That was the text my aunt sent us on 5 October, It was four in the morning when my sister called me to ask if I had seen the message. I just sat on my bed, looking into the darkness of my room. Now, she too was gone. I spent the rest of that night crying and contacting family members. We began preparing ourselves for the worst, but how do you prepare yourself to lose someone you love? I knew that the following days would be difficult. I was born in Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo.
When I was 12 years old, my mother, brother, sister and I fled the arduous political and social situation happening in the country. The Democratic Republic of Congo is one of the 10 poorest countries in the world. Since Belgian colonisation in , the country has experienced extreme poverty, war, political instability and diseases.
We arrived in Belgium to start a new life from scratch. Our first years were very stressful. We lived in constant fear of receiving a letter from the government telling us to leave.
It took years of legal action before we were allowed to stay permanently in Belgium. It was in the living room and the mood was surprisingly good. My aunt finishing her traditional outfit in her room. I t was 20 years ago, the last time I laid my eyes on Congo. Despite facing racism, I have always been proud of my Congolese culture. My grandmother was born into a family of six. She never went to school, because her father wanted her to stay at home and help her mother.
She often told us that this was one of her biggest regrets. She grew up and became a widowed mother, raising seven children by herself while running her own business. She eventually bought the house in which she raised her kids. This was not a common situation for a woman back in those days.
