driving blind

Upon reflection, motorcycles serve as an excellent metaphor for the situation in Kinshasa, in particular, the motorcycle I took this evening. 

In general, it's best to avoid motorcycles in Kin- which is completely opposite of how I feel about motorcycles in Muanda- a post coming on this visit- and a place that has me feeling like I want to learn to ride, much like Kankan, where all the Guinean women drive. 

Tonight I found myself outside with an impending storm. I'd met a friend to talk about grand visions and big actions. Rain plus the curfew did not seem like a winning combination. As I walked toward the exit, I noticed a crowd of young boys gathering around a small red truck that passed. Gathering is a passive word. They were crowding, pushing, overtaking, and yelling. It was somewhat of an alarming scene to be heading into. Chaos, essentially. Fueled by a lot of emotion and desperation. 

What are the questions that run through your mind when confronting such a situation? Well, my first, futile, thought was the two different friends I'd left behind. One had been about to walk with me in search of transport, the other had offered me a ride home directly if I was willing to wait a bit. And this is why. The exit area of this particular venue has always been bad but it seems like the youth outside have grown up, grown stronger and increased in number. I also had time to ask myself if I was really going to walk into that and scope out my route. But just then a moto went by, and I'd been considering a moto as the quickest way to get home and avoid the rain. But not necessarily a smart move. Motos are fast, no helmets, no adherence to traffic rules. 

On the other hand, at this moment, a moto was looking like my savior. With a quick signal he pulled into the parking area, allowing me to remain a relatively safe distance while discussing the price- a haphazard affair in my current situation- facing rain, a gang of street boys and no other real options. As we pulled out, one of the boys approached..."Mama..."

I had only moments to reflect on this- the price in francs seems so unreasonable until I convert it to dollars. It was $2 to escape a potentially dangerous situation and find a fast ride home. Worthwhile. Or was it?

It began to sprinkle huge fat drops. The mass of traffic expanded three lanes and many taxi bus and motos chose the 'alternate route.' Despite putting up a concrete divide down the middle of the road, which aimed at preventing the infamous 5 and 6 lanes of traffic, many still opted to take their chances on the opposite side of the road- all the more dangerous now because once you've crossed over, there's no turning back until the next break in the divider. The moto driver took the chance. He'd become concerned about his phone getting wet and seemed to be rushing, but then, they're always rushing. The drivers of public transport in Kinshasa seem to be the only ones ever in a hurry. As much as I wasn't pleased with speeding down the wrong side of the road on a dark Kinshasa night, I found it preferable to being stuck in traffic. 

Until he removed his glasses. Although the rain wasn't really what I would consider rain, it was enough to cloud his glasses. I kept saying my "oh-la-la's" in his ear, which is probably not helpful at all. It is one of the problems I encounter on the bike. I have chosen to be there, but then I stress the whole way, making comments on every close- or even not-so-close call. 

I was busy thinking about how bad my own eyesight is and how close to death I probably was- riding upstream with a blind driver. And he was going fast. Too fast. I experienced a sense of that vertigo that comes from looking over the edge of a tall building. The impulsive imagination of falling. 

All of that is Kinshasa life. Recognizing the corruption, mostly vowing not to take part but then circumstance pressuring one to become complicit, and feeling slightly off kilter the entire way- while praying you arrive in one piece without getting too wet. Which I did. This time. But doesn't each time minimize our chances for escaping unscathed the next time? Topic of several conversations this week which have kept me intrigued and hopeful for the immediate future. 

America's game of catch up

America is trailing behind. We know it; we've known it. But I wonder if Americans really understand just how far behind they are. Here is the US gov. message sent out to all embassies. It's coming out as new and urgent information.

But here's the thing: requiring a negative covid test has been essential for travelers arriving in Africa since last September, a full 5 months ago. You cannot leave or enter an airport without a negative test result. It was a mandated part of opening airports again. 

At the end of the US notice, there are a few lines about those who live in countries where adequate testing is not available....which is the most ironic part of the whole message because it sounds like inadequate testing has been a problem of the US since the beginning. Across Africa, testing has been available on an on-demand basis, not just for those with symptoms or by prescription from a doctor. In some places, testing is free. Results are generally available within hours or 1-2 days at most, unlike the US which has struggled to get results out between 3-5 days. 

I understand there is a new government in place- congratulations to Americans on the ground. I hope it brings new policies, new attitudes and a new awareness of how America can learn from other countries and not just dictate condescending policies or rearrange foreign governments to suit their needs. (There was an informative and comprehensive list on twitter...which I cannot find again. Perhaps you saw it?)

I realize that is a lot to ask of a new administration. It is likely that, for the most part, day to day life will not change much. But hopefully a new message emanating from the Oval Office will inspire personal change, which is really where it all needs to begin anyway. 

___________________________________________________________________________________

Health Alert - Department of State – Bureau of Consular Affairs (January 15, 2021)     

      

Location: Worldwide – The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) Director has signed an order requiring all airline passengers traveling to the United States, including U.S. citizens and Lawful Permanent Residents (LPRs), to provide proof of a negative COVID-19 viral test or recovery from COVID-19.      

    

Event:  Effective January 26, all airline passengers to the United States ages two years and older must provide either a negative COVID-19 viral test taken within three calendar days of travel or provide a positive test result and documentation from a licensed health care provider or public health official of having recovered from COVID-19 in the 90 days preceding travel.  Passengers must also attest, under penalty of law, to having received a negative qualifying test result or to recovery from COVID-19 and medical clearance to travel.       

     

See the CDC Proof of Negative Test Result page to view the order, complete the attestation, and to see FAQ’s.       

     

Airlines must deny boarding to passengers who do not meet these requirements.       

     

U.S. citizens in countries where adequate COVID-19 testing is not available or may not be able to satisfy the requirements, should depart immediately or prepare to be unable to return to the United States until such time as they can meet the requirements.        

On community

Community, belonging, loss and resilience- Kinshasa- the community I feel most at home in- has all of those things. Living here, I move among different worlds through multiple layers and each one contributes something to my sense of belonging. Sometimes it is a confirmation of who I have become, sometimes it is a confirmation of the parts of me I have left behind, the me I am not. any longer. Most often, it is confirmation of the me I have crafted and nurtured and allowed to bloom. Communities do that- they tell us who we are, who we are not, and who we want to become. They mirror our faults, embrace our flaws and welcome us in as we are. They give us a chance to grow. 

 Kinshasa is a physical place. I know her curves and turns, her backroads and short cuts, her dark narrow paths and her wide -open boulevards. Kinshasa streets are overflowing with movement and people, with vibrant energy that is nearly visible. I sway with the rhythms of mechanical noise: horns- whistles- the rev of engines and the banging on metal rooftops signaling to drivers that the taxi bus has filled up and needs to move out. I am seduced by the sounds of neighborhood destinations sung into the crowds : Victoire, Victoire, Boulevard, GDC-Sola, Sola, Zando. I move my feet to the click clack of the shoe shine boys announcing their presence and the cling clang of scissors on machines as ambulant tailors search for a hem to sew or a rip to repair right there on the spot in a city street where a young man will kneel down and paint my toenails with the care of a mother I never had here in Kinshasa everyone calls me auntie, mama, eeh mama! Kinshasa where everyone is related especially if you have a dollar or a franc to spare, to share, because in this community what’s yours is mine and mine is yours and yet, we’re all connected but somehow,  not.  Because in this city, belonging means being part of the crumpled masses, struggling to survive to stand up to be seen, belonging is tucked in the crevices of loss and grief and frustration. 

In Kinshasa, belonging means sharing but the kind of sharing that moves beyond freely giving and into barely holding on while others take, pulling, pushing, shoving, fighting to have what I have what you need what we both want or don’t want or can’t find but we know it’s here because the masses are closing in on us crushing down to take that small thing we are trying to protect. We’re so distracted by this small thing we forget the big things, the real things, the children in the streets who are watching, repeating, pushing, shoving, defiantly standing in front of cars who have no space to go around because living in the city means one next to one next to one next to one… sharing the spills, the smells, the suffocating embrace of a neighbor whose come to give story to their troubles and offer a piece of the little bit of nothing in their pocket. 

 Kinshasa is lux, extreme VIP, diamonds, gold and minerals shining in the night sky like a star twinkling just out of reach so you grab whatever is close and you wring its neck before it has a chance to turn on you and admit that without that sparkling, shiny bit of bird’s nest treasure you’re really just one of the masses nothing special education on a fancy paper printed out at the cyber café on the corner whose walls are crumbling cement cracks running across the ceiling if you look up there is always someone waiting there to take your place and so you hold on and pay out dollars you don’t really have to dress better and drive faster than the masses you are stealing from.

Kinshasa is self- hate and group love, trying to find pride in a people who are not sure where they’ve come from but have a definite vision of where they want to go. Kinshasa is speaking a language that’s not your own and living another voice inside where you keep it dark and hidden because you don’t want to pass it on to your children but those children in the street are making their own language when they got cast aside and thrown away because the people of God proclaim there is no God but spirits working their evil in the youth and the family is a sacred construct but only if you have a dollar or some francs to share to build their business of preaching the word whose roots lie in the destruction of culture and the erasure of  an  entire  community 

 

    of people whose bond is deeper than language, deeper than the terrain they share, the forests, lakes, the little slice of ocean, it’s a people whose loss and trauma cuts deeper than the wounds of generations upon generations bleeding into the soil that’s been ripped open and gouged out to prop up the kingdoms and institutions of art and culture and knowledge on foreign ground where people lock themselves in offices and houses and separate little fiefdoms, hoarding their material wealth as if it had meaning, looking down on the survivors of those they’ve slaughtered with contempt and disgust in order to mask the responsibility they share for the murder and destruction of the original spirit of community 

Kinshasa is resilience, never willing to give up or let go but showing up every day, women raising their voices, youth who will not accept a future that has no place for them and together they rise above a past that’s born them into poverty, despair and loss turning these struggles into strengths, giving their time, their energy and their voice to call out and re-claim the riches of this land as rightfully their community,