‘Made in Congo’ A one-woman play written and performed by Sabrina Moella.
rock.paper.sistahz festival 2013
Keba!!! (Watch out!)
Why They Feed You Murders and Rapes
They feed you murders and rapes so that they won’t have to explain why and how they killed Patrice Lumumba and why his body was dissolved in acid so that no proper grave could be dug for him
They feed you murders and rapes so that you won’t ask about Floribert Chebeya, Voice of the voiceless, la Voix des sans-voix, whose body was found in the backseat of his car on June 2, 2010
They feed you murders and rapes so that you keep not paying attention to the thousands of Congolese who have organized demonstrations in Ottawa, London, Paris, Washington, to protest against the 2011 questionable Congolese elections, to inquire about those 1.6 million missing ballots, despite only being met with media indifference and police repression
They feed you murders and rapes to make sure you forget about the hundreds of United Nations staff members who have sexually abused and exploited Congolese war refugees, asking for sexual favors from women and little girls in exchange of food, forcing Secretary General Kofi Annan to remind them about the basics of the United Nations ‘code of conduct’
They feed you murders and rapes so that you won’t remember to criticize your own presidents who have all shaken hands with those African dictators, who have all danced with the devils, put them in power, kept them in power, trained them, sent them more weapons that they needed, even though they are now trying to delete that embarrassing part of the story
They feed you murders and rapes so that you don’t research why in the summer of 1939, Albert Einstein wrote to President Roosevelt about the importance of securing and controlling the Congolese uranium, and how shortly after, that same uranium was used to start building the first two nuclear weapons
They feed you murders and rapes so that you can forget about Ernesto Che Guevara, about how and why he traveled to the Congo in 1965 with twelve Cuban revolutionaries by his side, ready to spend six months in the Kivu mountains and reminding the international community that ‘Patrice Lumumba’s murder should be a lesson for us all’
They feed you murders and rapes so that you don’t try to figure out which multinationals keep benefiting every year from these Congolese resources, making shameless deals with African mercenaries, exploiting African cheap labor, then pretending they don’t know where the minerals come from as soon as they have crossed the border
They feed you murders and rapes so that they can keep writing stereotypical articles about Africa, making big headlines about those always war-torn countries, taking Pulitzer worth pictures of those mutilated African female bodies, but never mentioning any achievement, any act of resistance, any call for peace or social justice
They feed you murders and rapes so that you can picture those Africans as somewhat inferior, ruined, powerless, as those good savages always in need of more civilization, more schooling, more paternalism but certainly not as clever individuals able to decide of their own fates, advocate for change in their own institutions, be the masters of their own destinies
They feed you murders and rapes so that you can emotionally distance yourself from those five million dead, keep them far away, reduce them to charts and statistics, view them not as real human bodies worth a fair trial or a decent life, but as sad casualties of war trapped in a continent doomed to suffer
They feed you murders and rapes so that they can ask for more military intervention, so that you can agree to send more soldiers, more troops, more weapons, basically agreeing to more imperialism, more exploitation, more control
They feed you murders and rapes so that they can remain silent about Congolese’s first genocide, not mentioning how, at the beginning of the twentieth century, ten million of Congolese already lost their lives, subjected to forced labor by Leopold, King of Belgium, who exploited them to build his personal fortune while telling the international community that his goal was to protect and ‘uplift’ the Congolese
They feed you murders and rapes to make sure you never think about those anonymous heroes, those unsung individuals who, despite colonization, dictatorship, and genocide, keep resisting oppression, keep trying to survive, keep dreaming of a better life for themselves and their children
Because see, while they feed you murders and rapes, despair and hate and nothing else
Some of us still feed ourselves with truth and knowledge
Some of us still feed ourselves with light and wisdom
Some of us still remember the words of Patrice Lumumba when he said ‘I want my children to be told that the future of the Congo is beautiful’; or when he predicted that ‘Africa will write its own history one day’, and ‘it will not be the history taught in the United Nations, Washington, Paris, or Brussels (…), both north and south of the Sahara, it will be a history full of glory and dignity’
While they feed you murders and rapes,
Some of us still believe that the day will come, where corrupted governments will be held accountable and war criminals will be judged
Some of us still believe that multinationals will have to pay a fair and ethical price to buy our resources one day,
Some of us still believe that the day will come where our leaders won’t be systematically assassinated when they ask for respect and fair treatment for our people
See,
While they feed you murders and rapes, despair and hate and nothing else
Some of us still believe in the marvelous possibility of our own freedom
© Sabrina Moella
Child of the African Diaspora. A journey through identity crisis, doubts, love and self-acceptance
My name is Sabrina Moella.
I am a child of the African diaspora.
I was born and raised in France. I am now living and working in Canada, but my roots and my heart are from the Congo. (DRC)
‘Child of the African diaspora.’ It took me years to come to terms with this definition. To embrace it. To understand it. Not to be ashamed or scared of it any more.
I have never been to Congo. I don’t speak its beautiful and diverse languages. I have never seen its beautiful landscapes, its wildlife, its great forests.
But my soul is Congolese nevertheless. Congolese blood runs through my veins.
It seems like an easy picture to draw now, an easy definition to write down on a piece of paper to describe myself… But this has not always been the case.
When I was a child, I wanted to be French. Badly. I was longing for the long blond hair that would dance in the wind, the pale blue eyes that would shine in the mirror, the thin lips like the ones of the actresses on TV. I was even writing letters to Santa to finally get those Caucasian features I so desperately wanted.
I was 5 and living in a world where everybody and their mothers had Caucasian features. My dolls, my teachers, the actors on TV… Everybody. So this is what I wanted for myself too. I didn’t want to be different. I wanted to blend in, to be accepted, to feel a sense of belonging…
‘Bina Mwela’ the video is here!!! Shot and edited by Ms Bina herself! Your thoughts?
Africa is the Future
If Africa is the future
Why did we leave mommy?
Why did we travel so far
To come to a place that don’t want us?
.
If Africa is the future
Why are we here mommy?
Why are you exhausting yourself
To live in a place
That is not ours?
.
They say Africa is the future
Now can’t you hear mommy?
Why is there always just enough money to send
But never enough to go back?
.
If Africa is the future
I want to leave mommy…
.
See,
I don’t care what they’re saying
I don’t care if we’re starving
I’m gonna jump on a giant colored bird
One day,
Like the ones from those books
.
And for better or for worse
I know I’ll find my way home
© Sabrina Moella
WE ARE NOT RUINED
We are not ruined
We are the ones who wear cornrows in our heads and draw tattoos on our wombs to show the world our precious uniqueness
We are not ruined
We are the ones who tie wrappers around our hips to go out, two for the married women, one for the single ones
We are not ruined
We are the ones who eat white clay when we’re expecting, to give strength to our babies while they’re growing inside our wombs
We are the ones who gather together in the evening to share stories and laughter and to ask one another: “citoyenne, tokoseka na biso nini?”
We are not ruined
We are the ones who wake up every morning to go sell dumplings and cassava at the market to provide for our families
We are the ones who manage to make a living despite the power cuts, the unpaid salaries, and the unmaintained roads
We are the ones who are tired of our corrupted governments who steal the country’s money while our own children are starving
We are not ruined
We are the survivors of colonialism, imperialism, dictatorship and genocide.
We are the ones who know that when foreigners come and take our diamonds, our copper, our cobalt, our coltan and give us a rice bag in exchange, this is not fair trade
We are not ruined
We are the ones who reclaim justice for the 5 millions dead in the Democratic Republic of Congo since 1998
We are the women whose mothers and daughters and granddaughters are abused and raped every day by soldiers who use guns and machetes to make sure that our bodies will never give birth again
But we are not ruined
We are the ones still standing on our feet, shaking, in tears, but still standing
Because they might destroy our bodies but they won’t destroy our spirits,
And though they want us to keep crying, we’re the ones who’ll keep on praying and singing, like
“Lelu tudi tudila malaba lutulu ne luikala”
We are not ruined
We are the women of Bukavu, Goma, Uvira, Beni, walking together in our streets to reclaim our dignity
And as long as we’ll be breathing, we’ll have the strength to keep on telling
To the soldiers who think that they can kill us
We are not ruined
To the westerners who think they can manipulate us
We are not ruined
To the governments who think they can despise us
WE ARE NOT RUINED
WE ARE NOT RUINED
WE ARE NOT RUINED
© Sabrina Moella
