Thousands of people come pouring in, each evening anew. People come from Kinshasa and Brazzaville, as well as from Brussels or London. Nkamba has an average population of two to three thousand, plus a great many pilgrims and believers on retreat. Mothers show pictures of their family, so the leader can brush them with his fingers. Fathers come by with pieces of clothing belonging to their sick children. The crippled display their aching ankles. And old woman who can hardly see has her eyes sprinkled. A young deaf man asks for water to be splashed on his ears. Children open their mouths to catch a spurt of holy water. The believers kneel and let themselves be anointed by the Holy Spirit. In his hand he holds a plastic bottle filled with holy water from the “Jordan,” a local stream. He wears a gray, short-sleeved suit and gray socks. The spiritual leader himself is standing. In groups of four or five, they kneel before the throne. While the martial music rolls on and on, played first by the brass section, then by flutes, the faithful shuffle forward to be blessed by the spiritual leader. It is a quiet Monday evening when I find myself on the square. Those bands, by the way, are truly impressive. Today, green is still the color of Kimbanguism, and the hours of prayer are brightened up several times a day by military brass bands. The faithful believed that the S on the Christian soldiers’ uniform stood not for “Salvation” but for “Simon,” and became enamored of the army’s military liturgy. Those symbols were not originally part of the religion, but were copied in the 1930s from the Salvation Army, a Christian denomination that, unlike theirs, was not banned at that time. “Kimbanguism is an extremely peace-loving religion, yet brimming with military allusions.
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