Prospects of Babel - New Imagery from the Congo

Perilous Engagement

Emmanuel Makila

Magali awoke feeling down in the dumps. Late the previous night, her fiancé had sent her a text message putting an end to their relationship. “I confirmd wot I was told. U can forget me frm midnite.” She hadn’t slept a wink. Again and again, she had turned over the events of the previous day in her mind without managing to work out what had brought on such a brutal end. She had tried all night to call him—without success. Every call from Magali was systematically rejected, as were those from joint friends and family members. Their numbers had been listed in George’s cellphone memory in a joint folder—“family”, and were now censored by the techno-savvy fiancé. Around midnight, Magali tried calling him from a public phone. As soon as George pressed the “OK” button, Magali volunteered a hesitant “Hello... George.” But he immediately realised it was her.

The beautiful voice which once had made his heart leap with joy became the vector of nightmares. He ended the call and switched off his phone. All night he tossed and turned in bed. He couldn’t believe Magali could have done this to him. What hadn’t he done for her? Had he not endured extensive humiliation for this woman?

George had met the beautiful Magali as if by accident. It happened at the Kinshasa International Fair, at a disco sponsored by a mobile phone operator. She was with her sister and a group of friends. He’d noticed her and hadn’t hesitated to go up to her. Even though he had initially been attracted purely by her beauty, George seemed to recognise the fire of love in her eyes and a host of angelic qualities behind her gracious smile. They met several times more, and fell in love. Magali later said she had felt love at first sight (but this was just a woman’s trick aimed at fuelling the passion). She very quickly gave him a run for his money.

He had told her he lived in Limete. She had said Salongo. Both are fashionable neighbourhoods in the capital. When George discovered that she lived in Kisenso, a shanty town, it did not put him off. Nevertheless, the early-day white lie had upset him greatly. From the point of view of the beautiful Magali, she simply hadn’t wanted her beauty to be associated with the high-density suburb of which she was ashamed. That’s all. It wasn’t a big lie. Just a bit of fiction. Nothing the power of love could not erase.

George recalled all the nightmare journeys to Kisenso along untarred roads, through darkened landscapes. He remembered the heavy rain that thundered down on him and the mudslides that nearly carried off his vehicle. He had raised the young woman’s standing, but she had repaid him with a slap in the face.

George would not hear sense from anyone. He even removed the battery from the switched-off phone as if to be sure not a single call would sneak through. He fell into a deep sleep. Morning came and Magali was still crying her heart out. She was inconsolable. She loved George and he had promised to marry her.

Magali was right to be miserable. George was the ideal husband: likeable, caring, patient, slow to speak and quick to listen.

An influential friend of George’s had been called upon in the early hours to attempt a man-to-man conversation with him. The friend had offered to act as mediator in the case of any conflict. Starting out at Magali’s home, he had listened to her interpretation of the break-up, trying to unravel the mysteries of all that had been said and anything that had been left unsaid during their final encounter. He tried to work out what misunderstanding could have vexed the reserved George. He ran every detail through a fine-tooth comb.

To Magali’s mind, nothing could have pushed George to ask her to forget him. In all his conversations with Magali, George’s friend could not recall having picked up any hints that she might have betrayed him. They went over Magali’s activities in the past few days: there had been a casting, an interview, rehearsals, a personal appearance—all everyday stuff for her.

George had recommended Magali to an agency which was looking for models for a cellphone campaign. As an information technician with the phone company, he was well connected and had got wind of the ad campaign ahead of time. As soon as the ad agency’s director of marketing set eyes on Magali, he proclaimed that her face was the perfect fit. The casting session became a formality. It was just that Magali, of humble stock and living in a Kinshasa suburb, had never done anything like appear in an advert before. She had to learn everything from scratch, and it wasn’t easy. George had advised her to put up with the criticism coming from the ad agency boss and he also helped her deal with the bitching of other models. Magali had been shocked by the ruthless advertising world but had gradually developed a liking for it.

It took only a year for her heaven-sent beauty to make her a big star. She headlined all the ad agency’s campaigns and adorned the front pages of gossip magazines. She even bought herself a nice house in Lemba. But one day, the marketing director asked to be paid—in kind. Magali had been disgusted and even mentioned the man’s advances to George. From that day on, he had been on his guard. It was the start of her troubles, too. She found herself being cast for fewer ad campaigns. But when she suddenly turned up in the biggest ad campaign of the year, George got really suspicious.

A giant portrait of Magali adorned huge billboards all around Kinshasa and in the main cities of the DRC. The sight of it made George, wrongly, feel more distant from her. To add to everything, one of his sisters overheard a group of models accusing Magali of having a questionable relationship with the marketing director. As soon as George heard the rumour, he saw red.

George struggled out of bed at the habitual heavy-handed door-knocking of his friend. “You should be out celebrating Magali’s success,” said the friend, feigning ignorance of the split-up. “She told me there’s to be a reception in her honour in a week’s time. Why are you sleeping at this hour? Aren’t you going to work?”

George snapped back, “Don’t tell me you don’t know—the whole city knows. Magali is dating the marketing director. What kind of gratitude is that? If I think of all I’ve done for her...”.

A long discussion ensued between the two men. They weighed up the credibility of various rumours and the reliability of the models who had purveyed them. The two men called some of the young women to sound them out. Nothing could be confirmed.

Suddenly, George’s spirits rose. He turned his cellphone back on. Magali’s message awaited him: “I don’t know what has got into you my darling. Your message has brought me great pain right up until today. I can’t sleep. It’s just that I feel betrayed by your lack of trust. I love you.” The cellphone beeped and squeaked to reveal several more voice and text messages: kind, loving and crazy. George pulled himself together.

The two men resolved to trek to Magali’s and tackle her head-on. On the way there, George decided to drop the subject altogether. As soon as he entered her compound, he was overwhelmed by Magali leaping into his arms. He squeezed her so hard that she cried with joy at having won back her happiness. “It’s all over now,” George whispered. “I’m sorry. It was my fault. I shall never behave like that again.”

Photo by: Greg Marinovich

Published 2008