19 Oct. 2008 10:00 pm
The birds resemble old men as they walk around, hunched over, lifting their scrawny legs high before taking off to nest atop the trees. A cup of tea costs more than my meal of matooke and vegetable sauce. I am in Uganda for the AISA conference and it is another world. I say I am in Uganda, but I know there is a real Kampala here under the manufactured British beauty. This Africa is very neat and clean, the roads are paved and even have markings painted on. This part of Kampala is quite new and fresh. When I see what can happen here, I cry for Congo. There is simply no excuse for the way so many live in Africa. There is simply no excuse for the low expectations that I may have held. (I suppose I could continue to say there is simply no excuse for all of the garbage littering the rest of Kampala- and why such a small area manages to be so clean?)
Our plane took us first to Nairobi and I must admit shock at the zigzagging freedom we were allowed. No yellow lines marked our path into the country. There were no military holding back vicious looking German Shepherds with rifles slung casually across their back or held menacingly in their hands. In my naivety, I thought all African airports looked alike. Not so Jomo Kenyatta. Even Entebbe glimmered with new tile and a Western style appearance, shelves stocked with merchandise. Immense bags of candy filled the stores. A glimpse through the windows showed books, shoes and many other items determined to fill as yet unknown needs.
I am enjoying the hotel, the conference and meeting other professionals. I haven’t much to spend, however, and forego the group trips to the local shopping mall (mall!) The crafts sound interesting and I am almost overtaken by a Congolese want- such a lack of material items makes me feel that I have needs which may not really even be there. It is a desperate desire to stock up on goods that I may not see again for months.
Truly it is quite beautiful here and the billboards encouraging home ownership could almost lure me into thinking Uganda is well developed and prosperous. Surely it could be on its way. The road from the airport was well paved, lined with more motorcycles than pedestrians and bordered by (sidewalks!) small shops filled with goods and lit from within by bulbs (electric light bulbs!) It is amazing how quickly we adapt to our surroundings. I have only been in Kinshasa for 3 months and here I am expressing amazement about small tin shops powered with current. Perhaps I must mention the road from N’Djili, where masses of people huddle around candlelight as they try to sell their goods in the dark night air. There are no sidewalks, more people than cars and more cars than actual items to buy.
The newspaper I read this morning highlighted several differences as well. There were more opinion pages and advertisements, an entire section on commentaries and politics. More humor, albeit British style- the paper was scarcely PG-13. I browsed sections on fashion and music news, even classifieds, all in English; another foreign concept for me- Africa in English. I can’t get the French to stop falling from my lips.
I spent the evening talking with 2 Congolese teachers from school. I had been hoping to understand this perspective. Like Lamine and his friends, they spent some time talking about race and history. There are so many ethnicities and for those in Congo/Uganda/Rwanda a history rife with tension and war. There were clearly two perspectives, neither easily arrived at. One was still filled with fear and anger, emotion enough to water her eyes during the conversation. The other, more worldly, filled with understanding and compassion. It is not the people that should hate each other, it is the political few that created and sustained the wars. A difficult position to arrive at with conviction, to be sure.
As they related their stories, I was reminded of a story I had heard earlier during a workshop entitled Tales to Change the World. This was a story that described exactly the perpetuation of hatred and prejudice before me, of deciding without really knowing. I took the time to repeat it, this simple folktale about making a friend and knowing he’s a friend even if others tell you it can’t be so. And this story spurred another tale or two, from a similar perspective. Stories of true life experience. Stories of war. Tales that worked in the same way to make a small change, a slight shift in perspective and possibility. I should not think to cry for Congo, but shine with light towards the energy of change. Even if it only begins with a story.
