It took me awhile to approach this book. It found me in the way that good books often do, sneaking up when I am least aware. I'd heard about A Thousand Sisters by Lisa Shannon often enough, living in Congo and trying to keep up with the current state of affairs. I'd put off reading it for a variety of reason, the first of which, I must admit, was the title.
Sisters....growing up in the fractured family that I did, family has become an issue for me. Women family in particular. It's something I notice always, have quietly observed with fascination and envy. I've felt that lack of a mother presence, a supporting family presence since "the move" - one of those defining moments that separate the cozy childhood memories from the on-my-own indendent memories. Most often, I push it back into some dark corner, solidly hidden away reacting only with annoyance whenever it pops up (am I going to get over my childhood....don't people get over these things...ever?) It could have been the move, or the illness or the divorce, all of those things happened at the same time. But what I know is that after they happened, I found myself without the mother figure and squarely on my own. I was 10. It's time to get over it. But the truth is, I have never really felt embraced by women or part of the "sisterhood" that other women seem to claim so easily as naturally theirs. It's always seemed like more of a crutch, a hurdle to conquer so I can accomplish the things I really want to do.
I spent two years attending an all women's college and that was, for a brief moment, a glimpse into what life could be like seen through the unique perspective of being a woman. I began to feel a bit of pride and joy in my femaleness- but the door was not opened long enough for anything substantial to take root. I was quickly whisked back into roles and images that didn't quite match, all the while trying to understand this woman thing (strong and prideful or weak and frivolous?) The name of this book seemed to suggest something that just wouldn't be able to speak to me.
I came across it at an informal book swap. I saw it lying there on the table amidst a random display of books, all appearing a bit depressing in their subject matter. Reading in Congo can get like that. The pickings are slim and after 3 years, I've read most of what is on offer from the school libraries and the small community library on campus. I prefer stories about Africa, biographies and true accounts, but they can be draining. African stories require time to process and heal afterwards. I wasn't really sure I had room for another depressing tale of how the world has gone wrong.
"Did you read this? I've heard a lot about this." I was inquiring another book swap attendee browsing the table. It turns out she had brought the book to swap.
"Its ok," she replied, emphasis on the ok, suggesting it wasn't the greatest read. I had just finished Bite of the Mango, a story about a girl from Sierra Leone who had her hands amputated during that country's civil war. The story had been a quick read on the flight back from Nairobi. It had the detached quality that often happens when the main character is not also the author...a quasi-autobiography. The central thoughts, doubts, fears and emotions seemed to be missing. Not that I wasn't affected by the book, but somehow, I was looking for more. The response I received from the fellow book swapper seemed to suggest I might not find it in the thousand sisters either.
I took the book anyway. Choices were limited. The book sat on my table, in a rare waiting-to-read pile. I avoided it for a few more weeks. It turns out the books I had given higher priority -This Child Will Be Great, by Ellen Johnson Sirleaf (the name should have tipped me off but, surprisingly it didn't hit me until half way through the novel, which read much more like a propaganda campaign) and another fictional (I think, it's still not clear to me if this one was supposed to be some kind of memoir) book about a South African aspiring author and poet didn't merit finishing - a rarity for me-though I read both nearly to the end before giving up in frustration and boredom. It was in this search for something satisfying that I finally picked up A Thousand Sister's, the ok echoing in my mind.
I read it in 2 days. Captivated. I wondered what it was about this recount that didn't speak to its previous owner. Because everything I read sounded just like me. I appreciated Shannon's candid thoughts and reactions. I found her truthfulness to be comforting. She was moved to do something and in the very heart of her actions suffered self doubt and angst about whether any of it was meaningful. I got this exactly.
In the midst of trying to create positive change, there is the nagging question is this really helping? am I really helping? A bit of humility is good for the soul, but it doesn't always provide the inspiration or motivation to continue, especially when your actions don't result in immediate change. It is easy to feel like you are "tossing teaspoons of water on a raging fire." In the face of Africa, it easy to feel that all of your efforts are "silly stunts...paltry presents...ridiculous." As Lisa Shannon goes on to write, "Who am I against Congo?" It is easy to become overwhelmed when faced with the enormous suffering and paralyzing depth of poverty that families survive in. I most appreciated the tales when women were motivated and able to make a change for the better. It is something I don't see often enough in the capital. The air is different here.
I also appreciated Shannon's accounts of dealing with the muzungu effect. Here in Kin, we're known as mondele but the effect is all the same. It's the idea of extremes. For some, for many, this means, by white association, you have unlimited funds and can fix any problem. Endless giving. (For others, of course, this means you are the root of all evil and have caused all of mankind's suffering....both of which probably have an equal measure of truth.) It often confuses what could otherwise be a good and simple friendship. It also means a constant fluctuation between wanting to help and just wanting to be (as in, leave me alone, I can't do anymore.) It becomes a constant battle between have I done enough and am I doing anything? I believe that true change can only be brought about by motivation and action. While I am happy to be part of the solution, I clearly recognize that I am not the solution. It must come from the people themselves. Charity does not equal change, though it can lead down a pathway to change. It is ultimately the decisions of the receiver that will determine the final outcome. Lisa does a wonderful job of clarifying some of the ridiculous choices extreme poverty and war create. "Only-in-Congo choices" she coins them. They appear to be hypothetical questions children would tease each other with, the kind you can never answer because both choices are equally grotesque. Would you rather eat a worm or a cockroach? The only answer to that is, No. Except in Congo the questions aren't a child's game and the consequences are much more dire than merely eating bugs. The questions require an answer. Simply refusing to play is not an option.
Would you rather be raped or watch your children starve? Would you rather be killed or will you kill your neighbor? Will you get this child a doctor while the 7 others may die or let this one go, so the rest can be fed? Do you want us to rape you or marry you?
There is no understanding a world that continues to allow these kinds of questions to dictate the future of any single person's life. There is no understanding the hatred and rage and humiliation that has built enough within someone to inflict this kind of torture on another human being. Causes and contributions can be easily identified, but understanding is a different matter altogether.
And so is witnessing. It's an idea I've been confronted with on a number of occasions in these last 3 years, not all having to do with Congo herself but many reaching out across the borders and oceans into other countries. Witnessing is an act. It's an idea expressed somewhere in the last quarter of the book and one that is helpful to remember. People need to tell their stories. They need to know that others are listening and caring and making a connection. Whether it is Sakineh from Iran or the women from Kaniola, the truth of their lives needs to be heard by others. And that's step one.
The next steps vary, I suppose, somewhere between action and education. I have a mix of ideas that overlap the two worlds. And, M, I'll be sending you my copy of the book. I hope you'll read it and pass it on to someone else to read, who will pass it one to someone else to read.... Maybe some of them will decide to run, or talk or create an entirely new idea. Maybe some of them will choose to simply witness, and I think that's ok too.
