Amani means ‘peace’ in Swahili. Every Saturday that I go to Yole! Africa’s Jam session, I am constantly amazed and energized at the commitment and vigor of Goma’s Congolese youth who fight to communicate their messages of peace for their country. These teenagers and youth in their 20s write hip hop songs about ending war and ethnic conflicts, fighting sexual violence, building people’s rights and opportunities in their country.
These days, HEAL Africa has partnered with Yole! Africa to produce a CD of music from local artists, with songs expressing HEAL Africa’s themes of holistic healing of the people of the Congo. Last Saturday, they held a competition for the bands to participate in this CD. Yole’s driveway, which is regularly transformed into a music stage and benches for the audience was packed tight in the bright sunshine of the afternoon. Eager artists were prepared with their best, the neighborhood was watching and cheering, street boys in their tattered outfits giddy with excitement. At least 16 bands played, each displaying their own style and original lyrics, although most are hip hop artists. The harmony among these bands was evident as they cheered each other on, high fives flying everywhere, voices in the crowd singing along in support the different artists.
To wrap up the whole afternoon of fun and music, Yole’s organizers presented some surprise guests. Sekombi worked up the crowd with cheers as he introduced the three famous Congolese artists, each from different generations. They sang songs with joy; the crowd was ecstatic. The last artist called all the artists up on stage with him as they sang a chorus in French, saying, “unity, unity for the Congo; let no one divide us again.” Interspersed between each chorus, every musician sang an improvised stanza- the whole experience was electrifying!
Keep your eyes open, your ears listening and your wallet ready for the HEAL Africa/ Yole CD that will be released in September! If you can’t come to hear them sing live, buy it: you won’t want to miss this production.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Cows ate all the Produce!
Last Thursday, Annifa and I spent some time with the women from Grounds for Hope, helping them brainstorm how they can continue to improve their lives, using the skills they have been learning through HEALing Arts and Mawe Hai and the income generation grants they have received from Upper Room.
As we arrived, we were immediately interrupted by soldiers demanding to use my cell phone, saying they had heard bombs go off nearby minutes earlier. The women at Grounds for Hope confirmed this. We sat there with the four FARDC soldiers- one listening to annoying, scratchy and untimely music on his radio, the others, staring- while the sergeant yelled over my phone at headquarters, trying to find out any information on the explosions. After a few calls that were void of any useful news from Goma, he returned my phone, eyeing me the whole time until we deleted the numbers he had dialed. The expressed their gratitude, tried to flirt a bit and finally left us, our friendly rapport with the area’s soldiers sustained.
This led to an earnest conversation with the women about the process required to finish building a wall around the whole property, as it has only been built around half of it. They expressed concerns, yet appreciation for the guards that watch the property all the time.
Very early the following morning, we received the call- TWENTY-EIGHT COWS had slept on the property and eaten all the vegetation the women had been growing through the Mawe Hai program. Annifa had to negotiate with the chief of Buhimba to ensure the owner of the cows will pay back the damages. Apparently, it is not customary to kick out other people’s animals from your property, as you would then be responsible for the livestock, should anything happen to them. On Monday morning, Annifa and I observed the damages done, as well as the two hour wait the chief spent hoping the cows’ owner would meet him, as promised.
Let’s hope he did show up and will repay the women for their lost labor!
As we arrived, we were immediately interrupted by soldiers demanding to use my cell phone, saying they had heard bombs go off nearby minutes earlier. The women at Grounds for Hope confirmed this. We sat there with the four FARDC soldiers- one listening to annoying, scratchy and untimely music on his radio, the others, staring- while the sergeant yelled over my phone at headquarters, trying to find out any information on the explosions. After a few calls that were void of any useful news from Goma, he returned my phone, eyeing me the whole time until we deleted the numbers he had dialed. The expressed their gratitude, tried to flirt a bit and finally left us, our friendly rapport with the area’s soldiers sustained.
This led to an earnest conversation with the women about the process required to finish building a wall around the whole property, as it has only been built around half of it. They expressed concerns, yet appreciation for the guards that watch the property all the time.
Very early the following morning, we received the call- TWENTY-EIGHT COWS had slept on the property and eaten all the vegetation the women had been growing through the Mawe Hai program. Annifa had to negotiate with the chief of Buhimba to ensure the owner of the cows will pay back the damages. Apparently, it is not customary to kick out other people’s animals from your property, as you would then be responsible for the livestock, should anything happen to them. On Monday morning, Annifa and I observed the damages done, as well as the two hour wait the chief spent hoping the cows’ owner would meet him, as promised.
Let’s hope he did show up and will repay the women for their lost labor!
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
The land of plenty and those who are displaced where there is no justice
On July 12th, Ndungo with Choose Life, Dick with HEAL Africa US side, Likofata our new Public Health Director, Loren and Loran, two physical therapists, and I headed into Masisi territory, an area that has been closed off for so many months. Due to the war and ethnic imbalances, we were forced to terminate a child sponsorship program in the region after having no knowledge of the status for over four months of the families that fled. At this time, however, they have returned despite the continued instability. We made this trip to discuss future steps with the Masisi Nehemiah Committee. HEAL Africa Nehemiah Committees are groups of local leaders elected to represent the community through various churches that collectively represent the population in each region.
Masisi is a highly coveted region- the land of plenty, however, the question blatantly demanding an answer is: who is benefitting from it? Rich in agriculture, this fertile land that feeds milking cows that have displaced people for General Nkunda’s fattening herds, coltan mined by children and profited by foreigners and every one of us who has a cell phone; gold… these resources that have been stolen from the people have become their biggest threats. They should rightly own the land and profit from its wealth; however it has been rudely and violently ripped away from them. Nkunda may say he is endeavoring to protect Rwandan Tutsis, however, all has been done at the expense of those who have lost their livelihoods, their land and their cows to his hostile takeover of Masisi.
Governmental statistics say the population totals to 360,000. Local refugee camps count 15,000 households surviving there, even as they have taken over any available space in the town, all separation between homes and refugee tents being lost. Each household averages at least 6 members, which multiplies to at least 90,000 refugees with no place to call their own. Each family exists in the space about the size of a few coffins stacked on top of each other, walls of sticks and leaves and a meager Unicef orange or blue tarp strapped on top of the roof in hopes to keep away some of the region’s torrential rains. The World Food Program still has not realized that the local tribes do not usually eat sorgum, and their supplemental food has caused serious problems with diarrhea. Malnutrition, desperation and the lack of peace is evident in all the people’s faces. Just like the dust of the road clings to our every pore, so does the heaviness that settles on your heart if you are willing to see with your eyes and hear with your ears.
We arrived with a layer of dirt on us that would imply a 10 hour drive, even though it was only 3 hours long. Throats parched, eyes stinging from the earth, and breakfast already long digested since 8 that morning, we met with the Nehemiah Committee in a dim room well until 3 or 4 in the afternoon. The lack of water and food that day and my brain reeling with trying to follow and participate in the conversation in Swahili took every ounce of my energy and attention, as we listened to their evaluation of the results and challenges of the sponsorship program. All 65 children were back and safe, none of them had continued with their schooling since the war due to lack of funds and all the families had lost all the fruits of their income generating activities. The responsibility we have towards helping these children and the families caring for them is clear, yet the options challenging. Exhausted, we decided to reconvene the next morning to discuss sustainable solutions to helping this vulnerable population.
As we waited for our vehicle on the steep mountainside, children ran up to us, eyeing us curiously. As tired as I was, I cannot seem to resist cute children, especially when they are not asking for biscuits, candy or money. We played with their soccer ball (made of rolled up plastic bags and twine) and sang together, including their collective repertoire of their national hymn at the top of their lungs, and ending with my “cho cho cho… cho” cheer that had them squealing with laughter.
Our hotel rooms were conveniently located directly above a huge refugee camp. I was grateful to find a clean bed in the bare wooden room. We sat in the flickering light of kerosene lamps in the dirt patio next to the outhouse, waiting for our food to finally arrive. When it finally did around 8 pm, we shoved food into our mouths before passing out for the night. Promptly at 4:30 am the buzz of a waking refugee camp met our ears, growing louder by the minute as families lined up for water and food distributions, the sound of drums and music melding with the clamor of innumerable voices. A couple of hours later I finally hiked down the hill, having found an opening in our bamboo fence, and found myself greeted by friendly faces looking at me emerge from the mountain. They were happy I spoke some Swahili, but could not understand why I did not speak Kihunde or Kinyrwandan, the local dialects. I suddenly found myself at the edge of the refugee camp, their huts overtaking the plots of regular houses. Off to our right was a large field where some displaced youth were already off to a serious soccer game while the women and children fetched the daily rations.
Has it really been less than 24 hours since I left Goma? We are off to meetings with the UN and the Nehemiah Committee before heading back to Goma.
Masisi is a highly coveted region- the land of plenty, however, the question blatantly demanding an answer is: who is benefitting from it? Rich in agriculture, this fertile land that feeds milking cows that have displaced people for General Nkunda’s fattening herds, coltan mined by children and profited by foreigners and every one of us who has a cell phone; gold… these resources that have been stolen from the people have become their biggest threats. They should rightly own the land and profit from its wealth; however it has been rudely and violently ripped away from them. Nkunda may say he is endeavoring to protect Rwandan Tutsis, however, all has been done at the expense of those who have lost their livelihoods, their land and their cows to his hostile takeover of Masisi.
Governmental statistics say the population totals to 360,000. Local refugee camps count 15,000 households surviving there, even as they have taken over any available space in the town, all separation between homes and refugee tents being lost. Each household averages at least 6 members, which multiplies to at least 90,000 refugees with no place to call their own. Each family exists in the space about the size of a few coffins stacked on top of each other, walls of sticks and leaves and a meager Unicef orange or blue tarp strapped on top of the roof in hopes to keep away some of the region’s torrential rains. The World Food Program still has not realized that the local tribes do not usually eat sorgum, and their supplemental food has caused serious problems with diarrhea. Malnutrition, desperation and the lack of peace is evident in all the people’s faces. Just like the dust of the road clings to our every pore, so does the heaviness that settles on your heart if you are willing to see with your eyes and hear with your ears.
We arrived with a layer of dirt on us that would imply a 10 hour drive, even though it was only 3 hours long. Throats parched, eyes stinging from the earth, and breakfast already long digested since 8 that morning, we met with the Nehemiah Committee in a dim room well until 3 or 4 in the afternoon. The lack of water and food that day and my brain reeling with trying to follow and participate in the conversation in Swahili took every ounce of my energy and attention, as we listened to their evaluation of the results and challenges of the sponsorship program. All 65 children were back and safe, none of them had continued with their schooling since the war due to lack of funds and all the families had lost all the fruits of their income generating activities. The responsibility we have towards helping these children and the families caring for them is clear, yet the options challenging. Exhausted, we decided to reconvene the next morning to discuss sustainable solutions to helping this vulnerable population.
As we waited for our vehicle on the steep mountainside, children ran up to us, eyeing us curiously. As tired as I was, I cannot seem to resist cute children, especially when they are not asking for biscuits, candy or money. We played with their soccer ball (made of rolled up plastic bags and twine) and sang together, including their collective repertoire of their national hymn at the top of their lungs, and ending with my “cho cho cho… cho” cheer that had them squealing with laughter.
Our hotel rooms were conveniently located directly above a huge refugee camp. I was grateful to find a clean bed in the bare wooden room. We sat in the flickering light of kerosene lamps in the dirt patio next to the outhouse, waiting for our food to finally arrive. When it finally did around 8 pm, we shoved food into our mouths before passing out for the night. Promptly at 4:30 am the buzz of a waking refugee camp met our ears, growing louder by the minute as families lined up for water and food distributions, the sound of drums and music melding with the clamor of innumerable voices. A couple of hours later I finally hiked down the hill, having found an opening in our bamboo fence, and found myself greeted by friendly faces looking at me emerge from the mountain. They were happy I spoke some Swahili, but could not understand why I did not speak Kihunde or Kinyrwandan, the local dialects. I suddenly found myself at the edge of the refugee camp, their huts overtaking the plots of regular houses. Off to our right was a large field where some displaced youth were already off to a serious soccer game while the women and children fetched the daily rations.
Has it really been less than 24 hours since I left Goma? We are off to meetings with the UN and the Nehemiah Committee before heading back to Goma.
Holding Justice High
July 8, 2008
After an intense conversation and an important history lesson with Lyn about the worsening political situation, and vast injustices occurring and perpetuating in eastern Congo, even as the world hardly knows about it …
Me: “I have such a hard time hearing about what is happening to the most destitute people and not doing anything about it, not taking the weight of the world upon myself. But if I do, I’ll exhaust myself before I can even do anything. But it just weighs upon me…”
Lyn: “It’s our natural aversion towards injustice. It shows our divine nature, that we are not able sit here and do nothing about what is happening. We must fight for justice… we will hold the flag of justice high, even if we are sinking, all the way down we will hold justice high.”
Me: “Justice... but as humanity we have so completely messed up the way that God wanted things to be. We have totally screwed it up in the worst way and done an unbelievably phenomenal job at it.”
Lyn: “Yes, but that’s why Paul, in the Bible, states so firmly the three virtues that we must always cling to: hope (for if we lose it we have lost it all), faith and love. Hopelessness is contagious. But so is hope, so we must cling to hope!”
A final hug, the sharing of hope and strength from one person to another. May God give me hope, faith and love as I go to Masisi on Friday, the territory controlled by Rwandan rebels since August.
After an intense conversation and an important history lesson with Lyn about the worsening political situation, and vast injustices occurring and perpetuating in eastern Congo, even as the world hardly knows about it …
Me: “I have such a hard time hearing about what is happening to the most destitute people and not doing anything about it, not taking the weight of the world upon myself. But if I do, I’ll exhaust myself before I can even do anything. But it just weighs upon me…”
Lyn: “It’s our natural aversion towards injustice. It shows our divine nature, that we are not able sit here and do nothing about what is happening. We must fight for justice… we will hold the flag of justice high, even if we are sinking, all the way down we will hold justice high.”
Me: “Justice... but as humanity we have so completely messed up the way that God wanted things to be. We have totally screwed it up in the worst way and done an unbelievably phenomenal job at it.”
Lyn: “Yes, but that’s why Paul, in the Bible, states so firmly the three virtues that we must always cling to: hope (for if we lose it we have lost it all), faith and love. Hopelessness is contagious. But so is hope, so we must cling to hope!”
A final hug, the sharing of hope and strength from one person to another. May God give me hope, faith and love as I go to Masisi on Friday, the territory controlled by Rwandan rebels since August.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
What could I hope for in a day?
When so much goes exactly the opposite of how I hoped for in just one day that it’s almost comical…
8:30 AM: I have a beautiful breakfast of omelettes ready by 8:45 am for the 8:30 am meeting I had scheduled with a HEAL Africa coworker. She arrives more than 45 minutes later, the eggs cold and my stomach growling rudely. I listen to her in-depth explanation as to why she thinks she got poisoned a couple days ago via a handshake and is going through intense traditional healing and therefore can’t eat the eggs I had made. She tells me that after she finishes the traditional medicine, she will take the malaria medicine that she tested positive for at the hospital, maybe in a week or two. I am baffled, at a loss of words, not sure how to respond as she seems to be neither poisoned or nor sick with malaria. After we eat, I ask if we can finally look at her laptop to work on the budget and projections. Her laptop is out of battery, and as usual, we have none at home during the day, so we head back to the office. The whole morning is gone before I’ve done one productive thing.
10:42 AM I drive our little Suzuki, which is as dependably non-dependable as the roads I drive on and the country I live in. The axel has worsened to the point where the car keeps going straight even after I’ve turned the wheel 360 degrees. It finally catches and my heart sinks as it veers suddenly onto the oncoming traffic, motos zipping past us. I turn the wheel another 360 degrees in record time, correcting it just in time … survived another day!
4:38 PM While the Suzuki is in the shop that afternoon getting fixed, I take a freshly repaired Nissan van to rush to the border to pick up a guest. As I park it, it dies due to an electric shortage and a dead battery, smoke billowing. Dang, now that I’ve finally learned how to drive stick shift on these Goma roads, the car dies on me in front of everyone at the border! I call our mechanic and watch, horrified as 12 men are eagerly sticking their hands under the hood, sparks flying everywhere, tools unheard of pounding on the battery. As the whole population surrounding us watches, I kindly decline marriage proposals offering 15 goats (not a bad dowry!) and promises of a bigger, better car I could drive in, should I accept their propositions. Jean Pierre finally arrives on a moto and fixes it with a broken piece of a rusted nail that he pounded into the battery. The car runs again, it seems, as I make my way back to the hospital.
5:41 PM I drive many people home in that Nissan less than an hour later, looking forward to playing basketball at a friend’s house to release the stress. Yet when I try turning on the car again after changing, it is fully lifeless. Lifeless as in not even the electrical lights will turn on, dead. I slowly bang my head against the steering wheel a few times, trying to collect myself in front of a guest, praying for sanity… can not one thing work as I would hope for today? Such seems to be my lot these days!
6:25 PM I trudge back to the new room I just moved into after Harper left me (what seems like months ago already, even though it’s been less than a week). The light switch won’t work. Sigh, I’m too tired to even get worked up about this. I go to the bathroom to find that my toilet that was running non-stop this morning before I shut it all off still doesn’t work. Really, what can one say besides finding it sort of, in a twisted way, amusing? Has it really only been one day?
8:30 AM: I have a beautiful breakfast of omelettes ready by 8:45 am for the 8:30 am meeting I had scheduled with a HEAL Africa coworker. She arrives more than 45 minutes later, the eggs cold and my stomach growling rudely. I listen to her in-depth explanation as to why she thinks she got poisoned a couple days ago via a handshake and is going through intense traditional healing and therefore can’t eat the eggs I had made. She tells me that after she finishes the traditional medicine, she will take the malaria medicine that she tested positive for at the hospital, maybe in a week or two. I am baffled, at a loss of words, not sure how to respond as she seems to be neither poisoned or nor sick with malaria. After we eat, I ask if we can finally look at her laptop to work on the budget and projections. Her laptop is out of battery, and as usual, we have none at home during the day, so we head back to the office. The whole morning is gone before I’ve done one productive thing.
10:42 AM I drive our little Suzuki, which is as dependably non-dependable as the roads I drive on and the country I live in. The axel has worsened to the point where the car keeps going straight even after I’ve turned the wheel 360 degrees. It finally catches and my heart sinks as it veers suddenly onto the oncoming traffic, motos zipping past us. I turn the wheel another 360 degrees in record time, correcting it just in time … survived another day!
4:38 PM While the Suzuki is in the shop that afternoon getting fixed, I take a freshly repaired Nissan van to rush to the border to pick up a guest. As I park it, it dies due to an electric shortage and a dead battery, smoke billowing. Dang, now that I’ve finally learned how to drive stick shift on these Goma roads, the car dies on me in front of everyone at the border! I call our mechanic and watch, horrified as 12 men are eagerly sticking their hands under the hood, sparks flying everywhere, tools unheard of pounding on the battery. As the whole population surrounding us watches, I kindly decline marriage proposals offering 15 goats (not a bad dowry!) and promises of a bigger, better car I could drive in, should I accept their propositions. Jean Pierre finally arrives on a moto and fixes it with a broken piece of a rusted nail that he pounded into the battery. The car runs again, it seems, as I make my way back to the hospital.
5:41 PM I drive many people home in that Nissan less than an hour later, looking forward to playing basketball at a friend’s house to release the stress. Yet when I try turning on the car again after changing, it is fully lifeless. Lifeless as in not even the electrical lights will turn on, dead. I slowly bang my head against the steering wheel a few times, trying to collect myself in front of a guest, praying for sanity… can not one thing work as I would hope for today? Such seems to be my lot these days!
6:25 PM I trudge back to the new room I just moved into after Harper left me (what seems like months ago already, even though it’s been less than a week). The light switch won’t work. Sigh, I’m too tired to even get worked up about this. I go to the bathroom to find that my toilet that was running non-stop this morning before I shut it all off still doesn’t work. Really, what can one say besides finding it sort of, in a twisted way, amusing? Has it really only been one day?
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