It’s been a good weekend. I was worn down by Friday afternoon and now, Sunday evening, I’m pretty well recharged. I’ve had some extra credit slips in my wallet for months now to buy dinner on a Friday night at the UN social club but by the time I get home Friday evening I’m too tired to leave again. One of these days I’ll make it and hopefully they’ll still be serving food.
At Friday’s staff meal we again discussed the health risks of eating monkeys and other bush meat. For most Congolese folks, these are great delicacies. It was argued that wild populations can’t possibly be at risk because monkeys can still be seen in the trees just outside town at dawn. Apparently recently there have been more restrictions on bush meat which means it will be even more expensive and a little hidden in the market. Good thing I am not shopping for it, ever. We also talked about what havoc a monkey would cause in our homes if we kept one as a pet. When I left the office a man was walking down the street with a chimpanzee. That ape was so adorable I can’t imagine anyone wanting to cook it.
Saturday I had a good list of errands to run. I took the car to try to buy gas but that didn’t work out. There were crowds at one of the few gas stations and then it closed suddenly and everyone took off. Apparently word has gotten out that the next fuel barge to come upriver is still sitting in Kinshasa and we can expect shortages. This means that fuel resellers are stocking up so they can stay in business and also enjoy high prices. The resellers have roadside shanties with shelves of gasoline in plastic bottles. Unfortunately the gas is sometimes diluted or dirty and it can do damage to a motor.
Gas stations aren’t open in the afternoon Saturday or at all on Sunday. I was able to finish my errands but I couldn’t go see some friends out on the fringe of town. My life here has taught me how to roll with the punches. I went to the store for baking powder and butter. No butter, but there was baking powder - so that’s a success. I mixed up some pancake mix in an old powdered milk tin and put it in the freezer to keep the pests from eating it before I can. With that I made a batch of mouthwatering pancakes, so good they didn’t even need butter.
I went to the one truly functional airline to inquire about prices and days for flights. There was another crowd out front waiting for cargo. Inside there were about five women sitting behind the counter. They debated some on the prices but I got a list and now I know the flights are Tuesday and Friday, another success.
I went to the market for a few things and it had just rained a bit. Lately it’s raining some almost every day. I was in sandals and trying to keep a steady footing on the rough terrain to prevent myself from landing sideways in the slop. For the first eight months or so when I came the government was renovating the market. Unfortunately they did very little at all and it’s still pretty much a wreck. Even with all of its hazards, it’s good to go to the market.
I had a visit from a friend in the afternoon and I had a couple of great telephone calls via Skype with friends in the evening. It’s a blessing to be able to remain close with such good friends who are so far away.
Today I attended the opening of a new Nazarene Church that’s just a stone’s throw from my apartment. It’s nice to know that there’s a place I can go even when the weather makes the roads difficult. On the walk home I noticed that about half the journey is covered by overhangs which is a bonus. I was asked to give a Bible lesson and I spoke from the All Saints Day lectionary passages. The theme was humility at the heart of holiness. I’m not sure it was terribly well understood through the translation from French to Kiswahili, but I know that I learned a few humbling truths that I’ll carry into another week.
I’ve been unusually silent here recently, but I am here and I am well. I was away for a few weeks for both work and rest and during that time there was a minor issue with the website. It tanked and the associated e-mail went with it.
I’ve been in Kisangani for over a year and a half now, but more importantly I’ve been here long enough for my kitten to have her own kittens. Lumi walked up to my desk on Monday and she looked noticeably smaller. I accused her of being some kind of fraud with the whole pregnancy thing until Ruth came to tell me she’d found two tiny squirming kittens in a cardboard box underneath her desk. Lumi has always liked climbing into desk drawers and apparently she tried to get into Ruth’s to have the kittens there. She chewed up a Bible and some of Ruth’s planning charts in her distressed attempt. It’s moments like that when a cat seems incompatible with an office, until I remember that rodents would be chewing things up all the time without her on staff and she only chews when she’s in labor.
A prayer was answered today with the purchase of a second vehicle for our program. This was a significant concern because vehicles are not very easy to come by in Kisangani. And recently with a deadly and highly publicized and politicized cargo plane crash in Kinshasa, the Russian Antonov cargo planes have been grounded making it nearly impossible to get cars in at the moment. I was looking for someone who regularly brings jeeps in so we could buy something used from Dubai, but so far no success. A few people had brought by cars that were too old or had the wheel on the right as most all do here (we drive on the right) and the government has been threatening to make all of those cars illegal. But this morning a brand new small SUV with the wheel on the left was brought by. It was a prize in a promotional lottery for a cell phone provider. It’s far more practical for the guy who won it to take the money and buy a nice house for his family than to drive a new car around, so it turns out to be a win/win. This frees us up to fix the growing problems with the land cruiser and takes care of what could have been a lingering project. This jeep isn’t quite as deluxe as what the diamond dealers roll in - but it will serve us well.
We’re getting ready to hire another ten new staff members in the next month or so to keep up with our growth. If you have any qualified and talented friends in Kisangani, please let them know!
Back in Arizona grandma tells me the intolerable heat is beginning to ease, meanwhile it’s been a mild month in Congo. Before she moved home to France, my friend Christilla gave me a sachet of precious bacteria to make cheese with. Unfortunately I haven’t had a weekend hot enough to follow her detailed instructions. We’ve had some of that good old swamp heat, just not on the weekend recently. It will come.
This morning I get to go and take some photos of a client who has done very well with her smoked fish business, Mama Atiya. It’s looking like she’ll be featured in a HOPE publication soon. A couple of years ago her husband died and his family took the home they owned, leaving her and her family homeless. It’s an unfortunately common story here where poverty sometimes poisons the family well in times of tragedy (just like wealth often can). She’d worked for someone else selling fish and with a loan from HOPE she went into business herself. With her hard work and good management she now owns an apartment and is doing well (her current loan is $750, which is a significant amount of money here). I’m excited to go meet her and take some pictures of her with the smoked fish.
This fish is popular stuff here, people love it. You’re probably imagining something like the smoked salmon you put on a cabaret cracker with some Philly cream cheese and a caper or two. No, this stuff is more like fish jerky. And there are so many funky different kinds of fish here, something like 500 varieties in the rivers – some mean enough looking to send chills down your spine. They make a piranha look tame. But these fish are beautiful because they’ve helped provide a livelihood and a roof for Atiya, a single mother who also happens to be a highly successful fishmonger.
+++++
I had a great time at the market. The woman I photographed, Mama Atiya, seemed to really love the attention and she had the most fantastic smile, especially considering the lack of dental care available here. As we were finishing up in the market, another HOPE client wanted her photo taken (pictures below). She has a great energy. I could have had fun taking portraits of people for awhile there, but it wouldn’t have taken long for some opportunistic policeman or official to come and make trouble, so along we went. And as we moved through the market I saw our clients left and right and each one lifted my spirits. I have a great job.
An update on the microfinance work in Kisangani, DRC:
The second half of 2007 has opened an exciting time of growth at HOPE Congo. We’ve been operational now for over two years and our team is showing the fruits of the experience they’ve gained. We now have almost 3000 loan clients and a total loan portfolio now spilling over $200,000. Country-wide we are planning to have over 10,000 clients and almost a million USD in loans by the end of the year. In the world of high finance, that might be pocket change. But in the life of this country where war, oppression and suffering have been the norm for too long - it’s a serious change. Our clients also have deposited tens of thousands of dollars in their savings accounts. It’s not a quick fix-all for severe endemic poverty (if you’ve got that, let me know!), but this is part of the solution to a complex puzzle.
Almost every week we face some kind of new significant challenge to our work. Still, our staff is very committed to keeping promises to clients. When we say we’ll disburse a new group loan to a community banking group, we push through all obstacles to make sure it happens on time. Every small success builds a trustworthy reputation. Entire marketplaces and neighborhoods are showing a positive change now that HOPE has been here for a couple of years.
Without ever advertising our services, we are seeing a tremendous demand and it’s helping to fuel our rapid growth. If you are interested in learning more about the work we are doing, please contact me. If you would like to help us serve more people, consider making a donation to HOPE International (who uses 100% of your donation for field programs and not administrative expenses), please either contact me or see the link to HOPE on this page.
A few nights ago I heard particularly feverish drumming, chanting and singing late at night in my neighborhood. It was so tense and charged, my first thought was that it was not a church group – until I heard a familiar Lingala religious song in the mix. Today Jean pointed out the window showing me the soldiers geared up to be transported east. I suspect the music was coming from their ranks.
There are two things about their shipping out that sadden me. One, it reflects the recent increase in hostilities in the Kivus, farther east. The situation is not peaceful there and I don’t expect more violence to easily produce real peace. In short there are all kinds of domestic and international political and human dynamics involved that each give me pause for concern.
The second great sadness is that open conflict here seems to be interpreted by hungry, well armed, underpaid soldiers as a license to loot from civilians and this may be their primary objective in going to battle. They’ll torment the population out there – with impunity. People here tell me that this is what they expect as standard behavior in times of insecurity. Especially in Eastern DRC, when the battle starts to heat up people not only flee for fear of being caught between enemy lines. They flee because they know that attacks on civilians are politically and financially motivated and that they are probable targets. I’ve heard there are already 10,000 people who have left to Uganda. I’m praying for them as they try to survive away from their homes, land, and extended community. I’m also praying for those who stay behind and buckle down. I’m praying for those of us from safer parts of the world. To us these situations are strangely foreign and we have scant ability to genuinely empathize. Lastly I am praying for the soldiers and their leaders, that they will sense a calling to respect humanity.
There are no indications that hostilities will spread this way, Kisangani is calm and still far from the front. Similarly, the recently reported Ebola virus outbreak in the Kasai is very far from where I am. One reason Ebola is so horrifying is that it can attack victims very quickly and this means that outbreaks are usually contained quickly. While I am not in danger, I’m reminded to pray for the families who have lost loved ones in this rare outbreak.
It’s nice when the turn of a faucet spews forth clear, clean drinking water. That doesn’t happen here. It’s hard to even dream of it happening, but maybe I should be dreaming that for Congo. The building I live in has its own problem with water, namely gravity. I have to give credit to the owners though – recently they came through with a strong new pump to fill our water cans every morning. It’s funny though because recently the water was flowing in the middle of the night, possibly by the city water’s pressure. It’s a mystery, and it had me up filling water cans at 4 AM in a mid-sleep stupor.
The first day they hooked up the new pump and threw the switch it hummed and like lightning shot excessive pressure through the cracked old pipes of this old Belgian high-rise (think: ‘crumbling chic’). The water flowed into apartments, halls, down stairwells, into walls and flooded out the parking garage. Well, the pump works but the building doesn’t. It seems they’ve regulated the pressure and the geysers have subsided during the hour or so a day they run the pump. Still, I’m discovering water damage daily in my apartment.
I came home from the office last night and saw the pump room open, water everywhere. Papa Francois told me that the water company came and raised a fuss, saying that no pumps can be installed without their permission. There’ll be fines, court dates, hullabaloo-a-plenty. I slowly shook my head and said to Papa Francois, “Nothing’s easy, is it?” “No, sure isn’t my son. Go have a good rest.”
Last night as I drove home from work they appeared to be setting up for a big event at the house two doors down from our office. I assumed someone was throwing a big dance party. I turned the other way out the gate and drove around the block.
This morning as I drove to work I drove down the road past that house without thinking twice. I rolled slowly right through the wake that was still in progress… right past the neighbor in his casket. OOPS. Nobody seemed to mind, but OOPS still.
Growing up in the USA, death was rare and strange. In Southern California it almost didn’t exist. People tended to have memorial services instead of funerals and cemeteries were well hidden from view, some probably were paved over with condominiums awhile back. Even the elderly in general were seldom seen out and about, they aren’t as respected and listened to like they ought to be. So Cal markets itself to the young and over-active, and to the middle-aged trying to pretend they are young – medicating and sculpting themselves to cheat away old age. I think they even ship elderly people inland. Some have stuck around in Orange County, but again they are playing a funny role. You’ll see them at the swanky malls in spike heels, big old designer sunglasses and day-glow suntans.
Here in Congo, if the elders are sparse it’s because of war and disease. The life expectancy is hovering at about 40. It’s hard to fathom until you live here for awhile and you start to sense death all around. In the last year I’ve been handed at least six death certificates for HOPE clients. A pastor I know lost a young child, so did a HOPE staff member in Kinshasa. Just recently a staff member here in Kisangani lost his mother to something that would have probably been treatable elsewhere and another staff member lost his older brother who’d already lost his wife – the children are completely orphaned.
Now somewhere in all of this there must be a balance. The society I was raised in seems to abhor aging and the society I live in just hopes to live long enough to earn some wrinkles. Southern California seems to avoid death and Central Africa is inundated with it. Clearly dying is a part of life and though I am thankful for that potent lesson, I’d like to see fewer people getting short shrift, especially those kids.
In the past couple of days I’ve learned a couple of little lessons the hard way:
My kind Malawian military friends give me extra provisions from their camp. Included are a few bags of pudding mix and the chocolate one had a small hole in it. I transferred it to another container and there was some that wouldn’t fit. Perfect opportunity to whip up some pudding, no? The instructions were for making enough pudding for a platoon, so rather than crunching the numbers I just eyeballed it. It was all going fine until the mixture hit the temperature where the agent that congeals the stuff kicked in. I went right past pudding to something like rubber.
Lesson: Don’t play around with pudding, do the math. Or at least remember that there’s never very much powder in the little boxes that Bill Cosby sells.
Last night I remembered that the notebook computer I recently received for work came with a small surge protector. This is a good thing for those of us who don’t enjoy the idea of our computers burning down. I went and got the protector from my desk and tried plugging it into a new powerstrip I bought in Kinshasa. There was a loud SNAP! simultaneous with some impressive sparks. I drew back, but what next? I tried again to the same result. Before Congo there’s no WAY I would give something like that a second attempt, but stuff pops, sparks, and smokes here all the time. I recently saw the AC adapter for a friend’s external hard drive burn out and leave a puddle of juice on the floor. Also, most computer accessories are dual voltage. Awhile back, my computer guy bought a wireless router from me that had stopped working for the fifth time. He was tired of fixing some minor configuration problem in it for me so I sold it to him so he could promptly fix it and sell it. He told me later that when showing it to a possible customer, he plugged it in and POW blew out the adapter. That sale wasn’t accomplished.
Lesson: Check the voltage before plugging ANYTHING in for the first time. You might just ruin two or three things at once.
The electricity just flickered back on as the sun sank into the depths of the Congo River. This is a good because it means I can read tonight. The electricity has been less stable than usual these days. Candlelight doesn’t cut it for reading. The other option is my halogen headlamp. That lights up a book bright as day and simultaneously functions as a homing beacon for every living flying insect in the house. Yep, draws every one right onto my forehead. There’s not room for all of them between me and my book.
In the spirit of elementary school show and tell, here are the books on my reading stack in no particular order than bottom to top:
- Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith – Anne Lamott
- A Severe Mercy – Sheldon Vanauken
- Let Your Life Speak – Parker J. Palmer
- Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger: Moving From Affluence to Generosity – Ronald J. Sider
- A Future for Africa: Critical Essays in Social Imagination – Emmanuel M. Katongole
- Paris: The Biography of a City – Colin Jones
Time for a delicious dinner of spinach porridge and bread followed up with some reading, both courtesy of the electric company.
Among the best things about being away for a few weeks is coming home. After another air tour of Central Africa (at least the Congo part) I landed in Kisangani. Stepping down the tail steps of the 727 into the heat and sun, it felt good to be home. As I made my way into the terminal several of the guards waved or nodded and some called me by name. “You’ve been gone awhile! Welcome home Mr. John!” Again, more good feelings.
By the way, I don’t know if I’ve ever explained here that the name Brian often doesn’t roll off of Congolese tongues too easily. I’m told it’s fairly common in France now and they have an anglicized pronunciation. In Congo rather, I’ve gotten a lot of quizzical looks when I introduce myself as Brian. Even some good friends call me “Brown” or my favorite “Brahmps”. The most common iteration of my name is pronounced Breeante, which in French is “Brilliant”. This works here since many people are named after positive characteristics. I’ve never looked in the mirror and thought “Brilliant!”, but I will take it wherever I can get it. To make a long aside longer and effectively get to the point… in some cases I cut the confusion by using my middle name: John. I always wanted to get more use out of it and now I am fully accustomed to responding to either one. People here have and use lots of names so nobody thinks it the slightest bit odd.
There were only three or so of us who got off the plane in Kisangani and the UN bus driver very kindly told us that he’d prefer to wait for another flight coming in from Bunia in another 45 minutes but he worked it out for two of us to ride with the guy who had a car waiting. I had a nice conversation in the back of the Handicap International Landcruiser with a new UN transportation agent from Cameroon via the mission in Haiti.
Meanwhile the staff back at the office was waiting for me to call from the usual bus terminus in town. Instead the guys from Handicap dropped me off right in front of our gate. I pushed the door open, stuck my head in and yelled, “Hodi!”, Swahili for “Hey, can I come in?!” The guards welcomed me with great big smiles, handshakes, hands on shoulders, and tapping of temples: right, left, right. The sounds of our greetings then sent ripples through the office building. The entire credit field staff was there as usual on a late Friday afternoon. I heard the insides of the building erupt in shouts of joy and the whole staff poured out on the porch. There were about 20 handshakes and smiles and 90 taps to my temples. We all gathered in a big circle in the reception and I said a few words thanking them for their good work and the jubilant welcome. A few minutes later I found myself in my office, my temples still stinging. I sat for a moment to savor that feeling. As life goes, there will undoubtedly be days to come when I will need to draw from that overflowing cup.
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