La Grace de Dieu

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.