Morning Annoucements

Monday 10th of June : Friday June 7th around 11pm a group of armed bandits entered a house in Quartier Bokoko, Bunia. The authorities were notified. A few gun shots were exchanged and one bandit was captured as he was shot in the leg and is now in prison.

Wednesday June 12th : The evening of Tuesday, June 11th, a small village 40kilometers from Mamabasa was attacked by the MaiMai militia group. Three were killed and a 7yr girl was kidnapped. She was returned the next day but had been sexually violated.

Friday June 14th : Early this morning there were clashes around Boga between the FARDC (Congolese Army) and FRPI (militia). Two military soldiers were killed, four militia men, and three women raped. The local community has fled the region and is now hiding in the forest. 

Good morning ! Welcome to my week ! 

Morning announcements are given every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 8:30am. If there is a major incident, as the ones listed above are normal and routine, we will receive intentional notification outside of the official announcement hour. This is how I start my morning : no cup of coffee and definitely no Good-Morning Congo displaying this summers latest fashions and BBQ recipes.

When you come into this line of work you make a promise that people will never become statistics like the academic journals or CNN portray them. And you promise you will never become jaded to human suffering like that missionary kid you went to graduate school with who disgusted you so much with his ability to recount horrific stories as if it was found in a normal children’s book. 

It is interesting because as I actually write this blog post, I realize more how horrific this all is. When I sit in the meeting three times a week, it is a part of my normal work day. I do sometimes cringe, especially when I hear of 7yr old girls getting raped, which was a real announcement a few weeks ago; and probably every week before for the last 20years here in Congo. Often times you know it is quite severe and disgusting when you see the local population shake their heads and wince during tri-weekly announcement period. 

All of this hit a lot closer to home this week. One of our chauffeurs left on Tuesday to pick up one of our medical supervisors 4hrs away. Before mid-day and about one and a half hours into the trip, our vehicle got shot at. He was driving on one of the most dangerous axes in this region, also the same route I travelled in February with this very same driver. Two bullets were fired. According to the driver, one was shot in front of him and the second shot out the window behind the passenger seat. Our organization is very well known and highly respected, which getting shot at came as quite a surprise but also burst our bubble we had been living in in regards to vehicle security. Needless to say, Wednesday morning announcement the following day felt a lot more real. 

I have frequently heard of the many people who pray for me on a daily basis. I wasn’t in that vehicle but someone I care about was. Since my time in Congo, I have come to believe more and more in angels and their work in my life. When I see our lands cruiser with a shattered back window and the trajectory of the bullet diagonal to our driver’s seat, you can’t deny he was protected. 

After being shot at not that long ago myself, this incident has brought much of my own memories back. The chauffeur is psychologically not doing well. He is experiencing PTSD and all for due cause. It is like looking in a mirror but it is quite interesting looking in that mirror a few months after and asking myself the question "is this really what I looked like?"

Please continue to pray for protection. Continue to pray for peace in Congo. And please pray for our driver – that he may heal from this trauma.

Thorns in the flesh

Recently I have been thinking about the passages in the Bible that talk about Paul and the thorn in his flesh. There are many opinions of what exactly this thorn was: bad eyesight, another sickness or something completely different. The last two months I have had continual problems with my eyes. I have had symptoms of pink eye that doesn’t go away no matter what I try – new contacts, wearing glasses, medication, etc nothing works. It has been my “thorn” and I can’t get rid of it.  

A few weeks ago while driving to work at the normal 7:52am hour. In front of me in the road, or rather the path the Congolese (and us) use as a road stood an old lady bent over almost at 180° trying to manage her skirt falling down with one hand and her walking stick with the other. Travelling back and forth between the house and office, we see this elderly lady almost daily. She has been affectionately been termed “Grandma” and everyone knows who you are talking about.

After a few minutes a kind pedestrian added Grandma with her skirt and escorted her out of the middle of the road so we could pass. I began to think that the thorn in my flesh isn’t so prickly. We also pass this lady every day and you sort of become immune or jaded to what pain she must experience on a daily basis hunched over. You just don’t think about. It’s normal.

After experiencing this I was interested in what the Bible really says about Paul’s thorn. Doing a bit of research, I found out that maybe Paul didn’t have a physical sickness or rather his thorn was something else. Some Bible commentaries suggest that Paul’s thorn was the amount of “light” he was given and responsibility that carried in furthering the gospel message. The interesting thing is that it never seemed like Paul’s thorn ever went away, it was something he lived with for a long time. He felt obligated to continue his work despite everything he went through, the suffering he endured.

So perhaps after all my thorn (eyes) isn’t the same as Paul’s as I initially thought. However if Paul’s thorn really was the responsibility he felt for carrying the gospel message, well then, I could possible relate. Living in working in Congo often carries an obligation to advocate. You witness so many human rights violations, corruption, and injustices. It is hard to be silent. As my profession is the minority of my social circle, this type of environment provokes a feeling of responsibility or personal guilt in the need to share the realities.

While reading the passages about Paul’s thorn, he suffered so much as a result: beatings, imprisonment, abandonment, and finally his life. I can’t say that my thorn hasn’t inflected such pain to the same degree. Paul is a model of perseverance and commitment, one example I can draw strength from on those days that Congo is hard to handle or feel like life is beating me up. I imagine that Paul’s thorn helped him achieve many great things to the glory of God.

Another memory...

I am tired of dust. I am tried of bumpy roads. I am tired of being asked a thousand questions everyday. I am tired of the same routine. I am tired of the same food. I am tired of being called after and whistled at. I am tired of land cruisers. I am tired of keeping my never ending to-do list up to date and all those deadlines in my head . I am tired of excel. I am tired of the dark circles under my eyes. I am tired of being tired.

Living in Africa isn’t always an adventure. It definitely isn’t always exotic. And it most certainly isn’t filled with elephants, lions, and majestic stary nights every day. Living in Africa, definitely Congo, can be draining, mundane, and stressful. It has a knack of wearing on your mind, body, and spirit all at the same time.

This past week everything about Congo sucked ! I am creeping up on the two year mark. Most of the other NGO’s we work alongside have contracts of 3-6months. And the coping mechanism for the majority of those people is smoking or drinking their time in Congo away. Two years is unheard of and two years not under the influence is even more unheard of.

I think there must be something about being in Congo for two years. I have seen it with every foreigner who has managed to survive this long in this country. They get irritated, annoyed, bored, and just exhausted. I vowed this would never be me. I love Congo. I love my staff. I love my job (for the most part). How could I ever go down that road of complete frustration ?

This past week my frustration and irritation wasn’t my choice. It smacked me in the face. I was caught completely off guard. One day I was fine, then next day I was falling apart. I am known to be the calm, level headed, even keel, don’t show the stress person in our team. That persona was shot to hell this week. I was irritated with team mates, impatient with others, and even lashed out at the cashier at the bank.

Aside from church over the weekend, I have hibernated at home. I have hibernated in hopes that two days of the weekend would be enough to get over my slump. I also hoped that my nice house, good food, and comfortable bed would be the only things I see therefore forget where I am for 48hrs.

This afternoon I have been working on my resume. It was a good reflection and reminder to see how much I have learned and gained these last two years in Congo. The skills and knowledge I will take away at the end of all of this are invaluable : a second language, management experience, living and working in a conflict zone, and being responsible for a $6 million budget not to mentioned the amazing people I have lived and worked alongside that have not only challenged me but shown me love, grace, and endurance.

I hope and pray that when tomorrow strikes 8am on Monday morning, I will be able to remember all of the blessings this country has brought me. I will be renewed with the strength and passion that led me here two years ago. I am going to strive to have a little more grace towards this country, despite its annoying corruption that has its hand in everything. But I mostly I hope I remember that Congo, just like everywhere else in this world, has its blessings and it’s trials and its good and its bad. This week will someday too be just another memory made in the Bongo.

Lessons from Greece

I learned all of the tricks of hospitality as a child. My mother was a master hostess. I was taught how to properly set a table; prepare food for 30 people and then find out how to fit them all in a three bedroom house; that you should turn the temperature of the house down because it will soon be full and body heat will compensate; and how to sit properly at the table, say "yes, please" and "no, thank you." Despite the training, I can't say that hospitality is my gift - and I definitely believe it is a gift. My sister also received the gift of hospitality and creativity in that. I do appreciate it though because I know all of the work that goes on behind the scenes.

While on my vacation, a friend of mine asked me what was one of my favorite experiences. I told him dinner at a restaurant on Santorini Island in Greece. My friend Bianca and I arrived to our hotel after hiking hill and dale with our suitcases for about 1.5miles and asked where we could eat dinner. The spunky receptionist suggested a restaurant up the hill we had just hiked down, pretty much the only one in town as well. Unbeknownst to us, we didn't walk into a restaurant but into a Greek family's dining room - or at least that is what it felt like.

We made our orders but somehow the food and the drinks, which we didn't order, just kept coming. The owner asked us questions about ourselves, told us his story about the restaurant, and chit chatted as if we were long lost friends back in town. When we went to leave, we shook hands with gratitude but hugs felt like a more natural exchange. We were happy that our walk back to the hotel was downhill with our exploding stomachs. Our host invited us to come back two days later to celebrate Greece's Independence Day.

Two days later arrived. It was rainy so we were a bit locked up inside our hotel. There was no way we were going to miss this celebration, especially at a place that was so warm and welcoming. Unfortunately due to the weather, inside seating was limited and we didn't have a reservation. All of the tables were reserved, and for good reason! Since our host had invited us specifically, he removed the "reserved" sign from one of the tables without hesitaiton and seated us.

The service, conversation, and hospitality was no different. We were two tourists witnessing the culture that Greece is known for: music, laughter, dancing, eating and drinking. Every person who walked into the restaurant was known by name and received a warm welcome along with a hug and two kisses. Bianca and I sat there and took in the experience feeling like we were living a scene out of the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding. We didn't want to take pictures as that would crack the moment; plus sometimes an enjoyed experience is more valuable than a photograph.

We eventually had to leave and give up our reserved table for those it was actually intended for. Yet again we departed with bursting tummies but even more touched hearts. Experiencing such amazing hospitality from a stranger is very humbling, especially when it isn't really required as we were just customers looking for some food.

It seems as though hospitality is a lost art, at least in a few places I have lived, or it has become more of a social obligation rather than a genuine expression of love. I was humbled by the kindness of strangers I met in Greece and it has challenged me to share that with others. I may not have the gift of hospitality but I can try to love a stranger as I love myself.