"I hear that the other mademoiselle, Mademoiselle Toni, has gone on a trip.

I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? Did you want to talk to her about something?

"Oh, no. I'm sorry because you're all alone. You don't have anyone to talk to," said Mbolingba in all earnestness.

No one to talk with! All alone in Africa! You must be kidding.

I am surrounded by noise and people all day long. There are four employees who are in and around the house. There's a family downstairs and outside in the yard. People use the yard as a thoroughfare. The church offices are just across the flower border.

Even on this Sunday there was no respite.

I started the day with the regular Sunday morning rendez-vous with Wendy to find out about life further north and to share the news of here and there.

The air was clear and so the reception was good. Opportunity to enjoy a chat and laugh.

Then the MAF agent came to the door with a package that he had forgotten to drop off after the previous day's plane in from Entebbe. "Your door wasn't open earlier even at 8 o'clock. Are you alright?"

I walked to church, greeting and being greeted on the way by all and sundry in Swahili, French and English. I lingered to talk with Beatrice from Uganda who is married to a Congolese.

I was seated for two hours in the squash of the ladies' benches surrounded by infants and babies chattering and cooing.

After the service, I stopped to talk with some who were down in Bunia from Rethy where I used to live, catching up with the news of friends and acquaintances.

I walked back from church with the daughter of a former pastor and teacher in a local Bible school near Rethy who died of diabetes. She was telling me about caring for her husband and child while trying to complete her secondary education which had been disrupted.

Arriving home, I greeted the Sunday guard and prepared his tea.

Then Mbolingba came. And stayed for 2 hours talking about living and studying in the big metropolis of Bunia after being in a village in Zandeland.

I had hardly closed the door on him than someone called 'hodi'. At the door, I found an unknown young man clutching a sheaf of papers. "I'm applying for a job with the UN and, although I know English, I don't quite understand all these terms of the contract. Would you explain them to me?" He went away thinking of the good salary he would be enjoying.

Another 'hodi'. This time from the stairwell. It was Kangano who lives with his family downstairs.  "I've a terrible headache and fever. Do you have any aspirin?"

"Let's praise the Lord by singing hymn No. 312," suggested one of the students during morning devotions at ISP later that week. "This is a nice song. Let's sing it with vivacity." I turned to No. 312. The title?  'No, Never Alone'.

Alone in Africa.