Moving

A bit of levity.

The Great Blue Gate

Something interesting passed by our bright blue gate this morning.
The gate is a heavy metal thing that clangs and squeaks and stands about 9-10 feel tall.

While I was enjoying the last cup of coffee, I noticed a chunk of sheet metal passing just above the top line of the gate. It looked like a roof or side of a building.

Movers take a few minutes to rest

Curiosity demanded that I check it out.

Opening the gate, I was surprised to see a group of 8 or 9 men carrying one of Beni's ubiquitous, roadside stores down the road.

Don't like the local customer base? Pick up and move!

A Public Apology

Mama Odette and Mama Furaha are patient, kind, loving, talented women. They are the two women who prepare meals, clean the house, and wash laundry for those of us who live in the international staff house here in Beni. They build the charcoal fire each day, sift the rice, sort beans, clean hulls off the peanuts. Mama Furaha cuts, chops, and cooks delicious meals of greens, rice, beans, samosas, stews, chicken, and meat. Mama Odette sits on a low stool and hand washes our clothes in a bucket. With a charcoal-heated iron, she presses shirts and blouses, dresses and skirts. Both Mama Odette and Mama Furaha welcome guests with generous hospitality. They coach me as I struggle with Swahili. They are patient when I butcher the language and struggle to form the simplest sentences. 

Yesterday in conversation I said, “Our mamas.” The words fell out of my mouth before I realized their message. It was too late.  How could I have stooped to that? “Our mamas,” as if they somehow “belonged” to those of us who live at the house? They are sisters in Christ. They are teachers here in this place. They are God's blessing.

I am sorry, Mama Furaha. I am sorry, Mama Odette. Forgive me.

Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy.

A few thoughts from the week

Humility. Seems like the week has been full of lessons on humility.

• Listen first and talk only when asked. 
• There is wisdom in the silence. 
• There is wisdom in the apparent confusion. 
• There is something to learn when I'm least willing to learn. 
• Suit up and show up, even if I don't feel like it. 
• God does provide. 
• And, as my daughters remind me whenever they have the patience to run with me, and I'm exhausted and am ready to quit, 'This is where the work gets done.'"

Learning a new language is difficult. One of my 6-month goals is to develop basic fluency (competency?) in French and Swahili. On one hand, there could be no better opportunity. UCBC students and staff are French speakers, and Swahili is the language of everyday life. I have books, home-made flashcards, notes from impromptu lessons in the hallway. At home Mama Furaha, Mama Odette, and Papa Gabby are solicitous and patient as I ask for the fifth time, "Una sema wash dishes au Swahili?" ("How do you say wash dishes in Swahili?"). I try to give at least an hour each day to focused study. Mama Honoré (Decky) is the kindest, most competent French teacher. But an hour after study, it's all I can do to keep from melting in frustration and disappointment at my slow progress. Everyone is kind and patient. Colleagues' and students encourage me with, "Courage!" and "Ça vas venir." But progress is not at the speed I want or that I think I should have. Hmmm....humility again?



"Go to your Congolese sisters and brothers." When I came to Beni in 2010, Paul Robinson said that there would be a time (or times) when I'd feel like I was "hitting the wall"--when things would feel stuck, difficult, maybe even unbearable. "When that happens, go to your Congolese sisters and brothers." It was valuable counsel on several occasions over those months. It's advice that helped this week.
It was all I could do to keep from crying Thursday morning. Frustration with learning French and Swahili, being overwhelmed with the work that needs to be done, still trying to "put on my sea legs" (it's taken me the last two weeks to even find them!), acclimating to the "reality that is life in Congo" (David Kasali's words)... So, when Decky sat down to begin French lesson and asked, "Comment ça vas?" the tears began.
"How do you do it? How do Honoré and Manassé and Daniel and David do it? The work is so big."

Before answering, Decky offered the gift of quiet comfort. After several minutes of silence she explained how she has discovered solace in the act of giving thanks for the difficulties. We prayed. It was time for French. I was ready.


A Garden of Delights

A glimpse of "home"

Congo is full of surprises. This week during an evening walk, a school boy joined Dick, Ann, and me for a bit and practiced his English. “I am a boy. He is a man. We are walking.” After about three minutes he waved, “I have arrived,” and turned down a corner.

Nyumba Tunmaini (sp? Still learning!), the house that CI currently rents for international staff, is a newly built structure with interesting, locally-appreciated design features. The exterior is graced with large swirls of turquoise plaster. There is a street light of 5 tulip-shaped bulbs in 4 colors. Instead of a yard or garden, there is substantial “hardscape.” But in a narrow strip of hard dirt, against a cement wall, a banana tree flourishes. Its cluster of fruit steady and ripening in its course.

Bathroom shelving (do you see the soap, too?)

Abu Bakar, the night guard, uses the banana tree as storage   for his toiletries.

Here in Congo

I’ve wanted to write for months. Every few days there is an inspiration, a striking image or a memory. There have even been a few gems of inspiration. Sloth has won the hand, each round.

So, why is it that it’s here in Congo that I feel compelled to write? The red dust of Congo settles into my conscience, and like the oyster, I must react.

 

Nothing organized, flowing or profound here. Just an attempt to grab the glint off this prism that is Congo.

Sunshine and heat. It is hot here. My Congolese sisters and brothers say this is the dry season. Days have been hot and sunny (75-80 Fahrenheit?). We've had breezes on most days. Evenings have been pleasant. This morning, when I got up at 4:30, I pulled on my fleece to sit on the porch and read. We've had water. Sometimes water runs scarce this time of year. For too many women and young girls, water is always scarce. They labor under those jerry cans, carrying water from bore hole or local pump to home. How far? It doesn't matter. Even 50 yards is too far.

Dick and Joel

Surprises. This place is full of surprises. On tiny lizard feet they jump out. There is the tiger-striped butterfly that perches and plate-sized avocados. In the early morning, before the sun even hints at the day, a bird swoops and chirps through our compound (a bat?) under the protective cover of dark. Goats perch on tree stumps and the window sills of houses under construction. Joel, Honoré and Decky's son, plops himself on my brother-in-law's lap at first meeting, and settles in, as easily as Dick's grandson's settle on his lap at home. And at church Joel slips out of a pew somewhere and climbs onto Dick's lap.

Hand-washing. At someone's home or in a gathering where there is a shared meal, it is customary for someone to offer soap, water, a basin, and towel for guests to wash hands. This is one of my favorite customs and has become a sort of eucharist for me. It is a tender moment of grace in the day. I am usually the recipient and do not take lightly the kindess of the one who offers me soap, gently pours water over my dirty hands, then gives me a towel to dry. 

Work. There is plenty. Aside from classes, teachers, and students, there are workmen slashing the tall grass and clearing land for surveyors. There is building. Every morning Delphin marshalls his folks to clean the floors and ready the Academic Building. Victor juggles internet problems, trouble-shoots hardware and software hiccups, and manages everything IT. Women cook food that students buy for lunch. There are goats that need tending and a field of eggplants to cultivate. 

Music. There is no match for the music of this place. I can overlook the less-than-pristine acoustics and frequent feedback screech for the pure joy of song and celebration.

Lessons in humility, generosity, and hospitality. This is something for another post. All its own. These are daily lessons, and for good reason. I have much to learn.

Recent Gifts

Amazing how this choosing joy posture makes a difference. It's neither magic nor self-delusion. It's perspective. Eyes open. Willing to be surprised. It also helps with learning to be present and in the moment--particular challenges for me.

After all, how can one worry about bills, potential hazards to health, and global warming when one is counting 10, no 12, no 14, no way...15 monarch caterpillars on two swamp milkweed plants. Yes. It's true. I counted 15 of these brightly-striped beauties on two plants in my rain garden two weeks ago. And that same day I noticed a preying mantis perched below the mailbox (I moved her to the red twig dogwood to provide her better camouflage).

In fact, my little corner of human-made Eden here in the suburbs is full of late-summer activity. Most of it has occurred in the front rain garden.

First, a wild mass of cantaloupes ran rampant through the sedge grass and wild quinine. Their seeds must have been hiding out in the compost incorporated into the garden bedding. Sun and bees helped the vines flourish, and more than a dozen cantaloupes sprung out. Only a few had a chance at full growth, given their late start and their home in a "rain" garden! But they've been the wild bunch of joyous teenagers who fill your house with laughter while they raid the fridge. 

And of course, there have been monarch chrysalides (yes, that's a plural form of chrysalis) in the rain garden. I've been on time to see two brand new, hours-old butterflies resting and warming themselves, preparing for flight.

On sunny days the bees comb through the asters, packing on the pollen and filling up on nectar.

Everyday I go out and check the activity. Sometimes several times a day. Curiosity is a great excuse to step away from the computer screen. It's also a way to remind myself of the joys around me--small things to which I could so easily be blind. Causes me to wonder what other joys I'm missing and reminds me that only in choosing joy do I know it.

One of the topics yesterday at a weekly meeting I attend was on "taking care of self." It occurred to me that one way I am learning to "take care of self" is to choose joy.

Choosing joy (again) and gratitude

Here I am. Relearning (or is it reviewing?) lessons from the past. I've been wallowing in my own way lately, daily reminding myself to--

• "let go or get dragged" 
• "turn my will and my life over to the care of God"  
• "act my way into right thinking"

There are moments, even hours, of serenity and peace. But for the most part, I have to admit that I have NOT chosen joy or gratitude. So, yesterday I decided it was time to do so. Once again. Make the conscious choice. Take action. And see what happens.

And good things do happen. Joy does show up. It happened yesterday in the space of 15 minutes after making the choice:

• Decide to stop by the Wednesday, Westerville Farmer's Market. I don't really need any produce or meat. I do want something sweet and homemade--a cookie or brownie. There are several good bakers at the market.

• Walking up the street, I peek in the window at Captivating Canines (store for dog-lovers) and laugh at the doormat on display. Would be a fitting greeting when Jock is around. 

Sweet potato bird

• At the Farmer's Market Mike and Laura Laughlin (Northridge Organic Farms) have some HUGE sweet potatoes ("Yes, the first digging is always a surprise," Laura grins). Have to buy the bird! 

Last of summer peaches

• Branstool's Orchards has peaches. Yum! Coming down to the last, luscious week of fresh peaches. Fifteen bucks for a peck. I'm in. Rummaging through my billfold, I realize I only have $15 in cash and no checks. Edna senses my mild dismay and asks if anything is wrong. "No, I just had wanted to buy a cookie. But I don't have enough cash or any checks." Her response: "Can't stand in the way of a woman and her sweets!" and she gives me back a dollar.

• Off in search of cookie. Great choices at Batter and Bowl. Shoot! $2! I scrounge in the bottom of my purse, hoping for recalcitrant coins hiding in the folds. "Don't worry," Sara says. "Karma comes around. A dollar is fine." Can I really be so lucky? Again? "Yesterday I ran out of gas and someone gave me five dollars. We're just paying it all forward."  No brownie every tasted so sweet. 

And all of that in the space of 15 minutes after choosing joy. Life would be pretty good if I decided to choose joy and gratitude on a daily, breath-by-breath basis!

(By the way, joy showed up again today.)

For Jock

UCBC's First Graduation

From the veranda

Saturday, July 30, 2011, was a grand and glorious day in Beni. Fog from the night’s rain hung in the air, but spirits were high on the UCBC campus. A dais stood ready in front of the Academic Building veranda, orange and green tule draped across the railing behind. Chairs for graduates, faculty, and special guests filled the veranda. Facing the stage from a distance, the University Chapel and Community Center (UCCC) stood proud—a continuing work in progress. In the foreground, a dozen or more white tents created a shaded perimeter where more than 300 guests would be accommodated. The newly built stone wall in front of the Welcome Center proclaimed, “Université Chrétienne Bilingue du Congo” in fresh green and gold paint. Inside the Academic Building faculty and staff were dashing to complete final details for the graduation ceremony, about to take place. 

Graduates marching onto campus

Somewhere around 9 a.m. sounds of a brass band echoed, and those of us without assignments strode out to see the UCBC graduates march onto campus, heralded by this delightful vestige of earlier missionary activities.  UCBC Brigade served as honor guard. The students were in full graduation regalia: black cap and gown, white stoles declaring their faculty (major) in red and green. Some of the UCBC faculty were in the line. The group had earlier marched a route downtown. And now they were here…on this ground that only a few short years ago was little more than elephant grass, a vision, and a promise from God.

Faculty join the procession

Other faculty joined the procession along with UCBC leadership, members of the General Assembly (Congolese board), US board members in attendance, and other US guests. And for the next 10 or 15 minutes we marched a slow but grand procession for perhaps 30-40 yards to a brassy refrain with just a hint of New Orleans jazz.

At the Welcome Center, the procession halted for the raising of the Congolese flag and singing of the anthem. Next was the raising of the UCBC flag and the UCBC anthem—a praise to God and a call to transformation.

The procession from the flags to the veranda and dais, although in distance twice as far, took only minutes. We were smiles all around. I venture to say that for many of us, hearts burst with pride as if these students were our own dear children graduating from our alma mater.

Fast forward? No. The ceremony, complete with prayer, student speeches, skits, singing, recognitions, commencement address, conferring of degrees, more prayers, blessings, commendations, and awards, lasted another 4 (or was it 5?) hours. Time didn’t so much fly as it soared and lifted against the currents of Congolese exuberance, solemnity, and celebration.

Two moments during the ceremony stood as strong statements about the event and UCBC. First, David Kasali instituted a “Rectors’s Award for Excellence” at this graduation. David talked about the significance of leadership, excellence, and service—that these go hand-in-hand. He then proceeded to present awards to two staff people, two students, the Academic Dean, and the president of the US Board of CI. With each award, David described in heartfelt detail the ways in which the individual sets a standard of excellence which inspires and continues to serve and lead in this work that is UCBC.

Blessing the graduates

Near the end of the ceremony, having received their diplomas, the graduates gathered on the dais. UCBC leadership, representatives from the General Assembly and the US Board, and pastors in attendance gathered, and circled around the graduates. Collectively they laid hands on these young women and men and delivered a prayer of dedication and blessing as the rest of us reached out our hands in solidarity—both sending out and confirming that God continues the work of building up “indigenous, Christian leaders to be transformed and to transform their communities and the nation of DR Congo.”

Before the ceremony concluded, a harambee was held: a collection of cash and pledges for the UCCC. Students, guests, faculty, community members, and local leaders stepped forward in public and committed money and cement to the effort. Just as the graduates were blessed and sent, the community blessed the work of UCBC and said by their contributions, “We are part of this place; part of this work of transformation.”