Icons

Red clay of the unfinished walkway. The outside charcoal stove where Maria, Kaswera, and Linda cook. The plastic buckets that we use to carry hot water for bathing. In three very short weeks these have become icons of this place and time.

Red clay, dust, hardpacked earth breaks free here to grow lush vegetation. There is no escaping the red dust. I bathe and wash my hair in the morning only to arrive at school, not two hours later, baptized for the day by this earth. I run my hands through my hair and feel the coating of dust from our drive. My feet are powdered red.

During one of our professional development days, a teacher held out a piece of chalk and explained that it symbolizes teaching here. You can write on the blackboard (a 4' x 6' piece of plywood painted black and mounted on two posts). She explained that you write on the board, erase, and write something else. But the shadows of all the previous writing remain. And the chalk dust clings to your hand. You can't shake the experiences, the interchanges, the conversations. Everything about teaching here stays with you.

The Congolese red clay, burnished and fine, clings to me. Each day when I return home, I am eager to take a bath, even though it's a cold one (hot ones are at night, after the fire has been used to cook our food). I am eager to get clean. I need, no, I want, refreshment from the day. Or do I?

I will miss it--this baptism dust.

The buckets. 20-liter plastic workhorses. We use them to cart bath water and launder clothes. Dishwashing and large loads of laundry are done in deep and wide plastic basins outside in the open passage between the house the outside kitchen. On the road, along the paths, people haul water in big, yellow, rectangular jugs. They must be 40, 50, or more liters. Everyone carries water here. But what irony! There are almost daily deep and drenching rain showers. Rivers and streams are the capillaries and blood vessels that trace, it seems, every valley and crevice. The Congo River is here--a river second only to the Amazon in terms of its flow. So how much personal energy, time, and resources are lost daily as people have to carry their water?

Back to here--the buckets. We share them. They are daily reminders to be humble. They are daily reminders that when I lose touch, step away from my basic needs, rely on systems, processes, other people's labor to meet my basic needs, I too easily neglect to care, to honor, to be grateful. At home I can turn on the shower and let hot water run, fill up the pipes, wash down the drain before even stepping under the shower head. Here, on those nights when I wait to take a hot bath, when the charcoal fire is no longer needed to cook food, when we can enjoy its excess to heat pots of water, I make every preparation first. Lay out clothes, towel, and soap. Check and recheck the drain plug to make sure it's secure. Only then do I go to the kitchen, dip the pitcher into the pot of hot water and pour into my bucket, reaching down into the bucket so as to pour hot water directly, and not lose any of the precious heat in the cooling air. And when I take the bucket into the bathroom and pour it into the tub, I am judicious in adding just enough cool water from the tap.

And the outside charcoal stove where Kaswera, Maria, and Linda cook. It's always a joy to be there and help--peel potatoes, pick through the cassava flour, rinse and sort beans.  Stove, fire, food preparation. It is hard work to cook this way. I do not romanticize this stove and the charcoal fire. But I am gladly branded by its fragrance and the accompanying voices, mostly in Swahili. It is a reminder that living is best when we allow our lives to weave and flow together, unbounded. The charcoal fire wakes me every morning when Kasero (sp?) the night watchman, starts the stove for the day. Subtle yet pungent as incense, it drifts around the corner of the house and into the open window of the bedroom just as light cracks the sky.

Launching the new academic year, Saturday, October 24, 2009

Saturday, October 24, was the official opening of the school year for UCBC. It was a community celebration. A welcome center had been under construction for several weeks--a covered, outdoor space for occasions such as this. During the past two weeks, workmen were diligent to complete the structure. They pounded the dirt floor with timbers to flatten it. They carried stones, hand-dug from the property, to lay as foundation for the floor. On Friday, the day before the opening ceremony, they poured and spread cement.

Saturday morning began with heavy rains that swept in from the south. By mid morning, the skies began to clear. Students had already been busy setting up chairs in the main room of the academic building. They set the welcome center as the main stage and seating area for faculty and guests, hung banners, and started preparing food for the expected crowd of 500.

By the time the ceremony began in the afternoon, we had blue sky and sun. The energy among the staff and students was electric. The Ebenezer Choir, the student-led choir, began our time together with praise and worship music primarily from their own tradition and language.

Students and community members gathered along with family and friends. There were a couple of folks with MONUC insignias, various local leaders and public officials, and local business people.

The day was important not just to mark the start of the academic year, but to live out two guiding values of CI-UCBC: Community and Service. CI-UCBC is committed to opening the doors of knowledge (what is referred to here as science) to the community. CI-UCBC is taking active steps to breach the walls that have kept knowledge and power in the hands of a few. Knowledge/Science in Congo, as David Kasali has reminded me on several occasions, has been locked away. It has been under control of the few and the powerful for personal gain, prestige, and destruction. CI-UCBC is working to redeem knowledge and science so that it is not only available to all, but is used for the common good, to improve life here, transform this country.

So to invite the community, including the neighbors who live along the edges of the property and the workmen who labor on the buildings, is to say, "We are here with you--not just for you. We are here as part of this community for the good of all."

That is one reason why, even though the academic building is not, in American terms, "complete," CI-UCBC has built the welcome center and begun construction of the Community Center. Until Saturday I had been confused and even unsettled at this decision. After all, why wouldn't we want to complete a building, finish, furnish, and outfit it completely before starting on yet another project? It didn't fit my American frame of mind.

On Saturday I understood. After the official ceremony, everyone was invited to look at the master building plans for the university and tour the Community Center, which is very much under construction. Following that was an opportunity to see a slide show of the architect's renderings of the entire CI-UCBC campus. It was clear from the questions and comments that community members were excited, appreciative, eager to see this work move forward. They could see that this place would provide services for them, for the community. It will be a place where community members can come for classes, groups can have meetings, outside organizations can host conferences, where services for women and children can be provided and literacy classes for the neighborhood will be housed.

Last week I heard David say, "The Congolese have said, 'We have heard. We want to see.' " By starting the Community Center, by inviting the community to the celebration, CI-UCBC was able to show in action, visibly, concretely, that CI-UCBC is living out a vision for its students, for the community, and for the nation.

David shared another powerful story recently. Two or three years ago, when CI-UCBC had only land and the whispers of construction activity, David met with a local businessman to tell him the vision of CI-UCBC and ask for his support. The man listened and indicated that perhaps he would do something. A year passed without David hearing anything more from this businessman. They met again sometime later at a meeting. The workshop was completed, the academic building was up and in use, and ground was being dug for the Community Center. The businessman admitted that after his first meeting with David, he laughed to himself, certain that nothing would come of the plans David had laid out. But now, at this meeting, the businessman was ready to admit he was wrong. That he was contributing 10 bags of cement that day (a significant contribution) and would be donating another 10 bags very soon after.

"Ten bags of cement?" you might query. "What's so great about that?" It's not only critical, material contributions to the work. It is a statement that affirms, "We have heard. We have also seen. We are part of this community and this service."

Preparing to transition

Perhaps my body is preparing to return home. Today is the first time in three weeks that I'm hungry and want something to eat. It's noontime, and approximately 5 hours since breakfast. Actually, this is early to even think about lunch. Usually we don't have lunch until close to 3:00 in the afternoon, almost 8 hours later than breakfast. In these three weeks, I've never felt hungry, tired, or wilting from low blood sugar between breakfast and lunch, 8 hours later. But today is different.

This is a good reminder that there are so many, not just here at UCBC, not just in Congo or Africa, but around the world, even in our wealthy nation of the U.S., that many people do go hungry. That students go to school without breakfast, manage through the day without lunch, are lucky to have anything at all before bed.

This is not new information. Let it be a reminder when I am back home and comfortable, when I live in excess, even though I try to live in enough and sufficient, that I am my sister's and my brother's keeper.

Humility is a good teacher

Today was day 1 of professional development/retreat day for UCBC faculty. I have spent the last week and a half planning, reading, talking to students and teachers, re-planning, agonizing, reviewing, revising. Work that used to be second nature to me--facilitating staff development--has been sitting on the shelf for the past several years. In addition, I didn't come here with PD books, resources, readings, or handouts.

Thankfully, this group of 15 was most kind, flexible, and gracious. I'm afraid that I stretched and twisted them far more than is pedagogically appropriate and healthy. But they hung in.

This is the first time I've led professional development in a cross-cultural setting. The mention of a "fishbowl" exercise, was met with laughter from the Americans and quizzical looks from the Congolese. Pets in Congo? And have you every tried to explain why and how someone would keep pet fish in a glass bowl of water? It is an absurd concept!

We did have an "animal" experience today, though. Two goats wandered into the building and bleated and baahed their way through the hallway until someone herded them back outside.

Amazing that even though I thought I understood the context, the experiences, the background, I still missed the mark in some places. Thank goodness for tomorrow and the possibility of redemption.

Although the young men who set up the room today were unsettled when I asked them to change the room set-up, they did oblige kindly. They had arranged the tables in a square--the typical board/meeting room arrangement. I wanted 4 tables in a herringbone pattern, so folks could work around the table, yet see the board. Unable to explain with gestures, I drew out the room arrangement.

We did play a game today. Wasn't sure how it would be received. But "bumpity-bump-bump-bump" was met with great laughter. Ndonga, who teaches the history of African philosophy, among other courses, said that the game helped us to "Not just be teachers."

Am exhausted but fueled with enough adrenaline to figure out plan for tomorrow.

"Give back to me my beautiful words"

There are many things about UCBC that are amazing, audacious, bold, and necessary. Aside from being bilingual, the university is committed to a manner of teaching that is radically different from the traditional Congolese system. The university is promoting learning that is collaborative, that promotes thinking, problem-solving, and discourse. What UCBC is doing is what my American friends would say is just plain good teaching and learning--engaging students with their learning, helping them to think, problem-solve, take ownership for their learning so they recognize their self-efficacy. This methodology, this philosophy of education is in stark contrast to the Congolese education system. It is a radically new approach for the students at UCBC and for many of their teachers, who themselves have come up through the traditional system.

My teachers here at UCBC (faculty, staff, students at UCBC) repeatedly remind me that the Congolese system of education is based on a Belgium system that was instituted during colonial times. It is a system that maintains a power structure where teacher is the ultimate authority and the learner is merely a recipient of knowledge. The teacher is the expert, the all-knowing. The teacher's responsibility is to give out information. The student's responsibility is to take down, memorize, and give back on an exam. The method is lecture and repeat back. Not even lecture, digest, think about, then respond.

In order to pass exams, students must memorize, and in some cases, repeat the actual words in their exams. Honore (apologies: there is an aigu/accent mark over the e in Honore's name. Can't figure out how to do that in this blog), the Academic Dean at UCBC tells a story that captures it all. He remembers a geography professor who, at the time of the exam, instructed the students, "Now give back to me my beautiful words."

Honore's experience is not an isolated, extreme event.

There are many ramifications--a topic for another entry. But here is just one: University graduates face significant challenges in their quest to continue their education as masters or doctoral students. It may take as much as 10 years or more for someone to attain a doctorate. This is not because their is a extensive preparation period, but because professors of that rank are reluctant to allow others to join them. They stall the process, delay reading theses, and generally thwart anyone working to attain that degree.

But back to UCBC and undergraduates. Students come to UCBC from a primary and secondary background that supports the receive/return approach to learning. They have been taught to memorize and repeat. They have not learned how to dialogue, how to have their own opinions and support them. They have not learned how to analyze, synthesize, explore. By their own acknowledgement, they do not know how to problem-solve. Many have told me that they have grown up and been taught in such a way as to believe that they canNOT do anything to make changes in their community.

UCBC is committed to teaching in a way that completely transforms students--how they think about themselves, their country, and their responsibility. The university is committed to developing and nurturing strong, ethical leaders who are transformed, so that they can, in turn, "transform their communities and the nation of the Democratic Republic of Congo." UCBC is committed to teaching in such a way to develop students' thinking skills, analytical skills, problem-solving skills. Students understand not only that this is different, but that this is necessary. Adelphine, a G1 (Year 1) student, recently said, "Congolese people do not know how to solve their national problems. We must learn how to solve our own problems. This is why I am at UCBC."

This nation has huge challenges. But this nation is exceedingly rich in resources of all types: human, cultural, mineral, water, timber, wildlife. It has deep and wide wealth and great opportunity.

Students also recognize that their country groans under the burden of corruption and that leadership in Congo, historically, is about power and personal gain. But what UCBC students proclaim consistently in every conversation (no exaggeration) is a desire to make changes. They desire to change, no transform, systems, ways of doing business, ways of living, ways of doing politics. Even more significant is their deep commitment to do so for the good of their country and their people. Their focus is on others, on the common good of Congo. In all my conversations to date, I have not heard students talk about "making money," "owning a house," "having a big car." They consistently talk about transforming their communities and their country. They recognize the need and are recognizing, through their education here, that they can do something.

Audacious? Bold? Visionary? Yes. But changes only occur when people are willing to be bold and live into a vision of something better.

PS:Want to be part of this transformation? Check out Kipepeo Partners.

Some personal learning

I hate the expression, "out of your/my comfort zone." I don't like the implication of defined spaces. In and Out. Reflection of my approach to life? My thinking/learning style? I prefer the gray places, the fuzzy edges. I've never been completely comfortable with straight answers and clear-cut rules. Interesting the adjectives, straight and clear-cut. It was always one of my challenges as a parent, and one of the challenges in my second marriage. My kids seem to have survived. The marriage did not. But for other reasons and another story.

So, back to "out of your comfort zone." I understand that there is something about human nature, perhaps all of nature, that calls us to be where it's comfortable. We gather with people we know. We live in neighborhoods where others look like us and presumably have the same level of economic security and education as we do, and where our neighbors share (for the most part) our color, our values, our culture. We work to make our daily existence easy. We engage in "debate" with those who are like-minded. We listen to and read the pundits, journalists, publications that support our way of thinking, our ideals and values.

I am guilty. I can also defend and justify these behaviors on a number of fronts. I have begun to wonder more about what we/I lose by living this way.

There is something in biology or ecology about the richest, most vital part of an ecological system is in the edges. That is where the most biologically diverse activity occurs.

Whenever I have been in a new place and with people who, in my first glance, appear to be different from me, I have learned, grown, been challenged, stretched. Sometimes I have learned new things about myself, or come to admit things about myself that I had been able to deny previously. Always I have learned new truths, realities, and ideas.

Here is something I've learned recently as a result of my engagement with CI-UCBC and this first time in Congo. I have been guilty of objectifying poverty (and I hate even to name the it as poverty). In my comfort zone, within my boundaries, my safe, middle class (and evangelical Christian) context, poverty has been "out there." It is something outside my "comfort zone." As such, it has been easy to treat is as other, as an object. It is something to be solved, addressed. It is something to which I respond briefly and episodically. I can give money. I can give my cast-offs to it. Help out on a weekly or quarterly basis. I can even take pictures of it (for which I offer a public apology). Always, though, poverty is outside my comfort zone. Always I can and do step safely back into my comfort zone.

I don't think that Jesus said, "The poor you will have with you always," to exonerate us from helping the poor. I'm beginning to wonder about the other messages in this statement--the metamessages.

Perhaps this statement is an exhortation to be with the poor. To live among and with--and not just to be able to help, educate, contribute economically or financially. But to learn from and live in parity with. Scary thought. Very scary.

What might I learn from living in and among those who are poor, as defined by my experience? My community of middle class, Americans (including middle class, American, Christians)? That I'm NOT in control. That all I own is grass that withers in the sun. That peace comes not from my surroundings, but from my heart. That sufficient is enough, and, sadly, my definition of enough has been more than enough, it is excess. That death and life are constant realities. (Within my first 8 days in Congo, there have been 2 deaths in families that are friends and/or relatives within this tight knit community. And, as David Kasali reminds me, death is part of the reality of this place).

And once I've learned these and other lessons, how might I act differently? Live differently? How might my actions, my choices, my behaviors contribute to the common good rather than to my own? How must I act differently, live differently now?

Driving Home in the Dark - Monday night, 10.19.09

We are driving home from the school, six of us in an old Izuzu (sp?) Trooper that has to be jump started each time. Well, maybe it isn't old. It's just weary and worn from working so hard in this place. The driver has to make sure to park the vehicle heading out, and preferably down a slight incline. . I don't know which of the gauges on the dashboard work and which do not, with the exception of the gas gauge. It always registers Empty. David Kasali is driving tonight.

It is 6:30, or 7:00 or 7:30 and the night sky has covered this part of Congo. Time is a different, more friendly construct here. There are some stars, but swaths of cloud mask the moon. The first few miles of our drive is along a 3-mile stretch of road that is part of a longer road the Chinese are paving. Well, they are providing the materials. The Congolese are providing the cash and the labor. Some have said that Congo will be indebted to the Chinese for years for this road. But that's something for another time.

A road under construction here is not a road under construction in the U.S. For one thing, in the 9 days or so that I've been here, no tar has been laid down on the road. The surface is hard-packed gravel. Already the rains are beginning to rut the surface in places. Perhaps later on there will be tar.

This is an example of why the work and vision of UCBC are so vital. Without national leaders, politicians, business people, policy-makers to engage in international relations for the benefit of this country, other interests will take advantage. Secure contracts to deliver the much-needed services and infrastructure, but without the oversight to ensure quality work.

But back to the drive.

We bump along in complete darkness. Absolute darkness. The kind of darkness you only experience if you are completely out in the wilderness or deep in rural America, far away from the glow of commerce. The only lights are from the stars, the feeble headlights on the Trooper, the occasional vehicle we pass or meet along the way, and the darting single headlight and red taillight of the "motos" that weave in and around. These "motos" and the ubiquitous black bicycle are the public transportation of at least this part of Congo.

There are no traffic lanes or shoulders. In general, vehicles stay on the right of the road. But is perfectly acceptable to pass any truck or moto or van that you come upon and that isn't moving as fast as you'd like. The only rule of the road I've picked up is, "Honk if you come upon someone on a bike or moto or on foot who you might hit if they didn't move."

Did I mention that there are no streetlights? No traffic lights? No gas stations, CVS stores or Krogers to light the way? But there are people everywhere. It is still early evening. People on the move. Men, women, children. Going home. Going to places of work. Going about life. People carrying water. People carrying jugs of petrol lashed to their bikes. People hauling bags, the size of square hay bales, filled with charcoal. The road is furiously busy with people. People appear out of the dark, just barely in front of our headlights. We didn't have rain today, so the dust is thick. The light from our vehicle scatters in it, making it even more difficult to see and steer clear of the people in the road.

Along the road are dwellings and businesses. Some shed a glow of orange, yellow, or white out the tiny openings that are windows, or out their open doors.

We come to the place where we turn off the main road into our quarter of town, Ndoni. It is a busy 3-way intersection. There are usually vendors of various fruits, vegetables, and fuel. This evening is no different. I am stunned, though, as the turnoff appears so suddenly out of the dark.

The roads through Ndoni are not under construction. They are hard-packed, red clay whose surface is under constant onslaught by rain and vehicles. The roads are also narrow. Two vehicles can pass, but must navigate the people and vendors who line the edges of the road.

Paul Robinson has referred to Congo as a "fractured and beautiful place." Every day, every new sight and sound confirms that to me. Tonight is no different.

It is still dark. There are no traffic lights or streetlights here, either. David sings a hymn softly in his resonant baritone. It is a tune I recognize, but cannot call up. When I ask David the title, he says, "Ah...I do not know. I'm singing French, Swahili, and Lingala. That is how confused mind is tonight."

We arrive home. Park the car. David claims with reverence, "Thank you, Jesus."

The swaths of cloud are receding, and the sky is rich in stars.