In the Congo, in the beautiful post-independence era, the small school of the Belgian factory where my father worked was opened to the children of Congolese executives, those who were called “évolués”. We are together in the picture, but we did not share our games. Forty years later, I returned to the Congo to finally meet these former classmates, and to try to answer a childhood question: why weren’t we friends?
In the Congo, in the beautiful post-independence era, the small school of the Belgian factory where my father worked was open to the children of Congolese executives, those who were called “évolués”.
We are together in the picture, but we did not share our games.
Forty years later, I returned to the Congo to finally meet these former classmates, and to try to answer a childhood question: why weren’t we friends?