Out of Africa...

Final ruminations from the heart of Africa.

Fourteen weeks seemed like a long summer ahead back in May, one that would certainly be full of new experiences.  I was not disappointed! These weeks certainly have been full, but now my time to return home is here. I want to hug my kids…

These three weeks in Cameroon have gone very fast, probably because doing a review of the books is a lot like ordinary work, and  has been easy to keep my head down and just work.  I have not posted as much, in part because I think few would be that (!) interested in my talking about accounting stuff…

I have not observed that much of life in Cameroon, being in an office all day and living behind walls at an SIL training facility/conference site.  Not a good place for walking either, as the nearest road is very busy and there is not much room on the side for pedestrians.  Not that this stops the Cameroonians... But Cameroon has been a good balance of experiences with my time in Congo.  I was in Congo long enough to touch the culture a bit and start making a few budding friendships with some Congolese. Here in Yaoundé, I have been able to see the more of the business side of life, and that has given me a fuller picture of some aspects of living in Africa.

I estimate that there are around 30 administrative people working at SIL here in Yaoundé, a combination of ex-pats and nationals doing the ordinary work of keeping things going – personnel, IT, finance, maintenance, cleaning and the like. Of those, SIL employ  three men full time just to walk documents around to government offices and to places like the water and electric company to pay bills.  For some things, they go day after day for days just to check and prod the movement of documents from one desk to the next desk to the next desk…  Officials in Cameroon, even those workers doing ordinary things like receiving  payment on water and electric bills, stamp everything, and many papers have 4 or 5 colorful stamps on them, all with impressive looking signatures, penmanship that looks like some of those signatures found on the Declaration of Independence -  fancy writing one does not see anymore.  I was told that SIL had to finally stop using one of their authorized signers because his signature didn’t look right to the officials and they rejected documents that were signed by him. His signature was simply too readable.  I can’t imagine anyone even actually looks at a signature much in America, just as long as a scribble  is there…  Bureaucracy here is a large and lethargic business of its own, and one that defies business sense. This afflicts the business environment in both Cameroon and Congo, a legacy (I think) of French and Belgium, who I understand raised stamps and signatures and documents to an art form.

As an example, I offer a Cameroonian banking moment I witnessed two days ago. This is a cash economy. Everything here is cash, with lots and lots of papers for receipts. Not that those are worth much, for you can get a receipt for anything… But a few things can be paid by check -  a slow move into the modern banking era that has already largely been eclipsed in the West by electronic payments and debit/credit cards. Although not in the way we think of paying bills.  A few businesses will take a business check, but many only accept certified checks for payment.  This is true for paying the monthly electric bill (about $4,000 each month), although other business will take a regular check; but some will only accept cash payments.  (I have never seen the stacks and stacks of money like I have seen in Cameroon.)SIL has to obtain certified checks to make tax payments -  the government will not take cash, which is the typical  payment method for everything,  but will not allow a business or organization to pay with an ordinary check either. The process is for SIL is to obtain a certified check from the bank, and then one of these three men walk down to the government office to present payment along with the bill. The government person there takes the check and the original bill.  One can come back in about a week and pick up the receipted original bill, which is the only recognized proof of payment. (This is pretty much the process for paying anything by check. One can guess why banking is simply not catching on…) Wednesday, SIL’s biller payer person on his daily rounds at various government offices was handed an SIL certified bank check presented back in May (three months ago!), saying it has been rejected by the government.  No reason, it was just rejected. He came back and then the SIL folks – the messenger, the finance manager and the accountant – all took a ‘field trip’ to the bank. After a discussion, they with the bank officer all walked over to the government office a few blocks away to ask why it was rejected. The answer was there is no reason, and we do not have to provide one. A certified bank check for a tax payment rejected…  And it sitting on someone’s desk for months…  Ah, maybe only in Cameroon…

Oh, and by the way, checks paid to SIL as payee and deposited (which admittedly are not many in this economy, but Americans will write them to SIL  to get personal funds sometimes) must have the endorsement of the company’s authorized check signers, in SIL’s case, two executives.  And they check the signatures to make sure!  No such thing as allowing the accounts receivable person to use an endorsement stamp …



Library at  Rainforest International Academy, a 7-12 school and part of SIL

Well, this is enough for you to get a flavor of business in Cameroon.  And the government even likes SIL!   Actually I am in some awe at the work SIL does. A bunch of ‘brainiacs’ (to me at least) trained in linguistics, and other related disciplines I cannot even spell , dedicating their lives to bringing language  and literacy to people who speak heart languages that not many speak.  I read progress reports of translation projects and reading the  project deliverables -  training nationals to teach literacy classes, training nationals in the fundamentals of translation work, producing diarrhea and other health pamphlets, creating story books, and translating scripture so they can hear it within the intimacy of their own language.

I leave Africa far richer than when I came and feel very fortunate for the privilege of being here.  I hope you

Housing, or making do...

 enjoyed coming along with me.  I leave you with a few more random pictures of Africa, ones taken in and around where I am staying in Yaoundé.

 





Street scene

Street scene

 


Not all roads are paved!





 






Yaounde

 

I am already half way through my three week stay in Yaoundé. Time seems to be moving along quicker and quicker.

I arrived here last Sunday afternoon, an uneventful trip (in other words, perfect!), except for sweating out whether the Ministre de Sante official would accept a photocopy of my yellow fever vaccination document as proof of inoculation.  Ben (my son) said he told me I needed to carry the original, and on the flight from Nairobi I surely wish his words had made a bigger impression on me!  I honestly do not remember him saying that, and I found myself not sure they would let me into Cameroon. (I had not been that concerned – after all, I had to submit proof in order to even  get a visa -  until I overheard a woman in Nairobi say they have no heart, and easily turn you away at the airport if you cannot produce it.) The health officer is the first person to greet you when you get off the plane – before customs, before baggage check, before anything. And none of them smile or seem welcoming at all…  But she waived me through after checking my signatures (the vaccination document with my passport); and then I began to relax.  The SIL person was waiting for me outside the gate, holding up a sign with my name on it, and that was all the  welcoming words I needed...

Yaoundé is the capital, and I was told it would feel almost Western in comparison to Congo.  Well, almost… It certainly is more prosperous, but there is plenty of poverty, and the contrast between rich and poor seems greater, although not too many rich and very many poor.  But a few more folks in the middle I think, although my project here (a review of the accounting books) keeps me in an office all day and on a compound of sorts, interacting mostly with ex-pats, so I have not really done that much walking around.

Initially it seemed like I had been dropped into a modern place – cars, cars, many cars; car horns, car horns, many many car horns – even car alarms! I could hardly take in the bustle and activity at first. But the people are not as friendly, no one saying Bonjour as they pass by in the lyrical manor of the Congolese; they  just walk on and don’t take any notice of a ‘blanco’ walking by.  (Which is actually sort of nice.) The city is built on gently hilly terrain, picturesque when you look out over the city, as you can see by this picture taken from the SIL grounds. All the homes of any substance have walls and gates around them,

just like in Bunia, but it seems more open. I have seen Mercedes and other more upscale cars, something I never saw in Bunia, and they are not as beat up, probably because the roads are better. Main roads are paved, so not the clouds of dust either, which does make life more pleasant.  Street lights on main thoroughfares, we passed a bakery, and people were largely in Western dress, unheard of in Bunia.  (But hey, this was a French colony and the French do like their pâtisseries…)  I almost wondered if I was still in Africa.  Not that Yaoundé is probably that unusual - it speaks more to what Bunia does not

View looking out from the entrance of SIL

Nelson, Noah and Reda Anderton

have at all. They even have a grocery store not too far away from the SIL grounds, and I walked up there on my first Saturday here, and spent a pleasant hour walking the aisles to see an amazing array of products for sale. It was about the size of a very small Manhattan supermarket, but it still amazed me.  Still it was Africa, with so many different kinds of rice and tomato paste and mayonnaise for sale. But there was also chocolate on display, something I had not seen in 11 weeks.



Bob and Joan Lokker

I must be getting tired, for I kept forgetting to take my camera when I went anywhere this first week, so I have few pictures of Yaounde to post.  I went to a French church on Sunday, one I was told had a great choir, but I admit to feeling some disappointment.  The music was just fine, but after Congo, I am not sure any church singing  I hear will ever come close to the harmony and rhythm, enthusiasm and joy of Congolese singing. Last week, a missionary group here in Cameroon was holding their annual meeting at the place I am staying, and I was able to connect with two families I know.  Reda Anderton, a doctor, and her kids, who have stayed in my home in the States, and the Lokkers, the host family my son Ben stayed with for four months three years ago while he was in Cameroon. A small world, to meet these folks here in Cameroon.  I spent a wonderful first week here, connecting with them and exchanging news.

One more picture to share. One thing that is so striking about Africa is how little is wasted. Everything is used again and again until it just gives out. I was a bit startled in the grocery store, for example, to see used  liquor bottles (I mean bottles that at once held Johnnie Walker Red and Johnnie Walker Black Label) and used plastic water bottles, filled with shelled,  roasted peanuts for sale. (They eat a lot of peanuts here; peanuts are for sale everywhere.) So I thought with this picture you might better understand what I mean by recycle, and at the same time enjoy seeing this swing – made from an old truck tire.

PS. Yaoundé is 5 degrees above the equator, and about 2,000 feet above sea level. It is the coldest anyone around here much remembers, perhaps God's special gift to me.  It is in the low 70's each day - hard to believe that I went to Africa for the summer and missed almost all of the heat and humidity I would have surely experienced in the northern climes of New Jersey...

Out of Congo, into more of Africa

Wow, it has been awhile since I posted anything! I have been busy, so sorry. And I was also locked out of my Google account for the last five days. Somehow, Google had trouble believing that I could be in yet another country, now Cameroon, after Congo and Uganda. I guess all that travel for someone who has rarely left the east coast in the past few years was simply not activity to be trusted. Yes, one can reset accounts, but my American phone does not work in Africa, and I could not convince them it was me, no matter how much information I supplied. My daughter came to my rescue and reset my account in NJ for me. Somehow Google did not have any trouble believing it was me, signing in an hour later from Cameroon.

Getting my assignment wrapped up in Bunia felt like a lot of moving parts, nothing staying still, but nothing getting finished either. The last week was hectic, getting everything documented and in order so I could leave. I kept being invited to, and dropped in on by people I came to know who wanted  to say goodbye. The African culture highly values both hospitality and visitors; it was actually a bit uncomfortable how much they fussed over my leaving.  Americans are friendly, but more on the surface. It is deeper with Africans, although I also know that building a network of relationships is how they get by in their culture, one that is more focused on having resources for survival than accumulating wealth. 

 

Obedi, Jacques, and Kivera

I never got around to writing a blog on the school, but I want to include a picture of Obedi, Jacques, and Kivera (cashier), a picture of the entire accounting function (excluding only the small cashier window) -  which is about as bare bones as you can get - and also a picture of one of the Shalom buildings.  It was built by the Belgiums, and served as the club house back when the property was a country (golf) club during colonial times.  Most of the other buildings are not so grand, and this one looks better on the outside. It serves as a guesthouse for visiting professors, classrooms and the residence of Martin, the German IT guy.

 

Accounting office

Universite Shalom de Bunia

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was invited (again) to Dr. Kirvere’s house for dinner just before I left. (He is the father of my translator and the rector of the nursing school in Bunia.) I sat transfixed as he talked about his feelings and experience of fleeing for his life when the Hema/Lendu conflict erupted in Nyakunde nearly ten years ago. Over 1,500 people were slaughtered; the modern 400 bed acute care hospital at which he worked and which had a reputation for serving all who came, regardless of ability to pay (a rarity),  was completely

Rose Kirvere 

destroyed, as was the entire town. He said that he still struggles with the trauma of that time in his head - citing his inability to purchase a refrigerator, a symbol of his fear of losing everything again.  I include a picture of his wife’s braided hair. I saw so many beautiful and elaborate hair braidings during my time in Bunia, but the Congolese do not like you to take pictures of them. But I felt comfortable enough to ask her, and she readily posed. Her hairdo is quite amazing, yes?

 

So what is most impressed upon my memory when I think back of my time in Bunia? 

·         The Congolese are so gentle, they speak so softly; I struggle to reconcile that with the savage tribal slaughter that has been a part of Congo’s story for the past twenty years.

·         The Congolese are very kind and welcoming. Here is a picture of the young men who came to visit and pray with me the night before I left. They stayed for over an hour and prayed

 

Moses, Emanuel, {X}, Prosper & Jonathan

over every part of the rest of my trip from finishing packing until I arrive back in the US. They told me how much they would miss me and wished I could stay longer, that they appreciated getting to know me and felt honored that I talked to them and allowed them to know me.  I know I would not have taken the time, or been as welcoming,  if they had been the visitor coming into my life in America. I was deeply touched.

·         The Congolese do not complain so much. I think a part of that is frankly a lack of hope, but I think they have also seen so much suffering, and are appreciative for just being alive and having today.  They have a joyfulness and a thankfulness about them that is attractive.

But then I was on to Uganda, for a 36 hour respite at a tourist guesthouse before flying on to Yaoundé. After 11 weeks in Bunia, the guesthouse looked like a spa to my eyes…  It was nice, comfortable, and I took a really, really long shower.  Good food too, my first taste of goat, which I found very tasty, carnivore that I am.  Here is a picture of the guesthouse, and the road leading to it. Lots of pretty flowers, and interesting flora and fauna. Contrast that to a typical street scene in Bunia.


Airport Guesthouse

Flowers!

Fauna!



Bunia street

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And English, English spoken everywhere.  Lovely accented African English, and I could understand everything that was said. Of course African English can sometimes appear a bit humorous to an American English speaker. I took a picture of this sign, and wondered if they meant to advertise that the restaurant was ugly inside, or just nice and cozy.

After passing through Nairobi airport (thankfully before the fire destroyed the international arrivals terminal), I am now here in Yaoundé, working my way through a very long review guide document.  But I will save Yaoundé for my next blog, now that I am back in my (writing ) groove.

Let there be light!

 

Power has come back to Bunia! After 7 weeks (or 49 days, but who is counting…) the electricity came on Tuesday afternoon, to great cheers throughout the campus. The area around the school was one of the first to get its electricity back, but by now, most of Bunia is back in business. (Although my French interpreter is still waiting for power at her house.) I understand that the repair is temporary, so I am going to enjoy (no, I am going to savor) the power while we have it and pray that the more permanent repairs can be made soon so that power remains uninterrupted. I celebrated Wednesday morning by taking a wantonly long hot shower, my first in 7 weeks. I didn’t even care that I used so much water. The pleasure was all mine, so I did not consider it a waste.

I have two more weeks in Bunia before I fly out on another plane where they need to know how much I weigh (and will weigh my luggage as well). I will fly into Entebbe, Uganda and then on to Yaoundé, Cameroon via Nairobi. My original flight to Cameroon was cancelled, so I will stay in Entebbe at a Tourist Guest House for two nights before getting a plane out that Sunday morning.

The accounting project is coming along on schedule, at least I think so. All the instructions for the student billing project have been translated into French and we will be practicing the various processes over the next week in a test account. A missionary wife who is a trained accountant has offered to help the finance office with student billing come October when it will need to be done for the first time, so I am spending some time training her in the process and in the accounting environment of USB. The dispensaire project is also almost done, although that project is a prototype which will wait for the new school year for implementation.

I continue to walk around and observe, learning more about Congo as I go. It has been difficult and a bit uncomfortable sometimes being in a country where I do not speak the language, but the people by and large are friendly and helpful, and it has been easier to be here as time goes on. Here are some photos I took yesterday walking around.

 A young girl saw me with my camera and ran after me, wanting me to take her picture and show it to her. After a few minutes, there was a small crowd of children, all wanting to get in the picture. Another picture is of the backyard of these children, with the jerry cans waiting to be filled with water. No running water in the student housing, and for them, it is a convenience that they have a tap right outside their houses. Most households have to walk a distance to get water and that job in many families is the responsibility of the children.

  

And I wanted to show you the coffin maker’s shop, outdoors as  all industries are, making fancy coffins. (Hmmm, maybe my 'hobby' of reading obituaries is getting to me...)

As well, it is summer and that means road repairs in America, a frustration and a bane to anyone taking a vacation/road trip by car. So I thought you might like to see a Bunia road repair project. There was a deep gully in this road, and it has been filled in with construction rubble, and now the road is wonderfully more drivable, at least Bunia style.

Wycliffe has sent me copious materials to read for my assignment in Cameroon, and it looks a bit daunting. I would appreciate prayer that I can get a good understanding of that assignment and be able to work efficiently and wisely.  I have to complete the internal audit review in three weeks, and I gather that there is no padded time in this schedule.  I have sat on the client side of the auditing process for 25 years, so the auditing process is quite familiar to me, but my direct auditing skills are not as fluent.  As well, the books and processes here in Africa are different, and a bit disorienting to an American trained accountant. But I am a bit more encouraged to dig in, as my time with this project in Bunia has given me a better understanding of the grace God gives to do the work before us.

African Fare

 

City view



View from the back porch

A fun part of traveling to someplace different is the chance to try different foods. Congo has rich soil for growing crops, and the mild climate around Bunia supports three crops a year.  Unlike many areas in Africa, Congo has lots of water and drought is not a pervasive problem.  Congo has the largest rain forest in Africa, and its rain forest is only surpassed in size by the rain forest of the Amazon.  (Congo’s rain forest starts due east of Bunia, so not that far away.  Even though Bunia has experienced a prolonged season of not much rain, it still has lots of vegetation and looks lush and green from a distance, as you can see from this photo.  It was not taken in the countryside, but inside the city limits, although I am not sure there are actually city borders…  As well, here is a picture from the back porch of the house I am staying at – you can get a sense of the abundant vegetation.) There are many tropical fruit trees as well – mango, avocado, papaya all in abundance. (I arrived just in time for mango season, lucky me, although mango pits are everywhere in the streets. Children shake the mangos from the trees, and eat them as a snack, dropping the pits wherever they happen to finish.  Dusty mango pits everywhere, not so pretty.)

Pineapple



Papaya growing

Bananas, lots of them!
 



The primary food is manioc (also known as cassava), a root which is dug up, peeled, and dried in the sun. Once dried, it is quite hard and chalk-like; it is then beaten into flour, using a large mortar- like wooden bowl/ trough and large round stick for a pestle. I see lots of women and girls beating the dried cassava in front of their homes as I walk around. The flour is then made into a bread like substance called fufu. Fufu is a primary food staple in much of Africa. It fills the stomach, but has virtually no nutritional value.  I had some at the lunch served to those of us who helped with the English oral exams. It was gummy in consistency and had little taste, although I have read that it can smell and taste a bit like moldy cheese.  White bread is readily available at most doukas, and is sweeter than most bread for sale in America.  I have not seen any varieties of bread for sale, just what we would call plain white bread. I am not sure where it comes from, as wheat flour is not local. But the Congolese would not make bread at home, as none of them have stoves. They cook outside, over charcoal fires, so everything is cooked in pots over a fire.

Around Bunia corn is grown as well, which is better, nutritionally, for you. With Bunia sitting on a high plain where it rarely gets hotter than 80 degrees, many crops can be grown.  The Witmers have a garden where they grow lettuce, corn, tomatoes, spinach, peppers, beets, carrots, yams and the like, although not all of those vegetables are grown and eaten locally.  Congolese around here grow corn, sugar cane, yams, potatoes, plantains, and tomatoes, along with many varieties of beans.  (And of course, manioc.) Fish is plentiful, coming from Lake Albert about 40 kilometers away, and probably from the many rivers nearby as well.  Beef and pork are readily available; one meat that is not as readily available is chicken.  Well, it is available, but chickens are not actually raised, they just sort of are.  They are all around, and in many interesting shapes and colors, but are not fed and in that sense, are not raised for eating.  They scrounge for food like scavengers, and the chicken meat is tough and stringy. The only chicken generally eaten by ex-pats comes via the UN, flown in frozen from Brazil. Kwini did buy one chicken (a rooster) to cook for me.  I came across her pouring boiling water over this dead animal with eyes just staring up at me, with N’guna ready to pluck out the feathers. That evening, I found the chicken, sans feathers and guts, cooling in the freezer/fridge, and it was on my table the next day. I confess that the picture of that dead rooster was in my head, and that definitely diminished the meal for me.

Kwini has made some typical African dishes for me. Congolese make everything over charcoal fires, so most all their meat/bean dishes are a stew of sorts and served with rice or fufu. Meat cooked in tomato paste and oil, and beans cooked with tomato paste and oil, adding perhaps some garlic and onion for flavor. It seems every meat and bean dish is cooked with tomato paste and palm oil, and all the food is in a red gravy of sorts, almost sort of Italian looking, even if not Italian tasting…  Since the UN presence in Bunia (they came after the killings in Bunia in 2004, part of the civil war in Goma and Bukavu traveling north; I understand that the UN presence  in Bunia is either the largest or one of the largest in Congo), meat has quadrupled in price, beyond the budget of most Congolese. So meat at meals for the average Congolese in Bunia is increasingly rare. Congolese eat fu-fu, fried plantains, beans, corn and greens. One greens dish that is a specialty is soumbay  (not sure how spelled) -  manioc leaves pounded fine and cooked with a small amount of ground peanut (like peanut butter) and oil.  It looks like cooked spinach and is quite tasty if eaten with rice, a bit strong just by itself.

One thing you do not see is much of anything sweet. No cookies, no cake, no pie, no baked goods of any sort anywhere, except for a fried dough ball sold on the streets. (I am curious about the taste, but wisdom dictates that I pass on this, as I have not been sick at all, praise be to God, and I do not want to risk getting sick.) Very little candy for sale. (And no chocolate!)  I often see Congolese chewing on sugar cane, which is grown all around.  (I read a novel based on life in Congo and that book said that continual chewing on sugar cane makes your teeth turn black. I am not sure how long that might take, as I have not observed that.) Fruit –bananas, passion fruit, papaya, mangos, and pineapple- is plentiful, although I was told that fruit is considered food for children, not adults. I will miss the plant ripened pineapple – the very best I have ever eaten – when I return to the states.  And avocados are in abundance as well. I think of my daughter when Kwini puts plain, peeled avocado on the table, knowing how much she would love to be here, gorging herself on guacamole.  Alas, no guacamole – I have yet to see a single chip of any kind anywhere in Congo.  Not sold as snack food, and unavailable in the stores selling imported foods.  The only snack type food I have seen at all is popcorn (both the douka and children walking around sell small amounts of it wrapped in what looks like saran wrap) and peanuts. Peanuts are found everywhere - raw, boiled, and toasted.  The peanuts are very small, as small as or smaller than Spanish peanuts in the States.  Congolese often buy them shelled and raw, and then roast them in a pan over a fire (making pop, pop, pop sounds) and when almost done, add salt water to the pan and continue cooking until the water has evaporated. Quite a yummy snack!

Congolese do drink a lot of soda, at least it seems that way to me.  Maybe just on special occasions, but it is always offered to me wherever I go.  I tried two kinds that one cannot get in the states – Stony, which is like a Jamaican ginger beer, and Nutrele (well, something like that), a pineapple malt soda.  Not too sweet, and actually quite refreshing.

I am also including a picture of a street vendor – these little boys selling roasted corn. Not too many street vendors selling food on the streets – I think it is just too dusty to be appetizing, the dust being made so much worse by the motorcycles which are everywhere. Many children do walk around selling peanuts and popcorn, and I see many women and girls with baskets of fruit on their heads, also selling. Childhood is short here.  I cannot imagine sending out my grandson (8) to sell food on the streets, and these boys are younger than that. BTW, notice the stove in the bottom of the picture. That is a typical charcoal stove found outside a person’s home, used to cook the family meals.  (Although this stove is a bit nicer than many.) Congolese do not have stoves in their homes, everything is cooked outside; charcoal for sale is plentiful and easy to find.

 

Update:  Lots of rain now, but still no electricity, day 49 and counting. I understand that the UN has gotten involved, putting a bit of pressure on the situation, although there is very little they can really do.  It is exam time at university, and a couple of years back, there was no electricity during the exam period and the students from the government university rioted, targeting anything UN and anything government. They were frustrated by the lack of power to study for exams. The UN wants to forestall that happening this time, as they suffered much damage to their property. I am not sure anything will come of it, as I have heard rumor after rumor for the past couple of weeks that it would be back by Thursday, no maybe by the weekend or, no maybe early next week.   I am doing okay right now, juggling the charging of the computers, but the lack of power does slow me down.

 

The university’s generator broke down as well, so there was no electricity to much of the campus for a few days.  They did manage to repair the generator with a jerry rigged part, not sure how long that will last, as the generator is very old. I no longer have internet access at the house, but that is the worst of it for me.  I no longer have any impatient expectation of the power returning; perhaps I am going Congolese…

I am nearing completion of the student billing project and am nearly finished with the dispensaire project as well.  The dispensaire project was actually pretty easy, once I had a handle on how the software worked. No more earthquakes, glad about that. However, as an update, the bigger earthquake last week measured 5.8 on the Richter scale, with the epicenter only 30 miles from Bunia. Yikes!

To market, to market...

Last Saturday, Marianne, a SIL translator, took me to the big market. I wanted to purchase some Congolese cloth to bring back to the states, and needed someone who spoke French/Swahili to transact business for me.



Cassava root for sale 



Peeled cassava, the primary staple

The market is open every day, but Saturday is the biggest day for shopping.  Everything for sale in Bunia is available at the market.  We walked past stall after stall, probably six or seven rows deep and at least a kilometre long, of used 



Women all in a row, selling wares

300 francs (40 cents) a bunch. Interested?

parts, nails, kitchen wares, scrap materials, unknown brands of shampoo and soap, meat and fish, sacks of cassava flour, fruit, tomato paste (which is a big seller here) and the like. Oh, and fiery orange-red palm oil, big vats of it.  

 

In a place where there are few choices for every day consumer goods (one type of toilet paper, one brand of tea, and no manufactured food stuffs like cookies, salad dressing, or peanut butter), there were dozens  of cloth stalls, literally hundreds of patterns of cloth to choose from. It was a bit overwhelming. Everything is standard measure –pieces of fabric, each 45 inches wide by 6 yards. (And sold in yardage and inches, not meters and cm.) None of it is manufactured in Congo; most comes from India, some from Sierra Leone and other parts of Africa. Colors were bold and bright, and more patterns than I could count.  A few seemed a bit odd to me, like those with giant umbrellas or cartoon like drawings of high heel shoes.  Many bore religious themes, some had the likeness of Kabila (the President), but most were simply designs, many and varied, with geometric like designs and flower like symbols. It was hard to decide. And not expensive by American standards, most pieces going for about $13-15 each.  (But a lot of money for most Congolese in Bunia, where few have regular jobs and have to get by on a few dollars a day.) I was steered away from those that were cheaper, as Marianne said the color would likely fade more quickly.  Then if you like, off to a tailor to have a dress made. (Very few women wear anything other than traditional Congolese dress.) If you want ready-made clothes, you buy them in street stalls – mostly second hand clothing or odd lots from the west. No trying on, no sizing, just lots of an odd assortment of clothes (including bras!) on display for the purchase. Most men wear western dress – tee shirts, or dress shirts, and western pants.  Not too many blue jeans, though. In my time here, I have seen less than a dozen women in pants and no one wears shorts except children.  I was told that in colonial times, the Belgian did not allow the Congolese to wear pants, they had to wear shorts, and that is probably why no one wears them now. 



 Ted had given me a quick tour of the market before he left for the states, so I had meandered through many of the food stalls on my earlier visit. I confess that I prefer Shoprite.  The food may be fresher – farm to market-  but just looking at the meat covered in flies (with the seller using a rag to fan them away) and the smell of the dried fish, and the open sacks of ground flour sitting on the dirt alley ways and vats of palm oil in large dented tin tubs… I decided that I simply will not  think about the market when Kwini puts dinner in front of me, sort of like not wanting to know what the kitchen looks like when eating at a restaurant… Lots of smells, lots of sounds, and many things I did not recognize.  I was allowed to take a picture of this woman, selling what Ted called the Congolese equivalent of 7-11’s grab and go sandwich. It is a stick of ground and cooked manioc, wrapped in a leaf, which you peel and eat. Ted said it is passable if still warm, but not generally something for Western consumption.  I chose not to buy and see for myself.

Parenthetically, there are no grocery stores in Bunia.  A few basic foodstuffs can be purchased at the douka, and there are literally dozens and dozens of them, all selling virtually the same things. All the food doukas are enclosed stalls on the street measuring about 8 feet by 6 feet, and sell things like juice, bottled water, coffee, tea, mayonnaise, powered milk (the one food item where there is actually a large selection, relatively speaking), tomato paste, soap, toilet paper and matches. Not too much else. Oh yes – they all sell air time minutes. And when you go in to buy, they take the item off the shelf, and before giving it to you, take a rag and dust it off!  Not that the inventory is old stock; the streets are very dusty, and the dust covers everything with a fine coat.

After leaving the market, we walked along, and Marianne spotted the house of a Congolese woman she knows. So we stopped in to see her, which is very Congolese. Rachelle is widowed, having lost her husband last November (effects of high blood pressure, or something like that). She is responsible for rearing 10 children, several not her own, they being kin of some sort. (I have noticed that this is common. You do not say no to kin, and many send their children from the villages to kin in the city, where educational opportunities are better. You simply take them in, and rear them among an extended family structure.) She is an accountant and works for the electric company, although she has not been paid for over seven months now. (Also not that uncommon, and you live by borrowing, with everyone more or less in debt to everyone else, so you lend when you have and borrow when you need – this is very African, I am told.) Yet she was a generous hostess, offering us coffee and bread. I felt bad eating the bread, as I felt like I was taking from her children.  Yet, you would never know there was any sacrifice at all on her part, and she thanked us over and over for stopping in to visit and invited us to come back anytime.  Her four daughters all came into the living room to greet us, and I was glad for my lesson in Swahili greeting my first Sunday in Congo, for all four of them walked by us and bent their shoulder low so we could grab it with our hand.

I asked if Rachelle knew the real story behind the power outage. I figure maybe she would know if anyone would, given that she works for the power company. But no, she did not know, nor did she have any idea of when power might be restored. So I figure if someone who works for the power company doesn’t have any idea, there is no point even asking around anymore. I was told later that the word around town is ‘don’t bother asking and don’t hold your breath’.   So I am assuming I will leave Bunia before it comes back. Thankfully the airport has generators, or I wouldn’t be able to leave. There are always things to be thankful for!

Update: Well, no electricity, but it has rained quite a bit, for which I am thankful.  Water worries are receding.  Two earthquakes though.  Neither was anything even approaching danger or concern, but since an earthquake, however small, is a new experience for me, a bit scary. I was generally unfazed by the first one Tuesday afternoon, but the one Wednesday night was stronger and lasted longer, and came after dark in the middle of a huge thunderstorm with lots of lightening, which made the whole experience that much more unsettling. The missionary couple down the road called me after to see if I was okay, and I was grateful for their call.  It let me know that while I am here in this house by myself, I am not  alone.

And I am continuing to pick up a few more Swahili words.  I am even starting to surprise myself!

Placing English

Shalom University has decided to move towards a bi-lingual educational structure, requiring English classes and teaching some required classes in English so that students become fluent in both languages. Nearly everyone with any education here knows at least two languages – Swahili and French, and some know Lingala as well, the dominant Bantu language of western Congo.  Most I meet can speak a smattering of English, and everyone seems to want to learn it. Of course, Uganda and Kenya are closer neighbours than Kinshasa (the capital, over 1,300 miles away by road, although I cannot imagine how many days it might take to get there) and both of them are English speaking, having been former British colonies.  Rwanda just switched their official language from French to English, and that left me wondering how they managed to do that. In America, we are resistant to even learning metric, having pretty much managed in the last thirty years to only accept 2 litre soda bottles.  

Some schools in Congo already offering a bi-lingual educational experience and those schools are increasingly desired.  Ruth, my translator helper, goes to such a school, and that is where she learned English.

For Shalom, the first step is obtaining an assessment of the English level of its current students. Some of the students have studied in Uganda and their English is fairly good. Some studied English in secondary school (increasingly that is required), but others know very little, just a few phrases.  Shalom decided to test its students – a written exam of 120 questions, grammar and vocabulary, followed by an oral exam to test verbal fluency.  For whatever reason, they wanted it done in one day, so they recruited all the English speakers they could muster to help with the oral part of the exam.  I was asked to help because, as Jehoshaphat (dean of the theology school) said in a meeting about the exam, I speak good English. Several of the attendees at that meeting laughed, but he was serious. He said you cannot understand many Americans – they talk to fast, they use too much slang, and they do not pronounce words clearly. He was complimenting my English, although he was not saying I spoke English well, just that I spoke good English. I imagine American pronunciation is difficult for many of them, as African English speakers more closely model British English. As I sat in the meeting listening to the others, though, I thought some of them were probably not the best to be giving an oral exam on fluency …

I was happy to help out, an excuse to put aside accounting for a day.  We worked in pairs, and the idea was to start by asking simple questions, increasing the level of complexity depending on their level of English proficiency. If the student was fairly fluent, we were to ask them if they wanted to ask us any questions, to see if they could sustain a two way conversation. It was interesting to interact with the students, hearing how long it took them to get to school each day (and for some, an hour or more – I wondered if many American college students would hunger enough for an education to walk an hour to get to school each day…), why they wanted to study English (they all said it is the international language ) and what they would do if they were given $1,000. Many could barely speak any English and those interviews went quickly. One young girl struggled especially, and seemed both flustered and embarrassed at her lack of English.  I was ready to tell her sawa (it’s okay), we are finished, when the other tester asked her if she wanted to ask either of us a question.  She perked up and said yes, clearly understanding the question.  She turned quickly and deliberately to me and asked in very clear English, “How old are you?”  I certainly was not expecting that! Most of the students wanted only to know where I was from, or if I had children. I told her, what did I care (I turned 63 in Congo!) and asked her if she wanted to ask me anything else.  She said, very clearly again, “no”.  Either my grey hair captured her attention (I have seen only one Congolese with grey hair so far) or it was the only question she knew how to ask in English!

All in, the school was very appreciative for my help, but I realize that with only two native English speakers around, it was not as if they had many to choose from.  Now I am helping grade the written exams, and there are errors in the answer key.   Hmm, well it is only a placement exam…

Update:  It rained torrents last night, so many thanks for those who have been praying for rain.  I understand better the huge ruts in the road – it rains so hard it simply washes gullies into the road as there are no runoff sewers or trenches, and as the cars and motorcycles run through the mud, it makes them deeper. But it was so much more pleasant to walk around, even if one had to step around mud holes. No dust on most of the roads.

Day 33 without electricity, and I am learning that I can actually manage pretty well without it, at least here in Congo. Of course, I am walking around in crumpled, wrinkly clothes… Hmm, maybe that is why that girl asked me how old I was.  All she saw was one huge wrinkle...

Praise be

No, the electricity is still not on.  Day 27 is drawing to a close and no one knows when it might come back.

This entry is about church in Congo…

It is hard to say whether churches in Congo are any more different than any of some other experiences here. Many things in Bunia seem similar, yet are different. Some things are so different that they do not look or feel much like the same activity in America. Church is the former – similar, yet distinctly different.

Churches in Congo are registered, at least the official ones. (Looks to be plenty of unofficial ones.) I am not sure why, but at some point the churches were all numbered, so one goes to CECA 20 (pronounced seca vingt) or CEP 45 or a church similarly named. Maybe just the Protestant churches are named this way.  Catholics are the largest religious group (about 50%), followed by Protestants of all types (around 30%). Islam, a big religious group in many African countries, is relatively small here, but growing, now about 10% of the population of Bunia. Islam is growing in influence partially from the presence of the UN forces – many if not most of the UN forces here are from Bangladesh and Pakistan. There are three mosques in town, and I hear the call to worship every morning around 5 AM. This house is close to the mosque and the call nearly always wakes me up.  It seems much longer than the call to worship I remember hearing in Morocco. But then by 6 AM during the week, I hear the church singing start. Not sure where it comes from, but there must be some little church nearby that has a morning praise service at dawn each day.  I would struggle to get up for that, but from the sound I hear, a lot of people have no problem with it.

The Witmer’s attend CECA 39 (the Brethren church), which has services in French and Swahili.  Ted was kind to translate for me, but the church service itself is pretty typical in form as many in America - praise team on drums, keyboard and guitar followed by a sermon.  Probably the primary differences is men (largely) sitting in front, women (largely) sitting behind them, but I think that is also typical of Brethren churches in America. Of course, the floors are cement and the benches are narrow and hard. Once the French service is over, the Swahili service fills in, and the instruments change to primarily brass, and many of the women are dressed identically, perhaps they are the choir?  I learned a bit of etiquette after the French service my first Sunday as Dana introduced me to an elderly (but very spry) woman, who grabbed the top of my left shoulder. I didn’t know what she was doing and Dana told me to lower my shoulder to her, which I did. Seems that is the traditional Swahili greeting – not shaking hands, but grabbing your shoulder. If you are older, you grab the shoulder of the younger person who has lowered their shoulder to you.  And if you are the younger, you lower your shoulder to be grabbed.  I think this is primarily done by the older generation; the the younger folks are hand shakers, sometimes with a special handshake that catches me a bit off guard. But since I am mah-ZOOM-ba (a white person), they mostly shake my hand in the western way.

Sunday afternoons, I have been attending the English service at CECA 20. It is mostly younger people and predominantly men, and I think an opportunity for those who are reasonably proficient in English to keep up their skills. Bunia is on the eastern edge of Congo, near the Ugandan border. Many here  have studied in Uganda, so many of the younger adults in Bunia lean toward knowing (or wanting to know) some English, as that expands their economic opportunities. (I am often stopped by people who want to practice a bit of English, which I am happy to do.  Often, the young school children I pass say ‘Good morning’ to me in a very deliberate way, no matter the time of day.  I once stopped thinking perhaps they knew a bit of English, and responded, Good morning. How are you?” They just looked at me, and finally slowly said, “Good morning” again. I had to smile, as I have done that with my French!) I imagine most go to French or Swahili speaking churches in the morning.  But I am getting to know some of them a bit, if for no other reason, they speak English.  I am struck by their names.  My translator gave me a lesson in naming, which I could not exactly follow, but I did gather that each person is given name in addition to their father’s name and their tribe name, often a ‘Christian name’, which means a bible name. I am accustomed to David, and Joseph and Daniel and names like that, but a bit unusual to my ears to hear Nehemiah, Moses, Isaac, Emmanuel, Barnabas, even Melchizedek as names.  I was also struck by the coordinated shirts of the worship team.  Every week, they all wear the same color of shirt, actually the same shirt style too. In a country where an odd lot assortment of western clothing is bought second hand in street stalls from clothing  shipments from the west, America mostly, I don’t know where they find matching shirts. And the color of the shirt varies each week.  (Remember, no credit cards and no postal service, so they cannot be ordering them on line from the GAP.) And immaculately pressed, a wonder to me given no electricity. (They use charcoal irons, which must have one very hot temperature setting…) And as you can see, the dress is predominately western at the English service.

 

I met a young man at the English service who asked me to visit his church.  I was not sure about going, but I decided it was probably okay, so I went with him this past Sunday.  I think the church was Pentecostal, not sure, as it was quieter than Pentecostal churches I have visited in America. When we got to the church, he introduced me to the pastor, who asked if I wanted to give the sermon that day!! I was quite taken aback, wondering if this was normal, or even if I understood correctly.  Well, I did understand correctly (I declined) because afterward, they asked me If I could come back and preach the next time. I was asked to give a word of greeting (and not asked whether I wanted to or not) , and I was prepared for that.  After, the pastor said that I should have talked longer! I knew right then that I was out of my element!  There were lots and lots of singing and choirs, which I enjoyed very much. A three hour service altogether. They had a guest preacher who spoke in Lingala, the language of Kinshasa the capital and all of western Congo, which was translated into Swahili; the man I went with translated for me into English. Very cross cultural. Most of the hymns were not familiar to me. Just as well, as even when I recognize one (like Amazing Grace), while the tune is the same, the rhythm of how they sing it is very different. I have a hard time singing it with them.  Lots of swaying, foot shuffling and clapping, all very measured and often quite slow. A bit daunting for me, as I am musically challenged.  But it was beautiful to see and hear. I stand in these services and think of how much Rachel (my daughter) would love to be here.  She has great rhythm.

 

And I continue to notice how well everyone is dressed.  I marvel, given that I am sinking into a crumpled, wrinkly mess and my shoes are hopelessly ground in with dust.  All the adults look as if they are about ready to attend their daughter’s wedding, that is how much attention and care is given to their dress. And their shoes are spotless.  I understand this is cultural, that appearance is very important. I marvel, but others say that the down side of this is a slavish attention to appearances that is not always healthy.

 

One thing a bit different to me.  All three of the churches had as decorations, what look like party banners strung across the front of the church. I am attaching a picture of the front of the church I went to Sunday so you can see. Not like an American church, at least not in any church I have been in, and I have been in many.