On hanging out with a bunch of nuns and how real they are, how often I forget they are religious - August 30, 2012

Eating ice cream at the Don Bosco Service Station. It is late. Long after mass, and after chatting with people we knew, the six of us stopped to have an ice cream.

Church is a place where people congregate, hence congregation, and even I, a tourist, a visitor from Canada who is in Lubumbashi for only 9 days had a friend to say hi to. Imagine!

A young man came up to me to say “bon soir”, I politely replied but didn’t know the guy though he seemed to know me. He asked me in French if I remembered him, I said I was sorry, but no, I didn’t. He reminded me that he met me at Neema’s graduation fete at the Café Mozart. Ah! It was rather nice that he remembered me and came up to say hi. Everyone of the Sisters had someone come up to say hi, even me. I felt special but at the same time normal.

It was this feeling of normal that persisted. Sister Janet, Sister Justine, Sister Noella, Sister Florence, Sister Matilde and I hung out eating ice cream at the Don Bosco. There was I, chilling and hanging out with my new friends. We sauntered back to church because we heard the start of a concert and wanted to check it out on our way back. We quickly hurried to eat the ice cream, my throat was so cold in the cool night air. Everyone had been telling me how cold Lubumbashi would be, almost like back home for me they said. Ha! Not at all. I’ve been in much colder places. But after eating ice cream and standing outside I could feel it and little goosebumps appeared on my arms.

Once we were finished our ice creams, we said “au revoir” and “a demain” to Sister Janet and took seats inside the church for the concert. This was different from the concert at Sacre Coeur in Kinshasa my 2^nd or 3^rd week there. This had a beautiful chorus in a big old style church with high vaulted ceilings and concrete so the music was amplified naturally and with speakers.

After listening for a while, we left to go home (yea, home at Maison Laura, ahem – next door to the President’s house, the president of the DRC!). The walk home was casual and serene except for avoiding cars all the time. They engaged me in conversation, patiently awaiting each staggered sentence. I appreciated being included and it made it easier to speak that they had patience with me as well.

It was then that I noticed that the life of the religious is ‘normal’ so to say. I have enjoyed living among the sisters. They are really some of the nicest people on earth. We pray often. We eat together. The biggest difference between the religious and those who follow a different calling is that the religious are self-less. Everything they do for the other. There are great rewards in that life, beyond the feeling of doing good, and before the ever-after. In this country, there is respect for the Sisters, they are seen as sisters to everyone, as carers, they carry the country’s children, the poor, the neglected, the sick, in their hearts and in their hands. I am glad to call them Sister and friend.

How these Sisters are foster and adoptive mothers, good ones at that - August 29, 2012

I had lunch with the Salesian Sisters at the Provincial House on a Wednesday. It was very nice. I got the chance to listen to them share stories about their work, their lives. It is always enlightening for me. I have heard from some of the girls how they regard the Sisters, especially the one or ones they are closest to as family. Those girls who don’t have parents, neither Mom or Dad or no Mom, usually end up in the care of the Sisters and many stay until they can be on their own.

 

I recall talking to Mathilde about it when she told me about her pending engagement party. I asked if she was inviting or expecting family to come to the ‘presentation’ but she told me that Sister Hildegard is her family and that is who she is expecting. Mathilde has neither mother nor father. I have been blessed to see the girls who have grown up with someone stable in their lives and are now ready to leave the nest and be full-grown, contributing members of society. I have also seen the little ones who struggle to find that someone.

 

At lunch that day, Sr. Josephine talked about Rebekka. Rebekka is a small child about two years old, round face, cherubic cheeks, bright eyes with pools of black, a generous smile, she is round, bubbly and a little chubby. I always saw Rebekka when Sr. Josephine came from Sanga Mamba to Café Mozart for supplies or to visit. Every time Sr. Josephine was there, so was Rebekka. All the girls loved her, she is such a sweet and alluring child. Shy at first, but friendly. It took her a while to acclimate to the Austrians, she cried at first because she hadn’t seen white people before, but then she got used to them. I hadn’t heard her story before, but at lunch that day Sr. Josephine shared her story.

 

Rebekka came to the Sisters at Sanga Mamba, starving and malnourished, beaten and abused a year ago. A relative dropped her off one day. She was a skinny thing then and looked the part of the starving child and didn’t say a word, she was very young, but either extremely shy or too traumatized to say anything. Sr. Josephine talked to the Sisters at the table and I sat right next to her so I heard her story first-hand, though in French. At this point, I had spent 10 weeks in Kinshasa so my comprehension was very good. I heard words I’m familiar with working in child welfare:  abuse, maltreated, traumatized. Unmistakeable even in French.

 

Sr. Josephine explained to us as she had to the relative that they don’t normally take in such young children. Children come to them to attend school and live there as ‘internes’ when they are old enough for school five years old or thereabouts. Rebekka was very young. Sr. Josephine was reluctant to take her in at that young age but couldn’t refuse, the child was young yes but needed someone to take care of her and raise her. How could Sr. Josephine say no to that? So she took her in and became her adopted mother.

 

Sr. Josephine was at the Provincial House in Lubumbashi for a week, and told us that she talks to Rebekka on the telephone every day while she is away and that Rebekka calls her ‘mama’. She is surprised now that the child is talking so much and tells us about it because when she first came to Sr. Josephine she didn’t talk at all, not one word. But after time with Sr. Josephine, Rebekka began feeling comfortable, safe and loved. The last time I saw her before I left Kinshasa, she even sang for me ‘bon anniversaire’. What a sweet child! It is always hard to imagine that someone would abuse such a beautiful, innocent, little child, but they do and it can’t be explained or understood. I am grateful and happy that in the DRC the Salesian Sisters are there for these girls, especially the littlest ones. They are sisters to some and mothers to others.

Yes, this Trini-Canadian can dance – on the study of the ‘danse Congolais’ – August 28, 2012

I have been studying the dancing since I arrived. I love to dance and learn all kinds of ne w dances. The first week I arrived, the girls were listening to music outside on the benches and dancing a little. I came by and joined them. As always, from day 1 until I left, there were squeals of laughter and delight. I could never tell if they were laughing because it was funny to see me dance like that or if it was surprising that I could dance like that. I’d like to think it was the
latter.

I paid attention to how they moved and what they did with arms, legs and hips. My trainer is a dancer and she told me to watch and learn how the Congolese dance. She said they dance amazingly and I had best learn how they do it during my three months in Congo. She was very excited for me to go and see the dancing and hear the music. So I was a little bit prepared for what I saw and I came with the expectation that I would learn something, that I would study
something.

Certainly, the Congolese-‘Congolais’ have a particular way of dancing. My trainer, Francisca, said I should pay attention to it and I’m so glad she told me so and that I did. You need good posture to dance the way of the Congolese. I started paying attention at Café Mozart with the girls after dinner and whenever we had free time. I watched Jessica dance, she dances very well with the arms, shoulders and good posture. Aisha dances with the hips and feet. I couldn’t figure out the way they twisted their legs until I studied the girls dancing at the Fikin; it was there I saw the secret that one foot is planted and gives the impression that the both feet are moving. I still can’t figure out what to do when I see both feet twisting, I can’t see the shift of weight.

I made some videos at the fete Neema had for her graduation. I invited myself to her fete on the Terrase atop Café Mozart since I had the responsibility to close up after the party, I thought I should attend the party then I would know better when it ends. There is more study to do but I watched then how the women and the men moved, how they lifted their shoulders and chests, how their arms moved akimbo to their bodies. The woman always dance with the chest lifted, never sagging, never slouching. At the wedding of Serge’s brother Alfred, I danced with the women again and copied their movements. We were there with friends of Serge from Café Mozart also, so Frank would show me some new moves especially ones specific to certain songs. I later learned that the girls think he is a good dancer and I was right to follow his steps.

At the wedding of Bijou and Salvatore there was even more dancing. By now I had some of the basic moves down and every time I saw a new move I studied it, copied it and then voila! Frank was there again showing off his moves and there I was learning from him. One of the girls told me, “Frank danse bien, tu peut se regarder.” I danced very well. One man talked to me only in Lingala, I told him I barely speak French and Lingala not at all. In French, the man told me he
thought I was Congolese, he asked not only where I am from but where I grew up. He was surprised and astonished that I was a foreigner from Canada but I could dance like that. He said in French, “'Comment est ce que tu danse comme le Congolais?' How come you dance like the Congolese?” I danced really well. ‘J’ai dansé bien, très bien’. I had been studying the dance, watched others, the girls here, the women at Neema’s fete, the people at the wedding of Serge’s brother, so by the time Bijou’s wedding came I was ready. Watch and learn is how I did it. Observe and then try. I tried to copy exactly what I saw, for the most part it worked. That’s how I can dance like the ‘Congolais’.

I cannot wait to show off my moves at a dance club in Toronto! Preferably one that plays Congolese music. ;)

“A-eh Marie-Lauren!” and how that greeting started and evolved – August 29, 2012

Just by being here you have an impact. But you never know what that impact is or how it feels, you just know you are here to be with people, to show them you care, to help, to lend your skills, to do whatever it is that you can do. I didn’t realize my impact or influence on the girls until the night of Bijou’s wedding.

It all started with Katey. I don’t know why, I don’t think it was because I am Canadian, I don’t think anyone here knows the universal Canadian ‘eh!’ and I am 99% sure I didn’t use it here because I was speaking French instead of English, but you never know when it is ingrained as it is. It may also be that is how Katey talks. One morning, it began very musical and rhythmic “A-eh
Marie-Lauren!” and I replied with the same melody “A-eh Ka-tey!” and so it went. Every morning and then every time we saw each other, “A-eh (name)!” It became like a greeting and salutation all in one, it reassured the other that everything was all right, spirits were good, one’s health and happiness was intact enough to say ‘hi-howareyou-Imfine” all in one word.

Even if Katey was in serious conversation with someone or with others or if she was busy working, if she saw me she gave me her great big smile with all white teeth against her rich ebony skin and that familiar greeting. I knew that everything was okay with her, I replied signalling all was well with me. Even if I wasn’t feeling right, slightly out of sorts, lonely or misunderstood, hearing that greeting from Katey lifted my spirits and reminded me that
everything was alright in the world because I was with people I cared for who cared for me.

It started almost right away, week one for sure if not day one. It was an unusual way for me to remember her name and for her mine, but it worked. It spread to the other girls as well. They challenged me to remember their names as well. I did. I had to write down over 60 names on a tiny piece of paper and after two weeks I had them all. And then many weeks after, when there were new girls at the school beginning their training and formation, they heard the greeting and joined in. They were new to me and I hadn’t room in my head for more names so I replied with just an “A-eh!” One of the girls challenged me, she told me her name was Lucie and that she expected when she greeted me with “A-eh Marie-Lauren!” I would reply with “A-eh, Lu-cie!”

I was shocked, surprised and slightly embarrassed in a good way that the girls all knew this greeting at the wedding. I looked good, dressed in a short pink-striped dress that I bought with Matilde at the Grand Marche, I did my hair and makeup and my nails. I was quite a sight. Even Sr. Hildegard commented on the length of my skirt. They are such real people sometimes I forget they are nuns. I am looking good and I am just sauntering to my room to freshen up after dinner and before the dancing begins. I was seated early so I didn’t get to see all the girls before dinner, but I have to pass them on my way out. I was totally caught off guard when to my surprise instead of a hi or hello, ‘salut’ or ‘bon soir’, there is a chorus of “A-eh Marie-Lauren!”

Every girl there that I knew gave me this greeting, and if they were slow to join in the chorus, they added their greetings like an echoing wave. Oh my! It was fantastic. Way to make a girl feel special! I’m not normally shy, but when you are centred out like that it can be a bit overwhelming. It may have been my imagination or not, but I’m sure everyone heard that greeting cause I think a chorus of 46 or so girls can be pretty loud. I didn’t even look back as I left to see if heads turned, I imagine they did. (Pictured here is me with Terese).

Those girls were so nice to give me that attention. I had tried over the 10 weeks I was at Café Mozart to give them mine. I see that they returned the favour. Much appreciated.

The wedding and the dancing – August 24, 2012

The wedding of Bijou and Salvatore was fantastic! They had a civil marriage in the afternoon followed by a fete at night. It was the second ‘mariage fete’ I attended but this one I looked forward to very much because I knew Bijou and Salvatore and knew their wedding would be fantastic. It was held at Café Mozart, outside under the African night sky, a new moon and a few stars. (the picture is taken when the happy couple returns from the civil ceremony)

I witnessed the traditions of the ‘Congolais’ and am awed, again. I saw a few of these traditions at the wedding of Serge’s brother Alfred a few weeks before and now the images are cemented in my mind. At the entrance of the bride and groom, the newly married couple there are the shouts and chants and greetings of welcome. Once they are settled there is the presentation of the gifts. It is like the receiving line that I am familiar with where you greet the bride and groom with the appropriate salutation, the women greet each other cheek to cheek to cheek (three times) and the men greet the women the same way, the men great each other temple to temple to temple (three times). You hand your gift to the bride whose matron or maid of honour or marine (God-mother) takes it and holds securely. After this is the first dance of the married couple. While they take to the dance floor, guests come at them with wads of cash in hand and throw it at the couple like confetti, some people throw the money with flare and pizzaz, some tuck it in the pockets of the groom or the bosom of the bride, depending on how well you know the couple I think. The petites scramble to pick up all the money, usually ‘Francs Congolais’.

Then the dancing begins. Other couples, married or engaged join the newly married couple on the dance floor. At this was Bijou’s wedding, Matilde and her fiancé joined them as did Engenie and her fiancé. Then later there was the food and the eating, it was very good. I did my best to not overeat but there were so many things that I enjoy eating it was hard to resist. There was the ‘chiquang’-made of manioc/cassava solely, fried plantain, salted fish ‘poisson sale’, chicken ‘poulet’, the greens ‘pon du’-made of the leaves of the manioc/cassava and much more. Then the cake came out and there was the cake cutting ceremony, by this time, almost everyone is up dancing so the cake serving is interrupted. While I'm dancing, I noticed a young girl has her cake in hand and is eating it while dancing, I try the same. It doesn’t work for me and I have to take my pieces of the groom’s chocolate cake and the bride’s white cake back to my seat, where I share it.

After this, then the dancing begins in earnest. I dance with Bijou and she is as good at it as I imagined, she dances really well even in her big wedding dress, I hope I can look as classy and sophisticated as she does at her wedding at mine when it comes. The best part is that the wedding took place at Café Mozart and everyone from Café Mozart was there for the dinner and the dancing, even those few who had to work the event. All the girls who I had been practicing dancing with were there, some changed their clothes from their dresses into comfy yet stylish pants for the dancing. All the women I had worked with and talked of going out with were there and we danced together still. It was really nice that all the girls were there because this was their family’s wedding, Bijou is like their sister and the Sisters are like their parents so of course, they all attended, all 46 of them. A rather large family.

The National Museum at Kinshasa – August 22, 2012

It was a pleasure to listen to the curator describing in vivid detail the history and culture of the peoples of Congo. We arrived on foot after taking a taxi to the bottom of the hill. We walked up a long steep road to the museum, where a guard confiscated my passport, I was reluctant to part with my only and most important piece of identification, but I did and it was okay.

The power was out at first so we began the tour guided by torchlight. We paid 1000FC for ‘Congolais’, my local guide, a young girl from the school at Café Mozart, and $10 or approximately 10 000FC for ‘etrangers’ like myself. For me it was well worth the money to have a guided tour of the national museum of Congo. The curator talked in French, the choices were Lingala and French and since I only understand a few phrases in Lingala – “Na lobe” and “Sango nini”, I preferred French and my comprehension is much better so I understood and I even learned a few new words. Soon after we began the electricity was back on and we continued
in the light.

What I learned is that Congo is as diverse as it is large. I had noticed that there were all kinds of black people in Africa, more than I have ever seen anywhere. I had thought that Trinidad was diverse with its mixes and melanges and then Canada with its multiculturalism but really it is Africa that has the most diversity. I didn’t think I would see so many shades of black – from skin so rich in hue it appears purple to skin devoid of pigment and everything in between -- or every shape of nose and eye, every kind of cheek or jaw bone, every size giant or petit. Congo is just one example of the diversity of Africa. And no, all black people do not look alike, this was proven for sure. So if anyone still thinks that, take my word for it, it ain’t so.

At the museum, the curator showed me a map of languages in Congo and a map of tribes. There are more than 240 lanuages, officially there are four national languages – Chiluba, Lingala, Swahili and Kikongo, and then there are dialects for the different language groups. Languages
in the same region or group will pronounce some words differently but have many similarities. The languages in different regions are different, from Lingala in the west to Swahili in the east. I learned there are more than 460 tribes, which would explain the diversity you see in Kinshasa and Lubumbashi.

She, the curator, talked to me about the culture, the spirituality, the everyday and the special occasions of the different peoples of Congo. Sometimes she could only explain one element of one tribe because only that particular artifact was in the museum during this curation. She explained that for each tribe there are hundreds of artifacts and all of them couldn’t fit in the museum. There was one giant mask with lots of fabric strings or tendrils flowing all around the mask like long flowing hair. She explains that this is the feminine mask, it is worn by a man in a tribal council. In this way, the woman, the feminine is represented even if women are not physically part of the council. Throughout the presentation, there were many references to the role of women in the family, in the community and in society. Definitely I have talked to people here (mostly women) about women’s role and everyone agrees that women are producers and need
to be productive to have value. We were not limited in our discussions to the reproductivity of having babies, no, we also contemplated the role of women in having an education or training, having skills, being employable or employed, being able to contribute to the family, being able to carry the family, having strength and fortitude and being a contributing member of society.

What I liked most about the Musee National was this interactivity. I visited many museums in
Paris and enjoyed the Musee de Quai Branly, mostly because it showcased the history and heritage of Africa, Asian, and America before and with the influence of the West and colonization. Early history up to before colonization was showcased. At the Musee National in Kinshasa, the museum was solely about Congo and in Congo, I think also by the ‘Congolais’ for the ‘Congolais’. So instead of videos as there were at the Musee de Quai Branly, there was the woman talking in very good French, all the while being explicit with gestures and if I didn’t get something she repeated or explained differently or if I asked a question she answered.

She explained the initiation process for young men of a particular tribe moving into adulthood, the first stage. Young men are circumcised when they are 18 years old and without any pants on made to run through what she described as razor grass to see who is strongest and can tolerate that kind of pain. Ouch! The one that cries too much is not fit to be chief but the one who cries a little is strong enough to be chief and soft enough to empathize. An interesting test! So glad I’m not an 18 year old boy living in rural Congo. At first when she explained, I didn’t believe my ears but I could not not believe my eyes because her gestures were unmistakeable, and her reaction to my aghast look told me that I understood correctly.

I really enjoyed my personal guided tour of the museum. We left after an hour-long guided tour and took ourselves on a self-guided tour of the grounds where we looked at the murals and the statues of King Leopold and his nephew Albert, the two statues were the only items I saw reflecting colonial times. Then we picked up our identification cards and walked back down the hill. I learned a lot from that experience about the people of the Congo—their past, their history as told by them.

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?