For the exiled

The news is abound with stories of elections. I have noticed when it comes to Africa, there always seems to be an election story- elections about to happen, currently happening, refusing to happen. Elections contested, disputed, heroically accepted. Elections are about more than the leading face of the country. They're about power, democratic stability and the will of the people. And Western will, of course. For all the US blubbering about potential Russian influence in the elections, it would seem the general public is unaware of how much meddling America does in foreign politics, especially African ones. 

Bamako seems to be doing just fine after her first round (though perhaps the same cannot be said for regions outside the capital.) In the city, the rain appears to be a greater inconvenience than election unrest. I tried to get a shot of the motorcycle rain-rider style but figured it was a better idea to keep my eyes on the road. Motorcyclists have a million variations of rain gear- from actual jackets and hoods cinched tight under the chin to garbage bags with convenient holes, but by far the most interesting observation is the riding posture used to navigate puddles. While I wasn't able to snap a photo of the knees-pulled-in-feet-resting-on-the-gas-tank maneuver I had been admiring, Kylie did capture this expressive series of shots that starts out with reluctant surprise and ends with a carefree glance back at the next brave travelers.

Are we doing this?

Yeah, I think we're doing this.

Your turn, cowboys!

When it comes to African elections, there rarely seems to be a carefree look - back or ahead. DRC's election woes have been dragging out for nearly 2 years and there is not a clear end in sight. The drama continues to deepen as players such as Jean-Pierre Bemba and Moise Katumbi enter the fray. Katumbi is still trying to get in to DRC to make his candidature official, while JPB's history hardly seems presidential.

Though the drama plays out in the news with something of a tabloid feel (an incredible comeback from convictions of war crimes and crimes against humanity on the one hand and, on the other, a luminary politician-businessman-soccer club owner who was previous chums with the president) there is surely a behind the scenes.

While it is impossible to know how much, if any, of the feud was orchestrated (did Kabila and Katumbi drum up their row in order to force him into exile only so he can return as champion for the people? Or has he been seduced by high powered friends? Oh, the soap opera-ness of it all...) the current efforts to keep Katumbi out- and all the other exiles out- must be taking an emotional toll.

Exile- a forced or voluntary absence from one's home, typically for political or punitive reasons. Banishment. Showing up at home only to find the door locked. Or even worse, showing up at home only to find big men with guns barring the way- or little men with guns slinking around in the darkness waiting for a vulnerable moment. Despite the uncertainty surrounding the sincerity of Katumbi's effort's to enter the country, there remain plenty of other activists who've been left homeless.

There can be no comparable feeling to being shunned by your own country, your birthplace. The surprise and pain of being labeled an enemy of the state - your own state which you love and have fought for nearly since birth- and the shock of suddenly finding yourself alone and without- it takes a minute to truly comprehend how deep that cuts into the soul. The very fabric of one's being and the basis for an entire identity suddenly, brutally taken away, for an indeterminable amount of time.

The future does not look the same as it once did. Not for those individuals.  Having faith and staying strong depends in large part on one's ability to maintain a close community of support- most often at a distance. If anything, Bemba's 11 year absence and quick return shows us how unexpectedly even the most dire circumstances can shift. There is hope.

There is hope and possibility and entire communities rooting for you. We support you. We stand behind you. We remember you and we continue to seek justice.

The next post...or ...All the little I can do

It's that season. Despite nearly 10 years in Africa, this remains the season where I lose track of time. I guess I am still waiting for the cold of winter to set in. I have to keep reminding myself what time of year it is, and that the new year is approaching. I  always have a sense that I will miss it. Being on vacation from school only adds to my timelessness.

Contract season is also about this time for the international teaching world. It has passed seamlessly for once. I've secured a new post for next year in enough time to return my "intent to return" as a negative, comfortable in the knowledge of a new post for next year. We are going to Mali.

Mali has been on my list since I began teaching in Africa so I am extremely excited to be able to accept. Top it off with the fact that I've already worked with the director and can be assured that our educational philosophies are a good match. It feels like so many positives coming together for a prosperous new adventure.

In the meantime, I still have 6 months or so left to get through here in Abidjan. I begin to wonder what I can do, or should do, to expand my experiences here. I don't have a fuzzy warm feeling of the country though I sense it is more to do with the moments in my life than the country itself- perhaps.

I want to take advantage of the remaining time to see more, do more, understand more, but I also sense that if I couldn't make it happen in 2 years of living here, it's not likely to happen in the next 6 months either.

It's also the season for elections.....in Congo. Although the outgoing president never organized any elections. The people have decided to uphold their constitution and so we wait- tomorrow being the deadline- to see how the citizens take hold. It's sure to be intense and my thoughts remain concentrated there, in a country I have grown to love and support, despite my distance.

#telema The government has called for a cut in all social media and phone connections. I am confounded by the public-ness of this. The letters are posted and the news is out. People are preparing to be cut off from the outside world. Activists have been kidnapped and the military is in the streets. More is coming. As much as I believe Kabila will see that the revolution is not virtual, but real, and the media blackout will not change events- I wonder. What if the providers simply refused? Where is that one strong, convicted mind that will simply continue business as usual?

And how will we get notice of what is happening?  I am having faith there is a plan for this but I have no inside knowledge this time around. I am far from events, a mere witness. So I rest in prayer, in positive energy, in sending strength and courage for the newest of posts- the interim government that must take place when all else falls apart.

And I do not doubt that many will pay, have already paid and are paying now with the supreme sacrifice. And my heart is there too. All the little I can do from where I am.

Election Season

Some places have hurricane season, others have tornado season. Here in Africa we have election season. It's not all that different. Disaster preparedness. I've been trying to stock up on essentials like food and water. A propane shortage in the neighborhood reminded me I should get an extra tank of that as well. A rare power outage last night reminded me I need candles. And lighters.

Nabih and I spent our time in the dark, hot night making a list of other things we might have forgotten to add to our list. Mohamed was at a birthday party and when I called to check in he asked to sleep over. He ended the conversation by assuring me if there were any "election problems" I should call him immediately and he would come over to save us. Sweet man-boy that he is. I accepted his offer but let him know I was pretty certain we would be fine.

In general, I think this time the elections will go well. The president is still eligible for another term and it is likely he will win. Posters and billboards of running candidates have begun to pop up all over town but it feels forced- as though they are there just to prove there is actually more than one possibility for a win- even if no one believes it.

Guinea is suffering her own election woes now and Burkina Faso hasn't really solved her problems which began a year ago. No matter which country, the story seems to read the same. Will the elections be free and fair?  Has the opposition party united enough to present a real challenge to the incumbent and will the people accept the results? The questions are always the same. The answers appear dismally similar as well. The articles read like a madcap MadLibs- change the country names and photo captions and potential candidates to those from the country of your choice. The rest of the facts remain. African presidents don't want to leave, African people live in economic distress and aren't sure who to trust and the elections are met with suspicion, false hope and ultimately, anger and frustration.

The small words on the street offer conflicting accounts, as far as I can gather. It is in keeping with all things Ivorian. The country seems so equally divided on all matters that there appears to be no real majority. Of course, I am an outsider with very little insight. Half the taxi drivers and phone credit men believe Ouattara is doing a great job and is the only one who can continue his work. The streets are a mess of construction and destruction in case there is any doubt he is doing his job. (Cinq chantiers anyone?)

On the other hand, there are plenty of university students and taxi drivers (it always comes down to the taxi drivers, doesn't it? The heart of any good economy, the ones with their finger on the pulse of the country...) who think the president has had his turn and enough is enough. They are not awed by the propoganda and they don't like certain restrictions being laid out- they want a free chance and a fair chance for change.

At times the expectations seem too high to possibly be met. There is too much need in general and it is unlikely any candidate can promise real improvement. In the meantime, the country waits in anticipation. Foreigners make plans for vacations or other conveniently timed trips that will take them out of the country for those weeks. Locals stock up on provisions and try to prepare for the inevitable.

In a conversation this morning, we were talking about a family that was leaving. "For the war?" someone said, an inadvertant slip of the tongue. She meant to say elections. Somehow these two ideas have become synonymous, despite the signs appearing to promote a different reality. Elections are not violent, they read. And We work toegther in our diifferences to unite as a country.

The question no longer seems to be if something will happen but for how long. There are sure to be unsatisified citizens. By now, the entire world has come to equate burning tires and rock throwing with protest. Not in just in Africa but everywhere. Anywhere. Baltimore, for example.

With these images in mind, I've taken to wondering about my neighbors as I make any of several trips through the neighborhood out to the big road. My neighbors see me every day. I am a stranger among them, some friendlier than others but in the end a stranger. And I wonder how much it would take for them to turn against each other. To turn against me.

It's all unpredictable and could just as easily pass without complication. I don't spend too much time dwelling on possibilities. You can't live peacefully in Africa if you do. So, I am taking this extended weekend to stock up and prepare for a few days stuck in my house. Or a week, or a month. And after that....well, hopefully election season will drift out on the ocean currents and we'll be left to navigate the next season. (It's not apple season, which I was waxing nostalgic about in the grocery store this morning. I guess the next season would be holiday season- or the dry season- or, a bit further out on the horizon but coming nonetheless, harmattan season.....) There's always a season to look forward to.

Silent Night

It's 2 am in Congo and for the first time ever I have been awakened by silence. Even the bullfrogs are quiet. Since moving to upper campus, I have found my evenings marred by loud, rumbling trucks as they pass at all hours. Less interruptive is the call of the taxi buses, singing out their destinations as they pass. Sirens also make an odd appearance in the cacophony of late night sounds, and I usually remind myself that there aren't many Western style ambulances or police cars (where are those sirens coming from?) Apparently I have gotten used to all this, as we humans are wont to do, and this early am it seems the absolute quiet has driven me from slumber.

It's election night in DRC and not a sound can be heard. I could almost be back in upstate New York with only the crickets to serenade me in these wee hours. The late night revelers have vanished, the overly loud music unplugged, the drummers retired indoors. But I know all are not sleeping. Somewhere, people are planning, configuring, and conspiring. Maybe they're counting too.

After weeks of speculation, I was surprised to hear a friend express hope for the results. "The time to speak was long ago," I argued, "when they were passing the law of one round." I can't imagine the results being anything other than favorable for the incumbent. It has always seemed the anticipation is not for the results but the response. How will the Congolese react to what must be a certain, if not altogether accurate, declaration? It seems impossible to know the true will of the people with elections passing this way. But it must come as the first step in achieving change.

Congolese voters search for their names before voting

Voting can be a powerful, empowering process. But it can also lead to intense emotional frustration. I spoke to some Congolese who, on the eve of election, still hadn't decided who they were planning to support. As I spent the day washing dishes in buckets and wondering how long our water reserves would hold out, I found it hard to imagine how anyone could be in favor of the status quo. But expectations are different here, life experience is different and people vote along passionate lines.

Of course, with no candidate debating or discussing of prominent issues and potential solutions, it may be hard to cast a vote inspired by anything more than passion. And blind belief.

Queue outside a polling station in Kin