The decline of ubuntu

Every time I pass that spot, the skeleton recalls the same story—a story that is just the opposite of that of the Good Samaritan. Indeed, it shows the extent of erosion of ubuntu in our cities. We shall return to the scene of the skeleton later.

In the Good Samaritan story we shudder as we imagine the men of God—a priest and a Levite—making a detour to leave a wounded person bathing in his own blood, with no one to help. One might still indulge them in light of the purity laws which might have prompted their inhumane reaction. I wonder how we can excuse the characters in our own version of the Good Samaritan story—that, dear reader, is your prerogative.

Recently a priest in a neighbouring parish in Kinshasa asked me to preside at one of the monthly youth Masses. The proposed theme was “Serving with Charity”, with the Gospel reading being the parable of the Good Samaritan.

At Mass I read the parable, and in the homily I centred on a version of the story that the youth knew well; some probably were even actors in it.

The event of our story took place on the sloppy road linking two townships: Kisenso at the hilltop and Matete at the foot. This road has a history.

Several lives have been lost on this road. Besides being steep, it used to be very narrow and sandy. A little more than a year ago, only four-wheel drive vehicles could dare to take on that road.  If a lorry was stuck on it, which happened often, the one driving behind would know immediately what to do: switch off the engine of his car, remove the key, open the door, get out, lock the door, and start walking to his destination. He would come back for his car only when the lorry would finally clear the road.

Fortunately, that is now only history. Still, despite this significant development, there are still a number of accidents, mainly due to drunk drivers and the poor conditions of cars.

So recently there was this mini-bus going up the road. Halfway up the hill, it just couldn’t pull up any further. It began descending in reverse at a speed the driver could not control. It fell into a deep drain. Six people died at the spot, and nine were seriously injured (don’t ask about the capacity of the mini-bus).

Given that the accident took place in a high density suburb, and therefore in full view of people, one might presume, almost naturally, that people would rush to the scene of the accident to help.

Indeed, by the time the bus had stopped rolling down and got stuck in the trench, people already were at the spot. What good luck for the injured! One would think so. It wasn’t.

While the dead lay in eternal silence and the injured were crying for help, some of the people who rushed at the scene were busy combing the pockets of both the injured and the dead. Others still were unscrewing parts of the bus.

Calculating from a cellphone video taken on the scene, in less than 15 minutes the mini-bus had all its wheels removed, except the one on which it was leaning. The vehicle was looted while the dead were shoved aside and the injured were crying for help but ignored.

Once the police had removed the bodies and rushed the injured to hospital, some people took the opportunity to turn the bus to remove even the remaining wheel, as well as having a go at some parts of the engine too. By the following morning only the skeleton remained, and it’s still there to tell the story.

This is our latest version of the Good Samaritan story, no longer a Palestine parable, but a real experience, fresh and close to us, just on our street.

Coming face to face with such an experience leaves little room for the illusion that African society paints its landscapes with the virtues of solidarity.

Maybe once upon a time it did, but now we have got to accept the fact that we are suffering a grave erosion of our values.