As we approached Kinshasa International Airport, I looked out the window at the city of 10-12 million and thought about the last time I flew into LAX at night. I believe we flew over the city lights for roughly half an hour. As we flew into Kinshasa we landed in pitch black dark. This city, approximately the size of New York, has less streets with permanent lights than I have fingers on my hand.

As we step off the plane three things are immediately noticeable: 1) It’s still dark, even on the runway, 2) The 95% humidity and 84 degree heat is a blow even at nighttime, and 3) The smell of burning wood, for cooking and light, is heavy in the air.

Kinshasa is a tough place and not everyone is happy I’m there. On our first morning, we toured a work site that looked like it was from a movie set. Hundreds of men, women and children, were using sledgehammers to break down large rocks into gravel. I asked my Congolese companions if I could take a picture. They said sure and as I pulled the camera to my eye, the men started to go crazy. They were yelling at me.

Having 20 extremely strong and exceptionally angry men yelling at me and making all types of hand gestures did not make me feel too well. My Congolese companion casually noted, “Oh they think you will make a lot of money off of them with your picture.”

Two minutes later, I saw a group of children swimming in a small pond. They hollered and waved at me. I smiled and waved back. Kids are always so welcoming. I could hear them shouting the word for white man. I smiled. But as I looked closer at their faces, I saw flashes of anger.

My translator said, “They are saying they want you, white man, to go back to your own country. Go back to where you came from.” So much for the warm welcome. An hour into my walk around, I had almost set off an angry mob of men and had a handful of kids calling for me to get back on the plane and head to Idaho.

A couple of hours after leaving the park, we got a notice that there had been two armed robberies in the vicinity shortly after we left. That night as we drove up to an ATM looking for some cash, someone in the dark threw a rock at our car. Kinshasa is a tough and crazy place.

It begs the questions: Why bother? Why even try to bring about social change? And is it even possible?

Between the armed robberies and the ATM rock-throwing incident, we paid a visit to a group of change agents. Immanuel is a heavy set, fifty year old Congolese changemaker. He was a pastor who “lived by faith” for years, meaning he relied on donations from his congregants for his financial support.

One day he sensed that he needed to be a contributor and a role model to the broken economy of Kinshasa, where unemployment is between 92-97% and only 2% of the population have access to financial services. He opened a company making small plastic bags to hold water. He now employs nine people and the company funds another significant social change project, a prostitute rehabilitation center, managed by his wife. And, oh yeah, they have ten children together.

The center takes in women who are stuck in prostitution but say they want out. Many of these women live in squalor beyond imagination, living and working in a large trash dump.

The rehabilitation center program lasts six months and they have 60 women cycle through every six months. The bulk of their time there is spent learning new job skills such as sewing or hair cutting. At the end the women are provided with a $50 microloan to get their newfound business developing. There are 145 seamstresses and 69 beauticians in Kinshasa who used to be prostitutes.

This may seem like a small amount considering the mind-boggling numbers of people in poverty. But it’s made a world of difference for those 214 women. Change can come to Kinshasa and it will come through those, like Immanuel, who have a macro perspective but know how to work at the micro level.