Congo Line

Letter from Zawadi

2010-08-14T15:40:00.003+01:00

Ok, so it's been a shameful long time since I blogged. I don't really have an excuse. I was involved in a lot of things and didn't report to you. Now I'm getting ready to leave Kinshasa so I'll try, in my emptied house, to summarize some of the large and small events of the past months. What shakes me out of my inertia, what prompts me to blog again, once more, is a letter from Zawadi, which I found at the bottom of a new package of letters and other crafts received from Nikinge. I have no time to sell them here, so they've already been packed up with our belongings to be shipped to our new assignment, Ottawa. I asked Jean Aime, my assistant, to make an inventory, a month ago when I received the package, but it wasn't until we emptied the box for the pack-out that I found Zawadi's letter.

Here's what it says:

Name: Zawadi

Address: Bukavu

First of all, I say hello. May my greetings arrive personally to you, to Sr. Georgette, without forgetting my dearest Charlotte. After these greetings, I would like to inform you that I am very happy because of all that you are doing for me. I didn't know if I would ever be a student again! But thanks to you I can be called a student again and I have achieved a 79% grade. I was 1st of my class of 40 students. The school gave me a free uniform as a reward.

May God bless you, all of you who believe in my future.

I love you and I will love you forever, and ever and forever.

It's Zawadi.

Innocents get the brunt of the blame, again.

2009-12-28T08:17:00.003+01:00

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

Update from Bukavu

2009-12-18T19:53:00.007+01:00

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!

2009-09-25T12:01:00.008+01:00

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

2009-08-05T23:24:00.022+01:00

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

2009-07-30T08:54:00.002+01:00

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

2009-07-13T20:00:00.012+01:00

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

2009-07-11T23:34:00.010+01:00

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

2009-06-07T16:22:00.007+01:00

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

2009-06-06T09:45:00.009+01:00

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

2009-06-05T11:27:00.030+01:00

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

2009-05-13T22:48:00.023+01:00

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

2009-05-01T22:48:00.003+01:00

(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

2009-03-30T13:55:00.005+01:00

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!

2009-03-23T21:58:00.011+01:00

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!

Stand Proud

2008-10-18T09:49:00.017+01:00

"Stand Proud" is the English name of a non-governmental organization created in Kinshasa by an American USAID Officer, Jay Nash, and run by a British Embassy spouse, Lisa Seymour. Its mission is to rehabilitate children with lower limb handicaps: some are victims of polio, some of quinine shots to treat malaria (see Uganda: Post-Injection Paralysis - The New Polio at http://allafrica.com/stories/200712100090.html).

About 130 children of all ages live at the Stand Proud home, get surgery and rehab, and braces that the older children have learned to make from scrap materials bought at the local markets. Their workshop is around the corner. To make a brace, an outline of the leg is drawn on sheets of used paper taped together - just like you drew an outline of your hand in kindergarten. Then the braces are made to measure using steel rods and leather, with a locking hinge at the knee so the child can sit down as needed - this is enables them to use public transportation (tighly packed minivans).

When we visited the workshop, they had run out of money for materials, so no work was going on. This is the shelf where they keep the braces they're working on.

The home has rooms for the girls and the boys, who sleep on mattresses that cover the entire surface of the bedroom floors. This is an improvement for most of the kids. They go to school nearby. They may stay at the home for months or years, depending on their condition.

This is the bathroom where children of both sexes and all ages clean themselves:

Not much privacy! By the way, this standpipe is the only source of water for the kitchen and all other uses as well. In the background there is a garden patch where the children learn to grow vegetables for their own nutrition. The toilets are much, much worse than the "bathroom." After an appeal by Lisa, the International Women's Club scraped the bottom of their piggybank and funded the design and construction of real showers and toilets, two toilets and one shower for girls, and the same for boys, including grab bars and other special conveniences for handicapped kids. This will make a tremendous difference in everyone's health and comfort. This is the corner of the yard where the new bathrooms will be built: This structure will be removed, of course. Just around the corner to the right is the laundry area, with the kitchen all the way in the back, in another corner that has recently been roofed, for $200, so that cooking can happen even if it rains. Here is a closeup of the "kitchen":

All Aboard!

2008-08-23T14:58:00.002+01:00

This is what public transportation becomes when deregulation is taken to its logical extreme.

More bird songs

2008-07-19T16:12:00.001+01:00

Another, longer, recording is at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G4MOR8X7GZU Enjoy!

Songbird

2008-06-09T03:50:00.008+01:00

I'm taking advantage of a trip to the U.S. (and access to high-speed Internet) to upload videos of a bird that sings in our garden in Kinshas. He has a variety of melodies that are very musical!

I recorded this on my little digital camera one night. Sorry, the visual is not very interesting - it's what I see out my bedroom door at night: garden lights reflected in the pool. The interest is all in the bird's song: it has melody, rhythm, repeated phrases and variations.. amazing!

Botanical Garden of Kisantu

2008-01-15T14:46:00.000+01:00

Tammy, Robert, Alphonse, Sam in the Kisantu Botanical Garden

On Sunday, Jan 13, Sam and I went with our gardener to the Botanical Garden of Kisantu. We also took Tammy, Sam's secretary, for the ride. We wanted to find citrus trees (lemon, lime, tangerine) for the DCR garden (Deputy Chief's Residence), dwarf coconuts, finger bananas and other uncommon plants. Most of these would not give fruit in our "lifetime" but one has to think of future generations of DCM's! So we also took our gardener, Alphonse. Robert is the driver.

Kisantu is on the road to Matadi, the Atlantic port city of DRCongo. The Congo River is 2720 miles long, navigable in sections separated by three series of rapids and falls: the "Gates of Hell", a 75-mile-long canyon of impassable rapids tumbling from the East African Rift (the river is called the Lualaba here); Stanley Falls, now Boyoma Falls, 60 miles long just beyond Kisangani, and finally, Livingstone (or Tembo or N'tombo) Falls, separating Matadi at the bottom and Kinshasa at the top. So the road we were on is Kinshasa's lifeline to the world, since the railroad barely functions now. It's been renovated and is now one of the best roads in the country. Certainly the best near Kinshasa. The road heads almost straight south, peeling away from the Congo river just outside the city. We passed the "Welcome to Bas-Congo" province line (my first time out of the Kinshasa province since we got here in August!), the towns of Kasangulu and Madimba, and arrived at Kisantu in just two hours, 120 km.

I was told the gardens had been destroyed during the wars (used as a military camp), so what we found was a pleasant surprise. A small well-kept museum exhibiting different woods of the world, the Botanical and Horticultural Institute, a knowledgeable and pleasant guide, and acres of strange, beautiful and exotic plants and trees, including the mysterious famous "Tacca" - now that I know how to spell it I've found it on the web. And it's not an orchid, either... And you can buy them at Amazon.com! hmf. Look for "Bat Plant."
This is the Tacca plant at the garden, growing a flower bulb.

The garden was founded over a hundred years ago by a Jesuit Brother, Justin Gillet. He was passionnate about plants and gardens. Like Mendel he experimented with cross-breeding. He developed varieties of tomatoes, lettuce, and other edible plants that were hardy here. He isolated a type of grass that is now used for lawns throughout this region.

This is called Nile Lettuce. It cleans the water in which it lives, said our guide. Indeed, I found an article in the Journal of Environmental Management that concludes that "Pistia Stratiotes" can be used for treating urban and agricultural sewage.

Another nearly black plant.

On the way home, we took a detour to see the Kisantu Catholic Cathedral. We were stunned, because this is the most beautiful building we've seen in DRCongo, by far. Apparently the first missionaries here preferred the climate, above the malaria-infested estuary.

(See how wide an angle my little camera can take?)

The cathedral is massive, intricately and well designed, well-proportioned, truly inspiring.

It was Sunday afternoon, but we were lucky: we were allowed inside, and it was just as stunning. Fantastic texture and color all done with bricks. The bricks, we were told, came from a "briquetterie", or brick factory, in the Botanical Gardens.

After this, we also saw the "Grand Seminaire" of Kisantu which is also built of bricks, quite beautiful and well-designed. Seminarians from six dioceses come to study here. They spend at least seven years here on their long road to priesthood. They're partly self-sustaining, with a garden, well, and generator that they turn on four hours every evening for study time.

Then it was time to go home with the usual roadside scenery of rolling hills and busy towns, and overloaded trucks...

La Grace de Dieu, 2

2008-01-10T21:04:00.000+01:00

Thursday, I went back to La Grace de Dieu, with three other Foreign Service Spouses, Linda, Erika and Sonia. Erika had bags of clothes she'd brought back from her trip home, and she and Sonia had bought food in bulk; we also had five bags of groceries donated by Steve, a Foreign Service Officer, and I brought a large bag of breadfruit chips, remembering seeing a breadfruit tree over the wall of the orphanage. Our cook, André, has perfected the art of making breadfruit chips: they are completely addictive. We had received 4 huge breadfruits from the British Embassy just 2 days before.

This time I had my new camera, so you get to see pictures.

This is what you see when you step in from the street. It's already improved from my first visit, when the whole yard was strewn with large broken pieces of cement.

We arrived unannounced, despite days of dialing Sr. Victorine's number, but we were greeted warmly. I had expected to find few children there, thinking they'd be in school. But instead, I found all the children, plus a teacher. It must be less expensive to pay one teacher than to pay all the expenses of schooling three dozen children. And safer. But that means the children spend most of their 24/7 on this small compound... When I remember my childhood, going to the playground, museums, parks, etc., I just can't imagine what growing up in a place like this can do to a person.

We were treated to the usual songs and poems. I have a video but after several busts at uploading, in spite of cutting the video down to half a minute, I've given up. If there's a volunteer among my readers with DSL or cable hook-ups, I could try to email you the file, and you could upload it for me...? (assuming the email uploads...)

Sr. Victorine asked us to introduce ourselves. Erika started in Lingala: "Kombo na ngai Erika" (word for word, "name of me Erika" - "na ngai" is pronounced like "none guy" without a break). When I did the same, the teacher exclaimed, "We have an Odile too!" and a little girl ran to me and gave me a big hug. Linda announced her name in French, "Je m'appelle Linda", to great acclaim, and another little girl ran up to her. (I have this on video too, with the bongo drum beating in the background.)

Everyone cheered again when Sonia also found a namesake, then Erika, who hadn't had as much luck with her name, more than made up for it by pulling several bright green tennis balls from her bag, and throwing them to the kids.

While the happy children played and fought over the balls, I told Sr. Victorine about the Embassy project to renovate their toilets. She was elated. "Dieu vous bénisse!" (God bless you!).

For more about the project, please go to http://congoorphans.pledgepage.org/. This is a webpage I've created hoping to be able to raise funds for this effort. There are two consecutive national holidays next Wednesday and Thursday, and 14 embassy employees including masons, plumbers, electricians, etc have volunteered to spend that time completely overhauling the toilet, shower and septic tank. This is very generous of them, who certainly have their own homes and families to take care of.

...ALL I HAVE TO DO IS RAISE TWO OR THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS BY WEDNESDAY! <:o

This is the latrine (hope this photo doesn't violate blogspot rules about decency. In fact, it IS indecent that children have to live in such conditions. But they're still much better off here in this orphanage than on the street. This is what happens to countries after decades of plunder, pillaging, and war. Anyone tempted by the "less government" rhetoric I hear from some American politicians, please come for a visit. I'll give you a personal tour.)

Then we went to visit the babies, who live in "girls' dorm", door all the way to the left in the first picture. I was pleased to see that new bunks with mattresses AND SHEETS had been added in this room.

The inner rooms look much the same as before: as dark as caves, no mattresses on some of the beds, no linens, no pillows, no pictures on the walls...

A nice-looking young woman was taking care of the babies. The babies are both absolutely beautiful.

This is one of the two deaf sisters. They go to a school for the deaf, but it's far from the orphanage, and Thursday (maybe most days?), they didn't have the bus money. They proudly wrote their name for me, but when I wrote back in French, "Do you like reading?" thinking I could give them some of the books that illuminated my own childhood, it drew blank stares. Either they can't read, or don't know French. They both have striking, very light blue eyes.

Sr. Victorine gave the breadfruit chips out to the children by handfuls, to everyone's delight. She asked me what they were. MY CUE!

If you've read my previous posts, you know it's my personal mission to get all of Congo to love breadfruit as much as I do.

By then I had noted that there isn't just one, but there are FOUR breadfruit trees within sight of the orphanage. I pointed to them. "Momboya?" she said. Then her face lit up. Could I show her how to make momboya chips? I could see the small-business wheels spinning in her head. Remember, we had "discovered" La Grace de Dieu when she had submitted an application for Ambassador's Special Self-Helf funds, for seed money for a fish-salting business, with which she wanted to produce income for the orphanage.

"You bet!" I said. She gave me a high-five.

Please go to my snapfish album at the link below for more pictures.

http://www2.snapfish.com/share/p=557111200074894166/l=342532367/g=108896982/otsc=SYE/otsi=SALB

and don't forget to check out the Congo Orphans Pledgepage:

http://CongoOrphans.Pledgepage.org

Village Chief

2008-01-09T20:46:00.000+01:00

January 3, 2008

The Sisters needed to talk to the village chief who sold them their 48 hectares at Menkao, so they invited me to come along. The delegation was Sr. Celestine, the Provincial Superior, Sr. Anita, the Superior of the Gombe house, Sr. Georgette, in charge of development projects, and Sr. Jacinthe, treasurer. Plus the driver, "Papa Nestor." He's been with them for many years, and he's the one who told them about the spring of pure, clear, POTABLE water that gushes out of the hillside a few kilometers from their land.

Our mission: to get the Chief to allow the sisters access to that water.

We covered the 100 km to Menkao in no time, because the Sisters have a 4-W drive (wing) mostly powered by angels (they say, the embassy driver was slow). We picked up one of the Chief's sons in one village, then drove some more, and picked up another son in another village. Then we angled off the paved road and after a few more bone-rattling, neck-cricking kilometers, we reached the End of the Road: the chief's house.

Houses. One for him, and one for each of his five wives.

Picture: the chief's children and grandchildren. Chief's house on the right. No running water or electricity. Drums and a half-length of bamboo collect water from the tin roof.

The chief wasn't there yet, so we waited and talked with the sons. One of them had an eye that closed all the time, and wore only one flip-flop, because his other foot was covered with sores. Diabetic? He was also wearing layers of clothes, a sweatshirt over a long sleeved shirt, and a cowboy hat. The other looked healthier and dressed more elegantly. At Georgette's question of how many villages he was chief of (each son managed part of the kingdom), he raised his eyes and counted out loud, "One, two, three...."... up to 43 houses. "About 300 families," he answered.

Finally, the chief arrived, walking up the path, and greeted us briefly without stopping or slowing down, heading straight for his house. He has twinkly eyes and smooth cheeks. We were allowed in the house. It was too dark to see at first, then we sat in the musty armchairs.

Since the conversation was in Lingala, I can only relate what Sr. Celestine whisper-interpreted to me. The only word of French the chief spoke was "reconnaissance" but I could tell it wasn't a feeling he himself was presently glowing with. No, according to Sr. Celestine, he was scolding the sisters, who "come and go like military, first I'm dealing with someone, then it's someone else," for their lack of gratitude. The previous sister, he assured them, came to see him all the time, and showed proper gratitued by bringing gifts. He had sold them good land. Why were they not grateful? And where were they when he was ill and needed to go to Kinshasa?

The conversation lasted well over an hour. Very formal, all deferring to the chief. The sons spoke, the sisters spoke. No one spoke when the chief was speaking, so he could go on and on for quite a while. No emotions on any of the faces, including the sons'. Only the chief, with his twinkly eyes. He smiled all the time, even when he was scolding. Why shouldn't he? He was so obviously in control here.

The chief's smile turned even brighter when they explained their project, which includes a school for the village children, a small pharmacy, agricultural projects. Development! His grandson had learned about it when he went away to go to school. His grandson is a schoolteacher now. Studied history.

Picture: Inside the chief's hut. Sr. Celestine and the chief's grandson and daughter (different wives). Note: it was much darker than the photo indicates.

Yes, development is good, but respect comes first. Gratitude. But the chief likes the sisters, and he knows the spring they are talking about. It is his own personal spring. He is a good chief to his people. He will let the sisters use this spring.

After the sisters had promised repeatedly to show plenty of gratitude (in cash), the meeting was over. I asked if I might take a few photos, and the chief said he must first change clothes. So we waited while he disappeared in the adjoining room, and reappeared with a robe, headdress and scepter. We went outside to take the photos.

Picture: the chief in front of his front door.

After the photo session, I took a few pictures of some of the wives and children. He only has 18 children.

In conclusion, on the way back (after we'd dropped the sons off in their respective villages), the sisters commented that not only we'd been spared the usual three hours of drumming and dancing in masks and feathers, we hadn't even been offered a glass of water! The chief must have been really mad at the sister's lack of gratitude. But in the end, he let them have the spring water, so it was a good day's work.

My own conclusion: no need to look any farther for an explanation of why "Africa" (gross generalization about to happen here!) hasn't made more progress. The village chiefs still "own" the land after selling it, and they'll skim any profit anyone makes right off the top. Where does the money go? Not for roads, wells, or electricity. Or schools. The money goes to More Wives for the Chief.

Sorry, not feeling very Politically Correct after this trip.

I love my new camera

2007-12-27T17:11:00.001+01:00

It has a wider angle than my previous camera. It zooms. It has point-and-shoot image stabilization. It takes videos. It takes macros (close-ups). It's tiny. It's rechargeable (no batteries to buy/throw away). It took me days of research to decide on. If you ask me, and you eat all your veggies, I'll let you know which of the hundreds of models it is. It's perfect.

I woke up in the middle of the night, on Saturday morning, realizing that I needed to charge the battery before morning. We had a big day planned. We were going out in the country again! This time, we were going with one of the Marines, Sgt Aaron Beck, who's in charge of the missionwide "Toys for Tots" program. But mostly, we were going with the Sisters (Franciscan Missionaries of Mary) because I'd met someone that had something very interesting to show them, out on the Bateke Plateau, in the same area as their land with the non-functioning well (see The Sisters and the Well): a model/school farm, already in operation, teaching Kinshasa street boys how to live and work in the country. Just what the Sisters want to do with street girls. Immediately we had set up the visit, and since it was almost Christmas, it could be combined with the Toys for Tots program.

We had stocked up on food for the tots, too. Almost accidentally! Here's how it happened. A grocery store in Kinshasa circulated an ad offering gift packages of food for employers to buy for their employees. I asked my cook and two housecleaners if the prices were interesting, and not too surprisingly, they said the next to largest box was the best value for the money. So I put in an order. I also thought Sam's two drivers should be included, and the gardner, and the guards. We found out there are five guards. I put in the order for three large packages, each with a huge, 25 kg bag of rice, 10 kg bag of cornmeal, and large reusable grocery bag filled with cans, bags and bottles: oil, sugar, tomato paste, sardines, etc; and five smaller packages, including the bag of rice and some of the cans. PLUS, frozen chickens for everyone.

Well, when all this food arrived at my house, it became a problem for everyone: how to get it home? So I offered to buy it back from them all, and they were happy with the deal. And I was very happy, because grocery shopping is a major hassle here, and all this well-packaged food was ready to go to the orphanages: La Grace de Dieu, Becky's home for street boys and another orphanage in Masina, the FMM's orphanage in Kintambo, and now, Father Guido's "Boys Town". He doesn't call it that, but I have a hard time with African names.

I had met Father Guido at an International Women's Club meeting. He is an Italian priest, who was sent here by his order, alone, 13 years ago, to see what he could do, and what he found most appalling was the condition of the street children. He had very little funds, but he more than makes it up in energy and contagious enthusiasm. He now has brought three African priests into his order, mobilized funding and volunteers from all parts, mostly his Italian connections, and he has built a center for street children in Kinshasa. And 5 years ago, he bought land on a lake (or large pond) on the Bateke plateau, and built dorms, farm buildings, a meeting hall, a schoolhouse, a solar powerhouse, water tanks, all as if there hadn't been a civil war going on.

So that's how we spent our Saturday. The road was long and painful, but we were in good company. The dirt road part was just as bad as going to the Sisters' place at Menkao. But when we arrived there, what a difference! A tree-shaded avenue leads to a campus with many buildings, connected by paved paths lined with flowers and bushes. Cows graze in a well-enclosed pasture, next to the henhouse and pigsty. Every kind of fruit tree including, yes, a small breadfruit tree, a trellis heavy with passionfruit, vegetable plots, pineapples, and, he said, they've put fish in the new artificial lake. Potable water comes from a spring 500 meters away. That's a lot of plumbing, so we asked who had done the work. We were surprised to find out that it was the same company that had dug the well and built the installations at Menkao. Padre Guido recommended getting back in touch with them, that it was likely they'd fix it. Except, being nearly the only competent people in Kinshasa, they're overwhelmed with work.

You can see my photos of this trip on snapfish. Internet connection is bad, so bad that I lost my first draft of this post trying to upload a video.

P.S. Actually, it wasn't lost. So, if you want to read a different version of the same story, look at the post below, "Padre Guido." Also, it has the snapfish link to the photo album.

Padre Guido

2007-12-27T07:41:00.000+01:00

Saturday, December 22, a group of us took a trip to the country: Sgt Aaron Beck, the MSG (Marine Security Guard) in charge of the Toys for Tots program, Sisters Anita and Georgette, Sam and Odile, and Roger, the driver. The back of the vehicle was loaded with bags of rice, cornmeal, beans and other not-too-perishable items, and a big box of toys. First, we went to pick up Padre Guido at his center in Masina, where he showed us the new buildings for his streetboys and other people thrown into misery by all that has happened here. Then we got directions to the place out in the country where he has nearly 200 hectares that he's turning into a farming training center for those boys who want to get out of the city and into farming.

The drive was very long, but familiar: Padre Guido's place is past Menkao, past the turnoff for the sisters' land, and down its own, long, rutted, bone-breaking, joint-jarring path. But when you get there! wow! In less than six years (and they were not peaceful years here), Padre Guido has created a "Paradiso", as his Italian volunteer, Angelo, called it. A long avenue shaded by tall trees on both sides leads to a group of buildings, connected by flowered paths, interspersed with orchards, plots of pineapples, vegetables, grazing land for cows. A lake mirrors the white sky in the background.

The cute round huts are for guests. Any takers?

I had met Padre Guido at the Italian Ambassador's residence eight days before, where the International Women's Club was treated to lunch and the priviledge to meet and hear Padre Guido. I was quickly recruited for interpreting for the non-French-speaking ladies of the club. Padre Guido, originally from southern Italy, moved with his family to Milano in his teens, where the jobs were. His father missed the country life, though, so the family soon acquired a small farm in the countryside, where Guido learned farming and construction. He has the contagious explosive energy and joie de vivre of southern Italians. It's hard not to like him instantly.

What caught my attention, of course, was when he mentioned a place in the country for "reinsertion" of street boys into rural life. I just had to go see it, the Sisters had to go see it, and bringing gifts was of the season. We made it a plan.

I've uploaded pictures on snapfish, where you can see a lot more of them. It took hours to upload them with the weak connection we have here. Here's one with us posing on the grounds of the farm/school.

We toured the grounds. When Guido first came here, with two educators, an agronomer and ten boys, they lived in tents. Immediately, they cleared a patch of land for cassava, the staple food here. Then, they put up the first building, not far from the lake. Next to it is a water tank. The water comes from a spring half a km away, on a farm run by Italian nuns. It's potable. Water from the lake is used only for washing clothes, floors, etc, irrigation and for the animals. Quite a plumbing project!

More pictures on Snapfish:
If the link below does not work, copy and paste the link below into your browser
http://www2.snapfish.com/share/p=649271198746418764/l=341911133/g=108896982/otsc=SYE/otsi=SALB

TAKA Black Orchid

2007-12-14T16:01:00.000+01:00

I had planned for Tchako to be the hit of the party, but TAKA was!

All the guests stopped in the driveway to view this marvel and take its portrait.

"Taka" is the name my gardener, Alphonse, gave for this monstrous beauty.

If it looks huge, it's not a camera trick. This beast stands face to face with me, looking like it's ready to Pounce! The flower is larger than my wide-open hand, the "whiskers" are over a foot long.

The "eyes" at the top of the "antennas" look at me fiercely. Dreadful!

Here's a full standing portrait of Her Majesty.

Here's a close-up. I tried to put the white wall in the background so you could see it better. Does it send shivers up your spine?

Funding good works

2007-12-11T22:05:00.000+01:00

I'm working on my security clearance application. Borrrring! But everything else I'm doing is not so boring. Yesterday, Sr. Georgette asked me to come help her. She's in charge of relations with donors and international organizations for her province (Franciscans, like other orders, have their own map of the world). We looked at various applications she's made for project funding. Basically, the traditional funding, which came from the Franciscan communities in Europe, has dried up. The European sisters are now in retirement homes - an expense instead of a source of income. So the FMM's have to turn to governments and NGO's for funding, but they don't know how to do that. All they had to do in the past was write a letter to their mother house in Rome, describing ghastly conditions here and saying, send us $50K to start building a clinic. Governments and NGO's are much more demanding: they want blueprints, pro-forma invoices, spreadsheets and timetables (understandably so, of course). Any advice is most welcome!

Flat Tire

2007-12-11T21:46:00.000+01:00

Sunday, Sam and I spent all morning and half of the afternoon at a 50th anniversary celebration of the Alumnae of schools run by the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary. The open-air mass started late due to heavy rains all night, and lasted a long, long, loooong time. When the choir finished the 10th verse of the Hosanna, in Lingala, and then proceeded to start all over again from the beginning, I have to admit that instead of praising God I had to ask Him to forgive me for barely standing it... It was also getting uncomfortably hot. We finally got away around 3 p.m., leaving the celebrations, which looked like they would continue late into the night. But before we could get far, we had a flat. A complete blow-out, to-the-rim flat, about a mile from home. Luckily, there was a "quado" (kwado?) only a block away. A quado is a sidewalk tire specialist. You know where they are by the stack of three or four tires on the sidewalk. The quado himself is in the shade of the nearest tree, waiting for clients like us, chatting or playing dominoes with other street service providers of all kinds. We flapflopped up to where he was, and let him put the spare on for us. He spoke surprisingly good French, and did a good, quick job. He charged us 1500 FC, which is three dollars. Later, we returned to pick up the blown-out tire, which he had patched. Cost: $10. It's been two days, and it's still holding up. But I'm driving extra-carefully.

Gouter-Partage and other stuff going on

2007-12-05T08:09:00.000+01:00

Our Gouter-Partage was a success. In all, 112 tickets were sold, more than planned, and some of the goods for sale disappeared really fast.

Picture: French Ambassador, his wife, Sr. Georgette, and Y.T.

I printed about 80 flyers with breadfruit recipes and gave them out. We served breadfruit chips with hummus and guacamole, and coconut water and watermelon juice to drink. It was crowded, but people enjoyed it. The sisters had baked dozens of cakes for the bake sale, and sown lots of bags and dresses. They sold eggs, orange wine (made from fermented orange juice), avocadoes and breadfruit.

Picture: Breadfruit, avocadoes, coconuts and eggs (chicken and quail) for sale.

Sr. Cecilia, who is Japanese, made sushi with a friend from the Embassy of Japan. Sr. Zofia, who is Polish, made pastries.

Sam played, the orphans sang (much better than at any of the rehearsals).

Picture: Sam watches as Sr. Seraphine (from India) leads the children in an a capella song.

We showed slides of the village with the water problem. (Scroll down to see the pictures on the post "The Sisters and the Well"- I finally got them uploaded.)

Lessons learned: have the vending period first - that's where everyone rushed when they arrived. Also, forget the sit-down part, because the tables took too much room, (and were a lot of work to set up!) and people love to mingle, look at the paintings on the walls, go back to the vending tables, etc. And perhaps, set up a tent in the garden for some of the sales.

This is a Nativity by one of the artists, Mulamba. The bluish area is due to the reflection of the flash, which I tried to patch up with Paint.

On Friday, a group of four or five people will bring some food and maybe clothes to La Grace de Dieu. I hope this is the first of many visits. One of the people will be a Marine from our Security Guard detachment. They have a Toys for Tots program every Christmas, and also like to do a construction project, so they'll see if this orphanage suits them for both activities... It certainly needs all the help it can get.

I've been trying to get a security clearance for the Office Management Specialist job at American Embassy Brazzaville, but someone input my SSN wrong so I haven't even left square one of a process of mythical length and complexity.

Meanwhile, I'm doing some translations for the CDC on avian flu and chicken raising in Congo. What I've learned is that in Kinshasa, Lubumbashi and Bukavu, people live with their chickens, especially the local breeds, which are "débrouillard" and "brave" but "malpoli". The chickens are kicked out of the house in the morning, fend for themselves all day, finding their own food and water, occasionally getting into fights, and are allowed in at night - any chicken not locked inside at night "belongs to the thief." Improved imported breeds are tame, passive and sweet, but need special feed . Some people have both local and imported chickens, and in this case, the local chickens are allowed to eat the imported chickens' feed, a sign of "African solidarity."

In Bukavu, people who were escaping from soldiers when the wars started in 1996 had to get rid of their chickens, because you can't hide while carrying a chicken. They're too noisy.

As I write, the war has started again in the east, after months of tense immobility on all military fronts, and intensive traveling, visits, conference calls and cable-writing on the diplomatic front. Let me know if there's any news coverage where you are.

Yesterday at the International Women's Club meeting we had two presentations: one by an Italian photographer, Angelo Turconi, who came to Kinshasa in 1968 as part of his wild-youth project of driving from Italy to Cape Town and back. In Kinshasa he was told he needed a special "mining permit" to travel to Lubumbashi, his next destination. The permit took three weeks to obtain and was good for four weeks... from the date of application! So he tried again, asking for a six-month permit this time. While he was waiting, he explored the hinterland of Kinshasa, taking exceptional photographs. Most expats living here at the time, he says, never left the city. They flitted from formal cocktail to formal ball, talking only about the next social event. He said it was something out of Kipling's India. In 1968. To make a long story short, he was captured by the beauty and friendliness of Congo (outside Kinshasa, he emphasized), for which his passion has evidently not lessened, though now he is retired and lives part of the year in Belgium (he met his wife, a Belgian, while waiting for the "mining" permit).

The second presentation was from a group of Dutch spouses of employees of the Bralima brewery, who got together last year and took a primary school in hand, raised funds at home in the Netherlands, fixed the building, bought school supplies, and realized that the children often came to school hungry, so they now also supply a breakfast for the teachers and children to share. This year they have added two more schools to their project.

Their website is at http://www.enclasse.org/. The photos you see here are pretty typical. In a city of 6 to 7 million inhabitants, half of whom are under age 20, schools should be an absolute priority. But they are in this state of decay and poverty, and many children don't get to go to school at all...

Tchako

2007-12-04T20:57:00.000+01:00

Tchako talks. His favorite word is "Tchako", which he sometimes repeats endlessly and lovingly; sometimes he sings it. He always says "Bonjour" or "Bonjour ma soeur" when someone arrives, and "Ciao" when you leave. He imitates every bird call I've heard here. Tchako was fun to have. He went home today. He did not learn the first measures of Handel's Halleluja chorus, which I was trying to teach him. Part of the fun of having Tchako was hearing other people's parrot stories. One person said her uncle had a parrot in the hallway, near the phone (kids: homes used to have just one phone). The parrot could be heard saying: "Hello.... uh-huh... yeah, uh-huh... right... ok, bye!" They're among the most intelligent animals. Read about them on wikipedia. They have long lifespans, around 60 years, so they're best living in a community, because if you're 30 or over when you get one, he will probably outlive you. Here's a video of Tchako eating a piece of banana. He likes to eat peanuts, cheese, the seeds inside green peppers, bananas, and carrots. He liked the coconut water I offered him. He did not like ginger or onion. When he doesn't want something you offer him, he takes it from you with his beak and immediately drops it. If he likes it, he takes it in his beak, settles on his right foot, then grabs the food with his left foot and nibbles at it with his beak. This is a very short video of Tchako singing "wooHOO-hooooooo!" He is VERY cute. I took videos of Tchako to show you guys, since you're all so enthusiastic about Tchako, which isn't weird because he really is quite adorable, but my camera is having senior moments. And the one good video I have with Tchako chattering away is too long to upload. I let it upload all night, and in the morning the computer was frozen and the video was not uploaded. And everything I'd first written about Tchako was lost. I'm trying again, but the short (2 second) clips my camera now takes before shutting down with a "battery discharged" message, don't have much of the sounds and sayings of this cute bird. I'll try anyway. Typical. I figure out how to get stuff from my camera to this blog, and the camera dies. If anyone wants to try to upload it for me, I could try to email it to you.

And this is a verrrrry short video of Tchako saying "Tchako."

Flag

2007-11-29T10:00:00.000+01:00

Here's a photo of our house with the Stars & Stripes unfurled.

Today it was taken down and put up at the Ambassador's residence, November 29. Sam has been Chargé d'affaires a.i. since August 13. We're very happy to welcome Ambassador Garvelink to post, as well as Linda, his wife, and Sidney, their Chocolate Lab.

The Sisters and the Well, Part 2

2007-11-27T18:35:00.000+01:00

This is the back of the invitation to our fundraiser to rehabilitate the well at Menkao. We printed out 100, to sell for $20 each. The event is called a “Gouter-Partage” (name brazenly stolen from Denise, pardon! it’s like “Medecins Sans Frontieres, such a perfect name it spawns imitations). We’ll have cucumber, hummus&olive, pineapple&cream cheese and salmon sandwiches, mini-pizzas, mini-quiches, Tortilla española, Samosas, sushi, cakes and pastries, and to drink, fresh watermelon juice, pineapple juice, tea, coffee and the usual bottled stuff. Oh, and of course, Breadfruit Chips! Which reminds me, I want to work on a little self-published booklet of Breadfruits facts & recipes to give away at the Gouter-P.

Sam will provide the musical ambience. The children from the orphanage will give a concert (of simple songs 6 to 10-year-olds can learn), and then they’ll have their own gouter and watch a DVD provided by the Centre Culturel Français at the request of the French Ambassador’s wife, Genevieve. The sisters will project photos of the village and other missions and make an appeal for donations. In another room, vending tables will offer cloth bags, booboos, embroidered tablecloths, tie-dyed fabric, some donated flea market items, and wood sculptures. Two artists, one who works with watercolor and the other with sand painting, will display their paintings.

Our "Guest of Honor" is a very cute and adorable parrot named Tchako. He actually belongs to the sisters, but he's been our guest for almost a week now. The sisters thought he might not talk much unless he got used to the new surroundings at our house. Actually, he seemed very excited about the move and the new location of his cage in our beautiful garden by the pool. He's an "African Grey," one of the smartest birds and smartest animals in the world.

He looks exactly like his cousin in the Wikipedia photo here:

We've sold all the tickets! And quite a few people who couldn't come made donations anyway, so I think the village might get its water back pretty soon. At least by the next dry season, I hope. Right now water pours out of the sky on a regular basis, in tremendous quantities!

In the meantime, a good time will be had by all.

The Sisters and the Well

2007-10-19T22:45:00.000+01:00

Saturday, October 13, we went for a ride in the countryside with three Franciscan Missionaries of Mary. We had met them at their chapel on the previous Sunday – we’d been told the mass there always lasted just one hour!
I had met another nun who lives there, Sr. Marie-Bernard, when she applied for a Democracy and Human Rights Fund for a civic participation project involving the youth of this country, who have never experienced the least bit of democracy in their lives (she will receive the funding next Tuesday). Soeur Marie-Bernard introduced us to Srs. Georgette and Anita, who showed us around their vegetable garden and orchard. We spotted a dwarf coconut tree bearing cute little golden coconuts. They gave us a bunch to try, which were the best we’ve had in a long time! Even André, our cook, was excited: “Can you ask them for one for me to plant?”

Soeur Georgette is Congolese from the Kasai Oriental province, and spent three years in Colombia, and Soeur Anita is from Peru. So we got to practice our Spanish!

We visited the convent and, over coffee, they told us about all the works they are responsible for here, which were amazing for a few dozen people. They have convents in several cities, from which they run clinics, orphanages, schools, training centers, etc. They own several plots of land which they want to put to better use, and said, why don’t we go see the Menkao mission on Saturday?

We picked up Soeurs Georgette, Anita, and another Congolese sister, Sr. Jacinthe, and then another Spanish speaker, Maruja, wife of a USAID employee, who hangs out with the sisters. Poor Sr. Jacinthe was the only non-Spanish speaker apart from Hokins, our driver. We talked, prayed, and sang songs in Spanish. The sisters were amazed that I knew all the words, but after years of going to Mass at the Agrupacion, something has to stick! The sisters always have interesting stories, and they laugh a lot - it was a great ride.

It was a three-hour ride – the first hour is spent getting out of Kinshasa, the next hour is on the road to Kikwit, not a bad one by Congolese standards, and the third on a dirt track, which crosses the savanna. The savanna is covered with short brushy or grassy green plants (pls note how I refrain from showing off my knowledge of botany), dotted with occasional yellow, lavender and very bright red flowers. A few trees here and there, except where there’s a village, with its customary fruit trees (didn’t see a lot of breadfruit): mango, “safoutiller”, avocado, papaya, banana, etc. Near the villages there are usually fields of manioc (cassava), and then it’s back to the brushy plants and wildflowers. The road is two tracks divided by shorter plants. The tracks often turn into deep trenches and ruts, and dip into ponds, some surprisingly deep - the rainy season had just dumped its first skyfull of rain that night.

Picture: Safoutiller fruit. They're cooked and eaten as a vegetable. Haven't tried it yet.

Our very able chauffeur handled it all perfectly, but I did hang on to the armrest quite a few times!

After having been shaken, twisted and rolled for about an hour, we crossed Menkao-Ville and then after 15 minutes more, finally arrived at the village (Swalempo) where the sisters have their mission and their plot of land. We saw the small building they’ve built there, basically out of mud bricks, but with a concrete floor and corrugated tin roof. The picture shows this building and the makeshift rainwater collection system.

The toilet is a palms-woven-on-sticks hut several yards away, with a metal Turkish thing-hole covering the ground, and the shower is a slightly wider and taller palms-on-sticks enclosure, not connected to water. You take your own bucket. Somehow neither was smelly or fly-ridden. The contrast with the place I'd seen two days before was striking. Something about being in open countryside instead of a crowded slum…?

Around the building, the sisters years ago planted avocado trees, mango trees, and they even have a breadfruit tree! Score one more point, Sisters! They also had papaya and banana trees, and a field of beautiful pineapples…

Picture: the Breadfruit tree on the Sisters' land.

They have a water tank, elevated about one story high, but no water. This is the problem: they paid for a company to dig a well in the marshy area about 1 km away, across the village. Near the well they installed a pretty little windmill, which turns gaily at the least pretense of a breeze. The nuns also paid for another water tank for the villagers. Everything was connected by pipes and worked ok for about a year, and then the pipes clogged up with mud. They run underground so it’s hard to clean them up. The windmill turns but nothing comes up. :( There's no river. So the villagers now send buckets down the well. Bucket water is not as clean as water that's piped up from a covered well. The cover is a yard-diameter concrete slab, so of course it's been left uncovered since the pipes choked up; so insects fly in, frogs fall in and die, etc.

We walked to the well, declining the driver’s offer to take us there ("bottom line": sore) though the sun was high, bright and hot - don't worry, we wore our hats!

On our way, we passed the pineapple field.

Picture: Sr. Georgette and yours truly in the pineapple field.

We crossed the village – all the kids ran to us and wanted their picture taken, of course, and we practiced our few Lingala phrases. One older boy spoke excellent French.

Picture: Sam, Sr. Georgette and the village kids.

Taking a look, we thought those pipes looked really narrow, no larger than a garden hose. Seems to me the pump should be right above the well, it should pump the water into some kind of decanting tank where the mud can accumulate on the bottom, water should be piped out above the mud line, and some kind of system should exist to let the sludge out, which is probably good for enriching the garden soil. Non? Will a real water engineer please stand up?

Another thing I couldn’t quite understand is why the company placed the village water tank at the very end of the village opposite the well. More pipe length = more $$ for the job, I suppose. And cheap, narrow pipe = more $$ in their pockets, too. Grrr…

That’s when we decided to look for someone who knows what they’re doing and Sam thought of Paul Mateta, whose farm I described to my dear readers a few blogs back (“Madame Brock goes out of town”). Paul is obviously a guy who not only has great ideas, but gets them done. If he doesn’t know much about wells and pumps, he’ll know someone who does.

So that’s why today, we had the Sisters over for lunch, with Paul and his brother Emile. Three guesses on what we ate! Yes, breadfruit chips for appetizers and breadfruit purée with the Colombo de poulet. We also had acras de crevettes and féroce as a first course. Emile, who as you may recall is a pastry chef and caterer in Brussels, just loved the chips. He kept coming up with ideas of ways to serve them. And he’s right: they don’t break easily like potato chips, so you can use them instead of mini-toasts for little bouchées: a little slice of avocado, a bit of fresh ginger and a small crevette… I’ll remember that for our next reception! Score one for Emile!

Sr. Georgette couldn’t make it, so another sister, Sr. Zofia, from Poland, came to lunch.

We scored a few points on this lunch, because it turns out the sisters have another plot of land very close to Paul’s farm which has been a big problem to them, as the local chief, the “chef coutumier”, keeps selling pieces of their land to various people. They have all the titles and legal docs needed, have brought surveyors to mark out the land, have even built fences or put posts around it, only to have them torn out by the chief’s minions. Now their lives have even been threatened, so they’ve decided to sell. It’s a mess. But Paul knows the chief – one of the chief’s wives is one of the people Paul gives electricity to! So maybe something good will come out of this, even if it’s just the sisters getting a fair deal on the sale…

More points: The sisters have an orphanage which has capacity for 70 children but only has a dozen, because they can’t pay enough personnel to care for more. Hmm… are you thinking what I’m thinking? Perhaps some La Grace de Dieu kids can be transferred there, if a little funding can be found. First I have to do some homework on La Grace de Dieu to see what’s really going on there, with the local authorities. Meaning the parish priest. I’ve got his name already.

The sisters also run a home for young single mothers, who are usually thrown out on the street by their families when they get pregnant, dooming them to a short life with more kids, AIDS, etc. (And finally, more orphans.) The sisters have a day care for the babies and a school for the girls. They teach them crafts. I’ve agreed to host a December craft sale + tea & pastries – Soeur Zofia is a consummate pastry chef – for all the ladies I can muster.

Of course, these few kids and few young mothers are a drop in the ocean. But what these sisters do is the yeast that makes the whole loaf rise. Anyway that's how I see it. They can't save them all. But for the ones that are saved, or at least helped, the difference is tremendous.

So, there you are. My plate is certainly filling up. What do you think? Do I have time for a job, too? I interviewed for a 20-hour job on Wednesday. Maybe that's just the right number of hours. Plus money for the sisters. Hmmm...

Oh, and Paul M. also wants one (actually he'd like thirty) of the dwarf coconuts from the sisters' garden. The sisters think that tree was planted by a sister who came from Mauritius! So it is quite unique around here. I don't think we'll be drinking much more of that delicious water. All the nuts must be planted!

La Grace de Dieu

2007-10-11T23:30:00.000+01:00

Today Becky and I went to check out a Special Self-Help Fund applicant. Their application said they wanted $1,123 to start a wine-making and fish-salting microbusiness to help finance an orphanage. The Self-Help committee had been impressed by the modest sum. Stapled on the application, there was a photo of thirtysome children in front of a clean white wall, with the name of the orphanage, "La Grace de Dieu," brightly painted in blue. Ok, let's see if these people are for real. Sometimes people send in fake projects using fake orphans' photos, to get easy money from their favorite uncle ("Sam"). On our way there we called the number on the application, and found out that the applicant, Victorine, was out trying to buy some roofing material, but we were passing close by the store, and could pick her up and take her back to the orphanage. So that's what we did. In the thirty minute, four-mile trip on the potholed roads, avoiding man-drawn carriages and swerving, overloaded minibus taxis, she told us someone had sold her the application! Fifteen dollars! This confirmed a nagging feeling about some of the applications we've been getting, that look like photocopies of photocopies. People sure know how to make a dishonest buck here... We left the "paved" road and got on car-width-plus-five-inches sand roads through a maze of shacks, some made of cement blocks, some of sundry materials. After a while we arrived at the brightly painted wall and entered. Picture a wall-enclosed yard about 20' x 20', half of it strewn with large blocks of rubble, and what looked at first like a lean-to building against the back wall. No white and blue paint inside. The corrugated tin roof extends to shade part of the yard. Children wearing dirty clothes greeted us with great curiosity: it’s not every day they get to see two “mundele” (white) women! Victorine took us inside to see the boys’ “dorm.” Now picture three consecutive 6’x6’ rooms. The first had no beds, just some blankets on the floor, on which a woman was sitting against the wall feeding a baby. Next to her under a mosquito net in a tiny crib was what I first mistook for a doll, because it was too small to be a baby, until it stretched its tiny arm! We were told the infant had been found in a rubbish heap just a few days ago, part of the placenta still sticking to it... The next room was furnished only with three very basic bunk beds, some leaning precariously, some without mattresses, if you can call the dirty sponge foam full of gashes and holes a mattress. No linens, no pillows. No paint on the walls, bright or otherwise. The walls are very dark and patchy. At the back end of the room a doorway led into another room, presumably similarly furnished, but I could not see anything because it was totally dark. We reversed our steps and went into the second set of rooms, the girls’ dorm, which was similar to the boys’, except the ceiling of the back room had one translucent yellow corrugated sheet that let in some light. Victorine explained that she had gone to the roofing tile store to try to buy one more like that, to put in the roof of the boys’ back room, but she hadn’t enough money to buy it (it probably costs about $5). Becky said, good idea, and also you should put some air holes for ventilation… the urine stench was very bad, and burned my eyes. Next she took us to see the toilets and shower. Everything was dirty and smelly. These outhouses are four feet away from the rooms. When we had finished this short tour, we found the children lined up in three rows under the tin roof, and bright blue plastic chairs had appeared out of nowhere so we could sit and listen to their concert. Everywhere I’ve been in Congo, it’s the tradition: children give you a welcoming concert, always accompanied by a bongo drum. They sang in French, in unison, with occasional impromptu harmonies, and you could tell they had been well taught. “Bienvenue!” intoned the leader, immediately answered by the group, “bienvenue!” They sang, Welcome, our friends, our mothers, we love you, you will bring us a bright day, we will be good children, etc. Three children took turns to step forward, say a poem, and bow. Some of the children just stared at us, some clapped, and one banged rhythmically on the bongo. The older girls in the back held babies. Their own? They didn’t sing or smile. One incredibly small boy sat perched on a bench and clapped. He looked like a ten-month baby but acted like a three-year-old. Unfortunately, whatever was stinging my eyes began to do it with a vengeance and I had to swipe away at tears. There would, of course, have been plenty of cause for real tears here, but I had resolved to be cheerful with these children and actually was doing quite well (I did have a cry later). Nothing in that wretched place looked like it could be the site of a functional wine-making or fish-salting project. There was no room for anything like that. Becky asked a few questions about how much profit could be made per month on the fish. Victorine said $50. Our driver raised his eyebrows. More like fifteen, he said. If any. We probably won’t fund this project. Not that they can’t use money! It’s just not a viable “Self-Help” project. What they need is pure and simple charity. As we were leaving, I asked Victorine about her order (she’s actually “Soeur Victorine”), where was their convent, etc. She told me it’s an Italian order, but she’s the only one left here. All the Italian nuns went back to Italy after the "pillages." She gets help from the "Sainte Famille" Catholic parish, she said. Or used to. It's hard to understand their use of verb tenses here. I don’t want to doubt this person’s good intentions, but I do doubt her capacity to pull off such a huge task, raising twenty to thirty children by herself in these conditions. I don’t think one person without funds can run an orphanage. These kids were fed, and maybe loved, but they didn’t look happy. The strength of religious orders is in having a community pull their efforts together and offer mutual advice and comfort. Victorine seems to be working alone. I’m going to have to find out more.

Madame Brock goes out of town

2007-09-22T17:22:00.001+01:00

This week I took three trips! finally! We've been here six weeks and I hadn't left Gombé, our sector of Kinshasa, where are located the embassy offices and our house (nearly an hour's walk apart - neighborhoods are rather large in this city of six million plus). Sam has already traveled twice to the east of the country with MONUC, the UN peace-keeping force, and to various places in other parts of town, but I wasn't invited to tag along...

Trip 1: Rebecca Ward, the Special Self-Help Fund and Democracy and Human Rights Fund Coordinator, needed to see a site where they want to install a pump to get the water up from a valley bottom.

The women and children who live on the hillside walk down and back up several times a day with 20-liter containers (44 lbs of weight) (I didn't see any men doing it). The water comes from a natural spring which has been captured into a concrete water tank at the bottom of which it continuously gushes out of the wall from several pipes onto a concrete floor, making it easy to fill up the containers. The water then makes it merry way down the valley, irrigating dozens of horticulture rectangles. We probably will not choose to fund this project for several reasons: the system they have (which was built last year by FAO) gives plenty of clean water; the hill is high and steep, so a relatively powerful pump would be needed, meaning one that runs on fuel; and who would pay for the fuel? And the houses are precariously built on ledges dug into the hillside; last year a family was buried in a landslide during the rainy season; bringing water up would only encourage more people to settle there; and finally, it looks like city water is about to reach that neighborhood from the plateau.

Still, the visit was extremely interesting; the valley is very green and beautiful - a nice change from Kinshasa - with its patchwork quilt of garden plots broken by the occasional palm tree or banana grove, and the silvery stream running in the bottom or resting in little pools; and all the little kids were thrilled to see white people. "Mundele, mundele!" they shouted as we passed by.

Trip 2: The next day Becky and I visited a school (3 rooms) that was rebuilt with Self-Help Fund financing, and we took some pictures of the old school and the new school, and of the teachers, who were all there, sitting under a tree (there's a strike throughout the country). The old school's corrugated tin roof was full of holes and the walls had deep cracks. The concrete floor was cracking and sinking. Part of the reason the old school is falling apart is that someone cleared out a parcel just downhill from it, and erosion is undermining the foundation. People do n'importe quoi here and destroy each other's properties that way, without knowing it or even realizing it afterward.

Both of these sites were to the east of Kinshasa, on a hilly plateau where small rivers or springs run in steep valleys with a wide flat bottom. The ground is a mixture of clay and sand with some very sandy areas that erode very fast if the vegetation is removed. People like clean empty spaces around their houses, sometimes putting a hedge around their parcel, but they get around to planting the hedge after the house is built, which sometimes takes years. Most of the houses we saw were not finished, just half-built walls around two or three rooms; few of the houses had roofs. Most were not yet inhabited; it looks like everyone ran out of money. I took some pictures (no police around) which I'll post as soon as my computer gets here - could be early next week.

Trip 3: Today we went to a farm in the other direction - downriver. The road was parallel to the river and we finally saw the rapids we had heard from the Gombé River Walk. They're not very steep or strong, but the river is such a huge volume of water that it's very impressive, though we could only see it from afar. The river is still nearly horizontal but runs against rocks, and definitely seems to pick up speed compared to the lake-like expanse we see from Kinshasa. Nothing like the waterfall photo in the last post, which may be a photo of the Zongo falls.

The farm is the creation of an embassy employee, who works in the Public Diplomacy section (old USIS) but is actually an electronics engineer. A little creek runs through it, on which he has built a small dam, enough to divert water to a wheel which will furnish electricity as soon as he finds a generator that can use the 400 rpm that the waterwheel produces. He also has solar panels that recharge a bunch of batteries (looked like automobile batteries), and a fuel generator that he only turns on in the evening to give his children light to do their homework. He also gives light to a bunch of neighbors. He has hens and pigs, and nine fish ponds also watered by the little dam, where he raises Tilapia and Congo river fish. After showing us around, he took us to a little patch of green grass between the fish ponds where he had set up umbrellas and chairs and a table, and we were served cold beers and then a huge lunch. Finally we got to taste Congolese food. There was a hors-d'oeuvre of boiled eggs (from the hens), tomatoes and cucumbers from the garden, with lemon from the tree, grilled fish from the Congo river, bitekuteku (green leafy stuff) with peanut sauce, cassava "bread"(more like raw dough), and yellow rice. And of course, pili-pili, the hot sauce made with the peppers that have exactly the same flavor as the Martinique "piment."

Our host and his brother, who lives in Belgium, ate with us but none of the women or children. We talked about their wonderful farm, its history, our host's life in Charlotte, NC, Brussels, and South Africa, and his brother's life in Brussels. Emile, the brother, is a nutritionist and baker, and wants to "retire" here, that is, embark on a new adventure setting up a bakery and catering business, specializing in nutritious and organic foods (a guy after my own heart). Paul, our host, told us about how he finally came back to Congo, got a job with Mobil Oil and bought a farm, after studying in Belgium and getting an engineering B.A. from UNC - Charlotte, thanks to an American who helped him obtain a scholarship. By 1997 he had quite a setup, run mostly by his wife, with hundreds of laying hens, dozens of pigs, and he was doing well. Then the "pillages" happened (looting). The military, who were no longer paid (under the last years of the Mobutu regime), stole and destroyed everything. Paul and his family took off for South Africa, though they had family in the United States who wanted him to join them there. He got a Master's degree, then came back, and has restarted farming on a larger plot. He has taken in all the orphans in his extended family, and gives work to an entire community.

He and thousands of other good people here have great hopes that their country can finally live in peace and overcome the lawlessness and corruption that have done so much harm here.

Congo River

2007-09-18T16:27:00.000+01:00

Gorgeous, isn't it?

I thought I heard a faint roar last time we took the "river walk". So did Sam. And Sam said he could see white foam at the horizon. So did I.

I've been asking people if you can go see the rapids, and the answers vary. There's a road, but you'll be bothered by people. It's not far, but the drive is long and the roads are bad, then the path is bad and the views disappointing. And people will bother you.

So the mythical Congo River does not yield its charms easily. Think I'll try to obtain the documentary this picture came from, appropriately called "Congo River." See Le Monde article at http://www.lemonde.fr/web/article/0,1-0,36-757841,0.html

There are miles of rapids and falls between Kinshasa and the huge estuary. Like at the mouth of the Amazon, the Atlantic Ocean is not salty for miles around.

Fisherman, part 2:

Just a few hours after I spoke to the fisherman (see post below), we went to a reception (Brazil national day?) where we met a Frenchman who has lived here forty years. He loves this country and speaks about it with excitement. He said the river is teeming with fish. "Les poissons meurent de vieillesse!" (The fish die of old age), because there is no fishing. He said not to miss Stanley Pool. There, just a few miles upstream from Kinshasa, the river goes over a wide, flat rock. It spreads out in shallows, with sand bars, and the water is clear. "On peut la boire! Elle est meilleure que l'eau du robinet." (You can drink it! It's better than tap water.) There's a yatch club, you can water ski, fish, picnic on a sand bar. The bottom is "du sable fin" (fine sand).

So, downstream from us: waterfalls and rapids for two hundred miles, then the estuary for another two hundred miles. Upstream: Stanley Pool, with the twin capitals (the closest capitals on our planet) of Brazzaville and Kinshasa at the western end and a large island in the middle.

In this picture I've put a tiny red dot where our house is, and a tiny pink line to mark the "river walk." But they got a little blurred; anyway you get the idea. We're downstream from the pool; from the walk we can indeed probably "see" the top of the rapids; but it's like "seeing" the horizon.

Here's a little more about Stanley himself. He was born in Wales of an unwed mother, raised until age 5 by his grandfather and then in an orphanage. He went to America, where he fought on both sides of the Civil War.

(The rest of this post is shamelessly copied from http://www.africdotes.blogspot.com/ and
http://www.wayfarersbookshop.com/Biographies/Stanley_Biography/Stanley_-_The_Great_Congo_Expe/stanley_-_the_great_congo_expe.html)

Stanley proposed an expedition, and in November 1874, in command of a large expedition jointly sponsored by the New York Herald and the Daily Telegraph of London, he set out from Zanzibar for Lake Victoria, planning to confirm whether Lake Victoria was the principal source of the Nile by sailing around it, and to establish the exact geographic location of East Africa's other great lakes. Moreover, he planned to find the source of the Congo River and, if possible, follow it to the Atlantic. Arriving at Lake Victoria in late February 1875, Stanley undertook a circumnavigation of the lake in the Lady Alice, a portable steamboat that had been carried in pieces into the interior. He then visited a native kingdom to the north in what is now Uganda, coming upon an uncharted lake, which he named Lake Edward.

Stanley headed southward along Africa's Great Rift Valley and in spring 1876 he arrived at Lake Tanganyika, which he also circumnavigated in the Lady Alice. He then found the lake's principal outlet to be the Lukuga river, which he followed to its confluence with the Lualaba. Descending the Lualaba northward, he came to Nyangwe, the farthest inland point known to both Arab traders and Europeans. There, he recruited an armed force of 700 men under the famous African-Arab slaver named Tippoo Tib, who guided his expedition to a series of cataracts, later known as Stanley Falls, which they portaged around with considerable difficulty. The small army was required as, in Stanley's opinion, "the savage only respects force, power, boldness, and decision". Hardly a day went by without an altercation with "murderous" Africans, although frequently it was Stanley's men who were the aggressors and killed the natives.

Upon reaching the site of present-day Kisangani (once called Stanleyville) in what is now west-central DRC, Stanley determined that the river could not flow into the Nile, since at that point it was 14 feet lower in elevation than the larger river. In fact, Stanley's surmise that Lualaba was the upper course of the Congo River was correct. But yet again travel was plagued by jungle, rocks and cliffs (the Lady Alice had to be completely disassembled and carried), After this, however, Stanley found that the river turned sharply west and south and widened to allow relatively easy travel by boat for more than 1,000 miles.

After a few more months of downriver travel, he discovered a large lake-like expanse.

“While taking an observation at noon of the position, Frank, with my glass in his hand, ascended the highest part of the large sandy dune that had been deposited by the mighty river, and took a survey of its strange and sudden expansion, and after, he came back and said,
“Why, I declare, sir, this place is just like a pool; as broad as it is long. There are mountains all round it, and it appears to me almost circular.”
“Well, if it is a pool, we must distinguish it by some name. Give me a suitable name for it, Frank.”
“Why not call it Stanley Pool?”

Africdotes comments: "It must have come as quite a disappointment to reach the foot of the Pool and the head of the torrential rapids they called Livingstone Falls. Four hundred miles to go, and Stanley’s own measurements determined that they were still more than 1100 feet above sea level. Stanley’s young companion, the only surviving European besides Stanley, Frank Pocock, did not survive the trip. He went over one of the rapids in a pirogue, and the troop found his body a few days later." Stanley wrote, "I am weary, oh so weary, of this constant tale of woes and death".

On August 9, 1877, Stanley and his party finally reached the Atlantic at Boma. In his 999-day journey, he had crossed Africa from east to west and had determined that the Congo flowed from the Lualaba River. With this finding, he dispelled Livingstone's theory that the Lualaba was a source of the Nile. Of the original 356 men in the expedition, only 114 remained with him when he reached Boma, the rest having died or deserted. Stanley related his 1874-1877 journey across Africa in his book "Through the Dark Continent" (1878). Yet back in England he was condemned in both the newspapers and in Parliament for the ruthless way in which he had conducted the expedition.

More about Breadfruit

2007-09-11T14:05:00.000+01:00

The breadfruit we bought from the vendor (the woman who said people in convents ate it) was delicious! Off the web I pulled a recipe for MIGAN DE FRUIT A PAIN and gave it to my cook, André. He seemed a bit skeptical, but went along cheerfully, as always. We ate it several times over the weekend and still have a lot leftover... one breadfruit is a lot for two people. On Monday, André told me he's never eaten it this way, but he will now. He likes migan. He doesn't have a tree, but a neighbor of his does. And he, also, said that "on mange ça dans les couvents" and added that it prevents diabetes, that's why religious people eat it. I'm not sure whether the link is that religious people are more prone to diabetes, or that they are more likely to choose healthy foods, but that's a property of breadfruit I wasn't aware of. So, googling a bit, I find that natives of French Polynesia, who once lived almost exclusively on breadfruit (which they fermented, in which state it could keep for years), but now rarely eat it, now have very high rates of diabetes. That breadfruit (Artocarpus altilis moraceae) contains anti-inflammatory ingredients and lots of magnesium and potassium. That breadfruit does not grow from a seed but has to be planted from a cutting - prehistoric hybrid? I really don't get why people here don't eat it, with 70% malnutrition. The National Tropical Botanical Garden in Hawaii has a Breadfruit Institute, see http://ntbg.org/breadfruit/ for more information than you ever wanted to know.

Fisherman

2007-09-11T13:39:00.000+01:00

Today my cook brought in a man from whom he says we can buy the freshest fish at the lowest price. I asked the man if the fish was from the Congo river. "Oui madame!" The pride in his face was authentic. "De notre fleuve!" Does he catch it himself? Oui again. They go out on pirogues, with nets they make themselves. Can I go with him one day? Certainly! I'll have to row hard, though. He vigorously rows the air to make sure I understand (in fact his French is good). I tell him I don't see a lot of fishing going on on the river. No, there are few of us, he says. You have to have a license, a boat, equipment, and then you still have to pay off the police even though you have a license. It's a fact that the fish is rather expensive, 8000 FC's a kilo. That's about $8.00/lb. Pretty high considering the average income here. I ask him if there's a lot of fish. "Non, madame!" Sometimes he's out for two, three days, looking for a good spot to throw his nets (I mentally reconsider his invitation). "And there's rheumatism, malaria, too." Right. I'm not ready to step into the shoes of this brave fisherman. He hasn't even mentioned the crocodiles.

Plowshares in South Kivu

2007-09-10T16:54:00.000+01:00

I promised you in a past post that I'd give you details about the work done by a small NGO in Congo, so I'll give you the write-up that is going in our embassy newsletter, the Congo Bongo. This is part of my work helping the Democracy and Human Rights Fund coordinator.

"S.O.S. SIDA" was founded in 2002 by a group of teachers, health professionals, and development officers responding to the lack of services available to victims of AIDS and sexual violence in rural parts of South Kivu. In addition to directing three AIDS prevention programs with 28 instructors, S.O.S. SIDA now runs a center in Bukavu offering lodging and counseling to rural HIV-positive patients seeking medical care in town, and gives psychological and social aid to victims of sexual violence, who are often ostracized, to help reintegrate them into their families and communities.

The 2006 project financed by the embassy’s Democracy and Human Rights Fund, “Training in Human Rights and Self-Reliance for Women Victims of Sexual Violence in Kabare,” proceeded in two phases. First, attract participants and jumpstart their socio-economic reintegration by giving them a livelihood in agriculture. Then, make these women leaders themselves in helping victims of sexual violence.
Phase I was carried out with the distribution of hoes, spades, and corn and bean seeds to 246 women in the towns of Bugobe, Katana, and Bushwira, in November, 2006, and to 45 women in Nyantende in March 2007.

These were high visibility events, with a large banner announcing the name of the project, of the NGO, and of the donor, “Ambassade des USA.” – linking this effort with the “made in USA” cooking oil familiar to the women from humanitarian assistance distributions.

Left: A woman feeds her baby after receiving her grain and spade.

In Phase II, human rights workshops were held in the three towns of Kabare, Katana, and Bugobe in January and March, 2007. In all, 87 women and 17 men participated. The women were chosen among the Phase I recipients to maximize the impact of the training: they had to be literate and healthy enough to return to their villages and share their new knowledge and skills with their communities. The men were local chiefs and civic leaders, who during the course of the workshops committed to fight against sexual violence and promote women’s rights.

Right:A woman holding her new spade offers a prayer of thanksgiving for the donors (recipients will have to attach their own makeshift handle).

Right: Spades in hand, women pose behind their sacks of grain next to the truck. Note banana trees in the left background and thatched roof on the right.

The workshops were held over two days. Topics covered included a general overview of human rights, the benefits to the community of respecting women’s rights, the harmful repercussions of sexual violence, the new (2006) laws enabling prosecution of perpetrators of sexual violence. The session were lively, using presentations, question-and-answer debates, brainstorming, and/or splitting up into workgroups to work out how to best respond to victims and bring perpetrators to justice.

SOS SIDA had prepared and published a booklet, with drawings, about women's rights under the new laws, especially the ones against sexual violence. They used this booklet in the workshops. Above is the scan of the front cover. The inset shows a woman being thrown down on the ground by soldiers.

More about S.O.S SIDA at http://www.cesbc.org/solidays/sossida/sossida.htm

Ex-CIA Residence?

2007-09-05T20:26:00.000+01:00

Well, well. I'm told the house I live in was the abode of Larry Devlin, the ex-CIA Chief of Station at the time of independence. You may have heard of his memoirs, just published, titled "Chief of Station, Congo," where he says he did NOT kill the charismatic independence leader, Patrice Lumumba, or have him killed, for being too close to the Soviets. He did tell the nice Army Colonel, Joseph Mobutu, that the U.S. would support him should he take over in a coup. But that's really quite different from having someone killed. Right? So, I live in his house. I had assumed it was of much more recent construction, but I'm told a lot of work has been done on it recently. I hope they got rid of the ghosts... I haven't had as much time to write, because I've been helping out at the embassy, working on Special Self-Help (SSH) projects, and those of the Democracy and Human Rights Fund (DHRF). These are 2 to 3 dozen small grassroots projects that the embassy funds directly, in amounts between $500 and $25,000. The SSH/DHRF coordinator is a tale unto herself, a third-generation missionary who speaks local languages as well as English, and prefers local rural life to the big city life of Kinshasa. She's the ideal person for the job, because she can really weed out the people who submit made up projects to get free money. It's a slow learning curve for me: today I spent ALL DAY writing one page! Well, I also had to read, re-read, and re-re-read at least a hundred pages of proposals and reports to extract the material for my one page. I was doing the write-up on one of the DHRF projects, and what I wrote was so great that I know you're just dying to read it, so I'll copy it below (also, the project is really interesting). But, you know what? I think I'll wait until the guy sends me the pictures. I'll finally have some pictures on my blog! Plus, I just realized the text still needs tweaking (aarrgh! That means I'll have spent more than all day writing one measly page. Well, no matter. I'll pick up speed as I learn the trade. I don't get paid anyway). Still, I can't wait to post this story, because this is the kind of good news you never read about in the media. Hm, that reminds me, I promised you the end of the coconut story. Well, on Tuesday (yesterday) I went to see that vendor, and she had coconuts. Green coconuts. Young coconuts. Really, really young coconuts. In fact, they were tiny, about the size of a large avocado. And the water in them was bitter. So that was disappointing. But she said that she was going to try again. And she did have a rather nice-looking breadfruit! But neither she nor the driver, nor my cook when I brought the thing home, know what they call it here. And the cook, André, is waiting for me to show him how to fix it. Meanwhile, André had also found some green coconuts, but his turned out to be very ripe. So HE's going to try again! Feels good to give people goals! But seriously, there is severe malnutrition in this country, and breadfruit is dropping from the trees? What's wrong with this picture?

Breadfruit, water coconuts - not for sale

2007-09-03T12:34:00.000+01:00

You may already know that Sam and I are frequent consumers of fresh coconut water. Especially since, in the Washington area, they have become available in neat, trimmed and wrapped form, most of the husk cut off, ready to be opened with one well-directed cut of a butcher knife. The water is delicious, amazingly soothing, just sweet enough, and it's good for you! A natural sports drink, and more: "It's a natural isotonic beverage, with the same level of electrolytic balance as we have in our blood. It's the fluid of life, so to speak." In fact, during the Pacific War of 1941-45, both sides in the conflict regularly used coconut water - siphoned directly from the nut - to give emergency plasma transfusions to wounded soldiers. http://www.fao.org/AG/magazine/9810/spot3.htm There are coconut trees growing all over Kinshasa, so we figured we'd be able to find young coconuts in the markets. No deal. Zilch. Nada. We've toured every inch of the humongous and nightmarish "Grand Marché" with no result. Even explaining what we were looking for was difficult, and after an hour's search, someone triumphantly brought us dried coconuts. Apparently, even the mature coconuts are not a staple here. Same story with the breadfruit: I've located at least three lovely trees in my neighborhood, all laden with fruit in different stages of maturity. Nothing in the markets. Our cook didn't understand what we were talking about, either. Finally, we asked the lady who sells rather nice produce in a stand near the French embassy, who seemed to understand our French rather better than the average fruit stand owner, about the coconuts and the breadfruit. On the coconuts, she said she'd get some, and we should return Tuesday. I'll let you know what happened tomorrow. It took a while to describe the breadfruit, apparently not known as "Fruit à pain" here. A few days ago I pointed out a tree to one of the drivers, and he said, oh yes, we eat that sometimes; but he couldn't remember what it was called. When you don't know the name of a food, I think it means you hardly ever eat it. So it took a while for the produce lady near the French embassy to understand what we were talking about. When she did, she said, "Ah, ce qu'on mange chez les Pères, dans les couvents!" (What they eat where the priests live, in the convents). Yes, breadfruit is one of those strange foods eaten only by foreigners, a European import! The tropical equivalent of Benedictine...? She said she'd try to find some of that, too.

Googling Congo Line

2007-08-27T07:13:00.000+01:00

Wanting to see if my family and friends could easily find my blog on line, I googled "odile congo" which yielded nothing, then "odile congo line" which showed my blog - in first place! then "congo line" which gave: a few sites about the Congo (on "line"), a video I can't see on this computer, presumably of people forming a giant misspelled "Conga line," a board game called Congo Line, "where goods move from city to city across the Congo", and various articles titled "Congo Line" in the Washington Times, Slate, etc. So much for originality! Anyway this was supposed to record my heroic or hilarious happenings here in the DRC. Nothing heroic so far, I'm sure you're all disappointed. I managed to forget to do the one single most important thing a hostess is in charge of, that is, the seating arrangement for the working lunch with Senator Feingold who was here last week. It didn't occur to me until the guests were actually entering the dining room. Luckily, since it was all Americans, and a working, not social, lunch, things fell into place rather naturally (I like to think). The next mini-crisis was that there seemed to be too many seats, or one of the guests was absent, so in the end I had to fill in as the 12th person, which wasn't planned, this being a working lunch, and work and me haven't been buddies for a while. j.k. But the "conversation" was very interesting, since each head of section or agency at the mission gave the senator a summary of his/her role and challenges here. I'm still trying to learn all this. After lunch we figured out who was the missing 12th guest: I'd counted the senator's military escort as a member of his team. He was happily snoozing at the hotel after the long flight. The second function i.h.o the senator was held mere hours after the lunch, a reception for four of the newly elected parliament members, two from the lower house, two from the senate. Since the DRC's 2006 elections were the first in 45 years, it was interesting to hear what the elected had to say about the election process, how they accepted the results, and their opinions on the main issues here. Two were old enough to have been active in politics at the last elections, and the other two had been born since. Two were from the party of the president, and the others from the opposition. One was a woman. What was the color of the bear? j.k. That's about as exciting as it's been around here, except for one or two blitzkrieg rainstorms, violent but over in a few minutes. Yesterday we took a 2-hour walk from our house to the stretch of road along the river where "everybody" (except Congolese ppl) takes a stroll in the evening. The view is beautiful as the sun sets across the river and shoots out rays from behind the cloud cover. The exotic trees turn into silhouettes against the bright river and sky, while around us parrots, bulbuls and cuckoo-shrikes screech, pip, and coo: "Kwaaw! Doctor-quick! Doctor-quick! Doctor-Quick! Hooooo, hoo hoo hoo hoo!" The camera in my bag was a strong temptation, especially with the video/sound recording, so maybe next time I won't take it with me: Taking pictures is forbidden. The riverbank stroll turned out to be really short, maybe half a mile, so after walking it from armed-guarded end to armed-guarded end, we wandered around in the neighborhood, which seems to be where all the embassies' residences, and some offices, are located. At one end, at the point where the Congo bends, is the presidential palace, and just like in DC around the White House, the streets are blocked. The whole area, called Gombé, is shaped like a fan, with the riverbend forming the arc, the presidential palace occupying the top of the arc, the Palais de Justice, at the other end of a wide boulevard, at the bottom hinge; all the embassies inside the left part of the fan, with the riverbank walk between them and the river. Our house is somewhere in the middle of the right side of the fan, on a street called Cadeco. The street blocked by the presidential palace is called Roi Baudouin, which seems like a name somebody forgot to change 47 years ago at independence, but the road signs are new, so there is some reason; I'll probably never know. For the most part no one bothered us. A guard at one of the residences (they ALL have guards, sitting under trees conversing with each other) who was alone playing cards, asked us for money to buy food, and another, of a handful in uniform patrolling the streets, asked us for a cigarette. Since we weren't carrying any of either, we politely said so. Our own house has a couple of guards inside the gate, from a private security firm, and a police guard outside, in uniform and cradling a kalishnikov (or something). There's also a gardener, a cook, and 2 women who clean, launder and keep each other company. I feel like a guest, especially until our effects arrive, and then I can feel like a guest who's invaded and taken over. ha ha. All the household staff are very educated compared to those I've seen in other countries. They speak, read, write, English and French, and two or three African languages. That they have to take these jobs is the result of almost total unemployment in the country; and even the employed, like schoolteachers, don't get paid. One of the drivers told me he has the Bac, loved chemistry and would have wanted to study, but there is no opportunity for anyone but the very few (very) rich people who rule this country. There is plenty of work to be done: schools need to be built and staffed, hospitals idem, roads and bridges built, etc. so there's room for employment and development. But it's an iterative process that keeps stalling before it gets into first gear, and needs constant reinvesting instead of siphoning off by corruption. Well, that's enough for now.

Africa's World War: Stealth Conflict

2007-08-26T08:19:00.000+01:00

I guess my last post establishes my foreign policy position: Anything But War. I justified it on religious grounds, but I think it stands on purely Earthly logic as well. War is simply too destructive to have a net positive effect. The Iraq war strengthened my conviction: If war is to be avoided, pre-emptive war is the worst kind of folly and injustice: folly because of the precedent it sets for other nations, injustice because the grounds for the pre-emptive action are always speculative. But here I am in Congo, learning as much as a reluctant student of history can; and I'm confronted with the realization that the deadliest war since WWII has been going on for nine years and I barely knew about it: Four million conflict-relateed deaths since August, 1998. The Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and eight foreign countries are directly involved, thus "Africa's World War", the first part of my title, not my coin, but a name you can find on Wikipedia. The other part of my title, "Stealth Conflict," is not my term, either. I think I would have said "Ignored Conflict", or "Neglected Conflict," because the leaders of the violence did not deliberately try to conceal their actions; on the contrary, the media, academics and leaders of Western powers knew of them but did not choose to project the information onto the public consciousness. "Stealth" is Virgil Hawkins' term, writing in the Journal of Humanitarian Assistance: "Stealth Conflicts: Africa’s World War in the DRC and International Consciousness." Read it at http://www.jha.ac/articles/a126.htm. I found it very readable. But if you don't want to read the whole thing (20 pages), here are some key ideas: "Africa has produced more than 90% of the conflict-related deaths since the end of the Cold War [for you young'uns, that's around 1991] . Despite the scale of the human suffering, it seems that Western-centric consciousness (and outrage) ends at the Suez Canal. Nowhere is this more painfully clear than in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), which, from the perspective of media, public, policy and academic agendas outside the region, almost does not exist. In reality, it is a humanitarian catastrophe of virtually unfathomable proportions, caused by a war that has raged across more than half of a country almost the size of Western Europe, and has seen the direct military involvement of eight foreign countries." Is this a "forgotten" or "orphan" conflict? No, says Hawkins, these words imply that someone would once have paid attention to it. He continues: "Like the stealth bomber, the conflict in the DRC has caused a huge amount of death and destruction, while somehow remaining undetected on the international community’s radar screens. Those waging the war have not necessarily been deliberately secretive: the conflict simply hasn’t been noticed by the outside world. The term can also be considered appropriate in the sense that the majority of those who have died in the war have been killed by stealth. They were not killed by noisy gunshots or explosions, but by starvation and/or preventable and treatable diseases directly resulting from people fleeing their homes and farms, the destruction of infrastructure, and the breakdown of agriculture, public services and supply lines." Hawkins notes that "more than 60 of the world’s countries have populations less than 3.3 million," the estimated number of deaths at the time he wrote (Jan 2004). "What makes the DRC unique, however, is the scale (absolutely unparalleled in recent history) of death and suffering." I recommend clicking on the link to his article just to see the stunning bar graph comparing the death toll in the DRC with the conflicts that do make it to our TV screens. So, what's going on? Why the deafening silence? "In terms of conflict, the media, policymakers, the public, and even academics have shown that collectively, they are only able to consciously process one or two conflicts at a time." That is, one or two per year, with other "peripheral" conflicts mentioned from time to time. But there are two to three dozen conflicts per year! Here are the most recent ones that "made it" to our consciousness, according to Hawkins: 1999 - Kosovo, then East Timor 2000 - Israel-Palestine 2001 - the 9/11 attacks, then Afghanistan 2002, 2003 - Iraq The DRC wasn't even among the "peripherals." Just a few more tidbits from this article, before this post gets too long (apologies to the author for savagely pruning and emphasizing) :

A 2002 study shows that CNN allotted 32 times more air time to the small-scale clashes in Israel and Palestine than to the catastrophe in the DRC.
The 180 million raised in humanitarian assistance for tiny East Timor in less than one year was more than the amount raised for the DRC in any year – it was fifteen times that raised for the DRC in 2000.
In a simple questionnaire survey, 37 Australian university students taking a course on war and peace were asked to name the three deadliest conflicts in the world: only one person could name the DRC; and an astonishing 21 (more than half) thought that, in terms of humanitarian suffering, [the Israel-Palestine] conflict was the most in need of a solution.
With very few exceptions, Western periodicals that deal with international affairs have failed to devote even a single article to analysis of the DRC.
A considerable amount of credit must go to organisations such as the International Crisis Group (ICG) and the International Rescue Committee (IRC), for being some of the very few organisations attempting to draw attention to the conflict, by providing analysis, a record of history, and a record of the number of deaths.

Hawkins sums up:

"Most African conflicts are geographically and economically removed from Western strategic interests, are not easily accessible, are highly complex, do not involve white people, and are not followed by powerful diasporas in the West [Sam adds: and have no constituency in Western countries]. These are the key factors that leave almost all African conflicts in the unfortunate status of stealth conflicts... the DRC should not be one of them"

P.S. I have a special connection to the International Rescue Committee: it was founded during WWII as the Emergency Rescue Committee, the group of New York artists and intellectuals who sent Varian Fry to Marseille with a stack of cash and a secret list of artists and intellectuals fleeing the Nazi invasion of Paris. Varian Fry ended up staying a lot longer than planned, and rescuing many more than planned including non-artists and non-intellectuals (he failed to rescue a few on his list who believed they were safe in Marseille). When we were posted in Marseille, one of these, now near 80, came to see the Consul General (Sam) to ask him to support the Varian Fry Foundation, an educational foundation that distributes educational materials to schools in the U.S. and now France. Varian Fry has been called the American Schindler, the Artists' Schindler. I translated the American website into French, but now I google in vain, it's not there. Wonder what my friends at the Association Varian Fry did with it?

So, this is Life in the Foreign Service: there are connections, weak and strong, between one post and the next.

Shouldn't Christians be against war and the death penalty?

2007-08-24T08:56:00.000+01:00

"Christian" means Follower of Christ, right? Believer in his words? "He who lives by the sword will die by the sword"... "Love your enemy, do good to those who would harm you"... Believe him? Follow him? Bet most "Christians" don't even believe him, let alone want to follow him. Yet it's pretty clear Christ really meant it. Look at how he died. And lived! Think that's insane? Think, instead, about what we could have done/could be doing with the Trillion dollars the Iraq war will eventually cost (source: MSNBC, others; some say TWO trillion). Universal (basic) Health Care for every man, woman and child on Earth, for example! Or, schooling for every child: If every 7-year old alive on Earth in 2002 had been given a grant to go to school (for many children on Earth, only a pair of shoes or the cost of textbooks stands between ignorance and literacy), there would now be a generation of 12-year olds all over the globe of whom we would not ask the question: "Why do they hate us?" By the time the trillion dollars will have been spent, these kids would be young adults - prime recruiting material for terrorists when they don't have a job. Like teaching. Or immunizing. Somehow we never had the money to save lives. But the money comes (from nowhere) to destroy lives? "If you sow the wind, you reap the whirlwind..." Nuff said, I'm depressing myself. What a waste, what a waste...

Congo: what, where, who?

2007-08-23T16:48:00.000+01:00

Well, here I am blogging. It's not that I got tired of emailing the same stuff to different people: I'm desperately trying to learn everything I can about this place before I make a big boo-boo, cause a diplomatic incident or just look like an idiot - thus confirming the image of Americans as ignorant of everything outside their borders. My mission for these first few days is to cram for the big life-in-the-foreign-service exam. Well, sure, coulda-shoulda-woulda done that before leaving, but there was just too much going on. So, in the course of learning, my only tool being the Internet (none of our stuff has arrived yet), I've come across one website after another which I know I want to return to later, but I'm not allowed to save Favorites on this government-issued, taxpayer-owned computer (thanks, y'all!). Sure, I can list url's on a Word document. But then I might as well just create a BLOG. So I spent most of yesterday learning about blogs and blog hosts (the free ones, anyway) and decided that the Google version would probably be my best choice. I do all my searching on Google anyway. Too bad, Yahoo!! (no, I'm not using double exclamation points!!). So, first thing I'm looking for: a good map of the DRC. Here's the one most commonly used. For instance, on Wikipedia. http://www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/cia07/congo_demrep_sm_2007.gif Good physical one with major cities and national parks: http://go.hrw.com/atlas/norm_htm/congodem.htm This one has a lot of the rivers and... roads? sure, they're marked as "minor" roads, but the truth is they just don't exist anymore: http://geology.com/world/democratic-republic-of-the-congo-satellite-image.shtml The same page has a satellite image, a bit marred by the border-line with other countries. Kinshasa is just below the big island in the river. Downstream of Kinshasa are terrific rapids, which one website, http://www.world-waterfalls.com/, lists as the largest (in volume of water) waterfalls in the world. In fact, the three top waterfalls on their list are in this country! (but they admit they are really rapids, stretching the definition of waterfall). It's the curse and the blessing of this river that its thousands of miles of navigable waters don't connect with the ocean. Curse for trade, blessing, perhaps, for the environment? Here's a map of the proposed provinces: http://www.insidejustice.com/law/images/articles/drc_provinces_2006_big.gif JACKPOT!!! This site has 12 maps! http://maps.nationmaster.com/country/cg/1 OK! Now I'm content. Ooo! and you can expand these! Hm. the maps are from 1997 and Congo was still Zaire. Still. Hm. Still don't see the towns where these people were born. Ok, knowing where their home province is will be enough for now. The people I'm researching are members of parliament (elected in 2006, first representative govt, ever) who will be my guests tomorrow. Cocktails i.h.o. Senator Russ Feingold, chair of the Senate Subcommittee on African Affairs, visiting Kinshasa and the towns of Goma and Bunia in the war-torn east of the country. Spent most of today helping my household staff get ready for a 12-person lunch and a reception, both tomorrow. So, what happened here, why are the roads so bad, the east so war-torn, the people so poor? Time to google for some history! This page has names, dates, events in table format: http://www.worldstatesmen.org/Congo-Kinshasa.html Just googling, before you even open any links, you get the idea: "history congo kinshasa": This period of conflict has been the bloodiest in history since World War II. ... "history war east congo kinshasa": Troops from Zimbabwe, Angola, Namibia, Chad, and Sudan intervened to support the new regime in Kinshasa...The rebels take control of much of the east of DR Congo. ... 2002 April - Peace talks in South Africa: Kinshasa signs a power-sharing deal with ... The Impact of War and Atrocity on Civilian Populations: Basic ... Kinshasa. The project failed, giving rise to a new period of instability. ... The First African World War. The last conflict in Congo started in 1996. ...Congo-Kinshasa: New Democracy Must Build on Local Leaders .... Traditional authorities and even local war lords offered some order in the vacuum after ... Wikipedia has a good basic history for those who are interested. Okay, gotta get back to my representational preparations. That's all for now!