Day 14: Mulongo

Reporting now from Mulongo. We are well-situated here and tres content (very happy). I suspect that it will take me a long time to process this trip once I return to the US, because I feel so inundated here with sensations and information that it is difficult for me to do more than observe and report while here. I suppose this is why Bob is endevouring to write a book now, because I have seen enough in two days in Mulongo to write an entire book, and it is not possible for the mind to comprehend it all as you are seeing it. So I apologize for the scarcity of "sifting" of the information here-- at times I am capable of much better synthesis, but for now it's all I can do just to write what I see with little processing. Nonetheless, I will try to provide you with a somewhat coherent “view” of my life here. 

I have been seeing a little bit  (but only a little) of what it is like to be a woman here, which was part of the purpose of this journey—as DS Mulongo put it—it is a “women’s expedition”. So, I get to see a little of the work that is required to run a household here. It is difficult to say in a way that makes sense because I did not understand it myself until I came here, and I suspect that as an American woman I can never fully understand. However, the big thing, as many people have told me, is water. It is a big problem here, especially for the women. It is a woman’s job here to do the cooking and washing and provide the water for the family for the most part, which often requires spending hours each day acquiring it. If a women is lucky, she spends only an hour getting two jugs full of water, but it could take 3 or 4 hours if she has to walk far. On top of that, the water is not “clean”, and so despite all the hard work, many people get sick because of water-bourne diseases. Today I saw two of the three places in town to get water, which are essentially two broken pipes sticking out the ground, which are broken because during the war the rebel groups and soldiers came through the town and would steal the pipes. So, it is definitely a problem to say the least.

I am thinking about how this stands in stark contrast to the US, where most people use thirty times the required amount of water for survival per day. For me, being here, what strikes me most is not the fact that we use so much of it (which we do) but that it’s “clean” water. I mean really, there’s no reason to use drinking water to water your lawn or take a shower, but we do. I don’t think it would really matter as much (just my opinion, here) if we used that much water if it was procured sustainably and it wasn’t all drinking water. The fact that we use clean water in such excess for non drinking purposes is just wasteful, but I’ve said that before. This is not a “new” realization for me, but you feel it more acutely when you are here and you have to face daily the suffering that your actions cause… I realize this might seem like a stretch as I  personally did not do anything to make these women have to work so hard, but I have always believed that as a society, we all contribute to the problem, even if only through our lack of awareness. And so I feel part of that burden, as an American who has drank plenty of bottled water in her lifetime. I don’t know what the “answer” is. But I can definitely now put a “face” on the water crisis, and understand the apocryphal predictions that the wars of the future will be fought over water.

Day 11/12: On the Road

We are finally here in Mulongo!! I am happy to be here but very tired. It is worth saying up front that for me this was two journeys: the literal journey, taken by car and experienced with the five senses, and the figurative journey that was happening within, as two days on the road gives one quite a bit of time to think. As for the literal, I can say that it is NOT a journey for the faint of heart! While taking a car is kind of wussing out compared to Bob’s trek across the region on bicycle, I will say that it was quite enough adventure for me! Even though Mulongo is only about 300 kilometers from Lubumbashi, it is a 2-day journey by car, longer if you have to stop for any length of time. In total, we spent 19 hours in the car. The first 4 hours from Lubumbashi to Mulongishi was the “easy” part. By easy I mean that it was on paved roads and everything went pretty smoothly. However, I was already thinking that that part would have done in my mom or my sister who get easily carsick! It was really HOT, and we were crammed in the back of a car with our luggage. So, when we got to Mulongishi I felt like we had really made some progress! (Little did I know….) I should say, also, that I pretty much just “go with the flow” when I’m here. My lack of fluency in French prevents me from asking a ton of questions, which I find to be a good thing most of the time. But when it comes to the practicalities of logistics, like, say, how long a trip is going to take, well you can just count me out! 

So anyway, when we got to Mulonguishi, which switched to the Land Cruiser/borrowed ambulance to make the rest of the journey. Leaving Mulonguishi, the road is pretty rough from there on out. So for the next 15 hours, we were in the land cruiser. That first night, we stopped in Kumbo, which is a village in which there is beautiful hotel and waterfall. I took a lot of pictures which I will hopefully post on facebook. The next day, it was on, up over the mountains and down into the valley, and on to Mulongo. So glad we finally made it. I have been praying fervently every day that I will not get sick, because a lot of our work here is dependent on Mary and I both remaining well-enough to travel, so being ill could seriously delay us. I have no doubt that they would take very good care of me, but who wants to spend their adventure time lying around sick? Anyway, so far, God has blessed me with wellness, I feel very strong, and I want to say that it is truly a miracle for me that I was not carsick at all. I know that probably sounds silly, but I get carsick easily, and the only way I can imagine that I was not ill on this very rough and bumpy trip was the God saw to it. Because even though I took Dramamine—it’s pretty much impossible NOT to get sick if you get sick easily. For you Americans reading I can tell you it is like riding a jerky motion-simulator ride at a theme park for 15 hours in a row. But I was very well the whole time. 

I saw so many things on the way here that I was rarely bored at all, I was just looking out the window drinking it in, lost in thought. Through all of my time here and what I have experienced so far, I will tell you that I am truly humbled—when I first dreamed of coming here, it is within one’s nature to think of all that you will “do” and how you can do good things to “help” people. Maybe others can maintain that air of confidence, but I certainly can’t—being here, in a strange country, with such gracious people makes me realize my utter humanness, how I am at the mercy of those who are helping me to travel, and in the end it is often they who help me instead of the other way around. It really struck me as I was traveling in the car, that this is really not “my” journey—this is Mary’s journey. She is the one who will do the work. I don’t really have a goal or a job here, except to write everything down, share it with all of you, and take lots of pictures. My secondary goal is to not do anything too stupid that it gets in the way! I know that sounds funny but it really is true and it’s the way I see it. It’s the same as being a therapist. When I am doing therapy with a client, I really believe that they are capable to their own growth and change. My only goal is to be present and provide a good environment for that, and not do anything too stupid to get in the way. Not every therapist works that way, some truly come into the therapy room with the belief that they can “fix” their clients and the tools to do so, but that is not my style. (Sorry to burst your bubble for those of you who want therapy to “fix” everything.) I just want to be present, to provide support, and then essentially get out of the way so the client can achieve the potential that is already within them.

It’s the same way here, for me. This is really Mary’s journey. And it must be this way, because I won’t be here forever. When I leave, she will continue without me. And so I can be here to document what we are doing, the “help” in little ways by providing the (k)nowing that I have when it appears necessary, but mainly I try not to do anything too stupid that it impairs what we are trying to do. (When I have more time to write, I have some funny stories about this—many cultural snafus that illustrate my attempts to be gracious and un-stupid.) Anyway, I have many more thoughts that I will share later, but the important thing is that we are here now, we are safe, in the gracious hands of our hosts, our family. I have to go, because I have another “cooking lesson” for the afternoon—off to learn to make beignets. :)

Side Adventure: Project Emmanuel (Day 8)

Well, we are STILL in Lubumbashi, believe it or not. Which is part of the reason I haven’t really updated, because I’ve been doing a lot of the same things each day, so there isn’t too much new to report. But today I thought I would post a brief shout out to Project Emmanuel, which is comprised mostly of the two other American visitors (Brittany and Christina) been hanging out with since I’ve been here. They are visiting from the U.S., after spending a year working here 2 years ago. When they worked here, they taught at a school 4 days a week and worked at the Methodist Orphanage the other 3 days a week. They got to know and love all the kids, including a boy named Emmanuel (now 13), who was born without legs. Emmanuel has prosthetic legs here, but they are difficult to use and uncomfortable because they don’t bend at the knee. So, Brittany and Christina partnered with an organization in Canada (the name escapes me right now…) to provide Emmanuel with a needed preparatory surgery and new prosthetic legs. The last time they were in Congo, they made sure Emmanuel got his surgery, which he got at a clinic here in Lubumbashi that specializes in prosthetics and rehabilitation for legs, called Wote Pamoja. This time, they brought all the parts for his new legs to the clinic, where the doctors there worked very hard to construct his new legs. This is what their “project” has been for the past week.

Since I’ve been hanging around Lubumbashi, they have let me tag along with them to the orphanage. Today, I went with them and Emmanuel (and his helpers, John and Loshita) to Wote Pamoja. I have to say first of all that this clinic is very amazing—they do amazing work and the doctors there work very hard. Seventy percent of the people that go to the clinic are treated for free.

Today was a BIG day, because today Emmanuel’s legs were finished!! He got to try them on and walk around for the first time—a success that was years in the making. I felt that I was so blessed and lucky to be able to be there and see this. It was great and exciting! So I wanted to share along with some pictures:

Putting on his new legs:

Putting on his new legs

Walking with his new legs for the first time

Emmanuel with his doctors as Wote Pamoja

The first thing he wanted to do was take a picture of his new legs :)

Even though the “project” is named Project Emmanuel because it is inspired by Emmanuel, it is really about all of the kids at the orphanage here, and Brittany and Christina have done so much more. It’s really neat to be able to see other things that are going on here while I’m temporarily stopped in Lubumbashi. If you want to read more about Project Emmanuel, you can go here: http://www.projectemmanuel.org/index.html

Day 6: Lubumbashi

We are still more or less stranded here in the city. Today Mama Mary said to me, “Now you see why transportation is so difficult for us in this country. Now you understand.” It is. It is very difficult to get things and get places here. You can get almost anything, but it’s all at a price. (They even have a KFC—Katanga Fried Chicken). I think that my Congolese hosts feel very bad for “detaining” me here because they keep apologizing. I am anxious to get out of the city and on our way, but I try to reassure them also that I don’t think it’s their fault and I’m not upset. It is customary here to call pastors and elders “Mama” and “Papa”, but also I have come to think of Mary as a “Mama” to me in the American sense as well. When I came into this country a week ago (has it only been that long??) I trusted her with my care because I had no other choice. (I mean, Bob and Taylor knew she was trustworthy, so I never did not trust her, but at that point I didn’t know her.) Now I know her though, and have come to depend on her for so many things, and love her in a way that is unique to the way she has (and will) care for me. When we come into the world, we are bombarded with strangeness- everything is strange and overwhelming and unfamiliar. It is incomprehensible to us because we have no language. And it is our mothers who guide us through the world and teach us language and raise us until we can care for ourselves—coming into a new country is like that. You are again faced with the disorientation of being a “newborn”. Mama Mary has been my mother in this new world, my orienting figure, my north star. I don’t know if I will ever be able to communicate this to her fully—partially because of the language barrier (!!) but also partially because she views me as a gift to her, not the other way around! She thinks she’s lucky to have me here, but I’m not sure she knows that I would be lost without her! 

While we’re waiting to depart, I’ve just be reading, playing with the boys at the orphanage, and hanging out with Christina and Brittany. It has been nice to have company. Every day I see Brittany and Christiana, and then we go to the orphanage, and then Mama Mary and Douce (Rev. Maloba’s daughter) come to visit me. Each day has a nice rhythm. The only bad thing about staying in Lubumbashi is that it is TRES CHER. It is so expensive to live here and even just to stay here. The best way I can think of it is that it’s like when many young people I knew after college moved to New York to “make their fortunes”. Few ended up staying because before too long, they were so broke… It’s like a huge rat wheel, once you get on, you can’t get off—it drains your money. Some of my friends were even stuck there because they couldn’t afford to get home. It is the same way here, except ten times worse. Young people (like the man I mentioned in the early post, seeking work at the orphanage) move here thinking they can “make their fortunes” get sucked in, and can never get back home. They’re stuck here just barely scraping by. I am thinking that the cost of living here is similar to Indianapolis, but there’s no chance of a living wage. Imagine trying to pay $500 a month in rent with a job at which you might make $5/day. Or, worse, not being able to find a job at all. Lucky for me, I get to leave at the end of the day, but not everyone does. 

Some other interesting tidbits about traveling here: The Congolese Franc is the currency here, and today I had to exchange some money to get some francs. Oh my goodness, I’ve never seen such a huge stack of bills in my whole life. It is about 900 congolese francs to one dollar right now, and the bills(that I have anyway) are 500 francs each. So two bills is equal to one dollar American. So just imagine exchanging (for example) 50 dollars American and getting back a stack of 100 bills! It can be quite cumbersome to carry around!

I also felt like for the first time in my life I truly understood the significance of the story of Jesus washing the disciples feet—after being here only a week, I feel like my feet will never be clean again!! Everywhere is this fine, reddish brown dust that coats EVERYTHING. Your feet, your clothes, your hair, etc etc. And that’s in the dry season—in the wet season, it’s mud! But now I finally understand the washing of the feet—especially seeing most of the boys from the orphanage who don’t have shoes. Walking around here without shoes certainly makes for dirty feet!!

Day 4: Lubumbashi

I am SO tired. Even though I'm adjusted to the natural sleep/wake cycle here (I think...) I am still unbelievably exhausted. Part of it is jet-lag, and part of it is just being immersed in a new culture with a different language 24/7. The language piece can be really difficult because one is used to not really exerting any mental energy on listening, understanding, and responding, but now it takes most of my energy! So far I feel that this experiment in French immersion has resulted in a greater awareness of how badly I am butchering the language. :)

So, we are still hanging out here in Lubumbashi waiting for our car to be ready (ETD is Wednesday, now) but I don't mind at all, because I am getting a "taste" for the city and  enjoying the experience. Yesterday I got to see quite a bit of Lubumbashi-- Mama Mary introduced me to her friend Ilunga and we took a driving tour of the various neighborhoods of Lubumbashi in the evening. It was strange for me because in the afternoon I was back at the orphanage playing with the boys, and then in the evening I went to see that Grand Karavia Hotel which is a VERY nice hotel here. It was again, the emphasis on the contrast-- this is a place where there is so much and so little in the same city. Though I suppose the US is similar in a way-- there are major cities with elaborate and expensive hotels that also have large homeless populations. However my perception is that the "gap" is more extreme here. I don't know whether that is accurate, but it is what I have perceived.

Today, Mary and Ilunga took me to get a phone, so that will be very useful here-- I can call home and call people within the country. But I haven't yet figured out how to buy "talk time" so I can't really use it yet, but hopefully that will be resolved tomorrow. Also, I went to the supermarche (grocery store) for my first shopping experience here. I'm happy to report it was painless! In all of my travels, I have found the the US is MOST different in terms of shopping-- mostly when I go to grocery stores in other countries, they resemble each other quite a lot-- the stores here are similar to the stores in the UK and Europe and the Caribbean, it's the US that tends to be the outlier with our big-box stores like Wal-Mart. Except in Canada, I haven't really ever seen a store like that in any of the other countries I've been to.

After the shopping, we went back to Ilunga's house where we prayed and talked and shared ideas-- it was really fantastic though somewhat difficult because of the language barrier. Mary told me about a lot of her ideas for improving conditions in Mulongo, increasing self-sufficiency among the women, etc. It was really good to hear her ideas because she speaks from her experience of living there, and her desire is truly to improve things long-term and help the residents to support themselves. For example, she said that it is really important for the women to be able to attend school and participate in education, but often they aren't able to do so because they are depended on to work the fields, which takes up a lot of hours without farming equipment. But, if they had only one tractor in their town, it would free up so many women to do other things, including education. So, these are the kind of ideas we hope to generate on our journey-- the goal is not to give people things or tell them what they need, but help them to generate ideas about how they can work towards self-sufficiency, etc.

Anyway, that's pretty much it for now-- even though it's only quarter til eight here, I'm thinking of hitting the hay..... 

Day 2: Lubumbashi

Today is my SECOND day in the Congo so I suppose it is now time for a proper update. Traveling was a blur once I got outside the US. I got really homesick after I left Indiana, and cried my way through Indy and Atlanta, but once I got on the flight to London I fell asleep and the rest was a blur—I essentially slept for three days! I wanted to get out into London, but I didn’t have as much time as I thought, plus I was saddled with my luggage, so I ended up just napping at Heathrow for a few hours before hopping on KenyaAir. Which, by the way, I think KenyaAir is the probably the best airline I’ve ever flown on—very spacious and nice. The stewardesses were fantastic, despite the fact that I also slept through that flight. (In my defense, all of these flights are overnight, so I was actually supposed to be sleeping.) 

Beyond that, it’s hard to know where to begin… I’ve essentially only been on the ground here for a little over 24 hours, but it feels like much longer. The culture-shock and jet-lag have taken their toll, and I’ve been very tired. For the most part, though, I’ve been able to sleep when it’s night and be awake when it’s day, which is a really good sign from the standpoint of recovering from jet-lag. The culture-shock is another story, though! I don’t really know how to describe it, because “culture-shock” doesn’t really seem to explain it It’s not a case of being overwhelmed by being in a strange place with strange food and different customs (though I’m sure that’s part of it).

My entry into the as a first time American was abrupt—like diving into a cold pool—there is no other way. The airport was EASY. Which I am happy to report, because apparently it has changed a lot in recent years—used to be sort of a harrowing experience I hear. For me, customs was pleasant and easy, and Rev. Maloba was all smiles at the airport waiting to pick me up—as I was passing through customs I could see him beaming at me from the other side of the window. Though a note to the wise if coming into Lubumbashi—they are very strict about luggage collection. Which is strange as an American because when you get off a plane you’re pretty much on your own to locate and gather your own luggage. At Lubumbashi, you must show your baggage claim ticket for them to relinquish to you your luggage. Of course, being the fool-hearty American traveler that I am, I did not zealously guard my baggage claim ticket. The airline agent in Nairobi stuck it to my Nairobi to Lubumbashi ticket, and then the gate agent tore that half of the boarding ticket off, of course. So I didn’t have it when I landed, and the Lubumbashi airport staff were very leary about giving me my bags. Luckily some smooth-talking by my hosts convinced them to write up a “contract” which I signed saying that I would not claim my bags were lost!

It is “strange” for lack of a better word, to be in a place where so much lack and so much excess exist simultaneously. This is one of the “richest” countries in Africa resource-wise, and the money flows—though generally, from what I hear, in one direction. The best way to put what I’ve discovered early on this trip is that everyone needs something. But this need is a paradox—often the ”need” is not well-defined or understood, either by the people that have the need or the people that desire to fill the need. How can one struggle to fill the opposing needs of so many people? This is my example: today I visited the United Methodist orphanage which I am staying right up the street from. At the time that we were going, there were two American girls there that were seeking to hire someone to tend to some business after they left. The “business” at hand was to make sure a young boy without legs was cared for and taken to all of his doctor’s appointments for the prosthetic limbs that were coming to him. Which is a more difficult task than one might think, because transportation and communication are daily barriers here. The right person for the job must be shrewd, resourceful, and determined, to make sure all of the boy’s appointments were coordinated and everything was taken care of. It’s hard to explain how this is a difficult job—but trust me, it is. 

So, the man that was being interviewed by these two girls for this position was very kind and seemed smart, but also he had lost everything in the war. He was from Goma and came to Lubumbashi to study but had never finished school and has never been able to return to Goma in 10 years to see his family. He just lost his job teaching English due to cutbacks at the English school, and struggles daily to make ends meet for himself, his wife, and his two children. So he was trying to get this job to survive. There is a lot of pressure to give someone like that a job-- to know that you can potentially change their standing in life by just giving him the job. But what if he's not the right person for the job? (I don't know if he is or not-- I'm just illustrating a point here.) And what if by giving this man the job, the boy without legs doesn't get his prosthetics? Or, what if not giving this man a job results in his child losing a limb due to inadequate medical care? Who is to say, and how can one "weigh" the welfare or needs of two different people?

I don’t know if he will get the job or not, but the point is that it is a struggle to meet the needs both of the kids at the orphanage and the people seeking the jobs—when a story like that is told, one feels compelled to help in any way—by giving this man a job. How could you turn him away? But for him, there are hundreds more people in the city that have stories just like his—and meanwhile, someone must be sure to care for the boy with no legs back at the orphanage. 

It is something to think about, to be certain… it highlights the complexity of every decision we make.

Traveling Mercies

It's been a week ( a month, a year...) of preparations. I am "ready" and "not ready" simultaneously, because, really, how can one every really be ready? I'll post a quick note about my itinerary at the end of this blog (so if you only want the "cold, hard info" rather than the "waxing poetic", scroll to the bottom.), but wanted to take a moment to reflect on the preparations for this trip. 

I've been making my rounds and saying my good-byes ("see you later"s, really: à toute à l'heure!) and it's been interesting and beautiful to receive the gifts of others, the things that they think I might need to carry me forward. Everyone speaks in their own language-- many have donated money (which let me state HOW MUCH I appreciate that), some people have given me books, traveling supplies, or conversations. These, I feel are truly sacraments, anointments, and traveling mercies. It reminds me so much of the words of the late, great Andre Dubus, "A sacrament is physical, and within it is God's love; as a sandwich is physical, and nutritious, and pleasurable, and within it is love, if someone makes it for you and gives it to you with love... Sacraments are myriad. It is good to be baptized, to confess and re reconciled, to receive Communion, to be confirmed, to be ordained as a priest, to marry, or to be anointed with the sacrament of healing. But it is limiting to believe that sacraments occur only in churches, or when someone comes to us in a hospital or at home and anoints our brows and eyes and ears, our noses and lips, hearts and hands and feet."  

Yesterday, I said "good-bye" to a group of kids I've worked with alllll year long. They are part of my "training" both for school and for life. It was a rag-tag group of kids that for the most part live in poverty, and are there to participate in programming because their parents are working to get out of poverty while I'm being with the kids. My task is to provide some sort of psychologically-based programming that will be more therapeutic than babysitting. So sometimes, I planned things, but mostly, we played-- because play is therapeutic, and it's how kids communicate. To understand this story you must understand that kids don't communicate like adults do-- not always in words and sentences and stories like I'm talking to you now. Rather they speak through play. And if you are quiet and careful and (sometimes) have some training, you can "listen" to their language. 

Anyway, last night was my last night there, which the kids knew was coming but were told again over dinner. So none of the kids verbally said anything to me about leaving really, but I was moved by a few interactions I had-- because I knew that they knew that I was leaving, and that they wanted to "anoint" me for my journey. The last few weeks I've played with a little boy who is mostly always in trouble in school and in life for being "hyperactive" and bouncing off the walls. But a few weeks ago, he was one of the only kids with me, and the two of us played for hours, and he was calm and sweet and wonderful. This week, he pulled me aside and I was a player in many of his games and constructions, but many of them focused around him protecting or saving me. This is powerful stuff for a kid!  Had this been a true therapy client of mine (and I weren't leaving), this is probably something that would come up and been explored in therapy. But sometimes, when you are trained to listen to children and their play with a "third ear", they will know it and "speak" to you outside a therapy context-- I accept it as a gift. He continued to play, and to tell me about all the dangerous things I might encounter on the other side of the playground, and then he wanted to pour dirt on me. He was so insistent. The dirt became a magic potion.  And as he poured dirt on my skin, "baptized" me with playground sand, he said, "This will keep you safe. This will protect you." 

"Not remembering that we are always receiving sacraments is an isolation the leaves do not have to endure: they receive and give, and they are green. Not remembering this is an isolation only the human soul has to endure. But the isolation of a human soul may be the cause of not remembering this. Between isolation and harmony, there is a vast distance. Sometimes it is a distance that can be traversed in a moment, by choosing to focus on the essence of what is occurring, rather than on it's exterior." 

He poured "magic potion" on my skin and said, "This will keep you safe." And I heard and was grateful. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now for the "itinerary": 
I leave next Wednesday night, arrive in London the following morning (Thursday)
8-hour layover in London for the day (Thursday)
Leave Thursday night, fly over night
Land in Kenya the next morning (Friday) 
Hop on a quick flight down to Lubumbashi Friday morning, and ARRIVE around 10:30 Friday morning. 
 Then the real fun begins!! :) 

A la prochaine fois, 
 Emily