29.11.11

Silent Night

It's 2 am in Congo and for the first time ever I have been awakened by silence. Even the bullfrogs are quiet. Since moving to upper campus, I have found my evenings marred by loud, rumbling trucks as they pass at all hours. Less interruptive is the call of the taxi buses, singing out their destinations as they pass. Sirens also make an odd appearance in the cacophony of late night sounds, and I usually remind myself that there aren't many Western style ambulances or police cars (where are those sirens coming from?) Apparently I have gotten used to all this, as we humans are wont to do, and this early am it seems the absolute quiet has driven me from slumber.

It's election night in DRC and not a sound can be heard. I could almost be back in upstate New York with only the crickets to serenade me in these wee hours. The late night revelers have vanished, the overly loud music unplugged, the drummers retired indoors. But I know all are not sleeping. Somewhere, people are planning, configuring, and conspiring. Maybe they're counting too.

After weeks of speculation, I was surprised to hear a friend express hope for the results. "The time to speak was long ago," I argued, "when they were passing the law of one round." I can't imagine the results being anything other than favorable for the incumbent. It has always seemed the anticipation is not for the results but the response. How will the Congolese react to what must be a certain, if not altogether accurate, declaration? It seems impossible to know the true will of the people with elections passing this way. But it must come as the first step in achieving change.
Congolese voters search for their names before voting



Voting can be a powerful, empowering process. But it can also lead to intense emotional frustration. I spoke to some Congolese who, on the eve of election, still hadn't decided who they were planning to support. As I spent the day washing dishes in buckets and wondering how long our water reserves would hold out, I found it hard to imagine how anyone could be in favor of the status quo. But expectations are different here, life experience is different and people vote along passionate lines.

Of course, with no candidate debating or discussing of prominent issues and potential solutions, it may be hard to cast a vote inspired by anything more than passion. And blind belief.

Queue outside a polling station in Kin

15.11.11

the value of a praise singer


It is human nature to become accustomed to our surroundings. Whether good or bad, after the initial adjustment period we begin to adapt. We start to take certain conditions for granted and no longer realize the effects they have on our daily well- being.  Only in their absence can we begin to evaluate the formative impact elements of our environment have had on us.  Sometimes these elements come in the form of a person.

It was only with the recent restoration of peace to what had become a tension filled interaction that I was able to remember these truisms. This year has been particularly challenging for me in terms of exciting developments in my professional career and perplexing difficulties in my classroom.  For several months the stress of it all has invaded my quiet, thoughtful evenings turning them into long, questioning nights.  It spilled over into my personal relationships and colored my communication with abrasiveness.  As things have begun to settle, students developing routines and modeling new behaviors, I have been able to return to gentle expressions and appreciations of those around me.

I have even been able to challenge some of my students by introducing them to one of my favorite books, The Ear, The Eye and The Arm by Nancy Farmer.  This book is set in a futuristic Central African country and weaves elements of tradition and science fiction expertly together.  The story follows three privileged but sheltered children who set off on a “field trip” across the city and end up getting kidnapped. One of the main characters is the family praise singer who struggles with his guilt in helping the children escape and conflict with his mother over their imprisonment and return.  I like to point out the role of the praise singer to students as a decidedly African element.  Praise singers have maintained their role in recording and spreading African history for centuries. Most notably, West African griots continue this tradition in their songs and music produced today. Radios all over Africa come alive with songs dedicated to presidents and politicians during election campaigns-the most modern knock-off of the traditional praise singer role.

We discuss the merits and drawbacks to having a personal praise singer, as described in the story. His job is to sing for the family members each morning sending them off to face their daily duties in good spirits and pumped with positive adulations of themselves.  Students generally point out that hearing only wonderful things about yourself might lead to believing that there is no need for improvement.  They discuss the oddness of having someone make public your every move and a bit of uncomfortableness at giving someone the ability to influence and sway your thoughts- clouding judgment and the ability to reason.  They seem to understand that praise, when used without discrimination, can be a powerful tool that leads to greed and delusions. In the story, the praise singer is so effective that the parents are lulled into a semi trance state where they comply with any request and can be easily fooled. This is how the children, sons and daughter of a presidential general, make their escape from the house and begin their journey into the world for the first time.

The concept of such a praise singer never ceases to intrigue me. Because while too much praise can be detrimental, just enough seems essential. How many children pass through their days without hearing a single positive comment about who they are or who they will grow up to be? How many children are lacking the confidence or the ability to dream because no one has ever told them they could? I often see the children selling things on the street or the ones who are begging for bits of small money and wonder if they have ever heard they are beautiful or clever or brave? I ponder what effect it could have on them, like a treasured secret, to know someone is thinking they hold such value.

I return to this often. It is the idea that we consistently search for significance in ourselves through validation from others. Though mystics and yogis may tell you that only the individual should determine   self- worth, this interdependence seems an integral part of human nature. We crave attention and confirmation from others.  I suppose the idea is that if we are surrounded by positive affirmations as young children, we will grow to embody them and come to recognize these attributes as desirable in others. But life is damaging.  Our individual journeys take a toll on our spirit. Some of us become dented and distorted along the way. A well placed comment has the ability to brighten a moment or rejuvenate a tired day.

And so it was that I heard such a quiet comment, offered in such a casual way that I remembered the value of praise singer.