8.8.08 9:34 pm
Skipping Stones
I wake every morning to birds and singing. I am told it is the military base which is just up the road from us (along with a Belgian horse riding centre.) The music has an allure, quite un-military like. Mohamed was singing it this morning. In Guinee, I woke to the call to prayer. There can be nothing more beautiful than that but this is something. It reminds me of where I am and how there can always be cause for singing.
The first week of orientation is officially over. Now that I am past my initial terror, I have begun to assess my surroundings. We have been touring a lot with the campus bus which means we are traveling as a group of expats. It is a community unto itself and it shows in all the shops we frequent, the art galleries that boast American prices, and the restaurants serving brick oven pizza (ok, one woman did order the antelope.) But it has been a useful and entertaining introduction. Helpful in creating a bridge between us as professionals and also preparing us to navigate our needs independently.
Yesterday we took a tour of the city which seemed to highlight all the colonial points of interest. While I am aware of the significance, I wonder, surely the history of Congo began before 1836. At the medical stops we were told, this hospital is great, it is run by Europeans or, there is a dentist, they are very good -three Belgians. I canot get into the many layers behind these statements but feel frustration simply at their existence.
I am eager to see another side of Kinshasa. It remains an immense city with apartments and houses of every kind. It strikes me as rather clean and I have been told this is due to a recent push by the mayor to improve the circumstance. It is a remarkable job.
I am still struggling with conflicting emotions about certain aspects of life here (originally detailed in “Complaining” but I think it will not make it to posting. It is hard to give the right words to this dilemma.) Truly I cannot complain. I find it luxurious here, an idyllic garden as was described to me.
The boys have found some friends to play with and run around the campus riding bikes, visiting each others houses, and shaking sticks at trees. It is beautiful to watch them in this way.
I have found someone to watch Nabih and he seems especially content with this. Last night he was repeating all of the French I spoke to Lamine and is certain to adapt with ease. Mohamed is at just the age to be resisting a bit. It will come but for now he is trying to find his comfort zone. The mayonnaise and watermelon have received his approval (even better than America!) but with all other things, the jury is still out. (The bike riding and volley ball may be pulling him to the positive however.)
I too search for my zone. It is such a different experience from being in Guinee. I love speaking French again and have met many interesting and friendly people. However, I have been dismayed at the disconnect I see and hear. It is along the lines of class and race and I don’t feel quite comfortable on either side. (Clearly there is not much I can do about race but…I’d like the chance to meet some Congolese and often end up talking to the campus/house workers. It is obvious things are not done this way but it is one aspect I cannot undo, perhaps to my ultimate detriment.) I find it hard to adopt the role of wealthy American. A woman I enjoy talking with invited me last night to join the Belgian riding club. “The children could go together.” I find her helpful and informative, but way out of my league. I cannot ever imagine joining a riding stable- here in Congo or anywhere really. It is wrong; even if I could afford it, I do not think emotionally I could manage it.
I am feeling the things I forgot as well…or elected not to bring. Long pants for Mohamed, warm sweaters (yes, I have been cold here in Kinshasa and there is a potential problem of A/C- too much-if you can believe it.) I was preparing to come and live simply only to find the best of everything. People come and create a pampered zone for themselves. I suppose that immigrants do it everywhere, arrive and immediately try to recreate what they know. I am not really looking for America here in Kinshasa, but I will not deny it is luxurious to have access to some of the comforts of home (internet access for one and perhaps the washing machine for the other. I would love to have a few small Tupperware containers and 3 plastic water bottles. Did I mention my first shopping bill…a receipt for the memory books 31,360 FC… Dollar store anyone?)
Mohamed is being eaten by the black flies, Nabih not so much. I am missing shea butter here, which seems something of an anomaly. (Who knew I would need to bring shea butter to Africa? I‘m convinced it is the only thing that heal Mohamed.) Lamine insists there must be a community of Peul selling West African goods somewhere but anyone I ask has yet to know what I am speaking of. I’ve managed to find my other African favorites and have dined so finely on palm oil, peanut butter, and cassava leaves. One good sauce by candlelight (the electric does go out occasionally but has yet to be a major inconvenience, rather a cause for celebration each time it is restored) has such power to leave me feeling content. The rhythm of African days is a beautiful thing.
Classes will begin in one week. I have spent a day straightening my room and taking stock of the materials. I will have a full time teaching assistant who is a certified teacher….another of those conflicts I am still struggling with. I am almost ashamed to be here. But it is the system and somehow we are working within it. (Perhaps I will develop a symbol to insert every time I come up to a thought that requires more words than I can possibly give, ¥ .) It is nice, however, to have a place to focus that seems familiar ground. Aah, the classroom. I have been assured the students will not be throwing chairs but may be a bit chatty and personally intrusive. Let it be known immediately what topics are off limits. (Apparently it is the ‘nanny/driver syndrome’, where the students believe you are just another hired hand to be spoken to in any way they wish. Honestly, the children I have met so far, missionary families, have been extremely calm and polite.)
It will take some time, this city life. Perhaps it is just step one on my way to the school whose fees can be paid in chickens and manioc leaves. It is difficult to be believe I am striving for even simpler yet. I still dream of Guinee. Kinshasa is comfortable. Guinee is vibrant.
So that is why I am here skipping from one topic to the next, much as my emotions skip from frustration to pleasure, much as my understanding skips from enlightenment to ignorance. I am still balancing the welcome and look forward to a time when I am more aware of the process and more attune to the inner messages of Kinshasa life. There are double meanings everywhere. Even here, skipping stones.
