Chapter 1: From the Heart of Congo to the Halls of Parliament

The air thick with the scent of burning coal, I took my first breath in the vibrant heart of Congo. My earliest memories form a tapestry of rich experiences: the warm hues of our village at sunset, the sweet taste of freshly harvested mangoes, and the rough texture of well-worn paths beneath my bare feet. Congo is rich with minerals and a rainforest inhabited by elephants, gorillas, and crocodiles. But Congo is more than just a sensory feast; it’s a land of stark contrasts, where immense natural wealth coexists with profound human struggles. As a child, I dreamed of becoming a voice for change for the people of my nation. Amid the whispers of ancient trees and the prayers of my community, I envisioned a future where the gospel of Jesus Christ would not only transform lives but rebuild our francophone nation. Little did I know then that this dream would carry me from the dusty streets of Kikwit to the halls of parliament, with a significant stop in America along the way. The Dark Shadow of Colonial Rule The history of Congo is a tale of immense beauty marred by unimaginable cruelty. From 1885 to 1908, the Congo Free State was the personal property of King Leopold II of Belgium, a period that would leave an indelible scar on our nation’s psyche. Imagine a land so vast it dwarfed its colonizer by nearly eighty times, a country larger than Germany and France combined. This was Congo, a land of untold riches and unparalleled biodiversity. But for King Leopold II, it was merely a source of wealth to be exploited without mercy. In the late nineteenth century, with the booming bicycle industry creating an insatiable demand for rubber, Congo’s forests became Leopold’s gold mine. The cost was paid in human lives and suffering. The Force Publique, Leopold’s private army, enforced impossible rubber quotas with barbaric methods. Failure to meet these quotas often resulted in mutilation—cutting off hands became a grotesque signature of his regime. The toll of this brutality was staggering. It’s estimated that over ten million Congolese—half the population—perished under Leopold’s rule. The wealth extracted from their suffering built grand edifices in Brussels and Ostend, monuments to Leopold’s ego that stand to this day, a stark reminder of the human cost of unchecked greed. The Echoes of Colonialism In 1908, following international outcry, Leopold was forced to relinquish his personal ownership of Congo, and it became an official Belgian colony, a status it would hold until its independence on June 30, 1960. As a child growing up in Congo, I grappled with this dark history. We spoke of Leopold as an evil man, a predator who saw our people as nothing more than a means to enrich himself. The question that haunts me is how a human being could orchestrate the deaths of millions for personal gain, forgetting we live on this earth for only a short time. This legacy of exploitation didn’t end with Leopold. Even after gaining independence, Congo continued to be viewed by many powerful nations and corporations as a resource to be extracted, a cow that should produce free milk for the entire world. Our journey from colony to independent nation has been fraught with challenges, as we’ve struggled to protect what rightfully belongs to the Congolese people. Belgian colonization taught us to speak French, which has made it the official language of Congo. We learn French in our schools and speak it in our homes and churches. Yet, this imposed language coexists with a diverse and vibrant array of Indigenous languages—encompassing over 242 tribal languages and 4 national languages (Kikongo, Lingala, Swahili, and Tshiluba). Nearly every citizen from the Congo speaks at least three languages. I speak four, as well as Tshokwe, my father’s tribal language. Lingala serves as the language of our military, and is required for all Congolese to speak and understand. The Path Forward The exploitation we endured gave rise to a generation of leaders across Africa who stood against colonization. People like Kwame Nkrumah from Ghana and Jomo Kenyatta of Kenya inspired a movement of independence that swept across the continent. Their courage and vision paved the way for Congo’s independence, a hard-won freedom that brought both hope and new challenges. Today, Congo continues to face threats and injustices, but we are not defined by our past. My journey from humble beginnings to the corridors of power and the founding of a nonprofit organization is a testament to the resilience of the Congolese spirit. It’s a journey fueled by faith, perseverance, and an unwavering belief in the power of the gospel to transform lives and rebuild our nation. My Early Life Picture this: a dusty road stretching through the Congolese countryside. A truck, overloaded with passengers clinging to its sides and top, rumbles along. Among them, a young couple with their three-month-old son. The driver of the truck is drunk. What could go wrong? Suddenly, the drunk driver veers off the road. The truck rolls. The baby is thrown, landing in nearby shrubs. That baby was me. In 1983, I entered the world as the second child of an impoverished yet industrious family in the heart of Congo. Three months after arriving I, by some miracle, survived the brush with death that threw me into the African brush. The severe cut on my forehead and the fractured collarbone I suffered serve as lifelong reminders of that day. My mother would often recount this story, her eyes shining with a mixture of fear at the memory and gratitude for my survival. “God has a plan for you,” she would say, tracing the scar on my forehead. Little did we know how prophetic her words would prove to be. Kikwit, My Classroom I grew up in the bustling town of Kikwit. My community pulsed with grit, determination, and perseverance; a resilience forged from the many challenges they faced. If you went to Kikwit, you would visit the marketplace and see a kaleidoscope of colors—vibrant fabrics, fresh fruits, and vegetables creating a feast for the eyes. You would see children playing soccer on grassless fields, their bare feet kicking up dust clouds that hung in the humid air. You would hear the rhythmic drumming of Sunday church services, where singing voices seemed to make the air vibrate with hope. These sights, sounds, and sensations created a symphony of life that shaped my early years. My dad, a man of unwavering faith in God, spoke of a brighter future for us. His words were not mere dreams but motivating hopes he worked tirelessly to fulfill. He made a courageous journey to America, determined to “prepare a way for us,” believing education and faith could pave the path to a better life. My mother’s equally steadfast faith and my dad’s inspiring journey instilled in me a sense of purpose and a deep connection to our Creator. These formative years in Kikwit taught me the value of hard work, authenticity, community, and the power of prayer. Little did I know these mustard seeds would one day grow into a mission that would take me to America and fuel my passion to bring lasting change to my beloved Congo. A Window Into Another World In the heart of our Congolese village, where the rhythm of life had remained unchanged for generations, a revolution arrived. The revolution was a very large and extremely heavy secondhand television and a VCR, which my father bought from a missionary. There were no such devices in our entire town. That box would become the only exposure to the world outside our village. My dad wanted to use the TV for others, and so our home was transformed into the village’s first and only movie theater. We charged a small fee for admission, and I, at nine years old, received my first exposure to business. I eagerly took on the role of cashier, collecting funds from our neighbors and friends who crowded into our small living room, their eyes wide with wonder. As the screen flickered to life, our small home in Congo became a gateway to places we’d never imagined. Through films like The Sound of Music, The Parent Trap, Titanic, Mrs. Doubtfire, Mary Poppins, Home Alone, Beauty and the Beast, Cinderella, The Lion King, Coming to America (my personal favorite), and many others, we were transported. These movies gave us laughter and entertainment, but also showed us a world incredibly different from our own. There was a world out there where dreams could come true and ordinary people could achieve extraordinary things. The films introduced us to concepts like personal freedom and ambition, and to a quality of life we had never considered possible. Those movie nights led me to dream, not just of visiting these far-off places, but of creating change in my own world. I saw how people in these movies pursued education, started businesses, and transformed their lives. Why couldn’t I do the same? Even more, the sense of community and the excitement of building something new captivated me. This venture taught me invaluable business skills and instilled a confidence that would carry me through many challenges. Looking back, I realize our humble village cinema was more than just a business venture or entertainment. It was the spark that ignited my lifelong journey of entrepreneurship, education, and ambition. That old, heavy TV might have been rooted to one spot in our home, but the dreams it inspired took flight, carrying me far beyond the borders of our village. In many ways, my story—from a nine-year-old village cinema operator to a national leader—is a movie script come to life, proof that the dreams sparked by those films weren’t just Hollywood fantasy but could actually come true. Growing Through Adversity Life in Congo was a daily test of resilience, with poverty as our constant, unwelcome companion. But in 1995, a new challenge emerged that would push our community to its limits: the Ebola outbreak. Imagine a town gripped by fear, where the simple act of greeting a neighbor carried the weight of potential tragedy. Schools, once filled with the laughter of children, stood eerily silent. The streets, typically bustling with life, now bore witness to a grim procession of United Nations vehicles arriving daily to collect the bodies of the deceased. In the midst of this chaos, I found myself facing an additional burden. My parents, seeking to build a better future for our family, moved to the United States for four years, so my father could get an education at Fresno Pacific University in California. Dad emphasized education. His parents decided to send him and his brother to school. To get to the school he had to cross a river, in which crocodiles were looking for students to eat as their “school lunch.” Every day, he took off his clothes and held them above his head, as he swam one-handed across the dangerous river. He also told us how he overcame obstacles to master the English language, knowing it would be another road to opportunity. These tales of determination would echo in my mind as I determined to take advantage of every educational opportunity afforded me and faced down my own challenges. With no Internet, Skype, or phone technology in Kikwit, it was nearly impossible to communicate with my parents while they were in America. In fact, we only spoke with our parents one time in the four years they were in America. My feelings of isolation and fear were exacerbated by the outbreak of Ebola and then a war in eastern Congo. Yet despite these challenges, the resilience of my community and my unwavering faith in God sustained me and inspired me to keep thinking bigger. When my parents left for the United States, my two brothers and I moved three hundred miles away, from Kajiji to Kikwit, to live with our uncle. In 1994 Kulungu moved back from Kajiji to Kikwit. This was not just a geographical shift; it was a plunge into a whole new way of life. My uncle’s parenting style was rigorous and demanding. It tested (and probably grew) the limits of my perseverance. Sadisana High School, a Jesuit institution, became my new academic home. Here, in an environment where boys and girls were separated, I began to navigate the turbulent waters of adolescence while adapting to a new city and educational system. Life with my uncle was a stark departure from what we had known. Meals were scarce, often coming only once every two or three days. As a growing boy, hunger was a constant, gnawing presence. Our wardrobe was limited to its bare essentials: one shirt, one pair of shorts, and no shoes. Barefoot, we traversed the unpaved roads of Kikwit, where there was very little municipal infrastructure and no running water, sewer, electricity, or natural gas for homes. You may take for granted driving on paved roads with streetlights and traffic signals and the ability to turn on a faucet to get clean water or to flush not clean water down a toilet; none of that was the case for me growing up. It’s still not for many in the Congo. Every morning began with the arduous task of fetching water. Picture a grueling forty-five-minute trek under the scorching sun, humidity pressing down like a physical weight. The small spring, our lifeline, was often a scene of tension as desperate people vied for access. It was here, amid disputes over water, that I learned the delicate art of diplomacy. The journey back, laden with two five-liter containers cutting into our hands, was a test of physical endurance. Yet, this daily ritual became a profound teacher, teaching me dispute resolution and instilling in me the values of patience, perseverance, and faith. Despite these challenges, or perhaps because of them, I found strength in community. I fostered friendships at school that became a support system, and the church became my sanctuary. In the DRC, people were eager to meet on Sundays for church, and our services would last the entire day. I looked around and saw deeply contented, joyful people learning about and singing to Jesus. Looking back, I realize this period of my life, challenging as it was, laid the foundation for the man I would become. Each hardship was a lesson, each struggle a stepping stone. Little did I know these experiences were preparing me for the journey ahead, that one day the boy who walked barefoot to fetch water would walk the halls of power, carrying with him the indelible lessons of Kikwit. A Nation in Transition At the tender age of fourteen, I witnessed history unfold before my eyes. The war raged around us, as Laurent-Désiré Kabila’s forces battled against President Mobutu’s corrupt regime. The air in Kikwit was electric with anticipation and hope. The streets were alive with whispers of change, young people gathered under the cover of night, pooling their meager resources for coffee and sugar. We slept outside, a community united in its d