If you’re reading this in a country where you can safely drink directly from the tap I suggest you stop reading and go draw yourself a tall glass of water and drink up. Don’t feel guilty about it but feel free to express gratitude to a higher power: the local water company, the government regulatory agencies, God.
When I was growing up in Arizona we were taught in school to conserve water in that desert. I never took it very seriously. Long showers and playing with the garden hose were standard practices. I remember taking long drinks from the hose.
I’m thinking about water for two reasons. First, I just completed my Saturday morning ritual of filling 15 water cans in my apartment. Fortunately the pump is still working and I don’t have to hire people to haul water cans up and down the stairs. The only problem is that they turn the pump on for just minutes a day and it starts right as I leave for work. By Saturday I’m usually near the bottom of my supply and it’s a good feeling to replenish it. Life gets pretty hard fast without water.
The other reason I’m thinking about water is thanks to a visit to Dr. Adipepe this week. He owns and operates the clinic where our staff receive health care. Lately there have been more complaints than usual and it’s been too long since I’ve seen him so we paid a visit. He might just have the most personality of anyone in the city, maybe anyone I’ve ever met. He laughs uproariously at himself regularly in conversation and his eyes and teeth almost pop out of his face as he does. He’s usually pointing right at me when this happens. He was telling stories and talking up a storm and I started to feel bad about the patients waiting. Sitting behind him was the brand new ultrasound machine he is very proud of. I’m impressed by it and I hope it runs on variable voltage.
As I was expressing some of the staff concerns his reply was in the form of a question, “Have any of your staff died under my care?” “No, they haven’t.” “Well then I rest my case. What do you have to complain about?” I guess he has a point, of sorts. But I quickly replied, “Well doctor, that’s a basic level of customer service I suppose since nobody is dead, but these living staff members deserve a bit more than that don’t you think?”
Staff complain about negative results to Malaria tests when they believe that’s what they have. Dr. Adipepe’s contention is that it’s really more often Typhoid Fever from unsanitary water and people are not in the habit of boiling it. The mosquitoes and Malaria are certainly rampant but I can’t help but think that the doctor has a point. It’s an ongoing conflict that will likely continue and we’ll try to mediate it. As usual, reality probably lies somewhere between the positions people are taking. Unfortunately there aren’t many options for health care here. And then I think about the vast jungle surrounding our city and this place looks like the Mayo Clinic.
Having recently had Typhoid I can’t help but be compelled to pray for people across this nation and around the world who are suffering the pangs of severe illness but lack even the pocket change to get treatment. I think especially of the ones who got sick only because they drank a glass of water from the tap.
Work is busy these days. I remember when I first arrived in Kisangani, Thursdays could run slow and I had time to visit with many more of our clients. Now the organization is over three times the size and there’s a lot to do from loan fund projections to human resources to training the internal auditor I just promoted. The people I work with are a treasure, even the electrician who insists on negotiating every job across my desk with a sneaky grin. This morning as I left our morning prayer/announcements and passed him with his arms in the electrical service I called him Frère (Brother) Gilles without having to think about it. That’s what he is, our electrically handy brother.
Our office is on the corner across from the Greek Community (Commaunité Hellenique, just in case you are reading V.S. Naipaul’s “A Bend in the River”) and just up the hill from the mighty Congo River. She’s flowing full these days, even if most of the rain is falling into the river basin over on the other side of the equator. A canoe tipped a couple of weeks ago, dropping some mothers and fathers into the river and their families into a grief that we see here simply too often.
Our street is a row of art deco houses from the 1950’s in various states of decay. The Belgians clearly designated it an urban residential street though there’s an old cinema around the corner and we’re one block off of a main thoroughfare: Blvd. Mama Mobutu. Now there are no zoning laws in force, which is good for us since we’re an office in a house. The lack of zoning also has its drawbacks. Our neighbors recently constructed several bamboo awnings in their front yard and opened a bar. They play a Celine Dion CD over and over all afternoon most days.
Once last week and again this week I’ve come out of the office in the twilight to the sounds of church choir practice. It’s a delightfully twangy and spirited hymn with a baroque flourish and it’s out of place after Celine but so much more nourishing to the soul. As the voices waft out from under the bamboo bar roof and over the wall it’s an epilogue to another day, both fitting and free.
Today I stepped out under the sunset sky just as it was royal blue striped with broad swatches of pink. There was no music, just cool calm air and an enormous flock of small birds flying overhead filling the sky from one end to the other like living confetti. There had to be several thousands of them and in a minute they were gone. A few minutes more and the sun went the way of the birds. I climbed up into my high-rise jungle tree house for another night’s repose.
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.
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.
My seven day planned visit to Kinshasa became twenty-two days. I went for some work meetings, for some dirty Kinshasa air, and most importantly to arrange a visa issue. The visa wasn’t resolved at the Congo immigration office as quickly as we’d been told it would be and it wasn’t wise to return home to Kisangani undocumented. I always have to consider the extremely remote possibilities of political insecurity or appendicitis or some other tragedy which could require me to leave the country quickly.
Congo has taught me volumes about patience, this episode included. The staff here in Kisangani did a great job minding the store. I was working from Kin, in touch with them every day. About halfway through my absence, they started letting me know it was time to come home. I felt the same way but anyone who has been through this kind of thing knows that visas are a part of your life where nations have much more power than individual citizens of the earth.
The upshot is that I got to work closer for a time with my colleagues Peter, Nate, Pascal and other great people on the Kinshasa staff. I got to work with some interns learning about rural microfinance in village savings and loan associations. I got to swim and play several games of volleyball at the American school there. I enjoyed a sliced salami and cheese sandwich most workdays with Peter. I ate yogurt. There were ups and downs just like life out here, but it was a massive change of pace, unplanned and not asked for in such length- but I am very grateful nonetheless. I’m thankful to Nate and Peter for their hospitality.
Sometimes when we came home on the weekend a whole troupe of neighbor children would stream into the yard running and jumping, singing and playing games. These are some of the cutest kids on the planet. Right in the middle of one of the world’s largest cities - choked by dirty air, widespread poverty, and failing infrastructure of all kinds, these kids hold court and joy abounds.
This morning the car wouldn’t start. Today was the first time we’d scheduled three loan disbursals on one day so I knew something had to be done and quick. I called our driver and asked him to hire a taxi for the day and come to my building. That way he could focus on getting the Land Cruiser fixed and the busy workday could roll as planned.
It turned out to be a great day. I’m coming off of a couple of weeks with a lot of electricity problems at the office. This week the current has been stable. I’m putting in long days getting a lot done. I’m worn out, but it feels great. I hope this persists, at least until we have a good generator flown in.
In the afternoon I went to help inaugurate a brand new community banking group. I especially enjoyed riding there and back in the compact car that we rented. I usually see the city from Land Cruiser height. But today my eyes were opened to things from a new, lower vantage. I wanted badly to stop and take photographs of things that struck me, but that’s difficult in Congo as photographs are generally considered illegal and we had a schedule to keep. So instead I took mental snapshots of odd and beautiful things that I hadn’t seen before. Come to think of it I felt the same way when I started riding the bus in San Diego after living there for years. In that case it was a view from higher up. In each case it was an adjustment of a few feet and I saw the city with new eyes.
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.
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