Photos for my mother who does not have Facebook!

Roads in Congo



Geoff - Country Director



A tired late night in the office



Hubert - our logistician



Country church outside of Bunia



Mbaki - Bridge rehabilitation supervisor

Dr Matern and I

I am not sure who wished the bad karma on Dr Matern and my interactions together, but somehow, someway, something bad always happens when we are in company. Dr Matern is the chief adviser for all Medair medical projects here in Congo. You know he is quite smart, because, well, he is a doctor. I find him to be a bit ditzy and the type of person whose mannerisms just make me laugh. He is quite pointed and direct, which is a trait sometimes hard to come by in Congolese culture thus adding to his already unique compilation of behaviors. When working together, often times I find myself following in his smiling wake cleaning up some of the small disasters he unknowingly creates.

Dr Matern is with us here in Isiro for the next week helping to close a project. Since he arrived today and I had to take something from him, I decided to give the chauffeur the weekend off and drive to the airport myself, later fully regretting this decision.

I arrived a few minutes early at the airport which 50 years ago was a beautiful place. Today, it is depressing time capsule of broken windows, decrepit baggage belt, paint that hasn’t been reapplied in well, 50 years, and a cheesy bar with plastic chairs where local authorities are found slurping their beers and eating fried, juicy caterpillars that were only minutes before squirming in a bucket with their friends lucky enough to enjoy the upcoming flight on Congo’s blacklisted airline alive, at least until it crashes like most Congolese airplanes eventually do. Thankfully that wasn’t the case today and Dr Matern arrived safe and sound disembarking the plane looking a bit dazed and confused all the while sporting his chic Medair cap and trademark smile.

For once I was thankful for Congolese impatience and pushiness as he made his way to the front of the airport authority line to get his papers stamped releasing us from our need to grace the airport with our presence any longer. We walked out the door bags in hand only to discover our vehicle had a flat tire. I was a bit surprised for two reasons: we had just changed that exact tire the day before and Dr Matern hadn’t even been in Isiro for more than 10 minutes and we were already faced with a dilemma.

After changing the tire the day before, the mechanic remembered to put the spare in the truck but not the jack or the lug wrench. It was soon apparent that there really is no African ingenuity that can substitute for a jack and lug wrench needed to change a truck’s tire. Dr Matern and I hunkered down in the hot truck listening to hip hop on the only radio station that picks up signal preparing to wait for someone to bring us the necessary tools from the base, only 9 kilometers (5miles) away but a 30min drive. Vehicles surrounded us and the thought crossed my mind to ask one of them for a jack and lug wrench but I honestly didn’t have the faith that they would have the tools either. Let’s be real, Congo is the place where we deal with the crisis when it occurs instead of planning ahead, like we were so accurately demonstrating.

Dr Matern relaxed in his seat to only shoot up a few seconds later having an epiphany but backed with more faith than me to actually ask one of the owners of the vehicles around us for the necessary tools. Thankfully someone had them and came to our rescue. Dr Matern hunkered down in his recently shinned dress shoes and creased dress pants proving to be more macho than I originally gave him credit for. I sincerely thought I was going to have to be the one to organize a positive outcome to this travesty. But, Dr Matern came through thus equaling the score. Moments later we sped down the airport road in fourth gear, the only one in Isiro you can do that with. I smiled and waved at the solider trying to get a bribe from me enabling his drinking habit, which I gracefully talked myself out of when entering the first time. Another victory for Team Kristie and Dr Matern, however, we will see how long this victory dance lasts as Dr Matern is in Isiro for another 7 days!

Blessings of strangers

The biggest blessing I find in the work that I do is the ability to interface with many people from all over the world. My eyes and mind have been opened to multiple cultures, ways of thinking, religions, traditions, and personalities. The highlight of my day is getting to know someone around me just a bit more. Perhaps I enjoy this so much because I rely on my network of people like I never thought I would. The most beneficial thing I learned in college was to establish good networks. My connections have saved my life, brought me joy, gotten me jobs, introduced me to new experiences, saved me a few dollars, and gone even further and introduced me to their own circle of valuable people. The people I know are my most valuable possession!

These past few weeks I was on vacation in Kenya and South Africa. Kenya easily claimed a piece of my heart and fills up the most pages of my passport. The customs official at the airport with the finger-print machine said to me, “Kenya knows you very well.” Kenya is the place I have learned to laugh, love, be challenged differently, and establish a family outside of my own nationality and skin color. Kenya is home in Africa.

After one week in Kenya, I had the privilege to explore the most beautiful South Africa. I knew that SA was always a destination I wanted to visit but I never thought it would exceed my expectations. I have never fallen in love with a place as quickly as Cape Town. When I gaze across the landscapes of the Western Cape, I am eager to see heaven, a place we are told is even more beautiful than anywhere on this earth.

The most beautiful part of South Africa was the people I met. I know the loveliest South Africans, even though they pick on my American accent, from my time in Madagascar and they contacted their family living in Cape Town. I was able to spend four very special days with them. They invited me into their homes and lives with open hearts. They took care of me as one of their own. It is a very humbling experience to allow strangers pay for your meals, go out of their way to make you comfortable, introduce you to their friends, take you to the airport at 5 o’clock in the morning, and allow you to be part of a family – something I and my own family have sacrificed in me living and working overseas. Despite the difficulty and frequent guilt, I swallowed my pride and allowed myself to receive.

The popular saying says: “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” In the past few weeks, I know this was the opposite for me. I had forgotten how to receive. My profession, just like many others, requires you to give of yourself wholly: mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I was harshly reminded there is a huge blessing in receiving which then allows someone else the joy of giving.

Over the course of time these strangers have changed me, perhaps without even realizing it. However, they are no longer strangers but I am blessed to call them friends and family. It is a beautiful process how that transition takes place. It is a transition that isn’t easy requiring both parties to become vulnerable and taking some risks. But the outcome is something so beautiful only God could facilitate its conception. So - ‘thank you!’ to all of the strangers in my life. I am so grateful for you.

Humbly humble

Pride makes us artificial and humility makes us real – Thomas Merton

I never envied the lifestyle of celebrities. So often they are kept at such a distance from the public it can easily seem like they are not real and only magically surface on the big screen. Since living in Africa, I have sometimes compared my life to that of a celebrity, minus the salary: people gawking at you, shouting your name, random strangers wanting to take photos with you, being given the best seat forcing others to move or even stand for your sake, and people wanting to touch your skin and hair just to make sure it is real. Coming from a culture of individualism and personal space, sometimes this is hard for me to take gracefully and honestly, sometimes it is quite exhausting. There are many moments where I just want to be a nobody. I want to sit in the back unnoticed, walk down the street unbothered and untouched.

I have recently started attending the local church. I am doing this for two reasons: the first is to maintain a habitual element of my life in a environment and work of frequent chaos and also to establish a (spiritual) community outside of the compound where I work and live day in and day out. The first time I went was last week. There are some elements that you can count on always being the same no matter where you are that immediately allow you to step into something familiar and comfortable.

The most famous and still practiced custom of humility in the christian faith is that of washing feet in the service of communion. I have participated in this tradition in six countries : Tanzania, Madagascar, the Bahamas, Kenya, United States, and now DR Congo. Each country adds their own cultural flare but for the most part you know the order of things and how it will all take place regardless of the language being spoken. This weekend proved no different.

Fortunately this celebrity treatment is toned down slightly when I walk into this sacred space but it never is lost completely. Church is often the place where I wish the most that I could loose my white skin, blond hair, funny accent, and just become one of the rest. However, this was not going to happen this time especially because it was communion day. At first I was not going to participate in foot washing just because I knew what to expect and didn’t want to deal with it, not today. But like so many other times, I do things as a witness to others around me that I am a real person just like everyone else. The white people who have come before or who are seen on TV often misrepresent the white population as a whole and I find myself trying to reverse it for my own sake and perhaps for those who will come after me.

So in an effort to do this, I allowed myself to be led by a woman I had never met before but soon learned her name is Denise. We wandered behind the Church where the other women were gathered on small benches while others squatted at their feet participating in this universal ceremony. Many were quite shocked by my presence and soon the crowd grew attracting other women, children, and neighbors to witness this momentous event take place. When Denise reached for my foot the whole mass held their breath and once they were assured my foot wasn’t going to break or melt into her hand, they all started to laugh in excitement. It was even more of a circus when Denise and I traded places and now it was the white girl's turn to kneel on the ground and wash the foot of a stranger. Afterwards, Denise asked me to pray and insisted that it be in French; this being the first time I have ever prayed in French. Once retreating back to a seat inside the sanctuary, I thought I was safe but then only a few seconds later one of the ladies came back to ask me to take a photo with them. We returned to the now muddy foot washing site crammed on beaches made for 4 year old's, bodies pressing me on all sides, and my hair stroked by hands that were just seconds before washing the feet of those sitting beside me, all the while smiling for the camera man.

While going through these motions, I thought how ironic it was to be performing this religious act of humility while at the same time practicing a great deal of humility. Humility isn’t easy. It is many virtues rolled into one: patience, grace, joy, and selflessness – all of which in and of themselves are very challenging. But after this experience, I think Thomas Merton is right: "Pride makes us artificial and humility makes us real." Despite how awkward these few moments might have been for me, I know I was humbled and I hope in effect made real to those around me.