War for some and paradise for others

There is the war in Ukraine, and there is the war in Africa, in the Democratic Republic of Congo. It is market day today in Ntamungenga in North Kivu. There are crowds of shoppers and displaced people who fled the advance of the M23 rebels. On the heights of the village, writes the special envoy for LIBERATION, the Congolese army took up position, because behind the hill begins enemy territory. A Congolese army colonel notes: “At 400 meters, level with the tin roof that you see over there, between the fields of banana trees, they dug a trench. Only their helmets are sticking out. They might be watching us…” Meanwhile, the displaced, 200,000, tell their stories. M23 rebels have captured the border town with Uganda. The people of Bunagana had to flee, but not too far. They are farmers and there are their crops. Pascal explains: “The men return to the fields during the day to bring back beans and potatoes. It’s a matter of survival.” “Everyone is a slave to the M23 over there” adds Janvier, who fled after a month of living with the rebels. “They prevent us from harvesting our own fields. They make us harvest for them.” And then you have to pay to live in your own house, 10 dollars. You must give your animals,
one in 10 cows, one in 5 goats and half of all crops. “They cut a neighbor with a machete. I don’t know if he’s dead. I think so.” Jeannette counts on her fingers. It has been 5 times since she has been forced to flee her village. “It started under Mobutu in 94, then it continued with Kabila’s father in 98, Kabila’s son in 2008 and 2012 and now with the current president, Tshisekedi. Each time you have to start everything from scratch.” A young man with drawn features washes his face. At his feet a tiny head emerges. His daughter, born two days ago. He called it Patience.

They are presented as children of paradise

Far, far from the Democratic Republic of Congo, Lila, Dorian, Tom and Isaïa. We discover them in mook SPHERES, dedicated to climbing. They are sitting on the terrace of Lou Cafetié in La Palud-sur-Verdon. It seems that pushing the door of a cafe says a lot about the village that houses it. This is the headquarters of the climbers. These children, still students, say they were practically born on the rocks at Verdon. “My father…” said Tom, ” tucked me into his carrier bag and took me climbing with him before I even knew how to walk.” They were raised in the culture of the climbing bums, the climbing bums, these passionate half-hippies, half-high-level athletes who lived in La Palud in the 1970s.
For them, climbing was a way of life more than a sport, and these young people today are the heirs. They swear only to face to face with the rock, communion with nature. “We Remain Human” soothes Lila by fiddling with her earring, “When you feel your feet slip or your fingers slip, fear can easily take over. In those moments, remember that you are never alone with your face against the wall. Your friends are there.” Every time they return home, Lila, Tom, Isaïa and Dorian get together to climb. But know that in Verdon you have to think about your head. To go up, you must first go down. It can also scare tourists who come across them. Tourists, lovers of climbing, let’s talk about it. Climbing is booming in France and more and more people are coming to this majestic place. So much so that we are considering charging for access to the cliffs. violation of their freedom. “With power… we end up living in an open-air museum.” Lila doesn’t want it. For a few seconds, Isaïa stands motionless facing the gorge, barefoot on the rock: “Look, we live in paradise!”

Her paradise, Mathilde found it in the Hautes-Alpes

Normally she wears a cap, but for the sake of the PARISIEN Week-end report she put on a hat. We discover her with her 5-month-old daughter Lily, who she takes with her everywhere. Everywhere, that is, in the mountains to keep her sheep there, because Mathilde is a shepherdess. Leaving it at the end of June, at an altitude of 2,000 meters, it does not come down again until the end of September or the beginning of October. She has come a long way from the native of Montargis in the Loiret, double degree in philosophy and sociology, who found that her existence lacked meaning, had one day posted an ad on the Internet: “Young shepherdess without experience, seeks mountain.” Mathilde lives in basic housing. Gas cylinders power the refrigerator, gas stove and water heater. The latter is also broken. “It is well known” she says, “Shepherds wash only when it rains.” But she is proud Mathilde, proud to share this freedom, this life, with her daughter.

Beauduc’s paradise

The irreducible people who live in Beauduc, in the south of the Camargue, in the old fishermen’s huts, come to a little corner of paradise. We discover it in the magazine M LE MONDE, at the end of a long tracked lane. First trade 45 minutes away. No city lights, no sewers, no running water, no wi-fi. This confetti village, many would like them to leave it, because paradise is threatened by storms, rising water. No one is unaware of the drama that lies ahead. There are those who once said to the German photographer Lindbergh: “Go to Beauduc, but know that you will never return.” George, a resident, flourishes: “They will burn me and throw my ashes here.”
Damn global warming, we sure always come back to it. And at the same time… During this week, LES ECHOS explored the story. The Maya, the Ming Dynasty, the Khmer Empire in the 15th century, all disappeared for stories of wars, successions, colonization of course, but not only… The climate also has something to do with it. And if we look at France, we have forgotten that the 1780s were terrible. Drought, violent hailstorms, violent downpours. Writings and paintings report it. The price of bread has skyrocketed and pushed the French into the streets. If the weather didn’t cause the revolution, it initiated the rebellion mechanic. 233 years later, we wonder what lies ahead.

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