Congo-Kinshasa

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Kelly Jost Gardiner

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Within the framework of sub-Saharan Africa, this course has provoked thorough

re-evaluations of our conventional definitions for “architecture” and “city.” An analysis

of the deeply nuanced urban histories present within the continent exposes many flawed

approaches to recording African narratives. Drawing from Mbembe and Nuttall’s

“Writing the World from an African Metropolis,” the present paper would like to act as a

meditation on the “people, bodies, intersections, and networks… [which] structure and

delineate the material culture of the city.”1 Adopting a “people as infrastructure”

methodology, this paper will briefly consider the ways that urbanites are organized in

Kinshasa, despite and sometimes in spite of more formal infrastructure. In contrast to

large-scale urban planning projects, such as the hotly contested Cité de Fleuve, the

“Building,” Kintambo Cemetery, and the Congobot, will be discussed as legitimate forms

of Congolese ingenuity.

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In the case of Kinshasa (former Leopoldville), the capital of the Democratic

Republic of the Congo, formal infrastructure often functions in an enigmatic, and

sometimes contradictory manner. It is imperative to first acknowledge that, “the structure

of colonization created a system of paradigmatic oppositions…that inescapably continues

to structure the way in which we reflect upon processes of modernization and progress.”2

Meaning that, the layout of the segregated city established by King Leopold II, his

officials, and later the Belgian colonial government still influences the configuration of

the city today. Between 1885-1914, Leopoldville’s city center was oriented around a ten-kilometer-wide axis that reached from Kintambo in the West to Ngaliema Bay in the

East.3 In the name of “hygiene” the European center of the city, known as La Ville,

remained exclusive to whites and was spatially separated from the rest of La Cité by

zones neutres or zones tampons.4 Since these zones were deemed unfit for living, they

often lacked the general housing structures which were present in both La Ville and La

Cité. After independence these empty spaces were never nurtured and thus many have

remained without formal housing structures up until today.5 The zones neutres have also

influenced the growth patterns of Kinshasa, explaining why neighborhoods expand

peripherally at such a rapid rate.6

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After World War II, the massive surge in the Congolese population prompted the

Belgian colonial government’s Office de Cités Africaines to begin an urban planning

project known as the Plan décennal (Plan décennal pour le development économique et

social du Congo), in which 32,000 houses were built between 1952-1960.7 However,

since then, with the exception of the Kabila’s recent Cinq chantiers, very few urban

planning projects have been successfully implemented in Kinshasa. There have been

many utopic visions for the “modernization” of Kinshasa, but these plans are quickly

unraveled, invalidated, or abandoned, given insufficient funding or the quickly changing

demographics and topographies of the city.8 Touting a population of roughly twelve

million, there is an immediacy in Kinshasa – where Kinois, active in the negotiations of

their daily lives, remain grounded in the present moment. Disorder, not as a pejorative

appellation, but as a demonstrable truth is commonly understood as the norm. Therefore,

many Kinois have taken the initiative to carve out spaces – often provisional – in

their immediate environment, which provide opportunities for commercial,

residential, or communal stability.

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THE OCPT aka THE BUILDING:

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Though Masina became an illegally occupied neighborhood — or zone annexe –

just before independence in 1960, the structures within the walled area of Masina Sans

Fils, remained largely uninhabited until the 1980s.9 This area included the Office

Congolais de Poste et Télecommunication, locally known as “the Building.”10 Many

people who worked for the OCPT and had not been paid in months, or even years, slowly

came to occupy small sections of the space as a form of remuneration.11 Eventually the

lots were made available to lower branches of OCPT or those who had simply tapped into

the right connections.12 A great deal of networking occurs between locals working

together to figure out how one can acquire daily necessities. With the average urban

citizen surviving on $2 USD or less per day, and only ó of the city with access to

drinkable water, much time is spent acquiring forms of subsistence.13 In present day,

more than 300 people occupy OCPT despite the fact that there is no “legal” way to secure owner’s rights and the government could force eviction if it one day decided to.14

Consequently, the Building makes a strong case for the systems of interdependence at

work in a residential (yet also urban and commercial) space. Filip de Boeck relays a

poignant anecdote about the building: One day as he was walking in Masina Sans Fils, de

Boeck noticed a broken sewage pipe flooding the main access road to the Building.15

After a good deal of time had passed he returned to the area and noticed the Building’s

occupants had still not addressed the broken pipe.16 It was then that de Boeck finally

realized that the broken pipe was seen as favorable: since a street filled with muddy

potholes could easily be cordoned off by policemen and made inaccessible to cars, the

local women were able to set up markets along the street and earn some money.17 The

women who gained access to such a ‘viable’ spot would then continue to give a small

percentage of their proceeds to the policemen and supervisor of the Building, who

allowed their enterprise to exist.18 This opportunistic appropriation of land is comparable

to the practices of farmers in the Malebo Pool cultivating rice paddies, despite competing

claims from chiefs and government officials.19 Though nuanced claims to territory should

be considered carefully, to remove agency from those currently occupying the land, is

essentially to destroy the delicate balance of interdependence built by Congolese workers and the means by which such workers survive.

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KINTAMBO CEMETARY:

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There is a visible shortage of living spaces in Kinshasa, but Kinois are also lacking

sufficient land to be buried on. Many of the cemeteries in the city were built in the zones

neutres of the colonial period and have long been shutdown for overcrowding.20 In

operation beginning in the mid-1950s, Kintambo cemetery was officially closed by the

late 1980s, though it continues to be widely used today.21 Since the morgues of Kinshasa

are frequently backed up, écuries, or stables of young men who unofficially work in the

cemetery, offer direct services including gravesite preparation and burial.22 Other youths

occupying the cemetery – often referred to as société morte (dead society) – hang out,

relax, or partake in a number of activities that might earn them some money: such as

selling rodents on the roadside or clothes advertised on tombstones.23 In many cemeteries, you can also find malewa —makeshift food carts that frequently appear on the side of the road.24 As de Boeck points out, “through the commoditization of death, the cemetery has become a marketplace.”25 None of these practices are sanctioned by the city, but as is the case for many of the operations in Kinshasa, the locals provide whatever surreptitious services they can while the city turns a blind eye. As with the Building, there is a paradoxical treatment of property and a curious blurring between public and private sectors of life. The key to the reasoning here may be grasped when asking — why would the young be willing to literally live with the dead; and why would residents encourage a building falling into disrepair? The simplest answer may be that it is the most efficacious option available. In the wake of mega-projects like Cité de Fleuve (which are certainly not designed for/accessible to the urban poor), the stratification between the rich and the poor will be made all the more palpable. Kinois will need to stake a claim to the spaces they occupy, as satellite cities crop up around them. Thoughtful, urban planning projects that do not uproot or displace locals, can certainly make a difference in the Congolese standard of living. Further still, it is extremely important for there to be opportunities for Congolese people to have agency and contact with the immediate monetary or physical benefits that urban planning can have within their city environment.

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CONGOBOTS:

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Between 2013-2015, five robotic traffic officers were installed on the busy streets

of Kinshasa. The solar powered “Congobots” are the product of Isaie Therese and her

team of engineers from the Women’s Technology group.26 The robots raise their arms

and alternate between red and green signals to safely prompt both drivers and pedestrians. They are also programmed to count aloud for signal change and play music to ease the wait time of passerby’s. Capable of rotating 360 degrees at the torso, the bots are equipped with cameras that capture traffic violations and record video feed. Thus, they serve the dual function of traffic signals/traffic cameras.27 The robots have been quite effective in cutting down congestion on the main boulevards, however, many question whether they are the most effective method of traffic control: Installed in lieu of more traditional stop lights, some feel they are simply a spectacle meant to distract citizens from the greater shortcomings of urban planning in Kinshasa.28

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Still, one could argue that the Congobots have contributed more to urban life than

one might initially suppose. Performatively, they are a direct foil to the Kinshasa traffic

officers, who frequently bribe drivers and stop them for carrying on smoothly in their

travels. Thus, while non-locals/urban planners/historians etc. might be quick to criticize

the Congobots as a novelty or spectacle, it seems most Kinois are able to appreciate their

immediate contradistinction to police. One driver speaking in favor of the machine noted,

“he does not accept money, he does his job correctly. It’s very interesting…Do you see

him bothering the drivers?”29 Another pedestrian excitedly proclaimed, “we don’t want

more traffic policemen, we want robots!”30 In theory, traditional stop lights would also

suspend bribery but it seems that the anthropomorphic qualities of the machine make a

statement here. Similar to the banter recorded by Ato Quayson in his study of the

interactions of pedestrians and drivers on Oxford Street in Accra, Ghana, the Congobot’s

ability to parody police seems to fill locals with a sense of triumph over corruption and

those who break the unspoken rules of social behavior. (The bots also wear sunglasses

similar to those used by police officers, ostensibly poking fun at those whom they have

come to replace.31) They act on behalf of the public by explicitly challenging the

authority and prior role held by corruptible traffic guards. Thus, these bots have social

value outside of their purely mechanical control of traffic flow. Furthermore, there

seems to be a sense of pride in the fact that these bots are distinctly Congolese. As Isaie

Therese demonstrated, “we [Kinois] should be proud and protect them because they’re

ours.”32 Kinois have not updated their city with the same, basic, stoplights common to

the rest of the world, but have instead found a very unique solution for their situation. A

jocular and effective innovation, the bots gained international attention after their release.

More recently, the project has expanded outside of Kinshasa, and robots are now being

installed in the Lubumbashi and Matadi.33 Isaie and her team are in conversation with

Congo-Brazzaville, Ivory Coast, and Gabon, who might benefit from the same

technology.34 Though some may have dismissed them as frivolous, the traffic robots

exemplify the power of Congolese innovation to rally a community, build commercial

enterprises, and open dialogues with neighboring countries.

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