État Civil

Paperwork is always a pain. There is nothing pleasurable about filling out forms and trying to find the supporting documents. Filling out forms in a foreign language is even more stupefying.  Add in the foreign country/African culture factor and the usual doldrums of completing paperwork become a mysterious walk through a baffling land.

Preparing for marriage begins with paperwork. Frankly speaking, the US Embassy is hard to get to. Not physically- they have several locations around town and all are quite accessible. The problem is communication. They never seem to respond to email....or if they do, it could be months later. Remembering my advice to Souleymane about other contacts he had been trying to make, I decided to hop in the car and go downtown to ask for an appointment in person. Kinshasa does not run by phone or by internet but by face to face contact.

Passport in hand to prove my American-ness, I approached the security guard to inquire about making an appointment. He pointed out a flyer on the wall and indicated a phone number. I spoke with the man who answered and informed him that I was actually outside the door. He promised to talk with a guard and ask them to let me in. Wow. Appointment confirmed in less than a minute.

Once inside, I found the man behind the counter to be very helpful and pleasant. This is only my second experience at the embassy, in need of documents, and both times (once the appointment has been secured) have proven to be full of efficiency and politeness. Although he wasn't exactly sure what document I needed, he felt certain he could draw up a form and have it ready for me by the next morning, maybe even later that same day. He took my number and promised to call.

A mere two hours later, I received his confirmation call and made my way back to the embassy to retrieve the paper. It turned out to be exactly what I needed. A notice of non-empechement de marriage, meaning the embassy has no problems with me getting married as long as I follow the local rules.

This led to a trip to the maison de commune in Ngaliema to verify, again, the exact procedures and paperwork needed. The woman we spoke with was very friendly and remembered Souleymane right away. She invited us into the office to look at some more forms. The office had window shutters and door open with no screens. Every so often a breeze would waft past, blessing us with a moment of cool air.  There were four desks crowded in there and the one we were beckoned to was actually a table stuck behind the door.
There was only one chair left and Mama Lily offered it to me. She began to explain some of the papers we needed. She even began to fill one out for us. We happily went along with this procedure until she informed us each of those papers would be $36. It hardly seemed possible. The Attestation de Residence was a badly copied form that asked merely for our name and address. Mama Lily didn't even ask for any ID, although we offered it to her at certain points for ease of spelling.

We decided to get the project du marriage paper instead as it was only $5. It has been interesting to me to hear this "project of marriage" mentioned several times. I suppose the undertaking of marriage is something like a project, but I simply never considered it quite that way. This paper outlined all of the things we would need and Mama Lily suggested we fill it out at home and bring it back when we had decided on a date. We tried to foresee all the of the questions we might have about the form before leaving the bureau and made many inquiries in hopes of achieving clarity and understanding. We never arrived at the reasoning behind buying a case of sucre, beer and whisky. Who would be drinking that and why should they benefit from our special occasion?

Filling out that form later in the evening became a project of its own. We had many questions about the parental consent part of the form (really?) and neither of us had full information about our dads. (Where did they work and when was their exact birth date? Ah yes....children of divorce.) I was stumped by the very first question which had a place to fill in your name followed by etat civil_______________.  I thought the only answer here could be single (after all, if I were already married I wouldn't be filling out this form, would I?) Only later it occurred to me that in some cultures, I might actually already be married and still be filling out this form. Wow. That certainly opened my eyes a bit. I asked Souleymane what the procedure for plural marriage was in Dakar. Apparently when you get married there, you are requested to sign either monogamy or polygamy and then, if you sign monogamy, you must stick with that decision.

There was not a place to make such a decision on our form but we'd already had that conversation. We continued filling out the marriage contract to the best of our ability. The last page was completely confusing to me. None of the French words were ones I knew and I simply couldn't make any sense of it. Finally, after reading a few times, Souleymane was able to explain. It was the part of the contract referring to the DOT - wikipedia describes the dot as a gift to the family of the bride from the husband, also known as the bride price. In some countries, the future bride can make demands of her hoped-for husband about what this dot should actually be. We laughed as Souleymane and Ousmane traded dot stories from Guinea and Senegal. Most often, this is not discussed beforehand but is something the husband offers at the ceremony to the father of the bride. Depending on the offer, father reactions can be quite comical.

Ousmane was ready to jump in and accept my dot....whatever it might be.....but cannot stand in to be my witness. This is the last complication I seem to be having. According to the rules, my witness must be someone older than me. This has turned out to be an oddly difficult requirement to fulfill. Most of my friends and acquaintances here in Kin are younger than me, something I have once been criticized for but mostly pay no attention to.  Added to that is the fact that it is difficult to actually know a person's age here. Age seems so fluid and relative in Africa. It most often appears a matter of convenience and choice, not stark reality.

So I am left to consider....finding a witness and pondering a dot.....

Franco-creativity

Symphonie des arts is a beautiful garden filled with art and sculpture and peacocks tucked down the side streets of Kintambo magasin. It's on the list of sites to visit during the new teacher tour and I don't think I have been back since...maybe just once.

Searching for capoeira spots lead me to investigate the dance studio located within. And of course, I could not help but be distracted by the art. The path into the Symphonie is lined with plants and trees and hidden birds. The entrance hints at a taste of the magic that awaits inside.

Paintings and sculptures line the walkways. Visitors are lead into a store that is overflowing with more paintings and crafts such as pillowcases, napkin sets and table sculptures. There could never be enough Sundays to view everything on display.

A back exit leads into yet another exquisite garden area. The only thing I was allowed to photograph was this natural beauty.

The artists exhibit area was simply breathtaking. The amount of work created for the Francophonie was astonishing. Many artists incorporated the official logo and there plenty of roosters and okapis dancing, shaking hands and enjoying meals or games together. (Apparently the rooster represents France and the okapi...well, that one seems more obvious to me.) Presidential portraits were also popular as well as other important players in the francophonie game.

My favorite artist incorporated bits of fabric and magazine pictures into energetic forms of women dancing, carrying vegetables and other daily activities. He had two larger than life paintings at the end of the exhibit area, just by a small stage, that were mesmerizing in their expression and size. I felt like I could melt into the tableau and be lost in paradise.

Each artist was afforded a small, individual exhibit area and standing before each space one could be completely immersed in their particular style and message. Oil paintings with broad strokes of bold color filled one area, while careful pen and ink drawings of Congolese masks completed another.

I went back a second day simply because it is an exhibit that deserves to be enjoyed. I was the only visitor on both occasions and continue to marvel at the melancholy of having so much art in such an exotic location void of crowds and spectators. Souleymane, who had accompanied me both times and eventually (of course) struck up a conversation with the owner, suggested that the presidents in attendance would be interested to see the homage presented here and I don't doubt he is right. While I found the work to be overwhelmingly beautiful and inspiring, I wonder what will become of it. Such an outpouring of creativity.....sequestered it seems.

Other artists, such as those selling at the Marche de Valeur, experienced a different kind of sequestration. Their entire area of stalls and exhibitions was moved back several meters and then surrounded by a large blue opaque fence. Every time an event of importance happens in Kinshasa, this particular group of artists seems to get pushed into the shadows. I continue to wonder why they aren't seen as a source of pride and a bit of culture to be capitalized on.  Other "ugly" areas around town were more aesthetically hidden away with large banners covering up normally exposed crumbling buildings and other areas of disrepair.

Art has so many purposes it seems and that is never more evident than in Africa.

franco-flop

The Francophonie summit has apparently been around for awhile. Its main page states the organization was created in 1970. The mission: "...to embody the active solidarity between its 75 member states and governments (56 members and 19 observers), which together represent over one-third of the United Nations’ member states and account for a population of over 890 million people, including 220 million French speakers."

Active solidarity strikes me as one of those vague phrases that could mean any of a number of things. And so, while Kinshasa has been submerged in preparation and anticipation of the summit, I have been wondering what the exact purpose and proposed outcomes will be. I admit to not keeping up politically as much as perhaps I should and so remain in the dark a bit. My observations are completely personal. I have no sense of the meetings between dignitaries or any possible benefits this might actually bring to Kinshasa. Maybe it is enough to consider it just as another festival come to town, closing eyes to the problems and poverty and providing a chance for some to revel in frivolity and joy, if only for a weekend.

The streets have been cleared and cleaned, creating a ghost town reminiscent of the election period. Robocops line the streets and intersections. I dream of a photo with these police decked out in their fullest battle gear and sympathize with the heavy hotness they wear all day.  Taxis, pedestrians and any other rituals of daily life have been sequestered to the side streets. Roads to school are blocked off ("for your security" one officer tried to convince me. I argued a bit that separating me form my home hardly seemed to be in my best, secure interests but he was having none of my questions. "Can't you leave me with all of these questions?" he kept saying, when all I reasonably wanted to know was how to gain access to my house.)

I was attracted by events at the Botanical garden/Zoo area and tried to make my way downtown. It began with a small melt down from the kids- who did not want to travel by taxi or by foot. I had envisioned a day of walking and sight-seeing and possibly life size marionettes. The kids stayed home and I continued on the journey- though I never actually arrived at the gardens. I was still feeling positive as there were a few more days left to the celebrations and I had hoped to enjoy a film en plein air.....an advertisement I had received in my inbox promised movies on the lawn and made me reminiscent of summer nights at home.

We all packed into a small green car with no power steering and made our way through the nighttime streets of Kin in search of the zoo. It was a lot farther than I had remembered (good thing the walking journey from the day before never worked out because it would have been miles and miles of heat and complaining.) After a few wrong turns and several inquiries from pedestrians and police, we finally arrived at the zoo. It was dark and empty. Though a few other cars pulled in at the same, there was no clear direction about the location of the film. We found some vendors left over from their daytime exhibitions and after more roundabout conversations eventually determined that the promised movie en plein air would not actually be showing. It seemed too great a disappointment to simply return home so we made our way over to N'ice Cream for cold cone relief. I had been looking forward to a different kind of event to fill the Kinshasa night.

The National Ballet performance has been rescheduled three times, each time to a different location. I would love to go in search of this performance, and had also been eager to check out the promise of a marionette show at 9 am. But knowing Kinshasa, I remain doubtful about whether these events will actually happen. Patience and flexibility are needed, for certain. But the possible disappointment makes it all seem less worth it. Better to devise our own version of Francophonie...... fête a la maison. And just enjoy the extra day off from school, the quiet, easy to navigate streets and the colorful flags floating in the wind.

Une Conteuse...

It began in the most normal of ways....with a phone call. I wasn't acquainted with the caller, however, and realizing that my number was somehow "out there" in the world of Kinshasa artists was both pleasing and somewhat disconcerting at the same time. I still am not clear exactly how my cell number fell into the hands of the storyteller, marionettist, painter, illustrator, jewelry maker and all around artist who arranged a meeting with me last week. But so it was one afternoon I found myself welcoming S.Konde, conteur, into my classroom.

He had come to present some slideshows and videos of his work at various programs and schools around Kinshasa in hopes of securing a program at our school. The timing was quite perfect as it landed during the preparations for Congo Week and we soon struck up a deal to offer our students some exposure to wooden beadwork and jewelry making. Just before leaving he asked me if I was a theater person. We'd already discussed my art experiences as a painter and so I mentioned that I was also a dancer. "And what is dance but a performance of stories and expression?" I said. I wasn't sure this totally qualified me as a "theater person" but it seemed like a reasonable response. I have been enjoying offering drama to students as an after school activity and frequently direct my own classes through a variety of performances. But again, this does not qualify me as an actress in any way.  I remained noncommittal.

"I want to present a theater project for you," he told me and promised to send the details. Our next meeting involved me translating for a fellow teacher who wanted to capitalize on his storytelling experience and include it in a project with her 9th graders. As that discussion came to a close, S.Konde presented me with a French book of African tales, some parables and short video clips of other storytellers he had worked with. He told me to choose 2 stories, 1 to be animated and 1 to be told with my accompanying illustrations or paintings.

Apparently he has some performances lined up for December with his theater group and would like me to present with them. He showed me the program, complete with my name followed by the illustrious title of "Conteuse."  Wow.

He has displayed such confidence in my ability (based on what premise I've yet to discover) that I am left feeling flattered and challenged all at once. Of course, I must rise to his expectations. But am I really a storyteller? Of the griot quality? It is not a theatrical performance conducted with the support of a troupe, as I expected, but 20-30 minutes of me holding the stage on my own, a vision that has never once filled my head as a possibility. I keep hearing him remark how he would like to profit from my moment in Kinshasa and work together. And I wonder if I might not like to profit from this moment as well and experience an entirely new form of presentation.

What else to do but seize the moment and follow this path down an unexpected road of entertaining, educating and expressing using, as a medium, pieces of myth and legend and history to awaken consciousness and inspire youth? Perhaps a storyteller will be born.....