In a meeting this morning with two colleagues and the “chef d’agence adjoint” of one of the biggest Congolese banks, we were talking about the different branches they’ve established across the country. They’re present in almost all the provinces (of which there are, at least for the moment, ten), and have several branches in Katanga, the mining capital of the country. This in and of itself is pretty amazing, considering that the country in question has been steeped in war and conflict arguably since 1960, and even things as simple as constant electricity or running water are not to be taken for granted. Currently with 29 branches – with two more opening before the end of the year – TMB has managed to make of itself a credible and credit-worthy institution. But that’s not what this story is about.
Sitting in the second-floor, floor-to-ceiling-windowed office of the deputy director, sipping on bottled water, almost chilly from the air conditioning (I said almost), overlooking what seemed more like the first class lounge of a European airport than a bank in downtown Kinshasa, the thing that struck me the most was the nostalgia that hit me like a ten-ton truck the instant he mentioned the branch in Goma.
I don’t know what it is about that place, but the instant the plane landed there last November, I was amoureuse. Something about Goma, about Lake Kivu, about the entire place, crawled right under my skin and has yet to leave me alone.
le lac, vue de l'hôtel
The first time I was in Goma, I spent about 10 days there working at a workshop with leaders from the Masisi region. I remember talking to one of the old “chefs de la région” about both the big volcano that threatens to erupt again the way it did in 2002, leaving a third of the city under lava (and eating away a third of the runway at the airport), and, to the other side of us, of le lac Kivu, which sits on top of an enormous reserve of methane gas that threatens to burp up at any moment and suffocate the entire population of the region.
le volcan: mont nyiragongo
The striking beauty of the volcano – the pink hue in the sky at night, the constant stream of smoke that climbs towards the sky, the throne of lush greenery it seems to sit on – masks only in part the latent danger both of eruption, and of what that could mean for the lake, strikingly beautiful in its own right, and yet dubbed an “exploding lake” for the ganger it poses.
We spoke in metaphor about the natural wonders in front of and behind us; quite clearly the situation in Nord Kivu was the question sous la main, and the potential for positive, should the leaders work together, as well as for negative, should the war re-erupt. Goma, one of the most idyllic places I have ever seen, is wrought with conflict – both latent and manifest – that keeps the enormous potential of this area very much at bay. The beauty of Goma reminds me of the myth of Medusa: a beautiful woman turned into the ugliest of creatures only by the jealousy and wrath of another.
I won’t pretend to be able to explain the conflicts in Nord/Sud Kivu or the Eastern Congo in general because I have yet to scratch more than the surface of an understanding of what is arguably one of the most complicated conflicts in modern history. Let’s just say that with nine countries bordering the Congo, each one with its own history of conflict, problems with governance, resources, migration and immigration..I could go on..
The point isn’t that Goma is foutu – pardon my French – but that it has captured a part of me.
how could you not tombe amoureuse?
With unmatched intensity, this city sitting between the lake the the volcano – promising to erupt, in one sense or another – is paradise on earth, the geographical love of my life.