Innocents get the brunt of the blame, again.

Sobering and somewhat gruesome article on the war in Congo, on AllAfrica.com. The downward spiral is nearly vertical.

Update from Bukavu

Good news! GREAT news!

ZAWADI IS FIRST IN HER CLASS!

She scored the highest mark on the mid-year standardized test.

What an achievement, what vindication for a girl who was abducted at age 12 on the way home from school by a rebel militia and forced to be their slave (sex and otherwise), for close to three years! Remember that this child underwent unimaginable hardships, giving birth to two children in the forest, serving the men she "had to pretend to love or be beaten", responsible for finding food and preparing it, seeing other girls get the same treatment and worse. Zawadi escaped, TAKING HER CHILDREN. It's hard to get exact details because of the sobs that she can't control when she tries to speak about her ordeal.

She started school in September, and has done splendidly. I'm trying to get more details but the phone connections to Bukavu are sketchy.

Justine is also doing extremely well in school. She wants to study law, eventually to prosecute the perpetrators - actually, that's not what she says, I'm projecting my own feelings, perhaps: she wants to DEFEND WOMEN'S RIGHTS.

Thought you'd love to have a reason to rejoice. Have a great day!

Package and letter from Bukavu!

Andrea took 1,000 cards and posters back to the U.S. to sell, and I kept a few dozen. I re-sold most of mine to friends in France during our wonderful week in Marseille. Our friends the Canadian Ambassador and her spouse had bought 100 cards, which they sold at a benefit concert in Toronto during their vacation! Words of thanks are inadequate for these efforts, and those of others, but knowing the results of these efforts is even better: I received a package from Marie-Jeanne yesterday, containing 840 cards, 50 posters and a letter, which I'll share with my readers:

For those who don't speak French or if it's too small to read, here's what she says:

Dear Odile,

Peace and joy.

We had a good trip home and we are all well. The Nikinge women thank with all their heart those who bought cards during our trip to Kinshasa. Thanks to the income, almost all their children have gone back to school. A sum of $500 was given to the women to use as credit. They are running small market stands. We sewed the school uniforms for the children. Zawadi and Justine are going to the same school. Zawadi is smiling again. She looks very pretty in the clothes Andrea gave us. I am so happy to see her blooming now. God bless you. Our sincere wishes to you and your husband.

Yours,

Marie-Jeanne

The package was delivered to me by Jeannot, Marie-Jeanne's sister. She gave me much the same news, and I learned that "Zawadi" means "gift". What a gift of courage she shows the world!

Visitors from Bukavu

If you've read my recent "Postcard from Bukavu" posts you're already familiar with two of our guests of honor at the lunch we had last Sunday (Aug. 2): Marie-Jeanne, who helps rape victims of the Great Lakes conflict, and Justine, one of the victims. That we got to know these women and invite them to our house is due to the generous and creative efforts of an American high school student. Sam's cousin, Andrea Redican, teaches French at Sunapee Middle High in New Hampshire. One of Andrea's students, Jennifer Coverdale, ran in a French Oratorical Contest, in which participants were asked to interview a French-speaking person who had changed someone's life for the better. Jennifer interviewed not only Marie-Jeanne, the person who gave the help, but also Justine, the recipient. The press release on this contest is a good read, see http://www.sunapee.k12.nh.us/PR/0809/09-french-orator.pdf. Jennifer won the three-state contest. When Sister Georgette, who had helped arrange the interview, heard that Andrea was coming to Kinshasa to spend her vacation with us, she found funds to fly Marie-Jeanne, Justine, Justine's toddler son, and a third young woman, Zawwadi, from Bukavu to Kinshasa. So we organized a lunch on Sunday to bring together Andrea, the visitors from Bukavu, and some of our friends from the non-profit and foreign aid world (UNICEF, PEPFAR, etc). They came with Marie-Jeanne's sister, Jeannot, a Kinshasa resident, with whom they were staying. I had many second thoughts about bringing women who live in dire poverty to our residence, which the U.S. government owns, furnishes and maintains with the express purpose that Sam and I will host splendid meals to impress host and foreign government officials. But when the women arrived, all that became immaterial. They walked in, and their presence was a gift to us, a rare chance to say to someone who's been through unimaginable pain, degradation and rejection, "You are beautiful." While we waited for the other guests to arrive, the visitors viewed a video Andrea had brought: Jennifer's prize-winning speech, in French, talking about them. Then we all gathered round Marie-Jeanne, who told us about herself, the situation in Bukavu, and the horrific stories of the women she's been helping and who eventually formed the Nikinge association. Marie-Jeanne and her husband were living and working in Switzerland, where they had met, when one day a few years ago, they decided to return to their homeland to do what they could to help. They moved to Bukavu, where Marie-Jeanne founded a school where poor children can go for free, subsidized by the children who can pay. Marie-Jeanne and her husband raise several "adopted" children in addition to their own; the adoption is informal like they almost always are in the DRC. In Bukavu, Marie-Jeanne saw growing numbers of rape victims come in from their rural homes, where they are rejected by their families and neighbors. Seeking work and anonymity, they migrate to the city to try to raise their children born of rape without the stigma that turns out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy: in a country where tribe and family define one's identity, the son of a rapist is expected by all, to grow up a brute. These poor women, who often have long-lasting injuries resulting their violent rape, take jobs carring bags of cement and other burdens sometimes twice their weight, to earn the few pennies a day that can keep them and their children alive. Marie-Jeanne had seen one of these women at the local hospital, who died after having fallen and been crushed by the load she was carrying. Justine then tearfully recounted her story. She had been a victim of a multiple rape which had dramatic consequences on her family: she got pregnant, and her husband asked her to choose between the baby and him. In spite of the mixed feelings she has for the baby and her fears for who he may turn out to be, she refused to give him up. Her husband left the home, abandoning his own children, and was never heard from again. "Il a fui", said Justine simply – he ran away. Far from acting like a thug, Bati, almost two years old, came to his mother, trying to console her. We did not expect Zawwadi, the sixteen-year-old victim, to speak. Marie-Jeanne had told us she rarely speaks of her experience, only a few words at a time, spends hours crying every day, and never smiles. But when Justine had finished telling her story, Zawwadi stood up and spoke, in a barely audible, trembling whisper broken by sobs. She told us that she had been kidnapped at age 12 as she was going home from school, and spent three years as the workhorse and "wife" of a dozen men. She said they beat her frequently and that she had to pretend to love them, lest she be killed or buried alive as she had seen happen to other girls. After three years of this hell on earth, Zawwadi managed to escape with the two babies born during this ordeal, who are now being raised by her sister. Zawwadi and her sister are orphans, Zawwadi's mother having died in childbirth and her father ten years later. Marie-Jeanne placed Zawwadi with a family in Bukavu and has taught her to make the banana-leaf greeting cards I showed in the Postcard from Bukavu posts. Marie-Jeanne gave me a DVD showing some of the women at work making the cards. I hope to be able to upload part of it to this blog one day. The moment was too extraordinary, too intimate, to record on camera as the women spoke. I'm sure I'll never forget it. As one of my guests said, "It's one thing to hear about this on the news. It's totally different to have the victim in front of you." Justine and Zawwadi are so real, so unique. Zawwadi has the chubby cheeks of a baby and the eyes of an innocent child. Justine is a beauty with fine features and ruddy cheeks, and a shy manner. Both spoke simply and straightforwardly, without drama, and obviously making a great effort to overcome their emotions. After hearing the heartbreaking testimonies of the three women, we went outside for lunch by the pool. I hoped it would be comfort food for the victims who had so bravely shared their experiences, and for us listeners who had been shaken by their stories and sympathetically thought we felt a little of their pain. But how could we? And what could we say that could mitigate the cruelty of their memories? Our buffet by the pool felt ridiculously inadequate. But it had the magical effect we had hoped. There's something special about sharing a meal. Conversation did not lag, everyone had in common the experience just lived and the desire to help, somehow.

Lunch dragged on gently, and then guests started to leave. We gathered for a few photos. We were too emotionally exhausted for the next agenda item I had planned: brainstorming about how to market the greeting cards, of which the visitors from Bukavu had brought hundreds.

To each day its load.

Charlotte (our daughter, also visiting from Washington, DC) took Zawwadi to her room for some teenage-girl activities: a little nail polish, a little lipstick... Zawwadi had never experienced anything like this. She was transformed. She smiled!

A great blog about DRCongo

This blog is by a vet/artist who spent years here, lived through some very dangerous times, and loves bonobos. Her book, Grains of Golden Sand, looks really interesting! Click on the title of this post to go to her blog.

AMICUS and the Accra Speech

This morning I attended the opening of a week-long seminar on the right of citizens to government information, what we in the U.S. call Freedom of Information. This is surely the first time this topic is publicly debated in DR Congo, and there is some hope that it will pave the way to actual legislation. The seminar was created by AMICUS, an association whose full name is AMItie Congo-U.S, which groups alumni of the various International Visitor programs the embassy has sponsored over the years. One of my first experiences upon arriving here in Kinshasa almost 2 years ago was hosting a reception for a group of returning International Visitors, who are chosen among the best and brightest in Congo in all fields. (This reception was where I met Sr. Marie-Bernard, who introduced me to the Franciscans I have often blogged about. It's a small world: a few weeks later I had to go see her about a Self-Help project, creating youth groups all over the country to learn about democracy, using Catholic parishes as the infrastructure - in many areas, the Catholic Church is the ONLY infrastructure. I'll have to find out how this project turned out.) The seminar was held at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The Deputy Chief of Mission (Sam) gave some background history of the U.S. Freedom of Information Act, how it was first passed in 1966, and how Watergate and the Vietnam War spurred tighter and more effective legislation. But as he said, legislation is just one component: civil servants, the courts, the press, and the public have to, not only follow the letter of the law, but believe in its vital importance before it can really happen and make a difference in how we are governed. After him, the Congolese Minister of Information gave his speech, in which he recognized the value of the right to information, noted that it was already guaranteed in the 2006 Constitution, but almost immediately remarked that it had taken other democracies many years to formulate (centuries even), that even in the most advanced democracies it was naturally limited by the right to privacy and for national security reasons, and then went on to explain at length that any legislation of such rights would have to take into account the cultural traditions of the Congo. Beware of writing legislation that would be a thousand leagues from cultural norms, he said; it would be dangerously irresponsible to mimic others, given the inertia of certain cultural traditions. How does all this connect to Obama's speech, you may ask? Well, I've been looking at comments sent to President Obama from the DRC after his Ghana speech at the America.gov website. One of them caught my attention: it was from a Congolese student deploring the lack of freedom of speech in this country. It made me think of the goal of this morning's seminar. Freedom of information is very important, of course, but freedom of speech is so BASIC that we immediately added it to our Constitution, in the Bill of Rights. In this emerging democracy, still struggling just to stop the murderous conflict inside its borders, while trying to create democratic institutions, feed its people, send its children to primary school and build civil society, it's fascinating to observe the push and pull of democratic ideals and modernism elbowing for position between entrenched interests and "cultural traditions" (of secrecy and corruption, for example, or the forced marriages of young girls, a form of gender-based violence). On the one hand, Obama, widely acclaimed by all here, stating self-evident truths about Africans taking responsibility for their own fate; on the other hand, an African minister publicly expressing his reluctance to create legislation that might too effectively create transparency; on the one hand, a group of the best and brightest Congolese spurring society and government to debate and pass laws that the most advanced democracies are still in the process of installing; on the other hand, a student decrying the lack of one of the most basic human rights. This is Congo today: one foot stuck deep in the jungle, the other trying to step into the 21st century. ************* Anuarite Women of Courage Award As Secretary of the International Women's Club, I've been working closely with AMICUS to create an award for Women of Courage in the DRC. It's been a very instructive experience. We had many debates about how to define what makes a Woman of Courage, and then about how we would find such women. We created a nomination form, translated it in Swahili, Tshiluba, Kikongo, and Lingala (from the original French); we're still tweaking it to post it on websites and distribute it through email contacts, even though the project was officially launched and sample forms were distributed to the press last Wednesday; and we're still trying to figure out how we'll proceed after we receive the nominations, whose numbers none of us dares to guess right now. One thing is certain: it will be really exciting to receive and read them. I wish I had time to tell you more about the award and the process of creating it, but I'll have to leave it for another post. And tomorrow, I'll be interviewed by Radio Okapi about this award!

President Obama's speech in Ghana

I am so proud of my president. I think a lot of people here in Kinshasa tuned in. I hope they were encouraged in their hopes and strengthened in their virtues, by the simple and straighforward truths spoken by President Obama. It's not that he says there's no blame, there's enough of it to go round, that's for sure. It's that he simply says, let's do our best starting right now from where we are, and the U.S. is here to help. Some of my favorite lines: "Africa's future is up to Africans." "Just as it is important to emerge from the control of other nations, it is even more important to build one's own nation." "it will not be giants like Nkruma and Kenyatta who will determine Africa's future, instead, it will be you..." "development depends on good governance... that is a responsibility that can only be met by Africans" "...governments that respect the will of their own people, that govern by consent and not coercion are more prosperous, they are more stable and more successful than governments that do not." "No country is going to create wealth if its leaders exploit the economy to enrich themselves..." "That is not democracy, that is tyranny, even if occasionally you sprinkle an election in it." "Strong Parliament, honest police force, independent judges, an independent press, a strong private sector, a civil society: those are the things that give life to democracy." "[The U.S. will help with] ... concrete solutions to corruption..." "Countries thrive when they invest in their people and in their infrastructure." "Aid is not an end in itself." "Wealthy nations must open their doors to goods and services from other countries." "We will invest in public health systems." "We must stand up to inhumanity in our midst." "It is the death sentence of a society to force children to kill in war. It is the ultimate mark of criminality and cowardice to condemn women to relentless and systemic rape. We must bear witness to the value of every child in Darfur and the dignity of every woman in the Congo." "I am particularly speaking to the young people all over Africa... The world will be what you make of it... You can make change from the bottom up. Yes, you can!"

Postcard from Bukavu, part 3: Marie Jeanne's Peace Village

In this letter, Marie Jeanne describes the effects of the war on the women in the group: Here in our country, rape is an odious act. A rape victim feels humiliated and so does her entire family. That's why men, unable to stand this shame, often leave, go far away from the family and become strangers. Meanwhile, the woman suffers alone, trying to support the children by herself. To escape the scorn of people in her village, these women prefer to come live in the city where no one gossips about their situation. Take the case of Justine, who lives with a child born of rape, and forced by maternal love to demonstrate great affection to him. She already had four children so now with this baby they are five. We found a cabin with two rooms and a living room, that's where Justine lives with her little family. We have several such cases. We have a case of two young, inexperienced 14-year-old girls who now have babies. Each one has her story, but it takes nerves of steel to listen to them and hear what they went through during their time as hostages. We have managed to send them to school. But often they have no education, because in the villages boys are sent to school more than girls. That's why we try even harder to give the girls in our program some schooling. Justine has the "Baccalaureat." She is 27. Next year I must register her for classes in university, maybe she'll study Law so that she can defend women's rights. With our modest soap and bead-making business, and sometimes working as household helpers, we are able to help our poor women regain their dignity and personnality in spite of their suffering. We enable them. Sister Georgette lives 2000 km away from our town. But she comes to Bukavu from time to time, she helps sell our products and gives us advice. Your contribution: 1. Prayer, 2. Your advice, 3. See if it is possible to find people willing to sponsor us, especially these young girls. 4. If possible, send us your postal address so we can send you the cards to sell. If you have alternatives you may also suggest them. You ask what my projects are for the future. My husband had found my cardmaking really good, so we had a plan, inspired by a Rwandan brother, to create a Peace Village where every woman will be accepted and welcomed, with their children born of rape and rejected by society, without regard to tribe or race (there are little ones of mixed race here, fathered by U.N. peacekeepers, who are also orphans). About my school: I have 500 students, boys and girls, rich and poor. The rich ones help me send the poor ones to school for free. They live side by side as brothers. I have limited means, so I only have the kindergarten and primary school. I would love to open a high school for girls, with boarding. I am now building another school because we've run out of space. In each classroom we have 40 to 50 children. About me: I have 5 biological and 3 adopted children. My oldest is 20, she is in 2nd year of medical school. The second is in first year of medical school. The third is a boy, in first year of secondary school. 4 and 5 are also boys, one is 10 and the other 8. (This letter was originally written in preparation for an interview by Sunapee, New Hampshire, high school student, Jennifer Coverdale, who interviewed Marie Jeanne in February 09 for a school project. My translation.)

Postcard from Bukavu, part 2: Protect life

Another wonderful piece of banana-leaf art made by the women of "Nikinge". EVEN IF EVIL SEEMS TO BE WINNING, GOD HAS THE LAST WORD:COURAGE. Translation of the letter in the first photo of my last post: Madame Odile, We thank you very much for selling the cards and for the support that you keep giving us. We received the clothes, and on top of that the extra money, the "300$" God bless you. We used to do hard labor in spite of ("operations" crossed out) the scars of the operations we underwent here. But for now we no longer carry sand, dirt and rubble for construction. Our load has been lightened by the work we do now. We are less tired and our health improves. God bless you. We the mamans of Bukavu. Our treasurer will give you a report. In the name of all the mamans, Marie-Jeanne Busingizi When she thanks me for selling the cards, she's referring to cards I sold for them at a bazaar last December(some of you dear readers got them at Christmas). The back of that letter has the report, written by Sr. Georgette: The $300 were used as follows: $200: in the cashbox of the "Nikinge" group of raped women, for: (1) capital for the soap supplies whose after-sale profits are used by each, i.e. self-help income. (2) capital for the materials for making the cards, bead crafts and clothes for the same self-help. $100: Used for the immediate needs of women I met and listened to, when they came to share their stories with me. A total of 14 women were present, so vulnerable and so destroyed. Eleven were absent that day for health reasons (surgery, incontinence... hunger, etc) Thank you, Petite Maman, for being for each of these women, who are physically far away yet so close to you, sister, friend, mother, listener, solidarity, love in Christ, who is the source and meaning of any encounter. Good Feast of Pentecost ! (signed) Georgette FMM In yesterday's post I edited out all the "how great Odile is" parts, but today I'm simply giving you the whole thing, unedited, to show you kind of gratitude always displayed over the least bit of attention and assistance. I also wanted to witness to the extraordinary, selfless, deeply personal work done by thousands upon thousands of religious sisters like Soeur Georgette. It is of them, and the religious brothers and priests, that people should think when they hear the words "Catholic Church" (not of the relatively few priests who have given the Church a bad name. It is because these latter are an exception that the Church was so ill-equipped to deal with them. But that's another topic). The "Nikinge" group chose this name because, as Marie Jeanne tells me in yet another letter, "Our logo shows a woman with a child on her back and a hoe in her hands, and the word NIKINGE, which means 'Protect me', that is, protect women. Women give life and nourish it, so it's in everyone's interest to protect them." Amen. Protect life.

Postcard from Bukavu

We, the raped women...

Got a call two weeks ago from Sr. Georgette FMM (see Oct. 19, Nov. 27, and Dec 5, 2007 posts). She was going to the FMM mission in Bukavu and wanted to fill her suitcases with used clothing for the women under their care. The Embassy CLO, Megan Bard, helped me spread the word and two days later I delivered several boxes and bags. On an impulse I also gave Sr. Georgette the cash I had on hand, $300, for whatever needs she might find there. It's not every day one gets a chance to send hard cash to one of the world's most wretched ongoing humanitarian disasters. Bukavu is a town on the shore of Lake Kivu on the eastern border of Congo. Like its ill-fated sister, Goma, its recent history is bloody, and the violence continues. Google-news it for yourself. The DRC's own military are primary perpetrators, along with Rwandan Hutus still afraid to return to their country after the 1994 genocide, Rwandan and Congolese Tutsis who chased them into Congo, etc. The situation is extremely complex, and there are no good guys. But the genocide goes on in the Kivus. Not at the speed of the Rwanda genocide, but just as ferociously, and the numbers have now added up, over the fifteen years, to five million or more. But it remains unknown to most Westerners. Why? A U.N. human rights expert recently stated that "journalists who report on rights abuses in particular have been 'killed, threatened, tortured or arrested,' if they address issues such as sexual violence, impunity for crimes and the illegal exploitation of natural resources." (AFP) But back to Sr. Georgette: She spent 10 days there, counseling women. The photos she showed me were of a fabulously beautiful region. Green hills, volcanoes, still blue lakes, rushing rivers. And tragic human scenes: women and girls (she saw one 5 years old) raped, mutilated, and infected with HIV. And pregnant. But I'll let them speak for themselves. The first photo above is just the first page of a five-page letter they wrote to me to thank me for the capital injection into their little mutual aid association. $200 went to buy supplies and materials for the soap-making and card-making operations. $100 was distributed by Sr. Georgette to fourteen of the women for their most urgent needs. In DC, $100 wouldn't buy 14 women breakfast, but for these women it was manna from heaven. The woman in the photo is one of the 14 whose horrific stories Sr. Georgette listened to. But let me give it to you straight from their letter (my translation and editing): "We, the raped women, war-wounded and handicapped, we come to you through Maman Georgette, missionary Sister, to thank you for having thought of us... It's a great comfort to know that women from elsewhere think of us... We are very many, thousands of women raped and massacred. But the small group she helps is coming out of their disastrous situation little by little... We are happy today to see Sr. Georgette who listens to us one at a time, counsels us and encourages us to go on. We who have escaped our tormentors (Rwandan rebels and others) . This war looks like it's a war against women. [...] [something in Swahili] You can be our mouthpiece, our feet to take us where we cannot go. We send you. Go tell our sisters and brothers of our immense suffering [something in Swahili]. Let them call out loudly for our cause. In the east of Congo, behind the mountains, in the heart of the forest, women and children scream for help. They are killed, they are raped. They are mutilated with stones and axes. Firearms and sticks are used to rape us. There, behind the hills, life is destroyed. We are so far, no one can hear us. We die of our wounds, of illness, of exposure. Scream for us so that the war will end. We, the kidnapped who have escaped, we have left our sisters over there, and we know what they continue to suffer. There are 12-year-old girls, mothers... There are those who cannot continue to do hard labor any more; sometimes they are buried alive. We told Sr. Georgette everything, she'll tell you everything. We are comforted by your support. We are still strong, despite our handicaps caused by injuries. We will work. We will regain our dignity through work. When we work, we ourselves have noticed, we forget our worries for a while, because we're busy. Especially when we earn something for it. We start thinking less about our past in the forest with our persecutors." "In the morning we make bracelets, we learn to sew, we make cards and rosaries. In the afternoon, we sell the soaps Maman Marie-Jeanne lends us. That way we have a little food for our children. We hope to learn to do more, make progress. "LIVE" again! That's why we say to all men and women: "Nikinge, protect me." They sent me 17 of these exquisite cards, each hand-decorated with tiny slivers of dried banana leaves. Scanned some for you:

Hey, more next time. I've run out of time.

Camp Luka

That's the name of a very poor, densely populated part of town. It's not very far from Gombe, the downtown and residential section of Kinshasa where I live - by the way, Kinshasa is a both a city and a province; Kinshasa-the-city is divided into "communes", and each one has its own Burgermeister (mayor). Kinshasa-the-province is the smallest of all Congolese provinces and includes a sparsely populated rural area around this sprawling city of 8 million. To the east it is the Plateau des Batekes, which was a desert in geological ages past, which explains why it the subsoil is sand for hundreds of meters down.

But back to Camp Luka. One of my last posts was about the "Black & White" Dinner-Dance organized by the International Women's Club to raise funds for two charities: the "Padre Guido" homes for street children, and the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary nutrition center at Camp Luka. Both of the donations were earmarked for food. I don't know about you, but I, personally, LOVE food, can't go without it for a day, and I think everyone should have plenty of healthy and delicious food every day. Food has suddenly become hard to buy for many Kinshasa organizations because the World Food Program is dealing with even greater needs in eastern DRC, the Sudan, Chad, etc.

So today, a group of the Women went to deliver the $$$ to the Sisters.

Here's a few pictures of the neighborhood. Off the paved road, onto a narrow, mucky mockery of a road - more like a river of mud. I took this shot by sticking my arm out the window and straight up (this technique requires repeated shooting before an acceptable photo is obtained - never would have done it using film).

I also took a video of this brain-churning, gut-chucking ride in the wet clay (same camera). But all efforts at uploading it have failed.

In the neighborhood of the nutrition center, like most of Kinshasa, poverty is the norm.

Here's an old man carrying a 25 kilo (55 lbs) bag of flour on his head. This is the most common method for the transportation of goods (the second most common is the "pousse-pousse", a 2-wheeled cart that is pushed by manpower. I'll try to get photos for another post).

Here's a child sitting by a small retail stand. Does she go to school? Probably not. More than half the children her age don't. And many of those who do still can't read and write when they graduate. Teachers are seldom paid their paltry salaries ($30/month) and must work without materials, not even chalk, not a single book. See the website http://www.enclasse.org/ about a project done by my friend Sylvia and other Dutch women to rehabilitate primary schools (including a video narrated in the French and English versions by yours truly).

Finally, we arrive at the center.

Once a trimester, all the retirees in the neighborhood assemble to receive their Social Security pensions. Those are the people sitting on the blue plastic chairs under the tree. This is the preferred method for distributing the money, which is so little it isn't worth going to pick it up at the Social Security Office downtown. In the foreground, children who are collecting water for their families. They'll carry the 20- or 30-liter containers home on their heads (44 to 66 lbs!).

IWC members meet the Sisters. Effie, a speech therapist who doesn't speak French, finds that she and Sister Monique, who teaches deaf children and doesn't speak English, do have a language in common: sign language!

Here is the "outpatient" part of the nutrition center. Fifty to seventy children come in from the neighborhood to get a meal every day. Some of the mothers are fed too, especially if they're pregnant. When you realize the importance of nutrition for brain development, you understand this priority status.

This is one of the outpatients.

In the inpatient section, the children are fed a liquid diet and kept for several weeks until their health is restored. No photos of those, but they're etched indelibly in my inner eye. Just look at this blow-up of this little outpatient and you'll understand. The inpatients don't have the strength to sit up, and their arms are even skinnier.

The FMM center at Camp Luka also has a clinic and a maternity ward. This is the ward for the new mothers and their babies.

On the way back, we pass children coming home from school, as can be seen by the uniforms they wear. This girl even owns a pencil! (Note: Every part of Kinshasa is littered with plastic grocery bags and other non-biodegradable stuff. There is no trash pickup, so it doesn't do people much good to put their trash aside. They just toss it anywhere. )

How to grow rice for a better harvest

(This is the translation of a letter sent by my uncle, Fr. Christian Soudée SJ, a Jesuit priest who has lived in Madagascar for decades, about the work of one of his confrères.) Fr. Henri de Laulanié SJ, an agronomist who has worked in Madagascar for many years , realized one day that rice that had been accidentally transplanted a month earlier than normal gave a much better yield than the rice transplanted after two months, as is the custom. This inspired him to study more closely the timing of rice transplanting. Normally, farmers sow the rice in a small space, and densely, so that the rice grains touch each other. When the seedlings develop, they grow vertically, with very thin stems. Each plant has only one stem, because there is no room between plants so they cannot branch out. Similarly, the roots dig down vertically to search for sustenance instead of branching out in bunches. At transplanting time, two or three months later, people take a handful of plants and tear them out roughly. The plants are damaged, and the bottom part of the roots with all the radicles (secondary roots) are left behind . After transplanting, the plants turn yellow, which shows they are withering for lack of nourishment. They have to reconstitute their root system, which can take three weeks or more, after which growth can begin again. Since each plant only has one stem, people plant them very close together, to fill the rice paddy. Traditionally, the women who do the transplanting put 3, 4, 5, or 6 seedlings together! Which means they need a lot of seedlings. The New Technique Fr. de Laulanié started to experiment, transplanting the rice after one month, 15 days, 10 days, and even 8 days, sowing the grain much more sparsely, and sowing in mud instead of water. These experiments took several years, and yields were compared. He also changed the way seedlings well pulled up, so that roots would not be damaged. He concluded that the earlier the transplanting, the better the yield. The best time was 8 to 13 days after sowing. This meant the tiny plants must be picked up carefully with a shovel, taking some of the dirt with them. Thus the roots are not damaged, and the seedling continues to grow without a break. This shortens the growing season by three weeks or more. Since the seedlings are started far apart in the nursery plot, they are easy to transplant one at a time. They are also planted at a certain distance from one another. This allows the plant to branch out, meaning that new stems grow at the base of each leaf, and a single plant can give 10, 20, 30 or even 50 stems, and that many ears. Meanwhile, the roots grow in thick clusters close to the surface, where they get more nitrogen and oxygen than they would deeper down. And because growth has been continuous, the ears are much fuller. Yields are multiplied by 10, 20 and even more. The main problem with this method is that water must be carefully controlled at transplanting time, so as not to drown the tiny seedling. It must be transplanted in mud, and water must be allowed in gradually as the plant grows. Great Hope for Madagascar The high plateaux between Tananarive and Fianarantsoa is arguably overpopulated and many young people cannot stay to work on the family farm. They are forced to migrate and either move to the city, where work is hard to find, or migrate to the less densely populated western regions. Using Fr. Laulanié's rice-growing method should help feed more people on the high plateaux and allow more of the young people to stay on their ancestral lands.

IWC Black & White Dinner-Dance

The International Women's Club, after weeks of preparation of ever-increasing intensitey, hosted its main annual fundraising event on Saturday. The Virunga Hall of the Memling Hotel saw us carrying supplies, bringing in roses, climbing ladders, hanging drapes, arranging centerpieces, counting masks, threading sequins, making lamps, applying lace, planning seating, discussing costs, folding programs, rolling up napkins, numbering tables, arguing with hotel management, counting settings, sorting raffle prizes, admiring, discussing, sharing, laughing, worrying, giving up, plodding on, communicating and miscommunicating.

It was a great success.

Proceeds go to feed very hungry children in Kinshasa. Part to a Franciscan Missionaries of Mary nutrition center, where moderately and severely malnourished children are given a new lease on life, and part to Padre Guido's O.S.E.P.E.R, where hundreds of street children find safety, food, medical care, and something sorely lacking in their lives: affection and hope.

Ticket sales, wine sales, a raffle... all brought in much-needed cash in $10's, $20's and $100's. And corporate and private sponsors donated by $1000's, we didn't thank them enough. What's amazing is how far each one of those dollars goes here. A child can eat decently for under $1 a day. School fees at $30 a year don't seem like much but it's more than most parents make in month here.

It is sometimes argued that aid to poor countries is counterproductive: "enabling" corruption and apathy. Perhaps, but in the meantime, tomorrow's citizens aren't getting enough nutrition for brain development. You won't be able to fix that later.

Solar potatoes!

Sophie gave me a Solar Cooker for my birthday. It consists of a dark metal pot and lid, a folding cardboard contraption lined with foil on one side, and a few other items - a plastic baking bag, two clothespins. Here it is on our front lawn on Saturday, NOT cooking potatoes, because Saturday's kind of partly cloudy was just too cloudy. Those potatoes had to finish cooking on the stove even after 6 hours of partly sunny. We placed it on a large plastic bag because the grass was wet. That may be a clue: if your grass is wet, it just ain't sunny enough for Solar cooking. Picture 3 gives you a vague idea of the glare you get if you stand in the wrong place. It is completely blinding. And picture 4 shows the potatoes we cooked on Sunday, a very Sunny day indeed. In less than three hours, the potatoes were done to perfection!

Recipe: Partly peel 1 lb potatoes as desired. Cut into thick slices. Place in pot. Toss with olive oil, rosemary, salt and pepper. Cover. Place the pot into the bag, loosely twist the top of the bag and tuck it under the pot, and place the pot in the reflective thingy. Leave alone for 3 hours but check regularly to make sure some palm tree's shade hasn't intruded on your energy source. Open carefully, steam comes out! Mm, mm, mm!