How can I not feel guilty – on visiting the beautiful waterfalls at Zongo – August 21, 2012

The price of rooms for a night can be as high as $500US. Seems astronomical in a place where the value of a Franc Congolese to a US dollar is 930FC to 1$. One cannot mistake the beauty of the place they call Zongo. ‘Nous avons visité les chutes de Zongo. C’était très beaux.’

The trip to Zongo was well worth the four hours and one pit stop along first paved and then dusty, bumpy roads. The view of the falls was well worth the arduous and treacherous climb up and down steep rocky places and slippery rock faces. As I heafted myself up large steps over huge rocks and wondered if they knew that people older than 20 visited this place. There is an expectation that you be somewhat fit to manage the hike to see the spectacular falls and bathe in the natural shower, ‘le douche naturelle’.

I managed somehow even though I keep reminding myself that my 36th birthday is next week. Sometimes I feel old surrounded by the teenaged girls at Café Mozart and the 20-somethings Austrians. But then I see Sr. Hildegard taking the same steps and hiking herself up and down the same treacherous steps with a smile. I have only a little grey hair in comparison to Sr. Hildegard so I feel better and more motivated to continue along.

It was more than beautiful. It was stupendous. We climbed first down and down to see the
caverns at the bottom, then up and up and up to see the top of the falls against a beautiful blue sky. We climbed down a little lower to take more pictures and see the falls from a different angle. Then up again a bit to stand in the mist and be drenched. It was a gentle shower, hundreds of tiny droplets cool against skin warmed by the sun. I was smart and wore my contacts instead of glasses or as in any rain shower I wouldn’t be able to see through speckled glasses.

It was an amazing experience and I’m so glad I got the see the natural beauty of Africa. Being in the city of Kinshasa is very different from experiencing life in a small African village. We had a marvellous time with our packed lunches of sandwiches and drinks at the side of the river before it becomes the falls.

I can’t help but feel a little guilty how much this trip can cost. Knowing that some people, from NGOs or the UN or the government or other tourists, can spend $100 to $500US to stay beside the falls for a night at the resort at Zongo, when the trip here takes you through what looks like poor villages where the children put out their hands and shout ‘l’argent’ or ‘moneee’, puts the reality of the DRC at the forefront where you realize the divide between the rich and the poor
is as vast as this country. It is still hard to realize and accept that there are street children, children living on the street, while this countries riches include diamonds, gold and other precious metals. Such is life?

The beauty of this land and realizing this is where my people came from – August 20, 2012

Beautiful voices singing hymns filled the breezy African air as we stepped out of the truck. The
church was behind us, away from the main road, not visible from where we stood but the voices were clear. The sound of music and children playing greeted us as we stopped in a small village along the way from Zongo to Kisantu to buy some pineapples.

The journey to Zongo and Kisantu in itself was an adventure besides the waterfalls at Zongo and the Botanical Garden at Kisantu. It is the dry season, the end of the “saison seche” in Congo in the southest west part just four hours outside Kinshasa. The red dirt covers the leaves, bushes and trees lining the road. It covers the jeep and our shoes whenever we leap out of the jeep.

The dirt sometimes yellow, sometimes red, covers everything. The children in the village play barefooted, some with a ring and a stick, some with each other, some with a deflated ball. They play, I watch. I marvel at the significance of this for me. This simple existence is the beginning of everything, where it all started. This is the village in the country side of Congo, one of if not the largest countries in Africa, it is vast and I can’t possibly visit it all. This village is just one example of how people are living with the basics. One would think they live simply without basic amenities and modern conveniences. Yet, when we passed by other villages and the children wave and stretch out their hands to our jeep giving us the universal sign for money by rubbing the tips of their fingers together along with the universal sign for hunger by rubbing their
bellies, I also see men waving to us with one hand and the other clutching a cell phone close to their ear. Yes, even out here, four hours from Kinshasa, everyone has a cellphone.

The houses are small according to North American standards, no bigger than a trailer. But the home includes the land outside as the kitchen and the fire for cooking is outside under the sky for a roof and the sun for warmth. No walls are needed for some of the living as there is no winter to contend with, only the ‘saison seche’ and the ‘saison de pluie’. The children play outside and they have lots of room to run around. The clothes lines string from one small hut to another or to a tree. Women wash out in the open, not inside, no room inside for that, again under a warm sun and clear blue sky.

The houses are made of mud bricks, formed from the same yellow or redish earth the house stands on. Some are made of thatch and mud, with either thatch roofs or galvanized sheeting. I recall my mother showing me the mud houses just outside the village where we lived in Trinidad, West Indies, a Spanish-French-and finally-English colony. We have visited these same houses in another part of the world where another group of what could be the same people now live. It is
eery for me how much this scene resembles others I’ve witnessed growing up in Trinidad. When I visit Trinidad now I can see the same scenes now. Thought Trinidad is developed as is Congo, there are parts where people live in one or two-roomed mud huts, where the children run around on dirt floors with no shoes. That is a beginning.

In the city, one can see the evolution of that life but the differences are judgements. I have seen apartment buildings in Kinshasa with some large, some small rooms and I remember the size of condominiums in Toronto, a western city. How is it that people have traded one or two room small mud huts with endless spaces and the clear blue sky for a ceiling and the sun for warmth and the rain for water for small one or two bedroom condominiums with neighbours for a ceiling and no space to run around outside because it is either cold or dangerous? For most it is a choice, the way of the world I suppose.

Standing in that village watching the children play and recognizing the similarities, not only with this village but with other elements of Africa, of Congo that I see in the African Diaspora, fills me with a revelation. My connection to this place is strong. Even though I don’t know what country my African ancestors came from, I can feel that they were here or someplace like it. We have fu-fu in Trinidad but we call it co-co, it is the same thing but with ochroes, I have eaten the original fu-fu that the Africans brought with them when they were transplanted to the Caribbean and other lands. This is Africa, where it all started, where it began.

The Circle of Life, on birth, marriage and death – August 17, 2012

She wept openly, sobbing uncontrollably, chest heaving, breath ragged and staccato. She wept loudly, wailed, for her cousin who died of AIDS. Moments before she told me in words, “Mon cousin, il est mort. Il est mort de SIDA.” Those were words I understood. My French has improved, but I would have known SIDA anyway. It is likely the most prevalent disease on the African continent, probably killing more people than all the other diseases like malaria and symptoms like starvation and malnutrition combined.

I have wailed like that for loved ones lost so I know the feeling. Only twice in my life have I mourned like that, thank God. It was heart-wrenching to hear a grown woman, only 1 year older than me, cry like that. Death is real. It happens here in the Congo as it does anywhere else. It still affects people as it does anywhere else. I can only guess from her cries that Nanette was close
to her cousin or the realization that AIDS has taken another life or mourning the situation in Congo as dire. I don’t know what she was thinking, I didn’t ask, my mind now reels with imaginings.

Earlier that day, on my walk back from the ‘Salles de Exposition’, I came upon a funeral. It was a large funeral under a big tent in a space just off the main road, Vingt-quatre (No. 24 Boulevard is called “24” in French). There was music and tears, crying and laughter. I stayed for only a few minutes as I wasn’t invited and watched the women singing, some were singing through tears, wiping their faces as they swayed. It was sad and at the same time beautiful. There were a couple hundred people there.

At dinner later that night, the Sisters talked about the prospects and futures for the girls, especially those who are “aging-out” of their system of care. Once your studies are finished and you’ve passed your examinations, the “jury”, there is an expectation that you will either marry, or work or both, but there is a need for the young people to move out to make room for the younger students.

They were saddened that for many of the girls the chance that they would become pregnant quickly and begin the cycle all over again was very high. Funnily, Sr. Hildegard commented that the feistiest girls, the ones who give them the most trouble are the ones who are okay, they are productive and working and have found suitable husbands. Whereas she mourned the loss of the one who was gentle and easy going and didn’t give any trouble, that one has already had children
with no one to take care of her or them.

In one day, I experienced the emotional rollercoaster from death, birth and marriage. The circle of life is all I could think of and to ease my mind and my spirit and to stop myself from crying all the time, I sang the Disney song in my head – The Circle of Life. It seemed fitting.

Art is expressive, on the difference between an art gallery and a garden of art – August 16, 2012

Art is expressive of many things and the intent or purpose of it differes with each piece. I visited the ‘Salles de Exposition’ at the ‘Academie des Beaux Artes’ yesterday. It was so different from my previous visits to the ‘Academie des Beaux Artes’. Before I had only viewed the artwork that is outside in their gardens, the work of the students at the academy. Yesterday, I visited the ‘Salles
de Exposition’ which are only open during the week, not on Sundays which is when I have visited the ‘Academie’.

There is an immediate difference between the art that is outside on the grounds and in the garden from the art that is in the exposition. It is for me the difference between public and private, at home and outside the house.

Before I wrote about the tortured souls on display on the grounds of the ‘Academie’. I witnessed artistic expressions of abuse, war, torture, starvation, death and also some expressions of love, family, parenting. But more often I saw the reality of the worst experiences in Congo, in Africa reflected in the art. I mused that that is because outside the home is a place for monuments, monuments to something public that must or should be shared. People often need or want
reminders of some shared experience so it is not forgotten.

In the ‘Salle de Exposition’, the art was more majestic in that I only saw art that reflected expressions of love, strength, hope, faith, tenderness. The sculptures were soft, smooth, modern and some classical, the paintings were vibrant and colourful, all of it was beautiful pieces of art one would want in one’s home. (More descriptions – something that struck me).

It was so very good for me to visit the art gallery. I mused that this kind of art, art intended for the home or office, some place somewhat private, should make you feel good, is intended to make you feel good. One purchases art, I think, to feel something good because at home you want to feel good, hope, beauty, strength, faith.

Upon realizing these girls don’t have family, some don’t have the bonds that are essential for normal growth and development – August 7, 2012

I was very sad yesterday. I don’t know if it was the malaria pills or the tiny cold I had that’s making me sensitive, but I cried deeply for the little girls.

We had visitors from Sanga Mamba yesterday, they came with the Sisters, ‘Les Soeurs’, and stayed for most of the day and left in the evening. When they were leaving at 8pm that night, the littlest one bawled and you could hear her cries from inside the café while she and the others piled into the truck outside to go back to Sanga Mamba. I think she made friends with the girls here, reconnected with the ones who are staying here from Sanga Mamba, and didn’t want to leave them or us. It made me so sad to hear her crying.

Many of the girls here are from Sanga Mamba so when the Sisters visit, all the girls run to them with screams and shouts and give them big bear hugs. So many of them are attached to the Soeurs, their foster moms. They need to be. I think the Sisters ‘Soeurs’ have enough love to raise all these kids and keep them in their hearts. I think it is good that some women can be devoted and committed to that life and be foster moms to so many children who need them.

Sometimes though, a few slip through those arms and are without attachments. As we watched the girls playing in ‘le salon’, the tv room for the Sisters that all the petites are welcomed to hang out in, we noticed some things. The littlest one who bawled upon leaving is 2 years old and receives much of the attention because she is the littlest and for now, the cutest. Then there is Ma-do, who is five years old, sassy and cute and she knows it. When the littlest one is not here, Ma-do is ‘le plus petite’ and gets all the attention. Then there is Sarah who is like a middle child. She is neither the youngest not the oldest of the petites nor has she found a way to be. Sarah is ‘metis’ meaning she is of fair complexion and mixed. They called me ‘metis’ here also when I first arrived. I have explained the double meanings of ‘metis’ here and ‘Metis’ in Canada. I’m Trini
and thus mixed so yes, like ‘metis’ but maybe different. Definitely, there is ‘shadeism’ here as there is anywhere there is difference even if it is slight, but I don’t think that is troubling Sarah as much as being in the middle.

While the littlest one was getting all the attention, Sarah was writhing on the ground, playing all kinds of zany tricks. Last night, she pretended to be blind with her eyes squeezed tight and reached out to grab the littlest one by the arm or the hair. I wasn’t sure what this was but I had seen it before, I’m not a social worker so I hadn’t done the analysis. Two of the Austrians volunteers are social workers so sometimes we have chats about social work and child protection. The other times I had seen Sarah act out was when Ma-do was getting all the attention for being cute and Marina, the oldest of the petites, had a running joke with me where she would try to ‘mange mon corps’--nibble on my neck and I would tickle her. It was Marina’s and my thing, but Sarah was also trying it out, trying to fit in. Sarah hasn’t found her own thing as yet.

Yesterday evening, Julia remarked to me that Sarah acts out because she doesn’t have a close attachment to any one person. Julia has noticed that Sarah acts out, rolling her body all over the couch or the floor, doing all kinds of arm-flailing to get some attention even if it’s negative attention. Oh, how my heart ached for her and for all the girls. Then I remember that I’m at a
boarding school for girls that is more like a foster/group home for children and girls who don’t have families. I cried from the depths of my heart.

Some do have the familial attachments, some have gone ‘home’ to Grandparents, God-parents,
aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers and a few to parents for their vacations. Some have no one and no place to go. Then I realize that so many of these children and girls do not have a mother-father or mother relationship. They, and we, rely heavily on the Sisters to provide the guidance, discipline, love and affection that 50-odd young girls between the ages of 5 and 18 need.

In my work in Toronto, Ontario with child welfare, we have long preached that children fare
well in a family-setting. Children need the bonding and attachment of one family or one stable adult in their lives. Here I see what happens when that is not the case. I cried, not for myself, but for all the girls who don’t have a family or a close attachment to one. They are again stronger than I for I have that attachment and can’t imagine my life without it.

Later on I witnessed something entirely different. The next night, Sister Yolande called all the ‘filles’ downstairs to say hello to the Sisters from Sanga Mamba, who had returned for another visit though brief. There were such shouts of glee and joy and laughter. There were hugs and kisses, strange handshakes and jumping on backs and lifting people up. Even the Austrians got right into it. When I saw the girls hugging each other even after the Sisters had gone I realized that they at least have each other. They have family of a different kind. For that, I am entirely grateful.

Mariage – a popular option for the girls, for me being wistful - August 1, 2012

In two days on the weekend, Saturday and Sunday, I witnessed a cultural tradition, the 'presentation’ (even though it looks like it’s written in English, I actually wrote it in French, hence the single quotation marks so you have to read it with an accent. Try pre-zen-ta-cion), and three ‘mariages’ (again, it’s French so try mari-ah-ges, not mehr-age).

Way to encourage a girl! We witnessed Matilde’s engagement on Saturday afternoon and it was really very nice. She was all dressed in white and came into the room after everyone else was seated. The fiancé, his family, Matilde’s family and friends (me included!) were all expectantly awaiting her. I nearly missed it chatting on skype in the cyber café, but I knew something was up when I saw all the girls running from the courtyard to the house and I heard their voices and
the Congolese way of celebrating. I ran up the stairs in time to see the crowd of young girls chanting and heralding Matilde. It was very much like the way they welcomed me and I really appreciated that. It was late at night but they were all there to welcome me as if with palm fronds, and they gave me hugs and kisses, it was fantastic. So this they were doing for Matilde.

I managed to get a seat and saw Matilde make her entrance. Once she sat, Soeur Hildegard
gave a speech and talked highly of Matilde and praised her. It was very becoming. The groom’s father also gave a few words, not a speech. Then there was a short ceremony at the chapel. Then dinner. There was even the exchange that happens. Wow! That was cool. I got to see a dowry kinda thing happen, except for the goat. Apparently, the goat is to come, I just don’t know when
and to whom the goat goes. Very interesting.

Before I could even go to the dinner, I saw out the window from where we are that a bride, also dressed in a beautiful white dress, came to the Café to chill for a bit with her wedding party. I dashed downstairs to get a better look at her and her party. It was lovely. I wanted to take some pictures but didn’t want to be intrusive, there’s some ‘interdit’ about taking pictures in public.

The very next day, on the way from the ‘Fikin’, we saw two more brides and their bridal parties taking their pictures at the ‘Parliament de peuple’. If I wasn’t already in the mood for an engagement and presentation and wedding, then this experience over the two days would be
enough to throw me over the edge. It’s like ‘darling, the signs couldn’t be any clearer’. I am already over the edge. We just need to make it official. Having experienced the ‘presentation’ here I will be sure to include my culture and his into the official ‘presentation’, engagement party, wedding ceremony and marriage. This experience here in the Congo has taught me how important culture and heritage are. I witnessed a cultural tradition that is older than I could imagine, centuries--no millennia years old, and I am awed.

La musique du Congo, the music of Congo--only a sample, just a taste – July 31, 2012

I have experienced some of the music of Congo and of Africa but only a little. J’ai ecoute la musique du Congo et d’Afrique mais un peu seul. As they say here, ‘petite à petite’. I’ve been invited to the night clubs but will wait a bit before I go out, it would be nice to go out with the friends I’ve made here and to see how the Congolese socialize and dance.

In the meantime, I’ve been to the Fikin – amusement park for children – and watched and listened to a couple concerts with live music. I’ve been singing with the girls here a little, learning some music and teaching some. Little by little, I’m experiencing Congo.

I went to the ‘Fikin’ with the Austrian girls. The sons of a friend of Sister Hildegard invited the girls out and there was room so I got to go along also. We managed to fit nine people in the SUV; there were the five Austrians, plus me, the two sons and one of them’s girlfriend. This was the closest the Austrians have gotten to the experience of transport in Kinshasa. We passed taxi vans filled with people on our way to the ‘Fikin’ and I explained, and they could see for themselves, that there were five or six rows of people in the van knee-to-knee and knee-to-back. The vans have five or six, more often six, wooden benches secured in the van for easily 24 people or 30 people. Transportation is cheap here though so 500FC or $0.50 is not too much to pay for convenience if not for spaciousness.

At the ‘Fikin’, we watched two small concerts. At the first concert people were seated and more relaxed and the host invited children up on stage to dance. I joined with a chair dance when the DJ played ‘Chop my money’ and all the littles danced on stage and we all danced in our seats. We remarked that we could easily imagine the ‘petites’ at Café Mozart on the same stage. (I was glad for the break to be out on my one day off but I was wistful thinking about the girls being able to enjoy the ‘Fikin’ also). At the second concert everyone was standing and moving to the music, it was gospel music so more dynamic and exuberant. Even though I don’t understand the words the music is beautiful.

But the most fun was learning a song from the girls on Monday night. We sung together last week sometime and heard the girls sing “Lord, I lift your name on high” in English, French and Lingala and we all wanted to learn the song in Lingala especially. After dinner yesterday, some of us gathered in the courtyard and sang a little and talked a little. The lights flickered and went out. Of course, the chorus of ‘oohhs’ ensued plus a few ‘oh nos’, but for the most part we just chilled and enjoyed the moments in the dark. My eyes got used to the darkness pretty quickly because the moon was almost full and thus very bright so it wasn’t really that dark. “What do you do when the lights go out?” one of the Austrian girls asked. I don’t have a good answer for that but I’d rather chill and hang out with people than stay in my room in the dark, because the only thing I can do there is sleep. We just chilled and hung out, sang a bit, talked a bit. The lights flickered on and then off again.

People kept asking me when I would be singing. I love singing but this was a command performace that I hadn’t prepared for. Noella told everyone that day that I would serenade them with Alicia Keys’ “No one” at night. My French is not that bad but I’m pretty sure Noella and I talked about ‘on va chanter’, as in ‘we’ will sing. Earlier that day for the English class, Noella and I translated “No one” together. In the moonlight under the Kinshasa night sky, I sang one line at a time and Noella gave the meaning in French.

Sometimes I forget that she is a teenager. It wasn’t until someone made fun of how she delivered the chorus in French that I remembered she is only seventeen. The chorus is “no one, no one, no one-un-un-unnh” in English; Noella spoke slowly and without much emotion, ‘Personne. Personne. Personne.’ rather matter-of-factly. These are words she is saying, not singing, and it was incredibly funny how dead-pan was her delivery. When someone laughed a little and remarked how flat Noella gave the ‘personne’ part, she got mightily offended and feigned annoyance. It was hilarious, I couldn’t help the situation at all because I continued to laugh, but I would bury my head in my lap so it wouldn’t seem that I was laughing at her. In her broken English, which must sound a lot like my French, she says “You make fun of me! I not sing for you no more.” And so it went. It was so amusing, we had to apologize and encourage her to continue with platitudes and graciousness. Teenage girls are so much fun!

Noella also led our learning of the gospel song, “Lord, I lift your name on high” in English, French and Lingala. A mountain of hilarity again with the teenaged antics. But we sang it in three languages. It was great to learn the French and Lingala with the help of Matilde, Vanessa, Crystal and also Lumiere who gave us the words and chords. I hope to come away with more music, language and culture and I hope to be able to give back more than I receive.