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.

And lead us not into temptation - July 4, 2012

I've given in at least twice, eating a pavot/noisette cherry cake for dessert on the weekend and chocolate croissants today. I try very hard to eat the gluten-free bread that the boulangeur made especially for me and is also being sold at the cafe. It is nice, very whole grain-ey, but definitely free of gluten, I can tell cause it is heavy and hard, not light and fluffy like the croissants or the baguettes.

"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." - Our Father
"Et ne nous soumets pas á la tentation, Mais delivre-nous du mal." - Le 'Notre Pere'

I don't know how it happened, that a gluten-free, dairy-free lover of all things baked should find herself staying at a boulangerie and pattiserie for three months. I went all the way to Africa, the Congo, and where am I? At the doors of a Belgian-style Bakery and Cafe. Every morning, the smell of fresh baked baguettes wafts its way up the stairs to my room and taunts my nose. Every time I work at the Cafe or the Kiosk, cream-stuffed profiteroles and slices of black forest cake, eclairs and every imaginable, delectable dessert catches my eye. Everyday, baguettes are flinging themselves at me. Okay, that last part was my imagination, but there are literally mountains of baguettes here. Like in France, it is a staple, they are sold at the side of the road, from atop people's heads (with men carrying drinks, peanuts or bread atop their heads), from the baskets in driveways, the bread is everywhere. A quick and easy meal for the gluten-tolerant.

Cafe Mozart as it is called, is the hub of activity here at the Salesian Sisters ministry in Kinshasa. Very enterprising indeed. At Cafe Mozart and the Imbiss Don Bosco (Kiosk), they sell all variety of baked goods, from bread to pastries to tarts and cakes. My weakness is the croissants. I'm testing the theory that people have shared with me that it is North American genetically modified gluten product that I am sensitive and intolerant to. So far, the theory is mostly right. I wasn't sick last week or when I was in Paris and tested the theory, not as sick as I've been eating little bits of pizza or hidden gluten in fried items in Canada. My stomach is not cramping as it would had I eated a croissant from Toronto, but there is the usual bloating. Among 14 and 16 year olds, I don't want to be the one with a bloated belly, that wouldn't look right.

I'm trying to stay healthy here, and I make it to the 6:15 am mass every morning, after which is a scrumptious breakfast with my gluten-free bread. I try to make it up and down the three flights of stairs at least 10 times a day. For no reason whatsoever, I go to my room up stairs, if even to wash my hands, just so I get some exercise. I have to make more of an effort if the temptation to eat Congolese-flour pastries gets overwhelming, again.

I'm sure life in Congo isn't as idyllic as I'm painting it with an abundance of food and modernities everywhere. But this is what I'm being exposed to. I've met a few people who work in the bush and that is as good an insight as I'm going to get unless I go there myself. I met a nice priest on Sunday night, Father Gerard, a jesuit priest from Belgium who spoke very good English. Father Gerard told me all about the life in the bush. He is 79 and works in the bush at his mission. He told me about things that I don’t think I will experience here. Father Gerard went on about the bush only having electricity for 2 hours a day, internet once a week. A very different life than what I have here.

I met another volunteer yesterday, Joanne, from France. She is a young person, just finished university in engineering, tropical agriculture. She is volunteering at the Sister's mision in the bush, Boogeemyee (sp?), for 2 years. She is outside of the city there but goes in on weekends. Joanne has spent already 10 months in the bush and has survived. So vicariously, I'm hearing about life outside of the walls of this beautiful place called Cafe Mozart.

It is beautiful with the palm trees and the random birdies singing and the pet cats running around, one looks just like Chat Noire but is 1/4 her size. It is very nice, but I'm reminded often that it is a boarding school for girls, many of whom either have no family or whose family can't afford to keep them at home so have sent them here for an education. I'm hanging out with anywhere from 4 to 15 young girls at a time. There are 24 here. They are on school vacation so life is different than when there is school. So during summer vacation, they work at the patisserie, boulangerie and around the place. Today, I helped them scrub the baking sheets for the variety of breads baked here. For me it was fun, for them drudgery. They remind me why I'm here and what I'm doing. Tonight, we are to make merry with music and dance.

And for a good laugh, an African moment in French with English translation:
"Je n'oblierai jamais cette moment Afrique. Ha! Je suis a le kiosk, je regarde la rue dedans la porte, quand je regarde le voiture de la police vas lentement. Derrier le voiture, deux police, son guard, et des gens poussent le voiture en la rue. Seulement en Afrique?"
I will never forget this African moment. Ha! I am in the kiosk, I look at the road from just inside the door, when I see the police car going slowly. Behind the car, two police men, our guard, and other people are pushing the car down the road. Only in Africa?