Laurène Southe is a Congolese writer and activist based in Vienna, Austria. As a teenager she joined the Vienna African Writers Club at the University of Vienna, and has continued to follow that passion for writing till today. She has had works published in Brittle Paper, and The Shallow Tales Review. Afropean.com’s Abena Wariebi sat down with Laurène to discuss her debut poetry collection Child of Congo, and her most recent book, Bullet Fragments From A Child of Congo. The latter was published 20 March 2026 and is available for free download at her website laurenesouthe.work. Through these books, Laurène establishes her voice as a contemporary Congolese writer. Her writing is vivid and precise. Her descriptions of the Congo draw heavy emotion and she paints a picture that creates a visceral reaction.  Whether talking about religion, trauma, the relationship between a mother and child, as the reader we are allowed into her psyche in a deeply personal way. Laurène shares with Afropean.com about her journey whilst writing these books and ultimately, what she hopes she’s able to leave behind. 

Abena: You self-published this poetry collection, Child of Congo, last year. What was your main inspiration going into this?

Laurène: I think it all boils down to the titular first poem, Child of Congo. I was invited to take part in a group exhibition. For this specific event, I was asked to talk about myself, which is something I hadn’t done prior to that moment. I think Child of Congo personified perfectly, in terms of being from the diaspora, that existence between cultures and just some of the struggles and the experiences I had growing up here in Europe in a Congolese household. That is really what brought the idea to life. And then wanting to have something of my own, something tangible. That is what brought me to the idea of the collection.

Abena: Speaking of that first poem Child of Congo, it really does set the foundation for the rest of what we’ll read in the collection. It’s all about The Motherland, and the cause and effect of decisions made during the era of colonialism. There’s a line in the poem where you say, ‘…and now their grown child is being pressured by elders about her roots.’ What did you mean by that? How does that sort of sentiment show up in your day-to-day life, or when you were growing up?

Laurène: I think it’s very interesting because even as a child I never understood that pressure. For me, at least in the Congolese community, it’s [about] speaking Lingala. Growing up in the UK I went to a Congolese church, it was held in Lingala and I was put under a lot of pressure for what I thought was my parent’s decision not to teach me how to speak Lingala. And then also, growing up you know, it’s a multicultural environment. I also see lots of other diasporic kids from different regions and them not being placed under that pressure. I remember as a young person being very confused. Why is there so much importance placed on Lingala by those from the Congolese community who speak it? For me, because I’ve done my research on the language as well, it’s even more confusing. Lingala came about as a response to the Belgian soldiers, during colonial times, who couldn’t – or wouldn’t- learn how to speak Bobangi. That is the original, or on what Lingala is based, so it was like a ‘sub’ language that the Belgian soldiers, the missionaries, and the Congolese communities could speak with one another. It’s a military language. Knowing that background, and the fact that it was always pushed on me when it wasn’t even my choice not to learn the language, made it very difficult. 

Abena: Yes I think that language is such a large component of culture and how we connect with one another. That is certainly a universal experience. Do you think not speaking Lingala can act as a barrier in connecting with your elders or people in the generation before you?

Laurène: Absolutely. That is embedded in Congolese culture. Language is the barrier, language is the bridge, language is part of how you identify as a Congolese person. I get this all the time, ‘how are you Congolese but you don’t know how to speak the language?’. I don’t have anything against it — with time I want to learn not just Lingala but Swahili and Kikongo — but it’s just the pressure that was placed on me as a child when I didn’t have this decision to learn the language in the first place. I grew up mostly in boarding schools, so I wasn’t even present with my parents. And of course now as an adult it is my choice, and I want to take the measures that need to be taken so I can learn. That’s just to say I understand it’s important. However, to make it the barrier separating outsiders from Congolese people, I do not really comprehend, especially now that the identity has expanded to diasporic communities. These identities look different here (in Europe) compared to the continent and that’s something that I think needs to be recognised.

Abena: What do you think might have been behind your parents’ decision not to enforce the learning of Lingala?

Laurène: I think for my mother, and this is shared throughout the collection, it’s escapism. For her Congo represents a place of terror and a chapter that she wanted to leave behind. I don’t want to expose too much of her opinion, but growing up she never said anything positive about the country and about its people. As a result, she never tried to make us feel connected to Congo. Whereas my father, his connection to the Congolese church made him feel differently to my mother. I used to stay with Congolese family during holidays. I just think it’s more of a question of needs. My dad didn’t make much effort even to take us to Congo for holidays or hire a Lingala teacher so I could learn it after school, and so on and so forth. I believe a lot of children with immigrant parents can relate. When immigrants come, at least to Europe, they have to start from scratch and that also means financially. That is more than just the general 9-5 workload. My mum to this day still works from Monday to Sunday. So there are no off-days. Where do you get the chance to speak to your children and make sure that your culture is passed down? So of course now I understand because I have an adult mind, but as a child it was very confusing and that’s something I wanted to resonate in that first poem. 

Abena: Mhmm. I want to talk about Alfonso I. There’s a line where you mention his former name, Nzinga and then his now given name. Do you believe names play a role in maintaining cultural integrity? 

Laurène: You know, that is something that I’m still trying to uncover. When it comes to the Kingdom of Congo, they had implemented [European] Christianity in the 1400’s which included Western names. And that is why today myself and most of my siblings have French names and not Congolese. I’m 50/50 on this. I’m seeing in 4K what it means having a European name rather than a Congolese name; wanting to take part in events or just projects with collaborators from the continent and the diaspora. You have this full list of collaborators and they’re all native names, but mine is French, so it’s something I feel needs to be put to the side, and I make sure not to draw  too much attention to it. So I understand now that it has a disadvantage in that space. Personally, for me [indigenous names are] something that I’d like to bring back if I have the opportunity to do so with my lineage and my offspring. I find that native names are really beautiful and I don’t see the correlation between me specifically and the French world.

Despite the fact that I speak French, yeah sure, but I’ve never lived over there.  I don’t have any connection with that culture so it’s very weird to me. But yeah [names] play a very important part, especially in Congo. I don’t know exactly when the switch happened but I do know during Mobutu’s regime he wanted to instil African pride again, which included names. There’s a long history of this. There was a system in place to regenerate African pride for the African people. Religion, which is the whole background of this conversation, complicates matters. Congo is 99% Christian and it is very much embedded in the culture in a lot of ways, the values and stuff. I hope that when Congolese people, or when anyone from the diaspora reads through this poem, it kind of makes them reflect on themselves and how they may have been unintentionally drawn to whiteness and European culture and maybe that’s something that needs to be in question. 

Abena: You seem to have such a strong connection to your culture. Any plans to travel to Congo? 

Laurène: For me, I’ve always felt more connected with my African heritage than my European identity. So, my end goal was always to have something on the continent. What I’ve realised throughout the process of writing this separate collection is that so much of the knowledge that I have is distorted when it comes to Congo, even  speaking to my family who is still over there. Because of the colonised mindset, they believe I am in a position of power because I am located in Europe, so they paint a certain picture.  My own understanding is still very distorted, so it only makes sense for me to have a more personal relationship with the continent in the near future. I’m working on projects now with natives of the continent because I want to be closer to my heritage and to my roots. I still have a lot of unlearning to do when it comes to the Congo because of what information is accessible to me.

Some of that’s directly from my family but mostly the media, although I don’t want to admit it. I wanted that also to be reflected within the collection as well. I’ve written it from the perspective of a child. You know, a child doesn’t comprehend much of what they are exposed to. They don’t understand every idea but ideas are still there. It’s taken at face value. With age, as you grow up, you must do the work. It’s important for me that people don’t view the collections as facts — these are tales, these are narratives. I see the gap that exists between diasporic communities and the continent eventually evolving into a natural bridge where both worlds can know the truth about one another. 

Abena: What are you hoping to accomplish through this anthology? Why write this now? 

Laurène:  The reason is because I was never exposed to Congolese literature growing up, and I find it quite weird. I love African literature. I’ve read my fair share but it didn’t make sense to me how little of it has been Congolese. It doesn’t make sense that Congo is the backbone for so many industries, and yet there is so little writing that is available to the masses. That was my first incentive for wanting to do this. Also, I selfishly wanted to reconnect with people from the Motherland and what I see as a larger African community. From the age of 15 until now I haven’t had access to black people directly in such a prominent way like say in the UK, France, the US, or the Caribbean. My books and my writing have therefore been a step forward and a door opening to an entire new world that I was not able to access based on where I am (Vienna). Those are the two main reasons. It’s a story that needs to be out there and a story that needs to be told. We have more than 80 Congolese poets from all around the world. This way people can get to know about Congolese history — it’s so multilayered. 

Abena: This is going to be powerful. Not only will it bring more attention to the issues with coltan mining, but it also adds to the narrative about Congo in a positive way. We don’t often see its beauty and culture highlighted. When you mentioned eating pundu in one of your poems I genuinely smiled — cassava leaves is one of my favorites meals. I loved learning that Liberia and Congo share that. 

Laurène : Haha, no I hundred per cent agree. It helps to diminish the grief that comes from being separated from your home country. It brings our humanity to the forefront. Iran, Palestine, Congo, Sudan, Ukraine… for a lot of people we’re just numbers without a face. There is little storytelling outside of those images, so it’s important. The more that we know about each other, the less fear and prejudice occurs. People have the same hopes, the same dreams, and fears; we are all just humans. 

Abena: Yes that is true. It’s been so nice talking to you, Laurène. Before you go I have a final question: what does the word Afropean mean to you? Would you use it to describe yourself?

Laurène: Personally, I do not describe myself as Austrian. I see myself as a Child of the World. I’ve grown up with so many different people, in different environments, different education systems, and different languages that it’s really hard to attach myself to one European nation.

One thing that was always there during those different transitions, is my Congolese household. That’s where my values stem from and with what I identify myself. I do think the Afropean identity is there and it’s growing but I think Austria is going to be the last to really align with it. Haha! It’s not just about our white counterparts but it’s also the battle within black communities of wanting to be validated by white people.  As a result, they kind of abandon their identity entirely. That is something that needs to be addressed before we can even come to the conclusion of describing ourselves as Afropean. I think the identity in Europe is still forming.  Depending on which country you’re in, it will stand out more. I mean, most black people in Austria leave the country at some point and never return. It’s completely anecdotal how we choose to identify ourselves, however. 

Abena: Well thanks again for taking the time to sit down with me, Laurène. This has been so insightful. Thank you for the work that you’re doing, and I look forward to following your journey along. 

Laurène: Absolutely, thank you so much. Thank you for the interest and letting me speak. 

Laurène’s Instagram: @laurenesouthe @childofcongo