“To think I had to come all the way from unruly Angola only to witness the breakdown of this little country,” Honorine Lusekumbanza Makaya cries out in disbelief, as we interview her on the day the Belgian government stepped down over the intractable question of BHV. Originally from the north of Angola, Honorine, after having lived in the country’s capital Luanda for a while, fled to Brussels in 1983. Today, she dreams of moving back to Luanda.
16 there to here THE BULLETIN June 2010 “I love Angola tremendously, but it’s a difficult country. My heart bleeds just think- ing about it. I couldn’t stay there myself, because of many circumstances. As a child, I lived in Kinshasa [capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo] and Congo- Brazzaville. In the Belgian Congo, the Angolans were actively discriminated against – not especially by the Belgians, because they saw no difference between peoples: to them, black was black – but by the Congolese themselves. I remember bullying at school – we learned to hide the fact that we were Angolans. So I can’t say it meant much to me, the independ- ence of Congo in 1960. It didn’t improve our treatment. What a difference with Congo- Brazzaville, where Angolans were greeted as family members – we were entre nous there. I didn’t return to my home country until two years aſter Angolan independ- ence in 1975. e joy of coming home was L uandan “To think I had to come all the way from unruly Angola only to witness the breakdown of this little country,” Honorine Lusekumbanza Makaya cries out in disbelief, as we interview her on the day the Belgian government stepped down over the intractable question of BHV. Originally from the north of Angola, Honorine, after having lived in the country’s capital Luanda for a while, fled to Brussels in 1983. Today, she dreams of moving back to Luanda. Brussels identities from A to Z great. But there was also a lot of fear: there was a failed coup d’ état in 1977 and the country then entered into a devastat- ing civil war which lasted until 2002, leaving half a million dead. e coun- try was in complete ruins. I myself became ill aſter the birth of my first child; if I had stayed in Angola, I don’t think I would have survived. When I arrived in Brussels in 1983, I was shocked. I wanted to go back right away. And I can’t say that my feelings have changed much ever since. In Angola, I was a respected member of society – I had a degree in psy- chology and had an executive function at a ministry. But the Belgians thought it more fitting for me to do cleaning jobs. I was black and came from a developing country, so I had to do the dirty jobs. We knew slightly what Europe was like, as my husband had had scholarships at European universities. Still, our Honorine with her husband Joaquim, near their favourite Cameroonian restau- rant, Les Tropiques. “We Angolans don’t have our own res- taurants and bars; we gather in clubs like mine – Alegria, Association des Femmes Angolaises de Belgique – and in African places, such as Cameroonian and Congolese restaurants. But through our lan- guage, we are also akin to the Brazilians, the Cap Verdeans and the Portuguese.” “As soon as we’re able to buy a property in Angola, we’re off” 016_017_there to here.indd 16 19/05/2010 14:07:12
Transcript
16 there to here
THE BULLETIN June 2010
“I love Angola tremendously, but it’s a difficult country. My heart bleeds just think-ing about it. I couldn’t stay there myself, because of
many circumstances. As a child, I lived in Kinshasa [capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo] and Congo-Brazzaville. In the Belgian Congo, the Angolans were actively discriminated against – not especially by the Belgians, because they saw no difference between peoples: to them, black was black – but by the Congolese themselves. I remember bullying at school – we learned to hide the fact that we were Angolans. So I can’t say it meant much to me, the independ-ence of Congo in 1960. It didn’t improve our treatment.
What a difference with Congo-Brazzaville, where Angolans were greeted as family members – we were entre nous there. I didn’t return to my home country until two years after Angolan independ-ence in 1975. The joy of coming home was
Luandan“To think I had to come all the
way from unruly Angola only
to witness the breakdown of
this little country,” Honorine
Lusekumbanza Makaya cries out in disbelief, as we
interview her on the day the Belgian government
stepped down over the intractable question of BHV.
Originally from the north of Angola, Honorine, after
having lived in the country’s capital Luanda for a
while, fled to Brussels in 1983. Today, she dreams of
moving back to Luanda.
Brussels identities from A to Z
great. But there was also a lot of fear: there was a failed coup d’état in 1977 and the country then entered into a devastat-ing civil war which lasted until 2002, leaving half a million dead. The coun-try was in complete ruins. I myself became ill after the birth of my first child; if I had stayed in Angola, I don’t think I would have survived.
When I arrived in Brussels in 1983, I was shocked. I wanted to go back right away. And I can’t say that my feelings have changed much ever since. In Angola, I was a respected member of society – I had a degree in psy-chology and had an executive function at a ministry. But the Belgians thought it more fitting for me to do cleaning jobs. I was black and came from a developing country, so I had to do the dirty jobs.
We knew slightly what Europe was like, as my husband had had scholarships at European universities. Still, our
Honorine with her husband Joaquim, near their favourite Cameroonian restau-rant, Les Tropiques. “We Angolans don’t have our own res-taurants and bars; we gather in clubs like mine – Alegria, Association des Femmes Angolaises de Belgique – and in African places, such as Cameroonian and Congolese restaurants. But through our lan-guage, we are also akin to the Brazilians, the Cap Verdeans and the Portuguese.”“As soon as
we’re able to
buy a property
in Angola,
we’re off”
016_017_there to here.indd 16 19/05/2010 14:07:12
17
In praise of: The Atomium is the
symbol of Belgium, when it was still a unified
country, with nine balls representing the nine
provinces. Those were the days of ‘l’Union fait
la force’... But we also send visiting friends to
other historical sites, such as the magnificent
Cinquantenaire arch – I know, built with blood from the Congo – and to the Manneken Pis,
of whom I always heard that when Brussels once
burned, he smothered the fire. I prefer him with
a costume on, though – in our culture, public
nudity is not done.
We occasionally go to eat in the best African restaurant in Brussels:
Gri Gri in Uccle (16 Rue Basse). Hostess
Augustine is Congolese and married to a Belgian.
Out of which results a good mix, though the
cuisine is very much African. We also go
to the Cameroonian restaurant Les Tropiques
(43 Rue aux Laines) in the Marolles – delicious
and authentic!”
The magnificent Museum of Central Africa in Tervuren,
another legacy of colonialism... I go and walk there sometimes,
and look at the art. Those masks from so
many African cultures, gorgeous. As Bantus,
we have a shared artistic language that crosses
borders. This makes for solidarity.
acquaintance with the western mentality remained as a shock. My husband told me about his first night in Europe, in a shelter for the homeless. He was at his wits’ end – he was crying, his head in his hands, when a homeless person said: “You come from afar and you get a roof over your head, be glad. We’re from here, and we don’t even have a home.” That makes you think...
Today, I notice that Brussels has ever more homeless people, ever more dirt, ever more insecurity. It’s time to do something about it. All in all, Brussels is a very difficult city to really love. That’s down to me as well: I’m always think-ing about returning. As soon as we’re able to buy a prop-erty in Angola, we’re off. As soon as I’m back in Angola, I would like to return every year for a month to Brussels. But would I really miss it here? My friends, yes. And also, I would no longer be able to hop on a train to Ostend and have shrimp croquettes with some good Belgian beer. That I would miss.
That I give Portuguese language lessons to children of Angolan parents in Brussels, is not a pure matter of language. These children need a good knowledge of Portuguese, if they ever want to go and live in Angola. In Angola, you’re not considered truly ‘Angolan’, when you don’t have a mastery of the official language, Portuguese. It was like that before, it’s like that now. As a North Angolan,
I know what I’m talking about: we used to speak mainly French, so we were seen as ‘Les Zairos’ and treated like dirt. You must be aware that there are many languages in Angola, and only the affluent can send their children to private schools to get a proper education. This means that many people speak their own language and have little chance to speak Portuguese. What’s striking is that the Angolan community in Belgium suffers from the same mentality. That surprised me when I arrived here.
But I’m much angrier about the com-plete mess that the Belgians are making of their unique country. I mean, come on: splitting up Belgium in the midst of an economic crisis! The Belgians should set an example to Europe, something they did for such a long time. My husband says that the Flemish, who for so long were suppressed by the French-speakers, only have one thing left in mind: revenge! Even in the Belgian Congo, the Flemish were discriminated against – to the French-speakers they were on the same level as “the negroes”. But if the Flemish could forget this past, they could take on a con-structive attitude.
Within the Angolan community in Brussels, we have the same kind of prob-lems, really, but I see a change for the better: people are beginning to realise the silliness of it all. The Angolan Embassy is an important factor: they make a delib-erate choice to invite everyone, without making distinctions. What’s more, those of the privileged class are a bit lost in Brussels, because they don’t speak French very well. And those that are frowned upon in Angola for speaking French rather than Portuguese, have the advan-tage, of course, in Brussels.
But Portuguese remains the language that unites all Angolans – all 18 prov-inces, with their own languages and dif-ferences. Through my Portuguese lessons I hope to unite the Angolans of Brussels. What’s still very difficult in Angola itself, might just work here.”
