I have an idea. I'm told the next step is to write it up in a business plan, which I might actually attempt. It's not one of those ideas that will change the world, or one I even feel close to my heart, but it is a simple thought for a business. And it could actually work- were there to be a viable business partner. It's just something I have been keeping around in the back of my mind- for awhile now.
So as Mohamed and I were chatting one night over a late lunch (or perhaps an early dinner, depending on which time zone we are counting ourselves in) I had my mind in that direction- the direction of fun and frivolity. Because not all things in Congo have to be about developing hospitals for the maimed and wounded or plans to reign in children off the street and somehow put a stop to the accusations of witchcraft and sorcery. Sometimes people are just looking for a way to spend a Friday night.
Mohamed was telling me about some of the things he did on his summer vacation in Florida. Although the temperatures seemed to prohibit much outside play, he did venture off to a nearby park a few times and had an exhilarating experience driving go-carts (the real kind, with motors.) I thought of the few places here in Kinshasa where you can go to ride a quad, probably the closest thing to a motorized go-cart to be found in the city, and the tragic story of a teenage death I'd heard about. The young rider was celebrating her birthday and had just called out to her dad to show off her new driving skills when she revved too fast and hit enough of a bump to throw her off the machine, which landed on top of her. There seems no end to the go-cart tragedy stories including one I'd heard of as a kid. It began as a small accident in which a girl had bumped into another car. Both riders appeared fine with only minor stomach pains. Much later, one of them was brought to the hospital where she died from internal injuries. Urban myth perhaps but this story about a Muslim mom made the news as did others about teens and children in unfortunate accidents involving go carts. Considering the level of safety consciousness generally present here in Kin, motorized go-carts are probably not the best business plan.
The highlight of the trip to the go-cart park, however, was the laser tag section. It sounded as if the arena was outside, with Mohamed and his brothers hiding behind trees and ducking under bushes. I was reminded of the roller skating rink I had gone to as a teen. Somewhere between the time I stopped going and the time I brought my own children there, they'd installed a laser arena. It was all strobe lights and loud music. I never really checked it out. Emmanual Jal has me pretty much convinced that war games aren't really games. But for a minute I was thinking about my business plan for a skating rink here in Kin and wondering what other attractions might help it grow. Perhaps a minute is even too long to describe the time it took for this thought to really land.
Because as Mohamed described the game, his face morphed into the face of the young Congolese fleeing their homes, running through darkness filled with fear and the sound of gunshots. I could only imagine this game to be a cruel irony- a recreation of a real life event. The juxtaposition of this image with that of so many American children enjoying a carefree day "shooting" their friends was more than I could really process. "You know, for some people that's a reality," I began. Mohamed and I had yet another one of those talks....not the "eat-your-food-because-some-child-is-starving-in-Africa" talk but a real discussion. About how people live and the complexities that war brings to ordinary boys like him. (Although, I must say Mohamed gets the starving children perspective. I have had more than one discussion with teachers and lunchroom monitors about his over zealous preaching to classmates who dare to head to the bin with so much as a scrap of food on their plate....)
We talk about war and its consequences. We talk about reasons why people fight and what they hope to gain by it. We even talk about what happens to the towns and villages that get caught up in the midst of the conflicts. Our talks are full of questions and suppositions and sometimes child like solutions.
But Mohamed almost always seems to end with a shrug and "I know. But this isn't real." He seems to see a distinct difference between his gaming and others reality. Perhaps it is too much too expect that he would empathize enough to swear off war and gun play. After all, it really is one of those situations we cannot imagine ever intruding into our lives.
What I have noticed - and appreciated- about entertainment here in Kin is that it is generally simple. Play spaces for children often resemble little more than what can be found in an average American backyard. And Kinois pay to bring their children for play, for parties and for weekend amusement. So, it seems the best business plan will follow this model. A skating rink, simply put outdoors, with some of those trademark blue plastic chairs and a table or two. And maybe a pizza cone truck nearby. Of course, the loud music is probably a must. It is Kinshasa, after all. But for now, it seems best to leave the strobe lights and laser attacks to the children of the West, who have the luxury to play out the war games that other children are trying to survive.To be sure, most Kinshasa kids have no real experience with war either- and would probably love a game of laser tag as much as Mohamed. But the irony of families paying for a real live war game is just too much, and I certainly don't want to be the one sponsoring it. Friday night fun and birthday bashing needn't imitate the woes of the country.
