irst of all, I want to assure you that I’m well, and I’m in Bukavu, waiting for another plane to take off for Kinshasa.
You must have heard, by now, our adventure in Goma with an airplane crash. At the end of a retreat of Xaverians, Pietro Rinaldi and I were supposed to travel back to Kinshasa with the CAA (African Air Company), but we could not take off that day. We started looking for another flight, and were happy to have found one which would bring us back home. We could not have imagined the catastrophe
which would happen next, since the Hewa Bora is considered a safe airline here in Congo. We did not know that the day before, the company was included in the “black list” and could not fly to Europe any longer.
Everything happened suddenly. Just before take off, the airplane experienced troubles. We thought of a flat tire, but probably, one of the two engines caught on fire. I looked at Pietro, the other Xaverian traveling with me, and resigned ourselves for the worst to happen. The pilot tried to break, but there was no more runway to talk about, and ended the take off procedure in a populated area adjacent to the airport of Goma.
As the airplane was going recklessly for about 1,000 feet, the fuselage broke into 3 pieces. It was just a matter of seconds, and once stopped, I went down the main isle with the thought of opening an exit door, just in front of us. We were already surrounded by fire, and as I thought of death and dear ones I would leave behind, I laid low on the floor of the cabin, making my way towards the cockpit. Panic, terror, people screaming the name of Jesus left and right, the fire, the dense smoke, the hostesses calling loud for exit doors. Someone stepped over me, and I ended up in the outside of the plane, probably the broken piece of the cabin. Some of the passengers were underneath broken metal and
debris, while I was gasping for air. Somehow, I found my way out of that inferno, very close to the cockpit!
Outside, there was an American little girl screaming because she had lost her parents, and she hang tide to me, speaking in Kiswahili
with me, until we found out that her parents were safe, too. After the first moments of shock, realizing the tragedy that had just happened, I went in search of Fr. Pietro. Fr. Giuseppe Galli, too, who accompanied us at the airport just a few minutes before, came to our rescue, and was part of the volunteers who helped fight the fire
(with individual buckets of water) and rescue the injured.
Everyone showed their concern through prayer: the Xaverian family, mothers of young Xaverian youth of Goma, our relatives in distant lands. We thanked God for sparing our lives, and in my silence, I let our friends speak words of thanksgiving for me, since I could not do it myself.
Now, a few days after the initial shock, there are many things that we could tell, we could complain about,
and must be changed. Without a clear reflection on this tragedy, everything will disappear in the smoke and flames of this DC9, like the passengers who died in the womb of this airplane. Many of them, in fact, were not even registered (like our names who did not make the final “official list”). Then there are the victims on the ground, who knows how many! The responsibilities, or better irresponsible actions of the company seeking profits for the sake of profits, beyond any safety regulations.
My own impression is that we are in a country where the value of life and its people does not count. How can you let “black listed” airplanes fly, or value the situation only when there are these kinds of tragedies? How can you call an international airport such as Goma which was
half destroyed by the Volcanic lava a few years ago, with rundown runways and grass that shows through the cracks of cement? How can we deal with a populated area so close to the airport, now destroyed in flames, with close to one hundred victims of this tragic accident? Poor, my Congolese people, betrayed, made blind by a system which seeks the most profit,
on the lives of innocent people.
We missionaries ended up amidst all of this chaos, because we have walked in the same footsteps of these desperate people, experienced the sufferings of these poor ones; now I desire with my whole being a radical change in the lives of all these Congolese, so close to my heart.
Many people spoke of a miracle, that my father and Pietro’s father (who had just passed away a few months ago) were watching over us, and helped us get out from this inferno. I don’t doubt that someone was watching over us; yet the Lord wants us here so that we may be his instruments of good in our ministry and service as missionaries.
The following day, as I went to the market place of Goma to buy a couple of T-shirts, the sun was bright indeed, and everything seemed to change. The faces of the people, the greener
grass, the fresh air… I felt like I was born again, enjoying life once again, and the beauty of being alive. Come to think of it, every day is a miracle of life, and too often we forget this, or remember it only when death is at our side. Deep within myself, I thought that God, in his ways, was waking me up to new life within and outside
of me.
It has indeed been a difficult year for me, especially with the loss of my dad and dear ones, and lately this accident. But I believe it is time to turn the page; it’s Easter, after all. After death, sorrow, fear, discouragement, I must write my life once again. The empty pages of our lives can be filled with the experiences that only God reserves for each of us: the school children, the parish community, the many projects, the dreams, my Xaverian community… are waiting for my contribution in writing this page of the Gospel. The Lord has accompanied us thus far, and will never abandoned us in our journey of missionary life.
Until next time, with the hope of writing something more beautiful, and less tragic of this mission experience in Congo.
(From Missione Giovani - Xaverian Magazine for Youth)