I try to avoid personal negativity on my blog. It’s not that I don’t have negative thoughts or even entire weeks which are harder than I ever knew a week to be. It’s just that Congo already gets enough bad press. The Congo-negativity is really strongest here in Congo. I strive to be a positive voice here (sometimes I succeed). Also, I don’t think people really want to come here to read through a stack of my problems. I haven’t been writing about the push and pull and general difficulty of working here as a new government takes power. I’m not complaining but yesterday may have been really hard and last week may have been a doozie.
But today, TODAY! I am writing to give a shout out to the director of the government’s employment office. He was concerned about a small technicality and it was holding some things up. And today he came to our office with a solution that he worked out. I wish I had “HOPE Congo” t-shirts, I’d give him one. Dude, thanks so much for that deposit in my emotional bank account!
Hortense asked me if I would attend her community bank loan disbursal today to greet the members and offer them an encouraging word. I’ve been able to work on my public speaking skills here by giving these short speeches from time to time. I speak in French and usually it’s translated to either Lingala or Kiswahili. I dream of the day when I will be able to converse freely in those languages. But the silver lining is the way I’ve grown very comfortable with impromptu multi-lingual public speaking. I even have a few lines that I throw in when I want to crack ‘em up.
There were some delays getting to the community bank and there was a standard mid-afternoon power outage. I was feeling a little tired and worn out. We had dinner with a couple of American pilots who were in town for the evening last night. Good conversation was consolation for slow restaurant service (I think we were there for four hours).
When I walked into the bank meeting, I really liked the group’s vibe. We were under a tin lean-to in a small courtyard. A woman was cooking on a small fire just behind me. Just as I was asked to stand and address them the skies opened up and pounded rain down on that tattered tin roof. I’ve got a strong voice, my translator did not. I don’t know how much they heard and I am not sure how much it matters. We shared some smiles and stayed mostly dry.
Next time it rains where you are, try to imagine what it might be like to live in a place where rain closes most business down and stops your transportation in its tracks, leaving you to hunt for quick shelter before you are soaked to the bone. It leaks through your roof or floods in through the front door.
The rain cools the jungle heat. It waters the garden and the abundance of water keeps famine at bay. It gives your children a scarce reason to smile and leap for joy as they frolic with their friends in the mud. And your community bank group is wise enough to meet under an old tin roof so that rain or shine you can get some cash into your small business and work things out.
I’ve been blessed to make some great Congolese friends in the past 14 months and I’ve gotten to know some very nice fellow expatriates. When I first arrived in Kisangani I spent a week learning from my predecessor, Peter. Then he went to Kinshasa for a week to start stepping into his new position there. Finally, he came back for a week to see how I was doing and answer my newbie questions.
We share the common experience of working as the manager of this microfinance institution in a city that is quite isolated from the rest of the world. While we haven’t experienced life here in exactly the same way, it’s been an intense and rich time for each of us respectively. Peter was here from the start and I got to pick it up one year in - but I’m the one person who can best relate to his experience here and vice versa.
Peter is taking a five-day break out here. It’s been a great time. A great friend can make a long, warm Saturday zip by almost too fast. A good friend will sit through my stumbling preaching in French in a little church and not even complain. Sunday night we had French expatriate friends Jerome and Christilla over for dinner and games. We played alternating rounds of Boggle in English and French and had more than a few laughs. They have been a ton of fun to get to know.
I expected that I’d get to work on my French here. I expected that I’d really taste the challenge of living in a foreign culture and learn to accept it, love it, move in its rhythms. I expected that I’d experience the joy of working where I felt called, among the poor. I expected that I’d make some friends from Congo. I didn’t expect that I’d make a very good friend from North Carolina.
There have been some ‘Congo challenges’ recently for a few weeks and my awareness of these tremendous blessings in my life has been partly obscured by a stressed-out fog. It’s amazing how the simple fellowship and extraordinary mutual encouragement of friendship can clear the air.
When I was nine years old and first went to summer camp they told us that food was not allowed in the cabins because it would attract bugs. I never really believed it. I thought it was to keep us from fighting over it or to keep us eating the food they were serving… and I suppose it partly was. But the fact that food attracts bugs is a truth that cannot be debated even in this so-called postmodern era.
And yet somehow I fail to remember this from time to time. When humans and bugs go to war, we may win battles with heavy arms (chemicals usually, some which probably poison us slowly as well) but ultimately the bugs will win the war. And here in the Congo we lack many of the top bug-fighting tools: there is no ‘Orkin Man’. Years ago I went to hear the famous evolutionary theorist Stephen Jay Gould speak and he said that even if we humans bombed the earth to near oblivion, at least two cockroaches would survive. I don’t agree with the late Mr. Gould on many things, but I think he’s right here.
I live in an old Belgian high-rise building that is haunted by thousands of species of insects and families of geckos that feast to their heart’s content. Every day there’s a bug that I’ve never seen before and I appreciate this small reminder of biodiversity. I’ve learned to be wise; I don’t let the bugs bother me. (Thereby refusing to let them rob me of my sanity.) For the most part I direct my attention to avoiding or diverting or smacking the ones that can sting, bite, burn or infect me. But occasionally it is the sundry regiments of ants who prey on my forgetfulness or laziness or both. They leave me with the worst kind of defeat: the self-defeat.
Last week I had some peanuts and bananas for lunch at work. I wrapped up the handful of remaining peanuts in the plastic bag they came in (which was rare, they usually come in a paper cone made from someone’s schoolwork). I almost put them in my desk drawer and then I though, “nah, I don’t want bugs colonizing my desk”. So I tucked it into my computer bag thinking it’d be safer there. The next morning as I was rushing out the door for work I lifted my bag off the sofa and there were hundreds of ants partying underneath it. I opened the pouch to find that the peanut bag had sprung a leak and thousands of ants poured out of my bag. In a frenzy I emptied everything out (ants pouring out of my cell phone, eating the stamps in my passport) and shook everything out and got to work a little late. Ants: 1, Brian: 0.
Last night I finished my dinner and left the dirty plate on the coffee table. I decided to watch an episode of Seinfeld on DVD and when it was over I noticed that the entire plate, fork and cup were blackened, covered by a swarming feast of ants that were plotting to pick the whole thing up and take it to their lair. At this point I have no choice but to start tapping it, letting them know that the jig is up so at least half of them can vacate and I can pick it up. Otherwise they’ll all go up my arm and it’ll go from bad to worse. Ants:2, Brian:0.
There’s a former rebel movement turned political party here that uses a black ant as it’s symbol. I used to think that seemed silly. (I tend to think that a lot of politics is both silly and highly entertaining.) Now I see their point. The ants are stronger than us, they’re much more organized and vigilant than we are, and they have us far outnumbered. Now if I can just be a little smarter…
Lately every time it rains the power cuts out at the office. Lately, it rains a lot. This is the rainforest. The power company does not take responsibility for fixing their lines (unless you track them down and pay them on the side). In some places the lines are above ground and openly spliced and puddles can become deadly. In other places, the lines are buried but they look like a patchwork quilt. When the water soaks in, the lines short out and our computers go dead, work goes manual. Get out the abacus.
As the manager of a small financial institution that is looking to grow, my computer is an important tool. Unfortunately the battery is so worn out that it only lasts about 45 minutes tops. When the power goes out longer than that, so does much of my effectiveness. Even as I make it, this complaint feels absurd to me in a country where 99% of the people have never touched a computer. But days like today feel about twice as long as normal computerized workdays. I realize how big the computer is in my work and life when I am relegated to shuffling paper and meanwhile growth planning models are locked in a laptop with a dead battery. It’s frustrating when communication with coworkers in other cities costs 30 cents per minute instead of free online chat. (And there’s a good bit of stuff to touch in on from government issues to health issues to those planning models.)
I went generator shopping and found that just about nothing is available. The one available in town is without any brand name at all and I’m fairly certain it would krunk out in weeks or months rather than years. Some men are digging up the shredded cables and work is being done. Tomorrow is another day.
It’s been a challenging transition back to my life and work in the DR Congo. I’m very happy to be back. I absolutely love my job, trials and all. Good friends here have welcomed me back with open arms and wide smiles. One of the hard parts has been jet lag- I’ve never had it worse. I was traveling for just over six weeks total and I was in so many time zones and a few too many days started well before sunrise and went nonstop to well after midnight. I was busy mostly with spending good time with great people. What a blessing. I can’t really imagine doing this home leave much differently this time. Thankfully I am finally recovered.
Another hard part has been the transition from a month so full of familiar, easy social interaction. It looked and felt a lot like my American life (on overload). Most days it was near bliss for me. Then I step back into the routines of this place which feel familiar and comfortable but are so different socially. I’m not lacking for healthy social interaction, but my weeknights are generally solitary and I am alone for a good bit of the time on the weekends. And I do like it this way, too. I guess what I am getting at is this: Anytime you shift from 5th gear to 1st without much clutch - it’s going to be a slight shaky stretch as the engine adjusts.
Congo faithfully provides relief in its beauty and bounty. Most of this relief comes in the form of friends and the staff at HOPE. It’s in the simplicity of food choices here. It’s having time to really notice and experience the weather, that it’s been refreshingly cool (for Congo) and the visibility is stunning and the clouds today are sun-lit better than anything ever electrified. It’s the solitary comic moments like the jar of applesauce I pulled from the cupboard this morning and opened. It didn’t look good when the safety-seal popper was pushed up. Fermented applesauce exploded all over my hands and a small white cloud of gas escaped. Cognac paste, anyone? (It’s the knowledge that even though that applesauce isn’t edible, the jar will be scavenged, sold at market, and used for years to come.)
I’m back in Kisangani now, safe and sound. There was a large crowd at the one window for us expatriates to get our airplane tickets stamped at N’djili Airport in Kinshasa this morning. I ran into a good guy with IRC that I hadn’t seen for months and he said he’d been waiting for almost an hour. Then they called my plane for boarding. In the nick of time I was able to get one of the several idle officials’ attention. I built enough of a rapport with him through my anxiety over possibly missing yet another airplane that he got my papers stamped quickly and insisted on escorting me out to the aircraft himself. Only in Congo. I think maybe the line was held up by professional “protocol” agents who handle travel formalities. If they block the process then people like me have no choice but to hire them as they block the line.
Three staff members met me at the airport and we rode through some intense heat back to town. They came up to the apartment and we had some cool water and conversation. They were surprised that I didn’t put on weight in the USA and they asked me about my family and friends. I told them about fireworks at the baseball game and Grandpa George getting his gift from Papa Wembonyama and my days at the home office in Pennsylvania. There are many more stories to tell and more to hear. It was great to travel, and it’s so great to be home again.
You’ll notice a lot of new photos from my travels in the USA. I’ll get back to posting pictures from the Congo ASAP and put these into an album of their own in due time.
Thank you to everyone who showed me hospitality, grace, and love during my travels. My heart is full to overflowing.
I’m now in Kinshasa for the better part of this week before I leave for my home visit in the USA. As I get closer to this visit, I anticipate that some things back in the USA will seem odd after a year under Kisangani’s African skies:
- Not enough bicycles on the road. Since the war, bicycle taxis are the primary mode of transportation in Kisangani. There are no stoplights and intersections are controlled by traffic cops Monday to Saturday during business hours. During those times if I am stopped at a light, I am in the middle of a mob of bikes. I see people striking up conversations as they sit on the backs of bikes side by side. When there are no traffic cops, it’s unmanaged chaos.
- Not nearly enough traffic circles. I’ve gotten used to traffic circle interchanges. Congo must be one of the very few countries that allow those entering the circle the right of way. It used to be this way in Rwanda when I first visited, but they’ve since changed it. You see, if you give the right of way to those entering, in heavy traffic people are legally stuck in the circle for hours and hours and have to break the law to get out.
- Driving over 30 mph and significant distances.
- Too much food choice. Kisangani has few restaurants and I am used to the standard fare. Having to choose from thousands of food options… it might make my head explode or cause me to lose my appetite! And few places to get a brochette of goat.
- So much English speaking.
- Dry and cool/cold early spring weather.
- Very little or no dancing in church.
- Winter brown landscapes when Congo is green, green, green all year round and has been from the beginning of time.
It’s a rare brisk morning here and I want to fill you in on some of the weekend’s news:
My friend John finally made it back from his river trip. He walked in on Saturday morning and we had a great time catching up. He told me that he brought back a baby squirrel for me and that they are going to build a cage for it.
Later the same day, we drove out to Papa Wembonyama’s house and I sat under his shade hut with him for some hours talking and telling stories. He told me that squirrel has a great flavor. He told me that Congo is at a turning point, an infancy of sorts and needs a lot of help to get on its feet. He gave me blessings for my upcoming travels and said that if God had given him that characteristic that he gave to snakes and he could shed his old skin and be young again- he’d travel with me.
Youth scouting programs are popular here. There are all kinds of little scout troops in uniforms with neck scarves and hats and flags. This weekend was some kind of jamboree right in the middle of town, in front of my building. On Saturday I started to see groups of scouts being led by their scoutmasters, marching in from the outskirts of town. As I drove by a couple of these groups I spontaneously saluted and like clockwork 20 little hands went up to salute me back. I don’t know if scouting is popular all across Africa, I’ve never noticed it when I’ve traveled. It seems like a very American thing that they’ve really picked up on. One troop even went by carrying standards that I recognized from my youth as the three levels of the Cub Scouts of America. We don’t have much American culture here beyond this, except for a voracious appetite for American pro wrestling.
Sunday was a day of good timing. I drove out to the airport to pick up the external auditor from Price Waterhouse Kinshasa. I took a book with me because airplanes here aren’t so much known for timeliness. As I drove up I saw his plane taxi off the runway head toward the terminal. Then later on we picked up Christilla, one of my new French friends and drove to where her husband Jerome was playing in a local soccer match at the Jesuit Church. We drove up just in time to watch the last five minutes of the game and then head to the fabric factory along a river to sit and talk into the evening. Good timing is a rare thing here. When I arrive at just the right time to meet a plane and to hear the whistle at the end of a football match and all in the same day… that’s worth writing home about!
This morning there was no electricity at the office. I worked on a document for about an hour until my laptop’s meager battery power went dead. Then I spent the rest of the morning catching up on filing away paperwork. It’s got to get done sometime. And it’s a simple pleasure not unlike doing the dishes. At first there’s a big pile and then with some mindless diligence, the pile shrinks as the uncomplicated task is completed.
I realize that a year ago this month was one of the craziest in my life. I’d accepted the position with HOPE International and was cleaning out my apartment, rapidly selling most of my possessions and packing up some plastic boxes with the rest. I was writing letters of resignation and looking for someone to buy my car. Then there were all the thoughts of leaving a city that I love and so many people that I love. I traveled to see family and to stash those plastic boxes away. Then there were about four meals a day out with various friends and three or four going away parties. What a crazy time. Two blessed angels (Leigh and Matt) packed my bags for me as I was meeting with more people and sweeping through Target like a hurricane for last minute items.
I wouldn’t wish all of that on anyone in such a short time frame. From this angle though, it was all worth it. Congo is often pretty crazy, but I do love my job. I get to work (in french no less) with a great staff and our objective: helping people with small business loans that promote strength in their own initiatives, their families, and their churches. I am so thankful for this blessing. In the last year I have learned more and experienced more than I could make up in a lifetime. Much of this knowledge is troubling, but some is quite inspiring. At times I feel that I have been pushed to the edge of hope, but never beyond what I can bear.
This year’s memories are rich and vivid. I can remember boarding the Air France flight in Philadelphia and realizing that tidy drab terminal was my last American vista for a year. I’ll pass through there again in less than a month on my home visit. I don’t imagine the places I’m going will have changed much in 12 months. I feel worlds of change inside of me.
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