Mother's Day 2019

This Mother's Day at SHONA Congo we are celebrating community!  Because motherhood is a team sport.  

In Swahili,there are these two terms I love..."mama mukubwa" and "mama mudogo"  They mean "big mama" and "little mama".  They are generally used to refer to aunts,but the term is also extended to women who might not be actual relatives, but who have taken on this role in some way.  

We all have "big mamas" and "little mamas" in our lives.  

You know those women..they might be family members or friends or teachers or some lady at church.  They might not say much.  They might just stand quietly in a doorway and open their arms and your children go rushing off and for 5 minutes a space opens up in your brain.  And you can think again.   

When Argentine and Mapendo first arrived in Canada, Argentine's 1 year old daughter  was sick.   We went to the hospital, and I sat with Argentine and Mapendo, in this sparkling building, in a continent they had just arrived on. Perched on cots, I watched my friends trading Argentine's tiny daughter back and forth, leaving the doctors and nurses that came in to wonder which woman was the mother.  

I watched Argentine and Mapendo play this game, trying to get the little girl to take some liquid.  Argentine would offer some juice, and the little girl would protest, mouth closed, head tilted away. 

 Then Mapendo would say "Oh poor baby.  Is your mama not being nice to you?  Come to "Ma Mukubwa" (Big Mama)."  

Mapendo would craddle the 1 year old against her bosom and gently lean back her head.  In new arms, the little girl would momentarily forget her objection, drinking and relaxing into Mapendo's arms.  

  And then suddenly the little girl would jolt up, realizing she had somehow been fooled, and reach back toward Argentine.  

"Oh did Big Mama treat you badly?" Argentine would say.  "Come back me."  And then the game started all over again.

  They did this for hours, trading the little girl between the two of them, as they chatted about other things.  I never saw them exchange a wink, or mention the strategy at all.  It was as natural as the air they breathed.  As though they had been doing it all their lives.    

This Mother's Day, may we celebrate community.  May we look for the Big Mamas and Little Mamas that make our lives possible.  May we see those arms that trade our children back and forth.  This, too, is motherhood.  

Empowerment backwards

I rarely post a rant...but...this one...the more I think about it... it keeps getting under my skin. We got an email from a non-profit organization asking for permission to use this photo of Argentine, they had found, from years ago. The email said "asking your permission to use the photograph of an African lady with a sewing machine and crutches alongside in a leaflet to raise funds for ‘Empowering Women with Disabilities in East Africa’."

Props to them for finding us and asking for permission. 
Clearly they are trying to do it right. But frankly, I just don't understand. The organization has ongoing work in a number of East African countries. If they are working there, shouldn't they have photos from their own work? 
The organization has an annual income of over $800,000, I am sure they can afford to get a photo of the excellent work they are doing. And if not, perhaps they should focus on the excellent work part first.

The message leaves me asking "Don't they already know anybody with disabilities in East Africa? Haven't they already built a relationship with them? If not, how do they propose a program to "empower" them? "

I think this is actually a common mistake in the non-profit world. We are starting backwards. We propose the program first, raise the money, and then go around and look for the people to "empower". That is not empowerment, at least not for the people on the ground. Maybe it will be good work. But let's not call it empowerment.

When we see empowerment backwards, what we miss is where it starts. We come to believe that it starts from the outside, and particularly that it starts from us.

They asked for permission to use this photo of "An African lady with a sewing machine and crutches" That is what bothers me. I have never thought of that photo that way.

To me that photo has always been a photo of my friend Argentine. And I am guessing that it is to you.

I know that if I asked, you could tell me all kinds of things you know about Argentine. Where she is from, where she lives now, the way she sings, her daughter's name, her incredible smile and laughter, the tragedies she has experienced.

I think it is important to know all of that. Because it reminds us of where empowerment starts, and what this photo is all about.

As a child, Argentine never went to school because of her disability. And yet she would sit and wait for all the other kids to come home from school, and she would call them towards her with her smile and her laughter, she would tempt them towards her with her incredible personality. And then she would ask them what they learned, so she could learn it to. She was teaching herself in the only way she could. For as long as she has lived, Argentine has been using every tool in her possession to empower herself. And she is still doing so today.

That photo, you see, it isn't a photo that should raise funds. It is a photo that should raise awareness...of the talent, and dignity, and joy that belong to Argentine. She owns her own empowerment. And she owns that photo too. Let's start from there.

(photo credit to Molly Feltner who took this and many of the other beautiful photos of Argentine, Mapendo, Riziki and Solange)

Erasing a Chalkboard

It has been a little over a year since Argentine and Mapendo and their families arrived in Canada. I am forever impressed by the people of Canada, and particularly the people of Athabasca, who made it possible for them to come to Canada, to build lives in safety.

 The task is enormous when you think about it. Three adults who walk on crutches, and 6 children arrived in Canada last December. Just the reality of walking on crutches in Western Canada where the snow piles up, it is a challenge. One of the first things Argentine noted about their new home was that there were no people on the street. True, to get around in Canada, you largely need a car..there aren't crowds of people walking down the streets, pushing bicycles or selling peanuts. So countless friends have filled in for these families, who find themselves without cars or driver's licenses yet. 

Neema, Mapendo's teenage neice whom Mapendo has cared for since she was young, went back to school for the first time in 5 years. Can you imagine starting 9th grade in a new country and a new language, after 5 years without school? She's done beautifully, and is so thankful for the opportunity. 

There have been a thousand questions to be navigated. How do you work a microwave, what to do when a smoke alarm goes off, why do Canadians eat bread all the time? What kinds of clothes should teenage girl's wear? It has been a fascinating year of questions.

Adjusting to a new culture, blending the old with the new, can be a challenge.   One teenage immigrant that I know was given this advice:  "Your life is like a chalkboard.  You have to erase it first."

 "All that confusion you are experiencing in a new country... it is because you are trying to write on a surface that hasn't been erased.  It won't make any sense.  You just have to erase more thoroughly," the man said.

 As though the place she came from could be erased.

 I too, have made a similar mistake. I have been tempted to post before and after pictures of Argentine and Mapendo. To show how different their lives are now.  The photos would make a great contrast.

But what story would I be telling?   The place that they came from has not ceased to exist. It is not just a "before" picture. The place they come from is forever far away. But it is also, always, with them still. Mapendo sits in her small apartment in Canada and sews African cloth, the same work she did while in Congo and in refugee camps. Her phone sits at her side and she waits for news from her mother in Congo who is sick.

 This is the truth of the world. Home does not cease to exist, just because we leave it. It is easy to see resettled refugees, in fact immigrants of all sorts, as starting their lives anew. But who is to say where one life stops and the other life starts? Mapendo is saving money to send to her mother, so she can buy medicine and get surgery in the new year. Is that part of her "old life" or her "new life"? The line only looks clear from the outside.

 Sometimes when I visit Athabasca, I hear a newfound friend asking Argentine how to say a word in Swahili. The result is always chaos and laughter. Sometimes Argentine's younger sister, Aline, joins in. She is a teenage girl, and has learned English incredibly fast, delighting in all that a new culture has to offer.  But in this particular moment she is proudly pronouncing a word in Swahili. It gives my heart hope. The Canadian friend stumbles over the Swahili pronunciation and more laughter ensues.  Maybe we won't all learn Swahili. But maybe that is not the point.

 As these newfound friends celebrate the joy of language and laughter, I think to myself that I can almost see Aline's chalkboard full of words both old and new, somehow mixed together..  I hear the strength and the pride in her voice as she pronounces that word in Swahili and then again in English.  And I am thankful, that she has found a place for both words on her chalkboard.  And nothing has been erased. 

On family separation

"My daughter was 2 the last time I saw her. She is seventeen now. "

The first time I heard these words, my heart caught in my mouth.

These particular words belonged to a middle-aged woman, working diligently to learn English in my ESL class. She came to the class after long shifts at a local restaurant, cleaning tables and serving food. I had known her for several months before I even realized she had a teenage daughter. Had she never said anything? Maybe I'd never asked.

Since that first conversation, I've learned to listen more. And I have heard this story a hundred times. In a hundred different ways.

"My son is is Mexico. I haven't seen him since he was a baby."

"My girls, they grew up with their grandmother. They call me mama but they only know me as a voice on the phone."

At some point I realized, this is not just a collection of individual stories. This is THE story of our broken immigration system.

Recently, a lot of attention in the US has been given to the horrific policy of separating families seeking asylum at the border. We are all rightly horrified. And there is something uniquely horrific about witnessing our own government officials tearing apart mothers and young children and placing them in what appear to be warehouses.

But let us also recognize that our immigration system tragically separate families in more ways than this.
In the US we have created an immigration system in which it is virtually impossible for our poor and working class neighbors to immigrate to this country legally. There is no line for them, or if it exists, it is decades long. And at the same time, the US pursues international policies that gut local economies in the interest of corporations, destabilizes governments and pursues misguided "drug wars". In effect we have made it increasingly impossible for our neighbors to lead stable and secure lives in their own countries. At the same time our economy benefits from the hard labor of workers left with the only option to kiss their children goodbye and come here "undocumented". Nobody chooses that heartbreak. Not if there are other choices.

We are all responsible. Collectively we have failed to listen to the costs of an immigration system built to force a population into undocumented existence.

I don't have any easy answers. I believe that we need to change our immigration policies and our economic policies. And that is just the start. But I believe that first we must understand the true human cost of our current situation. For that, I am thankful for the outcry at toddlers being torn from their mothers. May the horror of it startle us awake. But may we not settle too easily for the myth that these are the only children separated from their parents. May we have the courage to see the story that is not just in our news feeds but all throughout our local communities. We all have people in our communities who are separated from their families, we just have to find the courage to ask.

The Top 5 things I have learned from Congolese Mothers

1.  Hit the wall.
In Congo, when a young child gets a little hurt, for example by running into a wall, the adults in the room will often offer a simple solution.  Vengeance.  Against the inanimate object of course.  The adult will say "Pardon! Pardon!" as though the wall had somehow attacked the child unfairly.  And then the adult will offer to hit the wall for the child.  Literally.  It is retribution straight up, and perhaps offers some concerning models of conflict resolution in the long term. But on the other hand, I often have witnessed tearful toddlers crack a smile at the suggestion, as though even they can see the ridiculousness of blaming the wall.  Perhaps that is a world view we could all afford to share.  

2.  Nobody has just one mama.  In Swahili, an aunt is a "mama mukubwa" (big mother) or a "mama mudogo" (little mother).  But the term is often applied generously to women friends of all sorts. And the relationship is real.  Women often take on the role of loving and carrying for and correcting eachother's children.

3.  Carry your baby on your back. 
While sewing.  And cooking.  And walking.

Or let someone else carry your baby.
While African women are often recognized for carrying their children on their backs, what is often left unsaid is that African women often ask OTHER people (particularly older girls) to carry their children on their backs.

Solange carrying Mapendo's baby.

5. Forget the stuff.  Carry a cloth.
I have rarely seen a woman in Congo carrying a diaper bag.  There aren't a lot of baby wipes, pacifiers, or dangling toys.  Children just don't come with the same collection of supplies.  But one thing that every woman has is an extra "kitenge" cloth.  It seems like no matter what has gone wrong, a Congolese woman will always have a "kitenge", quickly unwrapping one from her waist or head.  With that cloth, she can wrap a crying baby on her back, or fashion a diaper, or wipe a runny nose.

4.  Feign Seriousness.  But make a joke.
There is an approach to parenting young children that I will identify as "feigning seriousness".  Congolese women often seem to take children's dilemma's very seriously, but you can always catch a glimmer in their eyes, and the undertone of a joke running through the adults.  Sometimes, I hear myself here in the US, attempting to navigate a bedtime gone awry ("If you wiggle one more time I am going to leave!"), and I think I have lost the thread of the joke.  How serious can wiggling be?  Perhaps it is because of the communal nature of Congolese mothering, and the ever presence of multiple adults, that the jokes keep running.  Or maybe because they are a little less inclined to tie their self-worth to their children's behavior.  Whatever the reason, the undercurrent of joking definitely makes life with many children more enjoyable.

25% off all SHONA Congo bags for the next two days.  

 Discount code: mzazi at checkout. 

 Buy a SHONA Congo bag for one of your friends this Mother's Day.  These bags are great ways to connect to other women and to find strength in our shared journeys.  Each bag comes with the individual story of the woman who made that bag.

Happy Ending

I don't believe in happy endings. 

But we are a culture in love with happy endings.  And this story begs for one. 

This is the story of Argentine and Mapendo, two young women from rural villages in Eastern Congo.  They started with nothing.  Survived war and poverty.  Worked hard. And now they are about to board an airplane and arrive in Canada.

You see how it is a Cinderella story, right?

So let me say up front...I never wanted Argentine and Mapendo to leave Congo and move to Canada.  And I don't believe it is a happy ending.

I believe it is a tragedy, that these young women couldn't build safe lives in the country they are from. What does it feel like to have to travel halfway across the world, and leave everything you know, just to find a safe place to call home?

 May we never stop asking that question, and fighting for a world where 50 million people don't have to live in that reality. 

This last week, Argentine and Mapendo's family's scrounged any money they could find to buy bus tickets and visit Argentine and Mapendo one last time.  They gave Argentine and Mapendo their blessings, on this next step in their journey. 

And that it is what it is.  A next step, not an ending.  With more joys and more sorrows to come.

In 2 days I will board a plane and go to Canada.  I will meet Argentine and Mapendo in the airport and I will celebrate with them. This is a moment worth celebrating.

But I will also remember that just a few days ago Argentine's mother hugged her goodbye.

 

Then we will stand there in the airport in Canada and look at each other, imagining what is to come.  We will bundle up 9 refugees in more clothing than they could ever imagine.  And we will open the door and walk out into the frigid Canadian air, and see how their crutches work on ice.

Join the Journey.  www.shonacongo.com

Countdown: Arriving in 4 Days. Here is Jonathan, and his younger brother, Joachim after they fled Congo for the second time. They were in a refugee camp. No matter where you go, children will play. What's next for these little guys? Join The Journey.

20% off all SHONA bags for the next 48 hours. Give the gift of SHONA this holiday season and tell someone about the beautiful, handcrafted work of Jonathan and Joachim's mama. Your support has carried us so far. www.shonacongo.com discount code: siku4 at the end of checkout.

Countdown: Arriving in 5 days! This photo is of Mapendo, Joseph, their baby and their niece, just before Christmas 5 years ago when they first became refugees. They were at a transit camp in Burundi, having fled Congo with nothing and they had no idea what lay ahead. Jonathan was a baby in Mapendo's arms in this photo and now he will be entering Kindergarten when he arrives in Canada! Mapendo's niece will be entering high school. Imagine where the next 5 years will take this family! Join the Journey. www.shonacongo.com 

Argentine, Mapendo and their families will be resettled as refugees in Canada on December 7th, 2017.  Riziki and Solange remain in Congo.  We are incredibly grateful to all of you for supporting each step of this journey.  Your purchases continue to matter infinitely to these beautiful families.


Give the gift of SHONA Bags this holiday season and invite your friends to join this journey with us!

Why we should buy Argentine a Mic this holiday season

"Wait, what?" you say. "Has SHONA made it so big that we no longer have to worry about putting food on the table?" 

I wish. That's not it at all. We still face all those daily struggles.

But a Microphone is powerful. And in this world, we in the "West", have been holding the mic for a long time.

Look at Argentine's face when she is holding that mic.

One of the things that the SHONA Congo women talk about the most is what it feels like to be walking in the street and be mistaken for "beggers". Because of their crutches... people just assume. That is where the word "handicapped" comes from "Cap in Hand"...begging.

So how about flipping the script? How about "mic in hand"? You see why it matters right?

That is why we need your help to start "Congo Voices", a video channel where the SHONA Congo women will share their lives with you, from their own perspectives. You can donate to our start-up costs at http://www.shonacongostore.com/pass-the-mic-investment/ and help us literally buy that mic. Or for just a few dollars you can become a monthly sponsor of our channel at https://www.patreon.com/congovoices.

I just got off the phone with Solange, in Goma, where every night she continues to hear shooting and violence in their poor neighborhood on the edge of town.

She was so excited and ran off to start shooting a video with her phone. Because a microphone matters. The chance to share your experiences with the world matters. And it doesn't matter less just because you are poor, and struggling to put food on the table. Maybe it matters more.
I don't know what this channel will end up looking like. Will it be a place where Argentine teaches you how to sing a song in Swahili? Or where Solange shows you what it is like to live in her neighborhood. I don't know what it will look like, because it depends on the women...And it depends on you.

Join us this holiday season, as Argentine and Mapendo get ready for the biggest journey of their lives. And Riziki and Solange fight for their own lives in a place full of more beauty and more chaos than any other place I have ever been.

Join us, and let's make sure these amazing women have a MIC IN HAND. Because I know they've got something to say.

 

And then it came...

When Argentine and Mapendo and their families went in for interviews with the Canadian government a few weeks ago, they were hoping to come out with medical forms. They knew that was a sign you were really going to be resettled, when you got to the medical exam stage. They left the interviews with no medical forms, and only the promise that soon they would be contacted about the next step! It has been a long couple weeks of holding our breath.

Today they received their medical forms! And onward they move to the next stage in this journey. Medical exams, background checks...With each step it becomes more real that soon (just in time for winter?!?!?) they may find themselves in Canada.

Let's celebrate this latest step on Mapendo and Argentine's journey and at the same time also remember Solange and Riziki, who remain in Congo. 

Many times on this journey I have wondered about the different paths we all take. When do you stay in your home and when do you flee? Which road will prove safer? Please keep Solange and Riziki in your thoughts and prayers these days. Living the daily work of life is never easy and in Goma, it can be a real struggle. Yet these women endlessly impress me with the beauty they create, and the steadiness of their hands each day.

"A Memorable Day in Our History"

That is what Mapendo's husband called this day...the day this photo was taken.

They were sitting in an office building waiting to meet with Canadian Visa Agents.  How amazing that this day should ever arrive.

They were asked many questions. The interviewers were kind.  And shocked by all they had been through.  And by the clothes they were wearing.  Argentine was wearing a dress she had made (if you look real close at the purple cloth she has on you will recognize it as a SHONA cloth!)  The interviewer asked "Did you really sew that dress?  On your own?"  She loved the dress.  And the hands that made it,

Their fingerprints were taken.  They signed forms.

And then they were sent home to wait some more.  We think everything went well, but still it is a nervous wait.

Perhaps the SHONA women are better at waiting than I am.   Perhaps all of Africa is.

When it rains in Congo, you find a roof to stand under and you wait.  That  is what everyone does.  You stand with complete strangers, huddled together, just barely out of the rain.  But there is no cursing the sky and looking impatiently at your watch.  There is chatter and laughter.

It always felt to me as though no one had anywhere else to go, nothing else planned.  Then I would glance at the basins full of tomatoes they had been carrying on their heads, the bags of charcoal by their sides, and I would know that they were headed somewhere.  We all are.  My schedule was no more urgent than theirs.  They just knew to expect the rain.  And to expect the sunshine after a while.

We will let you know as soon as we hear more!  Thank you for sending your love and prayers!  And in the meantime please keep shopping SHONA! 

Chalk dust

It's loud outside.

In the world these days.



But here I find myself in the quiet.

Unpacking a shipment

of new bags from Mapendo and Argentine.



I unfold each bag slowly, feeling the cloth in my hands.

tracing the stitches made just slightly uneven, by a hand-peddled sewing machine.

My heart rests for just a minute.


Soon I will go out in the world again.


But first I peer inside the darkness of each bag,
and look for what I know I will find.
White dust on black cloth,
The line of chalk that Argentine drew.
The path her scissors followed.

I let my fingers trace that path.
 
It is not enough.
Selling these bags.
Argentine and Mapendo are only 2 refugees.

But I know their names.

So I fold each bag carefully
and am thankful for the chalkdust that rubs off on my hands. 
  

In search of miracles

A miracle happened.
I just don't know when.

Maybe that is the way that miracles work.  They dance in the shadows, just out of sight, and you can never quite see them full-on.

Let me explain.   You remember that Refugee Resettlement Fund...that fund which so many of you donated to months and months ago. Remember how it seemed like we could never possibly reach our goal?  Guess what!   We reached our goal!!! $58,500! (.That amount is truly unfathomable to me. It seems like a miracle and I am incredibly grateful.

But where did this miracle start?  Did it start with a small group of Canadians who started this fund...who heard about Argentine and Mapendo and their families and decided to try and sponsor all 9 of them at once.  Never mind how much money they would have to raise, or the paperwork they would have to do...or the fact that they had never sponsored that many people before.

Or was the miracle when so many of you showed up and chose to support the fund.  Because honestly...   You could have looked at the numbers and gotten discouraged.  But you gave anyway.  That amazes me.

And then, out of the blue, I got a message from a supporter.  Her family wanted to donate some money toward the fund.  That sounded nice.

Then it turned out they wanted to donate the whole rest of the fund.  Can you imagine that?  At the time both SHONA and AIRSS had been working really hard.  And had raised around $25,000.  Over $28,500 left to go.  It seemed like an awful long way.  And now, in a moment, this generous family wanted to donate the rest. They said they wanted to remain anonymous and that it was a reminder of God's provision.

A miracle, right? Yes, and we are so thankful.

But maybe miracles aren't really about where you arrive at, no matter how amazing.

They are about where you started from...  and the little acts of faith that carries you forward each day.

Because here is the thing.  That family that showed up in the end...they didn't really fall from the sky, Hollywood style.  They actually showed up  8 years ago.  And bought a few purses.  Purses that the women sewed themselves.  And then this family stood with us, exactly the way all of you have stood with us.  For a long time.  Making small donations, sending love, praying for these women.  And that, to me, is the miracle, dancing in the corners, just out of sight, scattered in a thousand pieces.

 The miracle is that each of us have our piece to the puzzle.  And then somehow, when we least expect it, those pieces fit together.  Thank you all for each piece that you hold.

Learn more about the Resettlement Process and where we are now 

 



  

The text

Argentine's daughter Rachelle died a year ago. 

This year, on the anniversary of that date,

Argentine sent me a text. 

It came late at night.

As I lay in my own bedroom

with the blankets tossed across my bed.

And my daughter asleep beside me.

The sound woke me,

and I froze there for a minute in darkness

wondering what bad news might await.

Mustering the strength to pick up my phone, 

finally I did.

And there was Argentine's text...

"Sister" (she calls me)

We have finished a year without Rachelle. Pray for us"  

And in my own bedroom

my eyes dance away from those words.

Into the darkness.

My own daughter's face warm beside me

suddenly glowing in the pale yellow light of my phone.

And as I lay there 

I imagine Argentine writing this text.

Sitting in that small shack

in a refugee camp, the dirt rubbing at her feet. 

Her arm raised at an odd angle,

tilting her phone just so.

I can see how that pale yellow light 

would spill out in the darkness... there, too.

Illuminating the face of Argentine's new baby girl,

only a few weeks old, nestled in her arms.

The new baby is called "Asante Mungu"

Her name means Thank God.

I sit in that darkness.

"Sister"
I type my response.
"we remember."

 Baby Asante Mungu

 Baby Rachelle

From a refugee camp in Africa...

 

The steps for taking a family picture with a toddler.  (Apparently they apply no matter where you live.) 

 

Step 1:  Parents prepare for the picture

 

Step 2: Toddler stands still for the picture

Step 3: Parents give up on that

Step 4: Toddler celebrates

This is Mapendo and her husband,along with her 2 sons and the 2 nieces that she cares for.  They have been in this refugee camp for 5 months.  They previously were in another refugee camp in another country.  In fact they have been forced to flee their home in Congo at least 4 different times.  Both Mapendo and her husband wear metal leg braces and walk with crutches.  Can you imagine what it is like to flee for your life and carry these little guys with you...that one who won't even stand still for a photo?  Can you imagine what it is like fleeing with these young nieces through war zones in which rape is far, far too common?  The questions go on...

We have an amazing opportunity.  After years of being refugees, of fleeing in circles, again and again...Mapendo and her family (and Argentine and her family) are being sponsored for resettlement in Canada by Athabasca Interfaith Refugee Sponsorship Society.

It is a long process, involving a lot of documentation and a lot of waiting.  And a lot of friends helping us out along the way.  I have been working on filling out the documentation for months now.  It has been countless hours on the phone with each person, reliving the events that brought them here.  It is a crazy process.  Here is how Argentine and Mapendo described their trip to the refugee camp. 

We took a bus.  When we got on the bus everyone told us "that road is very dangerous.  You might make it or you might not.  All you can do is pray."  While we were riding in the bus we heard shooting up ahead.  Our driver stopped the bus.  He got out and walked ahead in the forest to try and see what was happening.  All the other passengers got out of the bus and hid themselves along the sides of the road.  But not us.  We just sat there in the middle of the bus.  Our disabilities make it hard to get in and our of the bus.  So we knew there was nothing we could do but sit there and pray in that empty bus.  After a while the driver would get back in the bus and drive us forward. We passed by the bus that had gone before us. It had been stopped by bandits and pillaged.  They took everything from those people, even their clothes.  Some people had been hurt.  Some people had been killed.  We drove on.  And then we heard shooting again.  The driver stopped the bus again.  All the people got out of the bus again.  And we just sat there...again.  And prayed...  That is what it was like...the whole way.

This was just one small story, of the road they traveled to get out of Congo.  But the truth is that each one of these 10 people has a million stories like this.  To listen to their stories is to break your heart again and again.  But it is also to marvel...marvel that they have survived.  And it is to understand...understand in an instant... what it would mean for these 10 people to have the chance to live in a place where the word "safe" has meaning...where the bus doesn't stop again and again., listening for the sound of shooting around the next bend in the road. 

 I love this picture of Mapendo's 2 sons. After months spent listening to the stories of war, it brings me back to hope.  You wouldn't know that these little guys are refugees.  They are just little guys.  Filled with lots of giggling and so much promise.

And like all of us, they deserve a future where they don't have to listen for shooting around the next bend in the road.  And the great news is that we have a good chance of giving them that.

*SHOP:    Argentine and Mapendo (along with 2 other disabled women who have remained in Congo) sew beautiful handcrafted bags.  Each purchase is an affirmation of their dignity, beauty and talent.  

  www.shonacongo.com  

 *Resettlement Fund:  You can donate to this fund on our website.  Donations here help us prove that our Canadian friends at AIRSS will have enough money to care for Mapendo and Argentine and their families when they arrive in Canada.

*Refugee Fund:  This fund helps care for the women and their families while they are still refugees in Africa.  It is a long waiting process until the group can get resettled in Canada and in the meantime emergencies happen and life is hard.  We are currently working on moving the women from the refugee camp to a safer place closer to a hospital so Argentine can give birth in a safe environment and so that they all can get better medical care. 

 

On what it means to be a "mother"

Mother's Day is exactly one month from today.  So now is the perfect time to stock up on SHONA bags to give to all the amazing women in your life.
 
 Because we are all in this together.



Do you remember when this picture of European parliament member taking her daughter to work went viral a few years ago?  When I saw it I thought immediately of this picture of Solange sewing.
 
What struck me wasn't the difference between these 2 mothers.  It was the similarity.  The way that across countries...across languages, cultures and economic differences... so very much remains the same.

And then I thought of this picture.

That is Solange again.  With a baby on her back again.  She is in the process of delivering SHONA stock to the post office.  But wait... it is different..that is Mapendo's son on her back.  Yet what strikes me again, is not the difference but the similarity.  Can you tell the difference between the photo where she is carrying her own child and the photo where she is carrying a friend's baby?  I can't. 

And then I thought of this picture.

Of the arms wrapped around Baby Marlaine.  Whose mama died in childbirth.  Whose family couldn't care for her, but who found the loving arms of Mama Sifa wrapped around her at Family Bethlehem.  And who grew up into this adorable little girl.  In part, thanks to many of you, who helped get her there.  Because they are all our children.

And then I think of Argentine, and her daughter Rachelle.

When Argentine lost her daughter Rachelle, I can't count how many of you wrote with stories of you own, of the loss of your own child, or the suffering of a friend who had been through something similar.  Because they are all our stories. 

And that is precisely why I want to share this picture with you today.

That is Argentine, in a photo from a few weeks ago. I am happy to announce that she is pregnant again.  That is one of the reasons why she needed to flee to the refugee camps again, she needed safety for herself and for the new life growing inside her.   It is why we are incredibly thankful to our friends in a refugee sponsorship group, who are working so hard to sponsor her for resettlement in Canada.  It is why we pray that will happen miraculously fast.  And why we continue to ask for donations to our Refugee Help Fund, in case that doesn't happen fast and we need to look for emergency medical care for her while she is still in the refugee camps.

But mostly it is why our heart breaks with Argentine, for all that she has lost, and soars again, for all that is still possible.

I have learned that this is what it means to be a "mother".  To love fiercely in the midst of whatever world we find ourselves in.  To offer our hearts to another, fearlessly in the midst of a fearful world.

 We love our own children, or the children we find next door, or down the street, or across the world.   We love the children we carry on our backs and we love equally those we carry only in our hearts.

Because, in truth, we are all mothers to someone.  And we are all in this together.

Shop SHONA and share the story of 4 incredible mothers this Mother's Day.  And remember that 100% of the profit from every bag goes back to the woman who made it...and the children she supports.  www.shonacongo.com

Mother's Day Sale: SHOP this week and get an amazing 25% off all your purchases.  Do you need another reason?  

Use code: mother in the discount box at the end of checkout. 

  

And the journey goes on...

Sometimes it seems as if life is forever muddy and complicated. 

And then there is this.  

A photo I could look at forever.

A photo taken a few days ago, with Argentine smiling.  After losing her daughter last year I wondered if we would ever see this beautiful smile again. 

 But here is Argentine smiling again.

 

And cuddling a child in her arms.

And joy, simply... inexplicably, seems possible again.  Surely this is the miracle of life..that however muddy and complicated and full of heartbreak the way gets, joy still makes appearances.  Hope still exists.  

Here is the news: Argentine and Mapendo have left Congo and fled to a refugee camp again. But wait...before you heave a sigh and your heart breaks for them again...know this. Despite the fact that they are sleeping in a refugee camp on the cold hard grown, under a tarp, they are counting their blessings.  Because for the first time in what seems like a year, they are able to sleep in peace again.  I received a message just today telling me "we are thanking God so much, so much, because we are not afraid here."

Argentine has fled with her boyfriend and his young daughter (in Argentine's arms above), along with Argentine's younger sister (above left). 

Mapendo fled with her husband, her 2 sons, and the 2 nieces she cares for Neema and Ziada (you will remember them from their journey to the refugee camp in Burundi a few years ago).  

Both Argentine and Mapendo were living in fear in Goma, with thieves often trying to break into Mapendo's home and Argentine facing personal threats on her life and safety.  The situation, ever since Argentine's daughter died, has escalated.  

But to flee and return to a refugee camp is no small thing.  We tried again and again to imagine a way that life could be better in Goma.  Was there a safer neighborhood or a safer way for them to work?  But for these women, with all that they have been through and all they are facing, they concluded that there was no other way forward.  So they fled.  Miraculously they made it, finding a way across the border and to a refugee camp, 4 adults (3 of them on crutches) and 6 children.  Just making it there safely is a cause for celebration.

They are in a transit camp and have been assigned to a tarp covered structure.  They made their beds by stretching out a thin mat on the cold hard ground and covering it with cloth.  And there on that ground, they smiled.  Because there was no sound of thieves at the door and there was no one threatening to hurt them.  They slept in peace.  And they woke up to a new day, and a new path on their journey.  Thank you for joining this journey with us.

Please keep supporting these amazing and courageous women by buying their beautiful, handcrafted work.

  www.shonacongo.com 

 There will be more news coming soon about what this new journey may hold for them but in the meantime thank you for sharing this journey with us.  We truly could not do it without all our friends.  And also, Riziki and Solange are both doing well in Congo and are still sewing so your purchases matter to all 4 women and the 12 children (or more) they care for!

 SHOP SHONA

  

 

The Risk of Loving

“Every time we make the decision to love someone, we open ourselves to great suffering.... The greatest pain comes from leaving. When the child leaves home, when the husband or wife leaves for a long period of time or for good, when the beloved friend departs to another country or dies … the pain of the leaving can tear us apart. Still, if we want to avoid the suffering of leaving, we will never experience the joy of loving. And love is stronger than fear, life stronger than death, hope stronger than despair. We have to trust that the risk of loving is always worth taking.” ― Henri J.M. Nouwen

The Risk of Loving:

(This reflection is based on the previous post.  Please see here for more info
 
Recently my husband was in Goma for work and was able to visit with Argentine. He said that she is sad, but that she seems to be doing OK. He taught her to use a smart phone to send email and photos. It is something she has always longed to do. Sharing photos of her life, joining the global community. But it has always been a step beyond her capacity for one reason or another. The technology or the logistics were always just a little too complicated. But this time it seems she has got it. And so I have gotten a bunch of emails and photos from her recently. 

Her most recent message read "Don't tire of praying for me...because my head hurts and at night I can't find sleep. I hope in God alone. I will be well."

When she dreamed of learning to send an email, this is probably not the message she imagined sending. I am sure she had imagined sending happy messages and joyful photos. Or at least that is what I always imagined receiving.

It seemed ironic to me, that now, in this time of struggle, is when she finally, miraculously, learns to send an email. How can she have space in her head for that right now?

But maybe now is the perfect time. Maybe there is an urgency to sending messages now...an urgency you find more in moments of struggle than you find in moments of triumph. After all, when is it that we need our friends and family the most?

I have to say, it is not easy from me. To be connected. I am always happy to hear from Argentine. But I am always also heartbroken. Immediately carried back into her loss, and into my own powerlessness to take away that pain.

I am reminded of the words of Henri Nouwen...

...Still, if we want to avoid the suffering of leaving we will never experience the joy of loving. And love is stronger than fear, life stronger than death, hope stronger than despair, we have to trust that the risk of loving is always worth taking."

Sometimes that risk, the risk of loving, seems astronomically high. Especially in Congo. Suddenly I find myself counting the number of times that every one of the SHONA women's children have been sick. Promese, Prince, Daniel, Daniella, Jonathan, Joashe, Rachelle. They have all been sick far too often. And I can feel myself calculate the cost of loving women whose lives are a world away from mine, and who face countless challenges that I will never be able to make disappear.

But then I think of the risk they take to love. Right there in the midst of it. They love children, and parents and friends in a world that they know is terribly unstable. And they continue to hope. What kind of risk does it take for Argentine to conclude her message with "I will be well"?

And come to think of it, what kind of risk does it take for her to send that message in the first place, to reach out and say "don't tire of praying for me"... to people halfway across the world, who have a million other things calling out for their attention. The risk of loving me, of loving you, when we might just as easily disappear from her life, or just never get the message.

But the messages keep coming. From both sides. When I sent out our last newsletter, explaining Argentine's loss, I got a lot of personal responses from many of you. Sharing your love, and for many of you, sharing a story of your own loss as well. I've gotten countless messages on Facebook asking how Argentine is doing, or saying that you are praying. Many you have also generously donated to the fund in memory of Rachelle. With those donations Argentine is putting a monument on Rachelle's grave, and she is having a closing ceremony, to mark the end of 40 days of mourning. She is also using the funds to contribute back to the community where she has been staying and which has supported her.

But what I want to say is this: thank you. Thank you for taking the risk of loving. I often use the phrase "it makes all the difference in the world". I use that phrase when you buy something from SHONA, and it is true. Your purchase does make all the difference in the world to these women. It puts food on their table, buys medicine when they are sick, and builds homes to keep them warm. So thank you for shopping.

But thank you, for not just shopping, but for giving your hearts as well. For taking the risk to love. Because that too makes all the difference in the world. It doesn't so much change the world, but it changes each of us. It strengthens us, so that together we can conclude every message as Argentine did. We can say to each other... "I will be well".