Letter from Switzerland #3
My dear Nsengiyumva,
I already shared with you my first impressions on arriving at the Cornavin railway station, I think in my first letter. Today I’ll share my first impressions on exiting the station.
When I exited the station, I only had seven Swiss francs in my pocket. No one was there to greet me. I had the addresses of the University of Geneva and the Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies, where they were expecting me, but no other information. What to do? I stroked my chin and thought of my options… and my home country. Just then, in this land of priests and nuns, I saw someone who looked like me! His name was Maluza Wa Mavuna ex-Martin.¹ He was very kind, but in a hurry. He had to work that day, so he didn’t have time to talk, let alone take me to the university. Like the white people that Aloys described, this Zairean didn’t have enough time. All he could do was point me to the bus that went in the direction of the university. Then he ran off—to work!
The people here work all the time, even on weekends. It was the weekend when I found myself lost in a country of white men. But when Maluza left me there at the station, stroking my chin, I didn’t lose hope. I observed my surroundings. I noticed that everyone got on the bus without paying! How about that, I thought. What they said really was true. Switzerland is a country so rich that its citizens don’t have to pay for public transportation. But what about foreigners? I had to take my chances. If I ran into any trouble, I could always show them my seven francs and the letter inviting me to study in Geneva, on a grant from the state.
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Letter from Switzerland #4
My dear Nsenga,
After a number of unexpected detours, I finally arrived at the institute. Having been left in front of the station by Maluza, and armed only with seven francs and my letter, I took the bus in the direction of Plainpalais. I got off there and asked a pretty girl for directions to the university and the Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies. Not only was she pretty, she was also kind. She must have been Portuguese, not that it made a difference to me… She helped me out a lot. Nsenga, she hailed a taxi, and we even took a little tour of the city, with her as my guide.
After going past the university, we finally stopped at 24 rue Rothschild. The girl showed me the institute, gave me a hundred Swiss francs and a pack of cigarettes, and then left. Her name was Sandra. We never saw each other again…
Translated by Louis Greenwood Lüthi
1. In 1972, as part of the official state policy of authenticité, Joseph-Désiré Mobutu decreed that the people of Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of Congo) were to drop their Western or Christian names.
