I have never had growing pains. I hear they are painful, hence the name I guess. I have, however, had learning pains: pains in the form of frustration, learning induced brain fatigue, and other such unpleasant things. Most recently my learning pains have come disguised as French language learning and driving big, expensive, manual, right-handed land cruisers.
First, I will discuss the later: driving. I have been legally driving for eight and a half years now. Somehow in my relatively short driving history, that is compared to someone who is the ripe old age of 40, I have not had significant practice driving a manual vehicle, definitely not a macho land cruiser – the vehicle of choice in the humanitarian sector.
After working a few short weeks with many Europeans, I have come to find out that if only I were a European, I wouldn’t be so inexperienced in this very important area of my life. Supposedly Europeans prefer manual vehicles and to quote my tea drinking, proper English accented colleague: “I guess you guys drive mostly automatics ‘over there,’ right?”
When I was just home in the U.S. a few months ago, I got an international driving license which is accepted by any country who is a member-state of the United Nations. Despite the convenience, I must confess AAA’s requirements of merely filling out a two page form and taking two passport photos didn’t quite prepare me for the feat of driving internationally, or at least driving in Africa which is a skill set all of its own.
So here is the point of this sometimes stressful, painful learning process part of the story. You see, learning to drive in Africa is a bit different than in a nice, organized, developed country where driving laws not only exist but are also enforced and followed, most of the time. I am currently residing in a locale with a population of 300,000 people and no paved roads. And like most other African countries, roads in Congo are multi-purpose: playgrounds for children; market places; toilets; and herding corrals and feeding troughs for cows, goats, and chickens. So aside from the actual performance of maneuvering a foreign contraption such as a manual land cruiser, driving is an obstacle course.
I would also like to emphasize that our vehicles are right-handed and we also drive on the right side of the road. Our cruisers came from a previous project in Uganda, where they do drive on the left side of the road thus making right-handed vehicles sensible. It is a bit of an eyeball guessing game since the middle of the road is on the complete other side of the vehicle you are driving. But this point is almost obsolete due to the fact that there are no road rules and you can pretty much drive on any side of the road you prefer, you know – the one where the potholes are smaller or the cows aren’t defecating.
Lastly but not least I will mention that if you get in accident, you are screwed; which is mostly due to the fact that there really isn’t a fair justice system let alone a road-rules-enforcement agency. Those with the money pay. And since white people, affectionately called mzungu’s, are walking dollar signs, they are always at fault and responsible to foot the bill. Naturally. There are also similar reactions and serious consequences if you accidentally execute a by-stander’s-brother-in-law’s-cousin’s-best friend’s-nephew’s duck.
When I go out driving it is probably my most fervent prayer time. Every moment I am praying I don’t decapitate a chicken or embarrassingly stall out when pulling into the compound, which I did last week – the stalling out in front of the gate, not the decapitating part. Needless to say, I am embracing the challenge. Driving a right-handed, manual Land Cruiser through craters called roads in Congo is just another thing to cross off my bucket list. Perhaps I need to amend that list and make a few adjustments to save myself from getting into other precarious, potentially hazardous learning experiences. But what fun would that be?
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Senses on Steroids
Monday: Crashed a 4th of July BBQ. Shout out to the US.of.A!
Tuesday: Normal Day
Wednesday: Normal Day
Thursday: Students protesting, gunshots, false arrest → house bound
Friday: Plane crash in Kisangani, 50+ presumed dead
Well, here are the highlights of the week in short. Every day is different with its own challenges, highs and lows, and unexpected events – some good, some tragic.
It is hard to believe it is the end of another week, already #4 in DRC.
My definition of what life is like overseas would be ‘senses on steroids,’ perhaps as demonstrated above they have to be. Just like any new environment, there is always a period of adapting. However, I have found that no matter how long I am in a foreign country, adaptation and learning is constantly taking place. I constantly find myself taking two steps forward and one step back. There is always something new: a language, culture, (acquiring) an appreciation of dietary intake, communication, etc.
This week I learned that in a group of Americans I have never met before, I feel at home.
I learned that situations can change at any moment and how to respond to them makes all the difference. In addition, such instances help you appreciate the boring, normal days.
Most importantly I learned that life is fragile. Fifty+ people dead isn’t just a figure but someone’s mother, son, sister, father, friend.
As I sit back and reflect over this past week, I am exhausted. But I am grateful I can feel that exhaustion and have the chance of rejuvenation tomorrow. Life is fragile, including mine, which could become a statistic someday. I am not invincible or exempt from experiencing the horrors of this world, rather they happen outside the front door or a few miles away. Reality check!
So thankful for the weekend -- appreciating life!
Tuesday: Normal Day
Wednesday: Normal Day
Thursday: Students protesting, gunshots, false arrest → house bound
Friday: Plane crash in Kisangani, 50+ presumed dead
Well, here are the highlights of the week in short. Every day is different with its own challenges, highs and lows, and unexpected events – some good, some tragic.
It is hard to believe it is the end of another week, already #4 in DRC.
My definition of what life is like overseas would be ‘senses on steroids,’ perhaps as demonstrated above they have to be. Just like any new environment, there is always a period of adapting. However, I have found that no matter how long I am in a foreign country, adaptation and learning is constantly taking place. I constantly find myself taking two steps forward and one step back. There is always something new: a language, culture, (acquiring) an appreciation of dietary intake, communication, etc.
This week I learned that in a group of Americans I have never met before, I feel at home.
I learned that situations can change at any moment and how to respond to them makes all the difference. In addition, such instances help you appreciate the boring, normal days.
Most importantly I learned that life is fragile. Fifty+ people dead isn’t just a figure but someone’s mother, son, sister, father, friend.
As I sit back and reflect over this past week, I am exhausted. But I am grateful I can feel that exhaustion and have the chance of rejuvenation tomorrow. Life is fragile, including mine, which could become a statistic someday. I am not invincible or exempt from experiencing the horrors of this world, rather they happen outside the front door or a few miles away. Reality check!
So thankful for the weekend -- appreciating life!
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Looking Into the Eyes of a Boy Soilder
I love personal stories. I think my favorite part of meeting new people is knowing where they have come from, their journey, and then being a part of that as long as circumstances allow. There is so much we can learn merely by listening to one another.
A few years ago I was devouring memoirs written by Africans usually about some significant, traumatic experience in their life: boy soldiers; lost boys from South Sudan; a young girl forced into slavery in North Sudan, then Europe and finally freed; and genocide survivors. Reading those books in the comfort of my safe world, completely removed from the context of the written pages, my imagination could only create a few details and the rest remained incomplete, void. In my opinion, I feel as though the western world romanticizes such experiences because we don't quite know how to react any other way. Yes, it is horrific but because it isn't a part of our intimate known world, we cannot fully relate. In an effort to not down-play such a real life horror story, it is then deemed as something heroic, but it also much more than that! Majority of the time the closest the western world gets to such atrocities is 10 feet between their chair and the nightly news and even then there is an option to merely turn the channel and pretend such things don't happen. I am guilty!
There were many times when reading those books that I cried, felt sick, and even wanted to stop altogether because it made me uncomfortable. But then I realized, the least I can do is give the author the voice they so freely deserve and share in their journey, even if it is only for 300 pages. As incomplete as my perspective was, I think reading these books have prepared me for the present. I never imagined that I would meet victims of rape, boy soldiers, or refugees outside of a paperback.
During my graduate program, I did an extensive research paper on rape as a weapon of war. I found that even though such a practice has been taking place since biblical times, there is very little recognition of the topic or research done. For a 30 page paper, I exacerbated the few resources I could find. DR Congo is claimed to be the present-day rape capital of the world. I guess you could say that I have stopped watching the news and am now living in it. I am in no way living or working on the front lines, but now the majority of the people I come in contact with have a story including many of the things I have only read about.
During my town orientation, I was told that the majority of local enforcement officials are ex-militia or ex-boy soldiers. It is actually quite obvious - a hardened expression can only mask the face of an adolescent so much. On the outskirts of town, internally displaced people still live in camps. Medair runs programs specifically targeting sexual and gender based violence victims and issues. It is very different experiencing this with your own eyes instead of an author's description. As a result, you are assured while looking into the eyes of solider, a woman, a child, a camp resident that each individual is not a statistic or a number but they are flesh and blood real along with a story, a name, and a life that deserves so much more than their past has given them.
A few years ago I was devouring memoirs written by Africans usually about some significant, traumatic experience in their life: boy soldiers; lost boys from South Sudan; a young girl forced into slavery in North Sudan, then Europe and finally freed; and genocide survivors. Reading those books in the comfort of my safe world, completely removed from the context of the written pages, my imagination could only create a few details and the rest remained incomplete, void. In my opinion, I feel as though the western world romanticizes such experiences because we don't quite know how to react any other way. Yes, it is horrific but because it isn't a part of our intimate known world, we cannot fully relate. In an effort to not down-play such a real life horror story, it is then deemed as something heroic, but it also much more than that! Majority of the time the closest the western world gets to such atrocities is 10 feet between their chair and the nightly news and even then there is an option to merely turn the channel and pretend such things don't happen. I am guilty!
There were many times when reading those books that I cried, felt sick, and even wanted to stop altogether because it made me uncomfortable. But then I realized, the least I can do is give the author the voice they so freely deserve and share in their journey, even if it is only for 300 pages. As incomplete as my perspective was, I think reading these books have prepared me for the present. I never imagined that I would meet victims of rape, boy soldiers, or refugees outside of a paperback.
During my graduate program, I did an extensive research paper on rape as a weapon of war. I found that even though such a practice has been taking place since biblical times, there is very little recognition of the topic or research done. For a 30 page paper, I exacerbated the few resources I could find. DR Congo is claimed to be the present-day rape capital of the world. I guess you could say that I have stopped watching the news and am now living in it. I am in no way living or working on the front lines, but now the majority of the people I come in contact with have a story including many of the things I have only read about.
During my town orientation, I was told that the majority of local enforcement officials are ex-militia or ex-boy soldiers. It is actually quite obvious - a hardened expression can only mask the face of an adolescent so much. On the outskirts of town, internally displaced people still live in camps. Medair runs programs specifically targeting sexual and gender based violence victims and issues. It is very different experiencing this with your own eyes instead of an author's description. As a result, you are assured while looking into the eyes of solider, a woman, a child, a camp resident that each individual is not a statistic or a number but they are flesh and blood real along with a story, a name, and a life that deserves so much more than their past has given them.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Hope for Congo
Tuesday I had the opportunity to visit some of Medair's projects in the field. It was my first excursion outside of Bunia so it was a welcomed change of scenery and it is always nice to get a visual of what exactly I am supporting. We traveled about 100km south to some health clinics. That was the designated mission mostly due to the rehabilitation adviser from HQ visiting the country and wanting to check out the physical structures Medair has helped build or rehabilitate. They are your typical bush clinics providing basic services. In addition to the structural rehabilitation, Medair financially subsidizes health care for IDP's (internally displaced people) and returnees.
Traveling along DRC's bumpy roads was beautiful! This region of Congo is quite green and mountainous creating quite a picturesque backdrop to war-struck, impoverished country. I have been watching documentaries on the history of DRC and it is horrifying. Democratic Republic of Congo is the 2nd poorest country in the world; however, it should be the richest country in Africa. There is a plethora of natural resources: gold, diamonds, copper, oil, and led all of which being fought over by national and international forces leaving the majority of the population in utter destitution.
While visiting one of the final health clinics along our journey on Tuesday, I came across this curious little girl. She had a very sweet demeanor and innocently peered in the window sill watching us. This child has probably seen more hardship in her young age than I have but despite it all her eyes carry a sense of hope. And I pray her hope is enough to ignite the coming generations to carry DRC on the path of its potential.
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