No holiday

This morning I read the news that Nkunda (the former leader of the CNDP) had been arrested. And then I headed out the door. As I dodged mud puddles, and trash being burned in the streets, it gradually occurred to me that there were no shops open. I looked at my watch, wondered what time they could possibly open, and cursed myself for getting out the door too early. This is probably the only time in my life when that has occurred. And then it struck me that by now, the shops really should be open. The outside vendors were all set up, with shoe displays and peanuts available on every corner, but the doors to every shop remained firmly shut.

A women came up to me saying “Nkunda, Nkunda, Nkunda…”; she said it in a mournful tone. I don’t think there are many people in Goma mourning Nkunda’s arrest, nor are they likely to be shouting it in the streets if they are, so I assume she was taunting me. As a member of the "international community", I guess she assumed that I should be a fan of his. The "international community" has long been accused by Congolese of supporting Nkunda.

As I trudged home, unable to find a single shop open, I asked a number of people why the shops were shut. I was informed by a number of different sources that today had been declared a holiday to celebrate Nkunda’s arrest. As it later turned out, there was no holiday. In fact the shops were closed because of a merchant strike related to customs taxes.

So no holiday for Nkunda. I must say, it didn’t really look like much of a holiday anyway. Apart from my “mournful” lady, no one was shouting in the streets. In Goma in the past few months, I have listened to no shortage of demands for Nkunda to be removed and claims that if only Nkunda were removed the region would be in great shape. It is understandable that people would expect a holiday today.

But I think that Nkunda’s arrest has taken the population by surprise. There was no time to plan a proper holiday. Not even a march in the street. No one seems to know what to make of the whole situation.

Yes, there have been a series of suprising turn-abouts in the past two weeks. First the CNDP ousted Nkunda from leadership. Then, despite stalled peace talks in Kenya, the CNDP, the Rwandan government and the Congolese government called a meeting here in Goma and agreed to work together. Apparently as part of that agreement, Rwandan soldiers have been permitted to enter the country. And finally a joint Rwandan/Congolese force put the pressure on Nkunda, causing him to flee into Rwanda where he was promptly arrested. All of the above would have been unimaginable even two weeks ago.

This is a place that has been longing to celebrate some sign that the war is ending. And this is a people who know how to celebrate. But I have to say, that even though there is no shortage here of people who are glad that Nkunda has been arrested, a holiday has definitely not been called. Even here, a place that would love to declare a victory, any victory, there is still a sense that we aren’t there yet.

Sticks and Stones...and the election too

"Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me."

What is the hardest thing about living in Congo?
The war, the insecurity, the lack of healthcare, the pollution...
No, absolutely not.
The hardest thing to me about living in Congo is being called mzungu (white person)

Seriously.

I've lived here over two years. I've probably been called mzungu atleast a couple thousand times. When am I going to get over it?

My husband suggests I stop walking around. Choose my company a bit more carefully. I suppose I could. But what is the point of being in Congo, if I live behind walls the whole time? I like to be out there in the streets, I like to hear what regular people are saying...

Except that what they are saying, half the time, is mzungu...

And this is why I am thankful for Obama's inauguration today. I don't think he won because he is black, and I don't think he one inspite of being black. I think people were just too busy looking at other issues.

And this is why in the end I can't get over being called Mzungu. Because here I am, in someone else's country, trying my hardest to get to know the people who actually live here. And too often, all they can see is my skin.

A year ago I thought Obama would never be president for the same reason.

Here's to change.

On the ground

Back on the ground, here in Goma, it seems as though I never left. Goma looks the same. The UN tanks are still on the traffic circle near our house, the streets are still crowded with people, and my husband, friends and co-workers are all safe and well. But a month has passed and it seems that everyone I talk to has a story to tell.

One friend became sick while I was gone and her mother and grandmother traveled from their rural village deep in rebel territory, to visit her in Goma. They arrived safely, despite the fact that they were traveling between rebel-held and government-held territory. But on the way home their bus was attacked by gun-weilding men and shots were fired. As the passangers fled, her grandmother, an elderly woman unable to keep up with the crowd, was crushed in the chaos and has been hospitalized.

Another friend's uncle was on the road from Goma to Rutshuru, when his vehicle was attacked. He was killed and the driver was injured. He worked for an international NGO and as the story got reported over the news, that seemed to be the key feature of the report. Yet when his family told me of the death, no one even mentioned that. They have lost their father, that is all they have to say.

In another province, fighting has escalated with a Ugandan rebel group. As though Congo needs a few more crises. Yesterday I was visited by a friend who had just returned from a trip to that province. She had gone for the funeral of a relative who was caught in that recent fighting and killed.

Then she returned to her home in Goma to discover that her neighbor's house had been attacked by bandits while she was gone. Her children, who had remained in Goma while she traveled to the funeral, heard shooting during the night. In the morning they woke to discover that their neighbor's house had been attacked. Armed bandits had attacked the compound, killed the guard and attempted to enter the house. She arrived home just in time to see the guard's body being taken away.

So time passes, for those of us who are lucky. And we tell the stories.

Yet good things happen too.
For those of you following this blog, you will recall the story of the young woman who did not know what had happened to her family in Kiwanja. Over the past month, they have all been located, safe and well.

In the spirit of a new year, full of hope, we must remind ourselves of these stories too.

A new year in the air

This year I celebrated the start of a new year suspended in air. I guess that explains the cheap price of my plane ticket. I got an amazingly good deal by scheduling my return flight to Africa over New Years. Apparently other people don't like to do this: To start the New Year with a group of strangers, in an airplane cabin, the most of impersonal places...a place where you can lose all touch with reality. A place, where everyone tries desparately to pretend they are somewhere else...anywhere else. Much like a doctor's waiting room.

Or perhaps it is the ungrounded nature of the whole endevor. How can you say you started the new year in the air... Somewhere between Amsterdam and Nairobi? They didn't even tell us where we were when the clock struck twelve. They did announce the arrival of the new year over the intercom. There was a polite round of applause in the airplane much like the half-hearted clapping at the end of the movie. In a movie theater the applause always seems a little strange. It is like at a real theater, but there is no one on the stage, the screen's gone black...who are we applauding? But at a loss for what else to do, we applaud. And so, the passengers on our flight politely applauded, as darkness passed by the miniature windows, and we strained to look down and determine where exactly we were beginning this new year.

I kind of liked it. Well, let me clarify, I hate flying. On a flight I live in perpetual tension, waiting for the bump that signals the beginning of the end. I can't sleep, I can't read, my movie screen is invariably broken. And if they haven't fixed their movie screens, imagine the other parts of this plane that they haven't fixed! The beginning of the end...

So somehow, I enjoyed my flight over new years. Perhaps it was because it was towards the end of my journey, hope was beginning to dawn again. But there seemed something poetic about it. Talk about perspective. Perhaps this year I can start the new year with a correct view of the world. One in which I am very small, and the world seems to function perfectly fine without me. One in which you fly into the morning and the world is spread before you, covered in gentle pinks and blue. One in which the world looks peaceful.

And then you land. You know that thud when the wheels hit ground, and the sudden squeal of brakes and whooshing of flaps? That is always my favorite part of the flight. Even though it is probably more dangerous than all that time when we are soundlessly flying through the night and I was holding my breath. This is the time when the brakes might fail, when some obstacle might be on our runway, when we might find ourselves landing in the wrong place or swerving off the carefully prepared runway. But I love to hear all that noise, the groundedness of it. In the end, what freaks me out on airplanes is the surreal nature of it all. It just isn't normal. The plane is too quiet, we seem to be flying through space with no effort at all. This just isn't possible. Life is loud, and unwieldy, and I never make any progress at all that isn't full of bumps and jolts and chances to swerve off course.

So it was a nice way to start the New Year, with the gentle quiet of perspective, and the world spread out below me. But as for me, I've landed now. And I can definitely hear the squealing of brakes, the whooshing of flaps and all the chaos that this world entails. But still it is good to be on the ground.

Christmas

I sit in New England with the snow whirling around the house and Christmas carols playing in the background. And Congo seems so far away.

I have returned to the US to spend the holidays with my parents here in CT. And I am thankful to be able to do that. Especially since shortly after I arrived my grandfather passed away. It is meaningful to be here with my parents during this time. And I have always been less than enthusiastic about Christmas spent in 80 degree whether. It is just not the same. And although fake Christmas trees and cheap christmas decorations are on display in all the shops in Goma, and toy sellers display their wares hopefully on the streets. sometimes it feels like all the wrong parts of this holiday have become the most popular in Congo. But to be honest, at least in Congo Christmas is largely a holiday for children and church. For adults, the important holiday is New Year. Feasts are held on New Years, rather than Christmas, and New Years is the holiday when all the adutlts buy new clothing and even exchange gifts.

Still, I like Christmas. Inspite of the over-commercialization and the hustle of buying presents. I haven't been here on Christmas for the past few years. And I must say that I was shocked yesterday, at the jam-packed parking lots in one store after another. This in an economy that is suffering?

But what I like about Christmas is the candle lit churches and the music sung by choirs. The times when snow seems to blanket the world and for a moment everything is quiet. I like it when all the stores finally close and people go home. And I like tradition, whatever it might be, for the chance it gives us to count back over the years and remember them. To remember that we are a people who gain strength not only from looking toward the future, but from remembering the past.

So christmas strikes me as a little strange this year. Because less than a month ago I was in Congo. My husband is there now, many of my friends are there. And yet I can barely imagine the 80 degree weather and the sounds of the streets. They seem like perhaps a life I only dreamed. And I am aware of how many of you must feel, our friends and family here in the US, when we are so far away, in a world that is hard to imagine.

In my parents house we have a real Christmas tree this year, and next to it a manger scene. And to be honest, the manger scene looks a bit out of place. There is no glittery snow and no flashing lights. The little people aren't even bundled up in winter clothing. The manger scene is truly a world so far away. A people I can hardly imagine. Perhaps a world much more like Congo, than like the one here, in the US. And I guess that is why I like Christmas. Not for all the Christmas lists and gifts, and feasts; but for the rare moment when all of that stops. And we are asked to remember a different world. A world so unlike our own.

News of family

As I mentioned earlier, one of the Shona women grew up in Kiwanja, which was the site of intense fighting and brutal killings a few weeks ago. Her older brother, older sister, and two younger brothers all were living in Kiwanja at the time of the fighting. She had no idea what had happened to any of her siblings or whether they were safe. She has now received news of her older sister. At the time of the fighting, her older sister fled. She walked for a week, with two children in tow, to reach the town of Butembo. THat is 245 kilometers. The youngest child is 6 years old. They carried whatever possessions they could on their heads. We are very happy to hear that they have arrived safely.

But nothing has been heard of the three brothers. Many young men were killed in Kiwanja during the fighting. The CNDP claims that many of the young men killed were mai mai soldiers(another rebel group working with the government). It is hard to say what happened, but mai mai are "grass roots" rebels who do not often have access to uniforms and might well be in civilian clothing. This puts all young men at high risk. And as areas like kiwanja are taken first by one side and then by the other, the entire population is at risk of being accused of being an "enemy collaborator" at one time or another. After all, what options does an unarmed population have? How do you choose whether to "collaborate" or not when gun-weilding soldiers take over your town? What choice do you have?

And so the population runs. And we continue to wait for more news.

Choices

The Shona ladies have decided to rent a small house across the border in Rwanda for three months. Security continues to be a significant concern here in Goma, and they have the good fortune of work that they can pack up and take with them. The house in Rwanda will be only a couple miles from their current home in Congo, but the border provides significant security.

They will have to cover the cost of an extra rent payment, while they continue to pay their monthly rent in Goma (they have a year long lease). This has been a hard decision for them to make, since the extra cost is signficant, but in the end they have concluded that you can replace money and you cannot replace people.

My husband and I will remain in Goma. Our apartment has much greater security than their little house, so we feel ok. We also have the benefit of a car if we need it, to make a quick departure.

Life in Goma seems to require weighing odds that you should never have to weigh. Some residents of Goma have fled to Rwanda or to Kinshasa or other more secure places. However the vast majority have stayed behind. For those who have chosen to make their life in Goma, who are tied to Goma, it is almost impossible to leave. Homes are crowded with relatives of all sorts who have fled other areas. How do you flee with all of them? How do you leave them behind?

I recall hearing that after the volcano errupted in 2002, people were very quick to return home, often walking on hot lava to reach their homes. They returned quickly, despite continuing danger, out of fear that the town would be looted and all their belongings would be gone if they did not return.

It is easy to say that your possessions are not worth risking your life. And health is more important than wealth. But for people living on the edge of poverty, the two are not very far apart. It only takes a glance at the situation in the refugee camps to understand the problem. People are sleeping out in the open or under tarps. With no door to lock, how do you stop drunken soldiers from doing as they please? I read the other day about a child who was killed as she slept by a stray bullet. With no wall to hid behind, no bed to hide under...the vulnerable only become more vulnerable. A home, no matter how humble, provides some sense of security.

So the women of Shona have made an unusual choice in the scheme of things. They have chosen to move to a more secure area. This perhaps demonstates their sense of vulnerability. They are handicapped women living alone. But perhaps it also demonstates their widening sense of choices. For the poor, life often presents very few choices. The women of Shona are far from rich, but through their sewing they have begun to earn enough to be able sustain the added cost of creating a temporary home somewhere else.

As an American I have noticed that this is perhaps one of my greatest luxuries. I always feel that I could go somewhere else. I can make other choices. I could do other work. For many of the people of Goma there is no choice to make. They cannot afford to lose the marginal security that their homes, their possessions, and their work provide. I often struggle under the weight of choices. They are simply so hard to make. But perhaps I should also be more thankful for them.

A few updates:

Still no news of the family in Kiwanja. We continue to pray for them.

No suspects have been identified in the killing of my husband's staff member.

The refugees of Kibati have not been moved off the front lines.

The Security Council has agreed to send a little over 3000 more troops to Congo.

Over twenty men were pulled out of a UN convoy and arrested by Government soldiers who claimed that the UN was transporting Nkunda's soldiers. The UN claims they were not Nkunda's soldiers, rather Mai mai soldiers ( a rebel group that works with the government, not against them)

The UN Convoy was then attacked by stone-throwing civilians.