–to tears. The crowd of men-women-children cheering. And the poor man gesturing to all of us, thank you-thank you-thank you. It feels good to be here, inside this warm slice of humanity! A half-hour sweat that, sums up a bunch of our problems and yours.
In Musiya, a few hours away, they seem to have found a bit of luck, gold; everyone digs, and it seems that in one shovelful of sand shines several straws of gold.
The young man had made a nest egg, bought himself a motorcycle, and celebrated two days in Bunyatenge with friends. He went too far; he went crazy, and here’s the result.
What else can they do here: away from the world, surrounded by soldiers and guns?
All these years we have brought some tools: a mill, electricity, put up a carpentry shop, a small workshop….
Here. Where we are all handcuffed, imprisoned by a mad, senseless war that serves only the insatiable, mismanaged Western finances.
In the past, in Lukanga, you seemed to see the fruits of these Western drills, grinders, hacksaws; today, you see much less.
I often wonder how good it is, what it is for; but today I felt that maybe it is worth it.
If Jesus had been here yesterday, as He was two thousand years ago in Nazareth, I think He would have taken that grinder in His hand.
(Father John Piumatti, January 12, 2013)
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Source
- G. Piumatti, Muhanga. Parole e storie d’Africa, pp. 246-247