There's a new cinema coming to Kinshasa, or so the billboards around town seem to be announcing. Something like a drive-in, though without the car. "Everyone outside," the announcement demands. "Come enjoy the movies in the fresh air." Sounds like another good move for Kinshasa (and whoever is funding the business.)
It's another kind of outdoor calling that has me perplexed though. Apparently a new plan is in place for dealing with the Kuluna- Kinshasa's notorious machete wielding street gang that terrorizes whomever they want, stealing money, wares and killing randomly. It has become such a problem that residents of some neighborhoods are afraid to go out after 11pm or before 5 am. For some workers, this makes getting to their jobs on time difficult. Women who collect bread at several of the city's bakery outlets usually like to get there around 3 am. The decision between making a living and remaining safe has become a daily struggle.
The reaction from many locals is positive. Everyone seems to have a story of witnessing, just passing or knowing someone who has been murdered or victimized by the gangs. They take on a legendary status. A woman pregnant with twins, slashed across the neck, her babies cut out. Another woman seen by someone on the way to a friend's house....her corpse visible on the roadside upon the return. Kids menaced, shopkeepers looted, women selling fruits and vegetable losing their daily profits. The solution seems to be justice- or judgement- immediately. Anyone found in the act of a crime is immediately killed. In front of everyone -in order to send the proper message.
Saturday night we visited a place we like to go often, have a drink and watch the people coming and going. This particular evening, things seems so much more lively and full. People were everywhere. "You see," one of the men at the table said, waving his arm across the populated street front. "People are no longer afraid. They've been liberated."
Hmmm. Because of my presence, discussion ensued about the "justice" of it all. I worked hard not to be misinterpreted. I worked hard to try understand their perspective. "It's the African system," they said, referring to violence and force needed to bring about change. "If parents don't bring up their children right or can no longer control them, someone needs to do something. This is right. This is good." They felt it without a doubt.
I wasn't necessarily agreeing or disagreeing with the method, but posed several questions. What if it was your child who was in the wrong place at the wrong time..somehow mistakenly getting included in the Kuluna gang? What if it was you? Tempers rise and anger is rarely a clear lens with which to remember what you've seen. What if the victim was somehow mistaken for being an accomplice?
But mostly, I tried to bring up the underlying causes. My real reaction was not about the current plan, but how to prevent more kuluna from springing up. What drives someone to become that kind of person in the first place? I was thinking of basic human needs and the purposes of government- two topics we are currently studying in my classes. The government does have a responsibility to create livable conditions for its citizens. Or so I believe. And I argued that it is the absence of these conditions- water, electricity, food, education, a viable future- that leads to desperation. Which is what drives people to commit such acts. Or so I theorized.
Not to be confused with making excuses. Merely pointing out the need for the government to attack the problem on many different levels. In order to prevent a resurgence, or a morphing, it seems vital that basic human needs be addressed. And I remain stumped by the people's pleasure at such extreme measures all the while never recognizing how it came to be in the first place. Who allowed the gangs to grow to such proportions and hold such power?
There's no easy answer. "Beaucoup de securitie maintent," as one man put it- lots of security- at night- surely is a step in the right direction. There are many who would argue that out and out murder solves the problem of taxing a crumbling prison system. This article, from February 2013, reveals a lot about the various perspectives- governments, police, kuluna themselves. Adding to the complexities is the number of politicians and businessmen who employed the kuluna for their services as body guards and protectors during the elections. The police who find it difficult to give chase on foot and in the hot Kinshasa sun and a justice system which doesn't keep them in jail for long. This disturbing, shaky video captures rival gangs in a rain battle.
Kinshasa is not the only city to grapple with gangs. The US has a fairly entrenched gang system in place, both in the prisons and on the streets. Solutions are long and costly. They require investment, knowledge, support of the people. And alternatives. This paper outlines a number of strategies tried in programs across the US. And there is infinite material available on the web discussing causes, preventions, reactions, and responsibilities of the actors involved (families, communities, schools, police, etc.)
This interesting quote "A gang is only as strong as a community allows it to be" comes from this site by Mike Carlie. It brings to light the importance of considering all aspects involved and looking at the changing face of society. In America.
It stands to reason each country would need to examine their own underlying causes and moral influences. Family and community play an important role in demanding programs and assistance for the problems developing in their neighborhoods. I don't have those kinds of connections...that would alert me to the actions of communities. Have they united and raised their voices as one? Have they called on the government to take action and save their children? Where do they turn for safety and security? How do they make their concerns heard?
There are so many levels to this need- education being at the base I think. Knowing that there are solutions other than direct murder. Knowing that there needs to be additional research, support, programs, and options. DRC is a huge country. Dealing with war and violence in the east seems to overtake the focus, leaving problems like those in Kinsahsa's quarters left hanging. I'm not sure how many, if any, NGO's or other development programs have a branch aimed at reducing gang violence. My initial search turned up only this link from the US Embassy referring to the eastern region of the country. Other searches refer to centers for street kids. Equally important in their urgency, but neither really addressing the unique problem of gangs.
30.11.13
22.11.13
Pepsi vs. Coke
I've been working with my assistant for about 5 years. We have that close and sometimes not so close relationship that is easy to have with Congolese. Sometimes I have a hard time knowing where I stand with him. What does he think of me? While it could be argued that it doesn't so much matter as long as we can work together well, it is something I wonder. I often present startling information about his country, and I want to be sure I am doing it with respect. I try to check in with him often.
When his wife was pregnant with their fourth child- and I didn't find out until after she'd given birth- I felt kind of .....estranged. What?! You never told me you were expecting?! I found out when asking him about plans for the December vacation. A kind of nonchalant, well I'm going to be spending time with my new baby.
On the other hand, we've shared some intimate details about growing up and what life was/is like for Congolese. He often gives me that, very indirect, feedback about my teaching style and the experiences I've planned for the students (like the time the President's wife came to our production of Minerals in the Congo and I just had to get his advice on what how she might have interpreted it.)
This afternoon we were talking about the huge number of kids who hadn't prepared their homework. Since I've been teaching just literacy and social studies to 4th and 5th graders, I can compare how they do for the their math/science teacher- a male, with a completely different approach. Apparently more successful in getting homework completed. It led to a discussion about his being able to witness a variety of teaching styles and how beneficial it could be. I had a similar experience when I was teaching in Florida as a pull out/push in special education teacher. I got to spend some time in a variety of classrooms with different age levels and teaching styles. I wondered if he found it as interesting as I did. Here's what he said:
"When I was young I dreamed of a class where I could express myself and share my ideas. I had to wait all this time until I came here. I finally found it. "
He went on to say, "It's kind of like Pepsi and Coke. When Pepsi came around, I really liked it. I preferred it in fact. But Coke prevailed. I think there were a lot of people who liked Pepsi, but ....it goes that way sometimes. And then you don't really appreciate it until it is gone. Or until you have grown."
So, I guess I am Pepsi. A bit easier on the taste buds but just not strong enough to stake my claim. It suits me. If I have to drink soda, I prefer Pepsi too. Another lesson in that around-the-way talk that seems to say so much more than my American directness.
When his wife was pregnant with their fourth child- and I didn't find out until after she'd given birth- I felt kind of .....estranged. What?! You never told me you were expecting?! I found out when asking him about plans for the December vacation. A kind of nonchalant, well I'm going to be spending time with my new baby.
On the other hand, we've shared some intimate details about growing up and what life was/is like for Congolese. He often gives me that, very indirect, feedback about my teaching style and the experiences I've planned for the students (like the time the President's wife came to our production of Minerals in the Congo and I just had to get his advice on what how she might have interpreted it.)
This afternoon we were talking about the huge number of kids who hadn't prepared their homework. Since I've been teaching just literacy and social studies to 4th and 5th graders, I can compare how they do for the their math/science teacher- a male, with a completely different approach. Apparently more successful in getting homework completed. It led to a discussion about his being able to witness a variety of teaching styles and how beneficial it could be. I had a similar experience when I was teaching in Florida as a pull out/push in special education teacher. I got to spend some time in a variety of classrooms with different age levels and teaching styles. I wondered if he found it as interesting as I did. Here's what he said:
"When I was young I dreamed of a class where I could express myself and share my ideas. I had to wait all this time until I came here. I finally found it. "
He went on to say, "It's kind of like Pepsi and Coke. When Pepsi came around, I really liked it. I preferred it in fact. But Coke prevailed. I think there were a lot of people who liked Pepsi, but ....it goes that way sometimes. And then you don't really appreciate it until it is gone. Or until you have grown."
So, I guess I am Pepsi. A bit easier on the taste buds but just not strong enough to stake my claim. It suits me. If I have to drink soda, I prefer Pepsi too. Another lesson in that around-the-way talk that seems to say so much more than my American directness.
20.11.13
Embracing the unknown
This one has been going around the blogsophere and FB feeds for a bit. Ideas about America from immigrants or visitors that went against everything they were led to believe or had come to expect. Of course, I've been debunking myths for awhile - or so I thought, turns out I can only find this post labeled as a mythbuster- surely there are more buried deep within the context of my writings?
Anyone who has traveled, lived out of their growing up zone or just met people from another place can relate to being confronted with thoughts, actions and ways of being that are startlingly strange and take a bit of getting used to.
Most of my personal experience with this had been vicarious- watching people who come to America struggle with all the newness and battle to incorporate their dreams of how they thought it would be with the realities confronting them.
Six years in Congo and I am still understanding the differences in my perception of how things should be, how they actually are and how both sides can be 'right.' Or rather, how neither side is right, just different.
I can identify with many things on list, as an American who has gone back to visit and been confounded by some of the very same issues. Tests (and grocery shopping) in pajamas, food portion sizes and the availability of cold water- often for free- are just a few of the items of note. The most interesting ones to me have to do with social norms.....greetings, the relationship of children to parents and the parameters of friendship are some of the comments that fascinate me most.
All of these ideas work both ways. I've come to expect that asking for water in a restaurant means paying for an entire bottle of water and not merely receiving a free glass of cool, thirst quenching liquid (and no refills.) I've adjusted to the idea that cash is king here, not there, and I am mostly over my cold American greeting- I can usually manage a cheek kiss or quick embrace. I've learned that, when telling time, being 'in the hour' is acceptable (an event that begins at 8 can occur anytime within the hour of 8 up to and including 8:59 and still not be considered late) and I am even getting used to talking my way around a subject, rather than plowing right through it- though this is considerably harder to remember.
My favorite from the list, though, is #8 from Brian Couch and his Nigerian friend. On the issue of interpersonal relationships he writes:
‘Ade, where are we going?’”
I love the way this story paints such a clear example of loyalty. While not asking questions in the doctor's office, or coming up short with details on how a conversation at the embassy went is often frustrating and screams a lack of organization and thoroughness to me, there are plenty of times when you just want unwavering support- no questions, no doubts just trust that your judgement and need are enough. The answer to your "I need you" is merely, "Ok, I'm with you" and all the rest can be sorted out later.
I thought about this one a lot. Because surely there are many who could argue they have this kind of relationship with a friend or family member. They think they would offer middle-of-the-night support and guidance. And I'm sure they would. But in every example I could imagine, in every scene portrayed by the movies and media, there is always that, "Wait, can't you just tell me what's going on?" or " I just don't understand why you're acting this way" moment when the main character loses precious time because his or her sidekick won't just come on and move but demands to know why.
I think it boils down to patience, which is something I often find myself sorely short of. I want understanding and clarity. Now. I don't want myths or trust in the grand plan to guide me. I don't want to rely on faith alone but look for concrete science to back me up. I want to analyze all points and make a sound decision.
But mostly, I want a friend that would rise without question at two am and follow me into the jungle or across the city. If I want a friend like that, then I need to be a friend like that. So I'm learning to embrace the unknown, to have unwavering confidence in others based on qualities about them I know to be true, and just a little bit of faith that my way isn't always the 'right' way. It's not even necessarily about the way but who you're with.
Anyone who has traveled, lived out of their growing up zone or just met people from another place can relate to being confronted with thoughts, actions and ways of being that are startlingly strange and take a bit of getting used to.
Most of my personal experience with this had been vicarious- watching people who come to America struggle with all the newness and battle to incorporate their dreams of how they thought it would be with the realities confronting them.
Six years in Congo and I am still understanding the differences in my perception of how things should be, how they actually are and how both sides can be 'right.' Or rather, how neither side is right, just different.
I can identify with many things on list, as an American who has gone back to visit and been confounded by some of the very same issues. Tests (and grocery shopping) in pajamas, food portion sizes and the availability of cold water- often for free- are just a few of the items of note. The most interesting ones to me have to do with social norms.....greetings, the relationship of children to parents and the parameters of friendship are some of the comments that fascinate me most.
All of these ideas work both ways. I've come to expect that asking for water in a restaurant means paying for an entire bottle of water and not merely receiving a free glass of cool, thirst quenching liquid (and no refills.) I've adjusted to the idea that cash is king here, not there, and I am mostly over my cold American greeting- I can usually manage a cheek kiss or quick embrace. I've learned that, when telling time, being 'in the hour' is acceptable (an event that begins at 8 can occur anytime within the hour of 8 up to and including 8:59 and still not be considered late) and I am even getting used to talking my way around a subject, rather than plowing right through it- though this is considerably harder to remember.
My favorite from the list, though, is #8 from Brian Couch and his Nigerian friend. On the issue of interpersonal relationships he writes:
I do remember a Nigerian friend expounding on this by asking me, “If I woke you up in the middle of the night and asked you to come with me, what would you say?”
“I’d ask what was going on…”“You see,” he said. “My friends from my village would come with me, and on the way would ask,
‘Ade, where are we going?’”
I love the way this story paints such a clear example of loyalty. While not asking questions in the doctor's office, or coming up short with details on how a conversation at the embassy went is often frustrating and screams a lack of organization and thoroughness to me, there are plenty of times when you just want unwavering support- no questions, no doubts just trust that your judgement and need are enough. The answer to your "I need you" is merely, "Ok, I'm with you" and all the rest can be sorted out later.
I thought about this one a lot. Because surely there are many who could argue they have this kind of relationship with a friend or family member. They think they would offer middle-of-the-night support and guidance. And I'm sure they would. But in every example I could imagine, in every scene portrayed by the movies and media, there is always that, "Wait, can't you just tell me what's going on?" or " I just don't understand why you're acting this way" moment when the main character loses precious time because his or her sidekick won't just come on and move but demands to know why.
I think it boils down to patience, which is something I often find myself sorely short of. I want understanding and clarity. Now. I don't want myths or trust in the grand plan to guide me. I don't want to rely on faith alone but look for concrete science to back me up. I want to analyze all points and make a sound decision.
But mostly, I want a friend that would rise without question at two am and follow me into the jungle or across the city. If I want a friend like that, then I need to be a friend like that. So I'm learning to embrace the unknown, to have unwavering confidence in others based on qualities about them I know to be true, and just a little bit of faith that my way isn't always the 'right' way. It's not even necessarily about the way but who you're with.
Wrapping my head around it
After-contract season (practically a season unto itself) is kind of like a post-Christmas apocalypse. Those who've won new contracts are giddy with the possibilities and promise that a new job brings and those who have decided to re-sign are looking forward to another year- a kind of staying in your jammies all Sunday and getting organized around the house feeling. Everyone is standing around admiring their presents and basking in the glow of higher salaries, settling in bonuses, and whatever perks they've managed to get added to their new contracts.
And for those who've decided to move on? We're busy making those plans for the future become reality. Some people are moving back home- wherever it might be- and are busy with the details of securing a house, car, job, and reuniting with friends and family. Other people are finding the perfect words to complete graduate or doctorate applications and awaiting word from the school of their choice. There are those who have decided to leave the teaching position and are busy assembling resumes to reflect other talents and skills. The rest, like me, are deep in the search for another international job.
The search starts off with the most ideal location (francophone Africa) and then must broaden (Africa) until finally encompassing only the most general criteria (a job.) The process is a bit challenging for me. Although I'd already considered all the worst case scenarios and prepared myself to accept them, it's a bit harder in practice. Even moving from the most ideal location- francophone Africa- to the second favorite- anywhere in Africa as long as we're still on the continent- requires an effort. I think it is due to the fact that, unlike many international teachers, I'm not really in it for the travel aspect. I'm just looking for a comfortable place to raise the boys and get involved in the culture and dance and music. For me, that means West Africa.
Of course, you can't help but hope for improvements. Better transportation, cleaner streets, more entertainment options for the weekends. You hope for school improvements, too- not necessarily a better school, but just better in the way it fits you. One teacher I know was specifically looking forward to finding a place where logic rules- and maybe some fresh strawberries. Me? I'm hoping for more integration between the local community and the school. Of course, some critical thinking skills are always welcome.
Maybe it's just been that kind of week or maybe it's the moon but I'm still trying to wrap my mind around what I found this morning:
And for those who've decided to move on? We're busy making those plans for the future become reality. Some people are moving back home- wherever it might be- and are busy with the details of securing a house, car, job, and reuniting with friends and family. Other people are finding the perfect words to complete graduate or doctorate applications and awaiting word from the school of their choice. There are those who have decided to leave the teaching position and are busy assembling resumes to reflect other talents and skills. The rest, like me, are deep in the search for another international job.
The search starts off with the most ideal location (francophone Africa) and then must broaden (Africa) until finally encompassing only the most general criteria (a job.) The process is a bit challenging for me. Although I'd already considered all the worst case scenarios and prepared myself to accept them, it's a bit harder in practice. Even moving from the most ideal location- francophone Africa- to the second favorite- anywhere in Africa as long as we're still on the continent- requires an effort. I think it is due to the fact that, unlike many international teachers, I'm not really in it for the travel aspect. I'm just looking for a comfortable place to raise the boys and get involved in the culture and dance and music. For me, that means West Africa.
Of course, you can't help but hope for improvements. Better transportation, cleaner streets, more entertainment options for the weekends. You hope for school improvements, too- not necessarily a better school, but just better in the way it fits you. One teacher I know was specifically looking forward to finding a place where logic rules- and maybe some fresh strawberries. Me? I'm hoping for more integration between the local community and the school. Of course, some critical thinking skills are always welcome.
Maybe it's just been that kind of week or maybe it's the moon but I'm still trying to wrap my mind around what I found this morning:
 |
| The unfortunate example I showed in which a student had doodled all over the cover |
 |
| Can't imagine how long it took to draw lines around all the tape- Didn't anticipate pointing out the doodles weren't necessary. It does make for an artistic effect, though. It's all in the perspective |
10.11.13
the name game
My last post, coupled with report card season, have gotten me thinking about the life of an art teacher- or music teacher, PE teacher or even a secondary teacher I suppose- any one who sees something like 120 kids or more a week. Here are a sample of the name similarities I have this year:
Just similar enough to make you stutter
Noelle/Noella , Marie Claire and Lily Claire, Emmy and Emma, Michael and Micah, Rayn and Aryan (and Ayana,) Gabby and Abby, and finally Joe, Joel and Aurele.
Fun sibling names include Yubin and Subin, Chidike and Chadee.
Those silent letter names
Sanjeevani (pronounced San-jee-vee)
Jeanne (pronounced Jane)
Long M at the end....
Siam and Noam
And just for fun
Ruby, Jules and Julia
It does make me wonder what cosmic bag we reach into when choosing names for our children. These families come from countries across the world and yet, here we are, encircled by such similar sounding monikers.
Just similar enough to make you stutter
Noelle/Noella , Marie Claire and Lily Claire, Emmy and Emma, Michael and Micah, Rayn and Aryan (and Ayana,) Gabby and Abby, and finally Joe, Joel and Aurele.
Fun sibling names include Yubin and Subin, Chidike and Chadee.
Those silent letter names
Sanjeevani (pronounced San-jee-vee)
Jeanne (pronounced Jane)
Long M at the end....
Siam and Noam
And just for fun
Ruby, Jules and Julia
It does make me wonder what cosmic bag we reach into when choosing names for our children. These families come from countries across the world and yet, here we are, encircled by such similar sounding monikers.
8.11.13
Series 3 and Busting Myth #17
The universe has been sending me wisdom lately, as a friend most recently observed. People I don't know have come up to me and shared thoughts that completely hit home. (Postcards from the edge series three I suppose.) A series 2 postcard fell into my lap again today, a message 'just to say happy Friday and I like you and respect you greatly. (Again, roughly translated form the French.)
Unsolicited as it might be, I am trying to take the view point that maybe this is a message I need to hear. I have done some good here and affected people in positive ways. Bewildering perhaps, but nice to know.
My series 3 postcard involved a young woman who introduced herself to me at a dance class and then proceeded to say she had arrived from Ivory Coast and left her job because she didn't feel she was making as much of an impact as she wanted and she was searching for motivation and inspiration again. Yup. Wisdom from the universe.
But, although these social transaction might lead to me believe all Africans are poetic and use language at a level us Americans might never arrive at (yes, even I have been accused of being "too direct") that's not the myth I am here to break.
Myth # 17- All Africans have weird names. As a teacher, I am handed a list of student names every September. Teachers around the globe can agree that often it is the most daunting list you might receive. There are names on there that don't easily identify the gender of the student, or even worse, hint at a gender only to be completely misleading. There are names that aren't pronounceable- or at least don't appear so at first glance- we all usually get it by the about the second week or so. And there are names that you think you know, until you find out half the letters are 'silent.'
Since coming to an international school, I have been given lists with some fabulous names on them. South African names, Dutch names and plenty, plenty of completely recognizable names. This year I have two Emmanuels, two Zafirs, a Saifan and a Zayaan. There is an Ophelia and an Ophelie. A Sofia and a Sophie. (Maybe you can see why I am having a little trouble keeping everyone straight this year. They're not all in the same class but that doesn't really help.)
Most names in Congo (post Mobutu I suppose) are Christian names. Plenty of Josephs and Christians, there are Bens, Daniels and John Pauls (or John Pierres or just plain Johns.) For the women, Vero, Vera, Veronique, Evelyne, Antoinette, Elizabeth. Of course, Congolese have incredibly long names (I have counted 5 or 6, though admittedly most hoover around 4) and it can sometimes be hard to tell which name is preferred. It seems to depend on the situation and the audience.
My most famous (infamous?) name blunder has to do with Kazadi, whom I first met as Fred. I simply could not believe his name was Fred (he doesn't look like a Frederic) and so I asked him what his mom would call him. Perhaps something got lost in the translation (this all occurred in one of our first conversations) and he told me "Kazadi," his last name. After moving to Kinshasa, he adopted the name (of course, I introduced him to everyone that way and so I am not sure how willful an adoption it really was.) He is always ready to laugh and say I changed his name- so perhaps it wasn't a terrible thing.
But when I look back, I see my ignorance. Not only didn't he look like a Fred, I just couldn't believe, at that time, that a mom in the wilds of Africa would name her baby Fred. So much for being open minded and worldly.
I've grown a lot in the last 6 years however- or so I like to think. But then I saw this painting at my aforementioned friend's house and had to snap a photo. Just to prove to you? myself? that all Africans don't have weird names.
Unsolicited as it might be, I am trying to take the view point that maybe this is a message I need to hear. I have done some good here and affected people in positive ways. Bewildering perhaps, but nice to know.
My series 3 postcard involved a young woman who introduced herself to me at a dance class and then proceeded to say she had arrived from Ivory Coast and left her job because she didn't feel she was making as much of an impact as she wanted and she was searching for motivation and inspiration again. Yup. Wisdom from the universe.
But, although these social transaction might lead to me believe all Africans are poetic and use language at a level us Americans might never arrive at (yes, even I have been accused of being "too direct") that's not the myth I am here to break.
Myth # 17- All Africans have weird names. As a teacher, I am handed a list of student names every September. Teachers around the globe can agree that often it is the most daunting list you might receive. There are names on there that don't easily identify the gender of the student, or even worse, hint at a gender only to be completely misleading. There are names that aren't pronounceable- or at least don't appear so at first glance- we all usually get it by the about the second week or so. And there are names that you think you know, until you find out half the letters are 'silent.'
Since coming to an international school, I have been given lists with some fabulous names on them. South African names, Dutch names and plenty, plenty of completely recognizable names. This year I have two Emmanuels, two Zafirs, a Saifan and a Zayaan. There is an Ophelia and an Ophelie. A Sofia and a Sophie. (Maybe you can see why I am having a little trouble keeping everyone straight this year. They're not all in the same class but that doesn't really help.)
Most names in Congo (post Mobutu I suppose) are Christian names. Plenty of Josephs and Christians, there are Bens, Daniels and John Pauls (or John Pierres or just plain Johns.) For the women, Vero, Vera, Veronique, Evelyne, Antoinette, Elizabeth. Of course, Congolese have incredibly long names (I have counted 5 or 6, though admittedly most hoover around 4) and it can sometimes be hard to tell which name is preferred. It seems to depend on the situation and the audience.
My most famous (infamous?) name blunder has to do with Kazadi, whom I first met as Fred. I simply could not believe his name was Fred (he doesn't look like a Frederic) and so I asked him what his mom would call him. Perhaps something got lost in the translation (this all occurred in one of our first conversations) and he told me "Kazadi," his last name. After moving to Kinshasa, he adopted the name (of course, I introduced him to everyone that way and so I am not sure how willful an adoption it really was.) He is always ready to laugh and say I changed his name- so perhaps it wasn't a terrible thing.
But when I look back, I see my ignorance. Not only didn't he look like a Fred, I just couldn't believe, at that time, that a mom in the wilds of Africa would name her baby Fred. So much for being open minded and worldly.
I've grown a lot in the last 6 years however- or so I like to think. But then I saw this painting at my aforementioned friend's house and had to snap a photo. Just to prove to you? myself? that all Africans don't have weird names.
7.11.13
Postcards from the edge
I 've had series of rather bizarre messages....it's a continuing series actually, hence the post. Every time it happens, I consider writing, put it out of my mind and then, inevitably, a few days or weeks later I get another message. One of the major criteria for a blog post is a recurring idea that just won't go away....and so here are a few examples of postcards (or texts and emails) I've received from the edge.....
The first series come form a distance, although technology has ensured that no one is really as far away as we might think. After years of not hearing from certain people in my life, I suddenly find an email or, even worse an instant message, that just begins. It begins as if we had recently been having a conversation- one I somehow missed the start of. There is no greeting, no "hey how are you? It's been awhile..." The sender jumps right into the topic of the message without any of the common social niceties one might normally expect. Or maybe I have been in Africa too long and I want people to ask about my health, my job, my family all before stating their business. I regret to add the small detail that in a few of these instances the sender is someone who might be mistaken for a family member...or at least we used to consider ourselves that way once upon a time. I guess technically (legally? in one case) we are still related. But after years and years of no contact, after raising children that don't even know their name, it seems odd to call them family. And so the messages appear to have arrived from space, from some time long forgotten and impossibly resurrected. Who did you say you were again? I'm not even sure they signed their name. Perhaps it was a case of error in reception. Maybe the messages weren't even meant for me after all.
The second series come from people I have met more recently, though time has certainly passed. These are messages from "the continent." It is possible I could run into these people in the grocery store, though I haven't. The communication is based on brief encounters, momentary shared experiences or having mutual friends. What makes them odd, and completely in contrast to series one postcards, is their intensity. I receive love poems in the form of text messages and sweet wishes for a goodnight and happy dreams from people I barely know. It borders on creepy but maintains a sense of sincerity. Sort of. I understand the concept of wanting to keep contacts open and networking, though admittedly these message cross the boundaries of business or casual relations. Here is an example of a recent text from someone I have never responded to - a tactic I thought spoke clearly enough for itself.
(Loosely translated from the French) If nature gave me the power to disappear, I would disappear from where I am and reappear where you are to whisper softly in your ear hello.
Sweet and poetic though uninvited. Perhaps it is time for me to send a postcard from the edge of my own.
The first series come form a distance, although technology has ensured that no one is really as far away as we might think. After years of not hearing from certain people in my life, I suddenly find an email or, even worse an instant message, that just begins. It begins as if we had recently been having a conversation- one I somehow missed the start of. There is no greeting, no "hey how are you? It's been awhile..." The sender jumps right into the topic of the message without any of the common social niceties one might normally expect. Or maybe I have been in Africa too long and I want people to ask about my health, my job, my family all before stating their business. I regret to add the small detail that in a few of these instances the sender is someone who might be mistaken for a family member...or at least we used to consider ourselves that way once upon a time. I guess technically (legally? in one case) we are still related. But after years and years of no contact, after raising children that don't even know their name, it seems odd to call them family. And so the messages appear to have arrived from space, from some time long forgotten and impossibly resurrected. Who did you say you were again? I'm not even sure they signed their name. Perhaps it was a case of error in reception. Maybe the messages weren't even meant for me after all.
The second series come from people I have met more recently, though time has certainly passed. These are messages from "the continent." It is possible I could run into these people in the grocery store, though I haven't. The communication is based on brief encounters, momentary shared experiences or having mutual friends. What makes them odd, and completely in contrast to series one postcards, is their intensity. I receive love poems in the form of text messages and sweet wishes for a goodnight and happy dreams from people I barely know. It borders on creepy but maintains a sense of sincerity. Sort of. I understand the concept of wanting to keep contacts open and networking, though admittedly these message cross the boundaries of business or casual relations. Here is an example of a recent text from someone I have never responded to - a tactic I thought spoke clearly enough for itself.
(Loosely translated from the French) If nature gave me the power to disappear, I would disappear from where I am and reappear where you are to whisper softly in your ear hello.
Sweet and poetic though uninvited. Perhaps it is time for me to send a postcard from the edge of my own.
Mexico....
A place more wild than Congo?
I am not sure how this article makes it into the magazine section of the BBC, though there is nothing the actual definition of magazine to suggest the articles would be less important or less factual than those of a newspaper....but it just seems that way. Magazines are not the stuff of serious readers.
So I wasn't sure how to take this article about the facebook beheadings. I hadn't heard anything about it and found the article to be a bit incredulous. Until I realized that it really isn't much different than the things that go on here. Criminals operating with impunity. Even everyday people seem to be able to do pretty much what they want without fear of consequence, especially if you have some cash to throw around.
It does make me ponder the question of whether violent video clips such as this should be banned. Apparently that was the issue that brought Facebook under fire. A huge part of me thinks, if this woman really was beheaded and no one claimed to know her or reported her missing or searched for help, retribution or justice of any kind.....than that is a much bigger problem. And people need to know. What better way to spread information than social media? Of course, the other huge part of me thinks we don't necessarily need the violent video to get the message out about the severity of crime and the ease of escaping punishment in Mexico.
Reality speaks loudest however and the reality is violence is one method of getting people's attention. But is it enough to motivate people to rise to action?
I can't watch the video,I'm not interested. Reading the article was enough, though it seemed to ask all the wrong questions and give none of the right answers. "Who was the woman?" A beginning, I suppose. But what is really happening in Mexico? And what can be done to change things.....?
I am not sure how this article makes it into the magazine section of the BBC, though there is nothing the actual definition of magazine to suggest the articles would be less important or less factual than those of a newspaper....but it just seems that way. Magazines are not the stuff of serious readers.
So I wasn't sure how to take this article about the facebook beheadings. I hadn't heard anything about it and found the article to be a bit incredulous. Until I realized that it really isn't much different than the things that go on here. Criminals operating with impunity. Even everyday people seem to be able to do pretty much what they want without fear of consequence, especially if you have some cash to throw around.
It does make me ponder the question of whether violent video clips such as this should be banned. Apparently that was the issue that brought Facebook under fire. A huge part of me thinks, if this woman really was beheaded and no one claimed to know her or reported her missing or searched for help, retribution or justice of any kind.....than that is a much bigger problem. And people need to know. What better way to spread information than social media? Of course, the other huge part of me thinks we don't necessarily need the violent video to get the message out about the severity of crime and the ease of escaping punishment in Mexico.
Reality speaks loudest however and the reality is violence is one method of getting people's attention. But is it enough to motivate people to rise to action?
I can't watch the video,I'm not interested. Reading the article was enough, though it seemed to ask all the wrong questions and give none of the right answers. "Who was the woman?" A beginning, I suppose. But what is really happening in Mexico? And what can be done to change things.....?
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