‘The past was a path to my future’

Returning to the place she was forced to leave aged just five inspired the Congo-born model Noëlla Coursaris

Iwas 18 years old when I finally went back to my birthplace, Lubumbashi, in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Thirteen years had passed since I was last there and I just loved the dust, the noise and the smell of food wafting through the air.

I left Lubumbashi when I was just five. I woke from a nap with my father, who remained sleeping. Then when the room was full of people crying, I knew something was wrong and at that age, you don’t really know what death means. But it was when Dad didn’t come back that I realised he was gone forever.

That day, my mother lost her husband, she was soon to lose the house and, with a view to give me a better opportunity in life, she lost me, her only daughter. We were quite poor and my mother didn’t work. My father had a sister in Belgium so she arranged to send me to live there with her and her two boys. First, though, I flew to Kinshasa, the capital of the Congo, and stayed with family friends. This was a necessary step for my passport and other legal paperwork.

I don’t remember much about that time, but before setting off for Belgium, my mum flew to Kinshasa to say goodbye. A few days later, I went to the airport. A piece of paper on a lanyard around my neck stated that I was a minor passenger who required an air hostess to look after me.

I arrived in Belgium with holes in my shoes. I think my aunt was excited at first to have a girl in the house but the novelty soon wore off. She became very strict with me: my hair was always kept short, my birthday was never a cause for celebration and she made me act like the housemaid while her boys didn’t lift a finger. It was made very clear I was not her child.

I spoke with my mum about three or four times over the eight years I lived there. We would keep the conversation casual – as well as my aunt being able to overhear, I knew things were equally hard for Mum. However, what would constantly be replaying in my head was, how could you give me away to a house that doesn’t know love? I grew up with a lot of anger towards my mother. At six years old all you want is your parents and their love for you.

A few years later, when I was 13, a family member who lived in Switzerland came to visit. They saw how poorly I was being treated and pushed for me to get out of the house. That woman sadly couldn’t afford to take me in, so my dad’s other sister did, and she was equally cold and tough. But at last, I became a girl. I was allowed to grow out my hair, I started shopping, wearing skirts. It’s funny, my daughter looks at me now getting ready to go to events and photoshoots, and she always calls me “girly”. She doesn’t know any different.

The one thing I’ll say for my aunts is that they both pushed me hard in terms of my studies. I got a scholarship, moved out of the Swiss house and lived in an apartment with strangers. It was gloriously liberating.

I saved a lot of money for my trip back home. By the time I turned 18, I desperately needed to reconnect my past with my present. Who was my mother? How did she spend her days? What were her future plans? Because of a flights mix-up, I arrived with no one there to greet me. Instead, I was taken to my hotel by a crazy driver who ripped me off.

A few days later, I went to see my mum. It was so strange; I met a woman I didn’t know who happened to share my mannerisms. But upon seeing each other, we hugged and there were many tears: tears of joy, of sadness and of missing one another all of those years.

I was there for two weeks and I visited my mother every day. I discovered a woman who was very strong, resilient and caring, but also very broken. But I had to make it clear that I also had it very tough. When I looked at her four kids – my half-siblings – I told her: “They have the one thing I didn’t have: a mother.” Since having my own children, I have become a lot closer with her because I finally understand the sacrifice she made to give me away.

She lived in a rough

area,

not by choice but by circumstance. Her whole life, like so many other Congolese women, has been dictated by lack of choice and financial independence, and I didn’t want it to become a cycle. Sometimes parents send away their children without knowing what’s going to happen to them. If they are economically independent, they wouldn’t need to send their kids away.

It was good to be in my country, to rediscover this place full of art, music and culture; with so much poverty but also so much potential. And that trip gave birth to Malaika, a non-profit organisation I founded in 2007, whose mission is to give Congolese girls and their communities access to education, water and healthcare. I now go back every summer, with my two kids in tow. They help to distribute malaria nets, among other tasks and activities. By reconnecting with my past, I created a path for my future.

Follow Kate Humble’s search for gorillas of the Democratic Republic of the Congo: telegraph. co.uk/ttdrc-congo

For more information about Malaika and how to support it, visit malaika.org