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. ;)

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.