Now that it's finally time to leave, I still don't feel quite ready. Each year in Congo has been marked by some rhythm and this year, the rythm du pays. It's a common response to "Ca va?" and I tend to hear it more once the dry season has begun. In the rhythm of the country. I have come to understand it as meaning going with the ups and downs- but mostly it seems in reference to the downs. The struggles and constant battles for everyday survival the Congolese are so well known for.
I've come to accept so many things about the way life works here. I guess more than anything, year 4 has been about shedding my old rhythm and moving more in harmony with my environment. Unexpected waits don't seem to bother me so much anymore. Run ins with traffic police have been scarce, traffic "rules" are more apparent to me now and I can blend in with the flow seamlessly. I've become acquainted with most of the good shortcuts (there is nothing quite as satisfying as averting those Kinshasa traffic jams with a good back street trail.) I've learned enough of the language to usually get the gist of a conversation, even if I can't really respond yet. I don't hear those horrific cries of mondele so much (except those cute kids who live across the street. I have seriously been thinking of going over to tell them my name so when I walk outside I can listen to chants of Soumah......) I can't really explain that last one, perhaps I just don't notice it anymore. I am still clearly a mondele, but maybe it is just that when I do hear it, it doesn't bother me. Acceptance. I am the outsider here and will always be so, thanks to my luminescent white skin ( I don't think I actually glow in the dark but sometimes walking around at night can make me feel like I do.)
Au rythm du pays basically means life is hard here, and then sometimes it gets a little bit better. But it's never really a sure thing, the getting better part, and I guess that suits me. I always have been one to do things the hard way, learn life's good lessons long after I should have, stubbornly persist when maybe I shouldn't. Being here has become kind of comforting. We're all struggling for something. And even if I still dream of Guinea and aspire to dancing in Senegal, America seems to be calling to me less and less. When I walk out the door there, it's just going to be an ordinary day.
When I walked out my door today, I passed an army truck overflowing with singing soldiers. I saw another wedding at the communal building and I passed two funerals. I was saluted by one red beret carrying a terrifically impressive weapon. (I'm still not quite comfortable saluting back, being a common citizen, so I just tried to make my eyes respectfully wide and gave a small head nod and a smile.) I listened to the music of the street vendors clicking, clacking and calling out their wares. Someone even called me mademoiselle. Africa must be making me younger. I finally ended up at a graduation party for a six year old. They were celebrating her move to primary school. The music was loud, the food was plenty and the young boys were dancing joyously to their favorite Congolese hits. I marveled at the way they flawlessly performed the latest moves and I took sheer joy in their beauty and abandon. It could easily be a different story but that's what I left with. Images of children loving their life together. One good moment au rythm du pays.
