### Kinshasa, between ash and flood: indifference to the heart of the emergency
The sky of Kinshasa, this April 9, 2025, is not satisfied with a simple snap of thunder. No, he announces a tragedy. While provincial deputies meet in the cozy arena of the Assembly, another reality bursts under the pressure of water: that of the families of Mont-Ngafula, already hardly tested by devastating floods. André Nkongolo, rapporteur of this rally, does not seem to realize that he is aimed at a community in distress. Words slide like stagnant waters on bitumen. Real concerns of the capital? It looks like it is not part of the agenda.
“The city will experience floods,” alerts Jack Mabaya, elected deputy of Mont-Ngafula, in a statement that hardly resonates like a cry in the void. He is given the benefit of doubt-he may have captured a weather scoop, but what do we know about the real sufferings of his fellow citizens? Seven families are already in mourning in its neighborhood, the tragedy takes shape in the figures it lists. But we are lost in promises without reality.
What if all this was only wind, like these storms that are announced but do not transform anything? Let’s talk straight, let’s talk about emergency criteria. On which table of priorities are these Mont-Ngafula victims painted? Enough to deserve media coverage, emergency protocols, or are they condemned to dismal silence, labeled as forgotten versions of a tragic piece? Doesn’t all this reveal, in the pouring rain, a great contradiction? The capital, a microcosm where solidarity has a price, where the victims of the East are taken care of, while others, alas, are left to the banks of their distress.
The figures are the anxiety of families, but it is also a reflection of a trampling system. Mom Yemo, the general hospital, is full of deaths that should not have to stay there without dignity. A morgue, yes, but for whom? The bodies accumulate, but the screaming voices are ignored. How many silent funerals will we endure before we realize that yesterday, today and tomorrow look alike?
The painting is raw: Mont-Ngafula, surrounded by a grim indifference. The poor, those who do not have the support of the state, seem to be intended to vegetate in the midst of the remains of their existence, while their elected officials, like protagonists of a drama that no one sees, cry tears that do not save. How could it be that in a hectic city, the fate of the weakest remains in the shadow of helplessness?
A question germinates here, to the light of the lanterns which no longer shine: to what extent governance, in the Democratic Republic of Congo, been educated by misfortune? Automatisms of indifference, these political choices which, over the months, turn into circles, flock like waters: where is money going? What are our priorities really? Is it more convenient to heal the injuries of the privileged neighborhoods than to go towards the fringes the forgotten of society?
This reality becomes a bitter echo. Will we have to sacrifice lives to awaken consciences? In the meantime, the deputies will probably continue to juggle words, while the families of Mont-Ngafula will still find themselves in the face of the anger of the heavens-and the indifference of men. Enimate time, the city struggles, fighting for its survival, while hearts go out in the slow agony of despair. Another rain, another group of victims. Kinshasa, tragic Subsequent Ball. We are there, but for how long?