A few snapshots and ruminations - Friday, October 16, 2009

A few snapshots and ruminations from the past few days, not in any particular order.

This is a place of lush vegetation, nourished by sun and drenching rain. The three rainstorms I've witnessed to date have been fabulous downpours out of broad, dark clouds. The gardens are boisterous and wild. Maize (which looks like corn to me) seems to shoot up in the middle of tall grasses. Spreads of cassava plants appear in the middle of the bush. Walking the UCBC property yesterday, I spied a half-dollar size, white and violet blossom that looked like an orchid. Workmen on the property seem to be in a marathon to keep back the grasses that grow tall and fast. I've read that plants and grasses grow as much as 2" in a day in Congo's jungle.

On Sunday, seven of us walked through the bush from UCBC back to the Kasali residence--a 4-mile trek. Grant, one of the American volunteers, was our guide. He said of the four or five times he has made the walk, it has never looked the same because of the rapid growth in vegetation. He also said he has not, nor is he willing to do the walk in reverse by himself yet because the landscape varies so quickly.

So a little bit about that walk: We followed a red ribbon of a footpath, weaving in and out of this green expanse. Sometimes I could only see the few feet in front of me, the grasses were so tall and path winding. At other times, we'd come out into a small clearing dotted with trees of various types. Our path joined and split from other footpaths along the way. Isn't wasn't too long and I knew there was no way I could retrace the way alone! Occasionally we would come upon spreads of cassava--4'-high plants with mahogany-red-to-green leaves that spread like an open hand. We came across clusters of dwellings here and there--neighborhoods of sorts. I later discovered that at those places, we were nearer the road.

We crossed streams and rivulets along the way. And as the afternoon was rolling in, I admit I began to get anxious to arrive at home in time--before dark dropped in on us and the mosquitoes came out. We did. Sadly, in my growing anxiety, I lost sight of the beauty around us. I hope to make the trek back yet before my time is over. Will definitely do it with someone who knows the way!

"Ne naenda nyumbani"

"I go home" (I hope I've spelled it correctly). My nyumbani here in Beni is David and Kaswera Kasali's home, about 6-8 miles from UCBC. The Kasalis seem to be the Josstle of UCBC. Right now, in addition to David, Kaswera, and two of their sons who are here from the U.S., there are four other Americans staying here: 3 Wheaton grads who will be teaching at UCBC for the year, and a family friend of David and Kaswera's. I share a room with Linda, David's younger niece who is a student at UCBC. Two other Americans, Kara and Rachel Robinson, also Kasali family friends, had been staying at Kasalis for the last week (they are on their way back to Kenya today). Also in the home is David's mother, Maria.

The house is spacious, with plenty of open windows (except for mosquito hours). Even with the heat, there have been plenty of breezes. Meals are served at a large round table. Kaswera and Maria seem to be in charge of meal preparation, but there are others who come to help in the house. Because we only have electricity for a few hours at night when the generator is on, meals are prepared in a sort of "summer kitchen" with a coal or wood-burning stove (don't know which). Evening meals are hearty and savory. Breakfasts a delightful surprise and new each day. Today we had fresh papaya juice, pieces of papaya, slices of cheese, tomatoes, rolls. Another morning we had bread dipped in egg and friend (French toast sans syrup), avocado slices, and bananas. Peanut butter and jelly are always on the lazy Susan.

Kaswera prepares a hot meal that is brought to us at UCBC. We've had rice, steamed bananas, boiled potatoes, local spinach (don't remember the Swahili) that is chopped and cooked with garlic--butamo (delicious).

Evenings are brief, as the sun sets suddenly here near the Equator. We seem to go from light to dark within about 60-90 minutes. The generator is turned on soon after dark, and we have power for a couple of hours. Bedtime comes at just the right time for me--about 9 or 9:30. Actually, I've been ready to go to bed soon after dark!

Last night we had quite a sudden late night surprise. Loud singing with drums and loud praying woke us up at 12:30 am. There is a small "revival" church next door, and the congregation practices lively worship. The service continued for about 2 hours, alternating between singing and loud praying (where everyone engages vociferously and simultaneously). This morning's breakfast conversation began with queries about who was awake and who slept through it all. Wish I could have been one of those who said, "What noise?"

Early experiences at UCBC, Sunday and Monday, Oct. 11 and 12

My first visit to the UCBC campus occurred Sunday. The students have a worship service on Sunday afternoons which is open to the community. We were a small gathering, because this was the first Sunday afternoon service of the new school year. Joel, a vivacious student, led the worship. I later discovered that he leads worship for all (most?) of the chapel services at UCBC. The choir, comprised of about eight students, a keyboardist, drummer, and two guitarists, led us in three songs--two that I recognized from my Vineyard experiences (Above All, and I've forgotten the other), and a Swahili song. The sound was rich with overtones and joy. I closed my eyes several times to swallow the music whole.

The service was only an hour--uncharacteristically short for an African worship service, I understand. Daniel, one of the UCBC, staff members, delivered a sermon. We concluded with another song. Everyone seemed eager to greet each other. There were warm handshakes, women greeting with the customary double-cheek kiss. Many introductions, and names that spilled out of my arms as soon as they were offered, I'm sorry to say.

UCBC sits on a knoll, back maybe 200 yards from the road. Currently there is an academic building, a welcome center under construction, and a large community center under construction (See pictures at www.congoinitiative.org). Most of the school's activity occurs in the academic building right now--classes, the Sunday worship service, offices. There will be two rooms completed in the community center for additional classrooms in time for the opening of school.

On Monday I spent the entire day here. This is the second week of English classes for the students. The day began, for me, with an hour or so with David Kasali, the Rector of UCBC. He gave me my first formal tutorial which included a survey of Congo's history (from Leopold through to the 2006 elections), an overview of his life and the history of UCBC and CI. While I have been reading and in conversations to learn some of this over the past months, it was helpful to hear David's narrative--to have his voice in my memory.

We went to chapel at 10:00. The meeting room was packed with students and staff. Joel and the choir (now perhaps 20 singers), led us in songs. Again, I drank in the sounds of joy. It is always hard for me not to look at other people during worship (always has been, I admit). This chapel was no different. I noticed that students were well-dressed. The young men in long pants and dress shirts, many of them with polished leather shoes that look clean in spite of the omniscient red clay dust (including the unfinished floor here int he academic building). Most of the young women wear long dresses, customary of the region, bright colors, bold prints, impeccable tailoring. Many wear high heels, others nice sandals. But what fascinated me more were the faces of joyous worship, intent. They were focused only on worship, while I, the interloper, gave into temptation. I had to close my eyes to remember the reason for this gathering.

Bunia to Beni

Bunia is our point of entry in Congo. I struggle to find words to describe the scene. So I will digress a bit and explain the dilemma.

Yes, things are different in this part of Africa from what I know in my part of the U.S. My lens, my language is that of a white, middle-class American who has know privilege (because of my color), comfort, and, for the most part, efficient systems and processes (or at least systems and processes that are put in place to improve efficiency). I live in a culture that values wealth possessions, accomplishments, and "orderliness." And that is where the contras or tension lies. My vocabulary and lens can too-quickly present life in this part of Africa as "less than" or "not as good as." And I don't want to do that. I have no right to make or imply such judgments. And life here is NOT "less than." It is different. The resources are different. The history is different. The culture, the values are different. So...how do I describe the airport, the terminal, the processes here? They are what they are.

We walk the 100 yards to a blue building where we passengers are ushered into the immigration room--a room roughly 10' share where a man and woman sit at an oilcloth covered table. Each has a blank notebook and pen. These must be the immigration officials, although there is nothing "official-looking" about their clothing: no name tag, hat, uniform, insignia.

They examine each passport, record information on their pads. Those of us who are not African nationals have additional questions to answer. I am the only one who has to fill out the "first time entry" form, so event though i am second in line to begin the process, I am the last to leave.

The form is in French, and my seatmate, who had helped me through check-in in Entebbe, is nowhere to be seen! I get "nom" and a few other directions, but am otherwise mystified as to what information goes on each line. Neither of the officials offers to assist. Thankfully, there is another American on the flight who speaks French, and he translates while negotiating his own entrance with the officials.

The woman examines the form. By this time, I'm the only passenger left in the immigration room. She asks for my picture. I don't have one. She is dismayed at this. An airport attendant comes in and motions vehemently to me to hurry and get back to the plane. The woman asks again and points to the place where she needs to attach my picture. The attendant motions again. His face registering increasing irritation.

The woman relents. She does need to collect $20 for my entrance fee. While she writes out the receipt, the attendant takes a step toward the door, continuing to gesticulate that I must hurry. I must be holding up the plane! I'm not about to offend the immigration officials, however, or leave my passport, so I wait, wishing (foolishly) that she would intervene and explain to the attendant the she is completing business with me. Another minute, and she hands me my passport.

I follow the attendant outside to discover that the other passengers are waiting just in front of the terminal building while some large boxes are being offloaded from the plane onto a pushcart. It is another 7-8 minutes before we board the plane.

The flight to Beni takes another 30 minutes, and it is during this leg that we fly over vast expanses of forest. Congo has been called the "second lung of the world" for its great rain forests. It may well be the "first lung," given the deforestation that has occurred in the Amazon. But that's for another time.

For most of the flight, all that is visible is the forest. It extends beyond my site horizon. It is lush, deep, amazing. I begin to wonder about life under this canopy--the people who live there, the wildlife, the ecology. The books I've read about Congo fuel my imagination.

Soon Beni comes into view. We descend, circle, and soon land on a red, hard-packed earth runway. Our pilot has done his job well. I am sorry to have had to beat down my middle-class, American sensibilities about what is appropriate, right, and fitting for a pilot.

Observations: Entebbe to Beni via Bunia

The inn driver takes me to the Entebbe airport 3 hours before departure, as instructed by Mr. Charles of TMK (the Congo airline). A line of Bangladeshi UN soldiers is checking in perhaps heading home after their tour of duty?

There are three security checks, an immigration booth and final passport and ticket check before the plane. We are a group of 16 civilian passengers on a small prop. Luggage is stowed in the cabin, and takes up two rows of seats at the back. We passengers fill the remaining seats. The pilot and co-pilot are completely accessible. The cockpit is open, and the pilot turns around to greet and give instructions He is gregarious, and even speaks directly to the passenger sitting behind him during the flight. Occasionally he leans his arm against the windowsill. I want him to take this flying job more seriously.

I sit beside a handsome, older (he's probably younger than me) gentleman with a dignified yet gracious bearing. He had provided me assistance navigating the check-in procedure. I hope he might guide me through maneuvers in Bunia (our first landing in Congo).

We wait on the plane for perhaps 10 minutes before taking off. The heat builds inside the cabin. The air vents are unwilling or unable to provide relief. Our pilot rests his arm out his window. What relief (physically and emotionally) when air begins to pour out once we're airborne.

For the first 15-20 minutes of the flight I pay attention to the landscape below: first broad Lake Victoria, then the plains and hills, green and lush, sprinkled here and there with a thread of red road.

Bunia is our point of entry in Congo. I struggle to find words to describe the scene. (finish later)

Overnight in Entebbe

Arrival in Entebbe was smooth. Lines were long at immigration booths, but my time in front of the officer was short, and my bags were circling patiently in the claims area.

I was one of the lucky ones ushered to the "green" customs area, which meant I simply walked out to the waiting area where the driver to the Central Inn was standing. I am taking Paul Robinson's advice to heart to simply watch, listen, take in. Some of my observations? Smiles on faces. Drivers appear to know each other--they chat together, laugh, kindly greet their passengers. Arriving passengers greeted by loved ones. Hugs, kisses, embraces. Evening warmth.

Dark sky. No stars visible. Outside, electric lights less than in U.S. public places. Parking lot lit only by ambient light from airport terminal, a few scattered light poles around the premises, and passing headlights of vehicles. No interior lights in our transport vehicle-- a comfortable, modern mini-van. When the driver stops on my behalf to purchase a sim card, I rely on the pocket light that one of the other passengers has, to find my cash. The night dark. The roads lit only by vehicle headlights. For a period of time we are one a paved road. Speeding along. I'm fascinated by this drive in the dark. It is only 9:00 or 9:30 at night, but it feels like midnight. We come upon groups of pedestrians. They suddenly appear out of the dark as our headlights catch them.

As we get into town the road changes to packed earth. Red? We weave around neighborhoods. Pass houses. People out on the streets, visiting, heading home?

Arrive at Central Inn. A modest, clean, lodging. CNN plays on the TV. A young woman is called to the desk and checks each of us in. Two staff members carry my luggage up the steps to my room. I trip (ah...that American!) on the steps. I'm used to a taller rise. I want to take two steps at a time, but slow myself down.

My room is as the picture on the Central Inn website presents. Spacious and spare. Clean and comfortable in the sense of meeting needs. (Interesting subject to explore later: how do we define comfort? Certainly this room is not comfortable in the Westin 5-start sense of the word, or in terms of U.S. middle class expectations. But...for another time).

There is a white box on the night table. Hmmm...a box of chocolates, perhaps? Sweets? Facial tissues? No. "100 lubricated condoms. Made in Korea." I open the box, and sure enough, neat rows of condoms. I don't bother to confirm the count. Certainly every room has these? My mind and wondering can go off in wild pursuit. But I restrain myself and move to other, more important matters to me. Phone and internet.

I insert my new sim card and try to figure out how to dial, send an SMS to my family and to Paul Robinson. I'm not able to "make it work," and remind myself to slow down. I can ask for help. And I do. A young woman downstairs kindly responds to my request for help. She is patient and kind, shows me my new number, confirms how to dial Uganda and DRC phone numbers, smiles, and sends me on my way.

The bed is welcome after 2 long flights (in spite of my business class respite!).

Morning seems to have come suddenly--dark then quickly light. I have been sitting outside here most of the morning. Fascinated by the birds--so many different kinds. Paul, one of the inn's "attendants" and a student in hotel management, graciously answers my queries about the birds. Identifies the weaver bird--a green/yellow bird that builds a hanging nest. Paul points out some of the weaver birds' nests in the trees here on the property. When I don't see the one he quickly finds and points out to me, he is patient as I search for the unfamiliar that eludes me because my vision is limited by inexperience in this context.

He shows me the mango tree, and explains that the young fruit, now only 3-4" long, will grow to as large as his two hands.

Back to the birds...so many. I want to know their names. There is a black bird, a little larger and with a back darker than the American robin. But its breast a brilliant red. A shore bird with slender, sloped and pointed bill. A large black bird with white stripe across its shoulders and a call like a crow's call. A few pigeons show up in the mix.

Breakfast is simple and satisfying. The server asks me what I would like. Since there isn't a menu, I don't know my choices! So, I ask. "What do you have?"

"Eggs, toast, sausage," he replies. I ask for scarmbled eggs and toast.

The kitchen is just behind the serving area, and I can hear someone whisking eggs in a bowl. My immediate thought...another reminder that in the U.S. we are removed from our food that in "fine" restaurants we don't see or hear our food being prepared. Again...something to consider for another time. Back to observations here.

The server, another young man (all the staff appear young to me--in their twenties?) brings me grapefruit (?) juice, a couple of small wedges of watermelon, half a banana, and a slice of pineapple. The juice and fruit are welcome, as my mouth is dry, and I crave the large glasses of water and deep cups of coffee that are my familiar start to the day at home. He soon brings me a salad-size plate of toast topped with scrambled eggs. Sufficient and delicious.

I've been writing here on the front porch (have yet to see if I can take pictures). It will soon be time to head back to the airport and catch my plane to Beni.

So much for which to be joyful. So much for which to be thankful. So much beauty.

Early travel experiences

Travel to Entebbe went well (well...almost). Connections worked out. Visa and entrance no problem. Luggage arrived. Transport to guesthouse here in Entebbe smooth. Slept well. Up and have had breakfast and have a couple of hours before heading back to airport and fly to Congo.

So much input. I can't do justice to it all in my meager attempts at "output"!

So, I'll begin with the "almost" part of the travel. I got to spend some time stretched out in business class between Detroit and Amsterdam! Wonderful break from the not-quite-leaning back, size small seats in coach (where I travel). No...no upgrades or random act of kindness on the part of some other passenger. No...just a minor medical situation. Dinner was over, I was, like the rest of my coach travelers, trying to get some rest. I had been dozing when I began to feel faint and sweaty--that "PLEASE GOD! DON'T LET ME GET SICK!" feeling. You know the panic. Had I eaten something bad? What was going on? I just wanted desperately to lie down.

Hit the call button. Mercifully, the attendant arrived quickly. It didn't take much to convince her that I needed to lay down anywhere...on the floor, in the aisle. Didn't matter. Just lie down!!

My seatmate, who had been sound asleep, graciously allowed me out of the row, and the attendant took me to the galley area where I lay down on the floor. Ah...great relief. Pillow, blanket, oxygen mask, 2 more attendants and purser later, the dizziness began to subside. They ushered me to a business class recliner (wasn't hard to decline that offer!) then put out the all-call for "a doctor or medical personnel on the plane." I was feeling just lousy enough that I didn't care to be the reason for an all-call. I also knew there was nothing terribly wrong--that this would pass. I've been in other situations where strange events have caused me to pass out (stories for other times). And I had had a similar experience during flight to South Africa two years ago. I actually wondered if it had something to do with the glass of wine I had at dinner.

Two ER docs soon joined the attendants. The short story is that my pulse and blood pressure were both very low (pulse: 28; bp: 80). The docs kept monitoring me and were initially concerned that neither came back up as quickly as the would have expected, given my general good health. At one point they encouraged me to stop over in Amsterdam to get checked out. Nah...that wasn't going to happen. But I didn't argue at that moment.

By the time we were 30 minutes out of Amsterdam, pulse and bp were up to normal ranges; I was feeling just fine. And the docs were mystified.

My diagnosis? A glass of wine at dinner was just enough depressant (suppressant?) to trigger this chain of events. Everything else has gone smoothly. No bouts of fainting between Amsterdam and Entebbe (no wine, either!).

But next time I want to stretch out in business class (or on the floor) I know what to do!