Latest / The History of Belgium: A Small Country with a Giant Colonial Legacy — Fexingo History / The 1920s Ngiri-Ngiri Roundabout: Brussels' Colonial Heart and Congo's Lost Memorial
Transcript
- Lucas: Luna, if you walk through the Matonge neighborhood in Brussels today — that's the city's Congolese quarter, around the Porte de Namur — you'll pass a major traffic circle called the Ngiri-Ngiri Roundabout. It's named after a working-class district in Léopoldville, now Kinshasa. But this roundabout was built in the 1920s, and it's a perfect example of how Belgium literally carved its colonial ambitions into the urban fabric. Luna: Wait — a roundabout named after a Congo neighborhood? That feels intentional. Lucas: Very intentional. It was part of a broader scheme to give Brussels's expanding suburbs a colonial flavor. Around the same time, they also named streets after Congo provinces — like Boulevard de l'Équateur or Avenue du Kasaï. The Ngiri-Ngiri circle was designed by the architect Jules Coomans, who was the chief architect of the Belgian Ministry of Colonies. He wanted the entire circle to be a kind of colonial theatre. At its center, they placed a bronze statue of a Congolese soldier of the Force Publique, looking proud, rifle in hand, wearing a fez. It was called Le Soldat Congolais. Luna: A statue of a Congolese soldier in Brussels in the 1920s? That's surprising for the time. Lucas: It was sculpted by Arthur Dupagne, who had actually traveled to the Congo to study local people and their postures. He wanted it to be 'authentic.' But of course, it was still a European's idealized vision — the soldier was shown as loyal, disciplined, grateful. It was propaganda. The idea was to show that Belgium's 'civilizing mission' had created a modern African soldier. The statue was unveiled in 1927, right after the massive 1926 Brussels International Colonial Exhibition, where they displayed Congolese villages, artifacts, and even brought over Congolese people to perform. Luna: So the roundabout was almost like a permanent extension of that exhibition. Lucas: Exactly. It was a monument to the colonial relationship as Belgium wanted to see it. But here's the twist: that statue is no longer there. In the 1950s, it was quietly removed and stored away. Why? Well, partly because traffic planners needed the space — they redesigned the roundabout. But also because by then, the colonial narrative was starting to fray. Congolese students in Brussels, including a certain Patrice Lumumba, had begun organizing protests. Lumumba lived just a few blocks from the Ngiri-Ngiri circle, on Rue de la Limite. In 1956, he and other Congolese students held a demonstration there, demanding equality and independence. The statue suddenly felt like an outdated symbol. Luna: Lumumba was in Brussels in the 50s? I thought he was mostly in Congo until independence. Lucas: He made several trips. In 1956, he was part of a delegation of Congolese évolués who toured Belgium. He also stayed for a while to study and network. He attended meetings at the Cercle Congolais, a group for Congolese students, many of whom lived in the Matonge area. So the Ngiri-Ngiri roundabout became an unexpected site of political awakening. After the statue was removed, the circle became just a traffic island. But in the 2000s, there was a push to put the statue back — this time with a plaque acknowledging its colonial context. Some activists wanted it melted down. Others wanted it recontextualized as a teaching tool. As of now, it's still in storage, and the roundabout is mostly just a roundabout. But the name Ngiri-Ngiri remains. Luna: So the name itself is the only monument left, in a way. But does it mean anything to people in Brussels today? Lucas: Most people probably don't think about it. But for the Congolese diaspora, it's a powerful marker. The name comes from a Lingala word — ngiri means 'circle' or 'roundabout,' and the repetition emphasizes it. So it's a double roundabout name! It's also the name of a bustling market district in Kinshasa. So when you say 'Ngiri-Ngiri' in Brussels, you're evoking a whole other city. That roundabout is a hinge point between two worlds. And it's not the only one — there's also a Place de la République Démocratique du Congo in Brussels, and a number of other colonial-era place names. But Ngiri-Ngiri is special because it's a direct transplant from Congo itself. Luna: I wonder if there's a similar story in other European cities — roundabouts or streets named after colonies. Lucas: Absolutely. London has its Albert Embankment and Africa House. Paris has the Place de la Coloniale. But the Ngiri-Ngiri story shows how these names can become sites of contested memory. In the 1930s, the Belgian government even built a replica of a Congolese village in the nearby Parc de la Porte de Namur — it was called the 'Kermesse Coloniale' and featured dancers and crafts. That's long gone too. But the roundabout remains. And every time a Congolese-Belgian person drives through it, or takes the tram that circles it, they're reminded of a history that's still very much alive. Luna: It makes you think about what other stories are hidden in plain sight in city spaces. Lucas: That's the thing about urban landscapes — they're layered. The Ngiri-Ngiri roundabout is a perfect example of how a seemingly mundane traffic circle can hold within it the entire arc of a colonial relationship: the initial propaganda, the resistance, the erasure, and the ongoing struggle over memory. And it's right there, in the heart of Brussels, waiting for anyone who wants to look.