Widow's Walk

An illness took Jacqueline's husband last year. Photo: Matthew De Galan/Mercy Corps

Today we visit Monigi, another town north of Goma. It's a beautiful, cool morning when we set off, working down one street. I ask Christophe if the street has a name. It does — Kesenyi. In the course of the day, we interview six people. Five of them are widows. The sixth is a young man whose brother was killed in the war and, following tradition, he married his brother's widow, and instantly inherited six children. The people here are poor, but not nearly as bad off as the folks in the IDP camps. Still, it is Congolese boulevard of broken dreams, a microcosm of the life and death in North Kivu.

Our first stop is the home of Jacqueline Nyirajuba. One strange thing about Congo — at least this part of it — is that people often look much younger than they are. This is much different than, say, Central America. I pegged her at late 30s. She was 47. And I have the photo to prove it. As always, the first thing that happens is a boy is sent to fetch a chair. They come running with it, set it down for me, in front of her house. It is solid, almost Adirondack style, a chair you almost have to lean back in. Almost too comfortable, especially as I slept badly the night before and feel sleepy. I have a horror of dozing off. But I don't. No chance of that. Jacqueline is far too engaging.

She is, I decide, a born actress, a born flirt. She is tall and lean, with a high forehead and high cheekbones and long elegant hands. She gestures, throwing her hands out (excitement), slapping her hands (disgust), folding them silently across her chest (solemnity), bringing them gently up to cup her face (a melancholic fatigue). Maybe 25 people crowd around us, but she shows no signs of shyness. Quite the contrary, she joshes with Christophe, playfully throws the questions back in his face, flirtatiously unwraps the blue head scarf, shakes her hair, reties it with a flourish. She is on stage, and she is loving every minute of it.

What do we learn from our 61 questions? That she farms a small plot of land, but that soldiers from a nearby military base stole her beans and manioc. That she also carries wood, which earns her 40 cents a day. That she has three children, ages 2 to 7. That the latrine is only 15 yards away, but is shared by three other families. That free water is a two hour trip roundtrip and the alternative is to pay 20 cents — half a day's wages -- to buy 20 liters from the bicycle water vendors. That her husband died last year of an illness, perhaps malaria — she wasn't sure, or wouldn't say.