Walking Kinshasa you can always see something new, different, a swarm of people different. It is true that this applies to every other place in the world, which would take away a little 'depth behind this phrase. Go to Malpensa, Milan's general markets, the fish market of Molfetta: there will always be those who see a babel of languages \u200b\u200band cultures to flourish, making the most of Babel inflated between the places of our imagination, just before the maze (the streets) and the earthly paradise, the place is swarming or a desert it is worth spending a redundant phrase. The real revolution would mean places where people circulating homogeneous population density reaches a normal, leaving little room for imagination. There will be told that there would be something different. For avercene of similar places.
Kinshasa is therefore an average place, in the sense of mediocrity that you expect in a tropical whatever, it's Cancer or Capricorn. Music from the speakers along the road, people sitting on the wall that sells peanuts, overloaded buses over the improbable and so on. Drains in the manner streams of the mysterious, which would be expected at any moment to see down a pirogue carrying bananas, all covered with a sprinkling of playful trash. Today
walking not far from home, walking to the ice cream (yes, even in the tropics are the ice cream). The notorious swarming so suddenly made me realize one thing: how deaf and blind in these two years here, become insensitive to Babel, the mazes and even to the Earthly Paradise. Two years ago the first thing I'd never left alone, even just to a few hundred meters. Still scared me a reputation as a dangerous city of Kinshasa, fame turned out to be unfounded. And with it, is disappeared even that sense of danger, danger, maybe not true but a bit 'of that risk that helps to make us leave our country and come to see what's on the other side. Hic sunt leones, come cercarveli.Durante the first exit to the city every colored lizard, every child beggar with flip-flops, skimpy each baobab was a source of amazement for me, "LAFRICA" tutt'attaccato I imagined as a child, the bellies swollen and women with buckets on their heads. Now I think my own business in thought, shy waste and puddles with dexterity and occasionally greeting a few acquaintances. Today I also looked into the eyes of a man who does not usually work away from home, sitting under a tree where he carved drums and masks. We drank coffee, looked away and who knows what he thought. And I had a thought, who knows what he'll do when I'm away, it's pretty amazing to think that the people there, living, working, making love and die even if we did not we there to see them. I was just a pawn for him, perhaps I noticed my color, and for me he had a background choreography. And I understand that he will die, and so do I, mutual indifference, and it may seem sad but that's okay, after thousands of miles you live and you die and you pull on each other, and even if you live near neighbors often do not that are listed in the lives of others. After accounts do not give much of a people that through our lives, and could not be if not so, than those who passed me but I can not move me to anyone.
This is the curse of those who begin to discover the world, leave the banality of their homes to find out new things, until you realize that the new is again trivial and you just have to move house, find another place to and fall in love and that bored soon after and so on, in a whirlwind of discovery that leaves you at one point sad and lonely and uprooted, nor where to stay or where to go. There is something to envy those who have spent a lifetime in the office, married career not to feel the emptiness that gradually grows in, but then you need a rich spiritual life and then a void if I'll find out.
sum up what I have learned here and thinking about what I expected when I arrived, I can not say that I became African, I remained a stranger in another's house and I have a house, and waiting for me and I'll come back. This is not to say that people can not move and move house, but we must accept that our country becomes commonplace, only because there is beauty in the banality and feel at home. I learned that Africans were and still are, which for years have lived and worked and struggled without our streets should meet but no they did not have the right to exist and will continue to have, residents of another, yet another Babel.
I knew their banality, but that beauty.
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