C’est la Vie

Perhaps the most tragic thing about a place like northeastern Congo at this moment in time is not all the horrible things that happen, but the fact that these events are normal. Children on the streets here are not familiar with a life of safety or comfort, they have not known anything but people carrying guns, military vehicles, hunger, disease, and the thundering of airplanes flying overhead.

One of my friends here, now working as a driver, recently told me the story of how his family was brutally killed in 1995 by Laurent Kabila’s rebels making their way to Kinshasa to overthrow Mobutu’s regime. He was 18 at the time, and one in a family of nine people. He was the only member of his household not at home that day. Seven of nine were stripped and killed, his little brother being the only one to escape. Years later, he still lives with his brother, but they are left only with each other to fill the void of what it feels like to have a family. He is eager to share his story, but there is no appropriate way to respond for the listener. When he finishes, he simply shrugs his shoulders and says: “C’est la vie ici au Congo.” (That’s life here in Congo).

Another driver in my first week here asked us if he could leave work early to attend a funeral. Without questioning him further, we left him to be on his way. It was only the next day that I found out the funeral was for his younger sister, who had died just the night before from malaria. He too, showing no visible sign of emotion, said “C’est la vie” when asked about the tragedy. I want to tell them that is not how life is, but having spent their whole lives here they know nothing else. That IS life here. The only thing I know for sure is, that is not how life should be.

Bienvenue au Congo

As I sit in a 3^rd-story office in Goma, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, it is often difficult to remember where I am. My surroundings change rapidly on a daily basis, in a place where brightly colored flowers and the serenity of Lake Kivu sit alongside the glow of the black volcano Nyiragongo and children playing atop piles of rocks. After erupting in 2002, the city had to rebuild itself atop the hardened black lava flow that filled the streets, and they are still chipping away at the rock today to form stones for use in construction.

Days can pass from news of violence, disease, and starvation, to watching people in their motorboats cruising around the lake while blasting music. The D.R.C is a nation that seems to be filled with endless needs following years of instability, yet full of NGO workers and daily meetings aimed towards filling those needs. Perhaps the most pervasive need is hunger. Food items and non-food items alike all come at a high price in Goma, where everything is imported and comes along with taxes to cross the border. When families receive non-food items such as cooking pots, plates, blankets, etc. there is always the likelihood that they will end up selling them simply to buy another week’s supply of food.

When we were first flying into the D.R.C. over a week ago now, my face was glued to the airplane window watching the miles of lush, green trees from above, admiring the country’s vastness and beauty. Upon landing, we were rushed to buy our visas in Bunia before continuing on south to Goma. Incidentally in Bunia the visas were twice as expensive, and I will always remember the moment of handing the immigration officer a new twenty dollar bill for part of mine. Holding it with both hands, he quickly held it up to the light, inspecting it closely. Although it was new, he handed it back to me, noting a millimeter long rip on the top of the bill that I couldn’t even see. A French woman standing next to me turned around, looked me in the eyes, and said with her voice of experience: ‘Bienvenue au Congo.’

Each day I pass here is marked with similar experiences to where it all began: frustration along with excitement, beauty surrounding ashes, newness in the midst of disease, and the expectation that no matter how much suffering there is, people will still be enjoying their lakefront property.

Off to the Congo!

In 1994, over 800,000 Rwandan Tutsis and Hutu moderates were killed in the most unambiguous case of genocide since the Holocaust.  Since 1994, over 5 million Congolese civilians, militants, and government army officers have died as a result of political and ethnic conflict, disease, starvation, and other unnatural causes.  Due to the recent flare-up this past year, some 250,000 additional people have been displaced from their homes in the North Kivu province and taken up residence in the town of Goma, the province’s capital.  See more photos at: http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2008/11/congos_crisis_worsens.html

MONUC, the UN’s mission to the Democratic Republic of the Congo, has recently been in peace talks in Nairobi with the CNDP (Congres National pour la Defense du peuple), the rebel army operating in the Northeastern part of the country (http://www.monuc.org/).  As we hope and pray for justice, redemption, and peace to reign in this country, it is also vital to consider the lives of those living away from their homes who are desperately in need of emergency relief items.  Check out the following organizations currently working to provide for these people: http://www.mercycorps.org/countries/congo, http://healafrica.org/cms/, http://www.samaritanspurse.org/index.php/articles/crisis_in_the_congo/, http://www.theirc.org/special-report/congo-forgotten-crisis.html.

Armed with a French/English dictionary, Learn Swahili books, an old copy of Heart of Darkness, and King Leopold’s Ghost, I will make my way to the DRC in the days ahead to partner with the local people who are currently working with displaced families and orphans.  Please remember the Congolese people in your prayers as we attempt to raise awareness about this country’s needs, hope for a better (near) future, and work towards a lasting peace.