Dancing & Diving

At first glance, my two topics don't seem to have much in common. The events and even the main characters of each story are as different as I am from the citizens of my host country. But after some reflection, I've come to see the similarities between the two situations.

The first involves a concert at my favorite place, L'Halle de Gombe. They guys were psyched about seeing one of their favorite Guineen reggae stars. Elie Kamano was singing along with a Congolese singer- well, they shared the stage and at this point I can't really recall them singing a song together, but they did trade off the spotlight to each other. The music was quite lively from Elie and he had a clear message. Revolution. Apparently Elie is also know as "the general" and he made some jokes about out ranking his father, a bona-fide member of the Guineen military. But the jokes came later, in more private circumstances. On stage, he sang beautifully about the need for African consciousness and action. He said things many Congolese would be scared to say in public. In fact, while the audience clapped and screamed appreciation, very few were moved to dance.

Ousmane couldn't contain himself and made his way to the stage area within minutes. He was clearly caught up in reminiscence for his home country and over the top about hearing his language bursting from the speakers. He lost himself in wild dance movements and enthusiastic air guitar (complete with empty plastic soda bottle reminding me of the time we went to see Staff Bindi Billi.) Souleymane joined him within minutes also lost in his own reverie. Both of them were clearly in tune with the singer's message and punctuated each verse with a raised, pumping fist. Viva la revolution.

Kazadi couldn't resist joining his brothers up front for some all out dance expression, but he made sure to keep his back to the cameras. After the first few songs he moved his show off to the side and even to the back by the bleachers. "Too much filming," he told me as he continued to sway and sing and shout out encouragement. He also expressed disappointment in the lyrics by the woman singer. Apparently her message was shrouded in vague questions and disguised as a love song. "What kind of message is that?" His eyes filled with dismay.  Later discussion revealed even more facts. No Congolese could actually get away with singing those words in public, and in fact, Elie has had a bit of a hard time singing those words in his own country. It seemed pure poetry to me to have him here singing on behalf of the Congolese and only fitting that other Africans would travel to Conakry to express what they could not on their own land. I was reminded of this story where

"Young people in the eastern city of Goma took to the streets after popular folk musician Fabrice Mumpfiritsa was kidnapped after he refused to sing songs supporting Kabila. He was found three days later, legs and eyes bound and so badly beaten he had to be hospitalized."

 Ousmane and Kazadi spent a lot of backstage time with the group and eventually Elie and his crew were invited to our house for dinner the next night. I admired Elie for his persistence and dedication in spreading his message to other African countries (apparently DRC was one of 17 African countries on his tour) but remained caught in the idea of the power behind art. And the struggles of the Congolese to such an extent that they refused to dance.

I came to see it as desperation. Which is the connection to my next story of the diving boys. It may have been on our way to the concert or another trip altogether (there have been several occurrences) when we first encountered the diving boys. They have replaced my little guys that used to sit along the median that divides the boulevard. I still recognize two of them, and they do know me. They are the two that hold their arms out trying to keep the others at a "polite" distance from the car as they ask for money.

"Mama American," they always begin while trying to hold off the pack. It's not an easy task but they do seem to have some control. Just as they seem to realize I am more likely to give over a few francs when I feel like it is my own decision and not by cohersion.  Of course, there are often too many to hand out to individually and I am usually left imploring them to share. If they could find a way to live on the streets together, it would result in so much more. But that's a deep philosophy for kids who are just living minute by minute. They've developed a better tactic.

Diving in front of the car. The strategy is to crouch low in front of the wheel or even right in the middle of the car so the driver is unsure if it is safe to move forward. Cars behind don't really care for this strategy and begin honking, shouting and driving around. It definitely puts a damper on the giving spirit. But it is a sign of the level of their desperation. And so it is I came to conclude that the silent, sitting Congolese out for an evening on the town to listen to some reggae were not actually so far removed from the street kids of Kinshasa willing to do anything to gain a little bit of nothing.

Elie at our house

Looking for the white lady

"I have lost the road. I turned by the bakery, but now I am not sure exactly which turn off I should take." I was talking to Mama Annette, whom I'd never met in person and trying to find out how to get to the center for boys just outside of Bandal. She said she would send some of the kids to find me. I had already traveled a considerable way down the road and wondered if I had gone too far.

"But how will they know me?" I queried, still not quite solid in my belief that everything always works out (no matter how many times it does, there remains a lingering doubt.)
"Well, first, you're white." Did something in my voice give me away? I took a quick glance around the dusty dirt road and confirmed that I was, in fact, the only white person in sight.

"I am in a blue car," I said just in case some other mondele showed up in the meantime. I turned the car around and headed back towards the bakery. Then I turned around again and waited by the side of the road for some strange kids to find me. After a few minutes, I spotted them running towards me, waving their hands with smiles exploding from their faces. Did I really think somehow we would miss each other?

They happily jumped in the car and we set off in search of the center a block away. I've begun an art therapy program for the ORPER centers in Kinshasa. There are six houses, with one dedicated to serving girls, one for the youngest boys and the other four for the older boys. One day a week we draw and color and paint. On Sundays we play games and build with legos.

The boys were full of energy and eager to begin. They drew with concentration and careful thought. Mama Annette told me several of the boys had just arrived in the last day or so and were still getting used to routines. The care and nurturing here was evident. She began by asking them all to make sure their noses were clean which I found amusing and considerate all at the same time.

  We began by designing their names. Some of the boys needed help writing and I did my best to try and spell some of the more unique names. I'm at their mercy. One little boy told me his name was Dieu (God) and so, thinking perhaps Dieudonne (God given), which is a common name in Kinshasa, I went ahead and wrote it on his paper. With some discussion we eventually added Mbaya. Dieu Mbaya. Pierrence and Moshubaye were some other names I sounded out.

Each boy presented his picture and explained some of the items he'd chosen to add. There were lots of flags of Congo, "Angola" (they said this but the flags didn't show the colors of Angola)  and a green, yellow and black flag that I couldn't quite discern the significance of. There were houses and cars and snakes. One boy showed the story of how he had run away from his parents. After each presentation, the boys clapped and whooped for each other. Pride and happiness filled the room. I couldn't keep the smile from my own face even as the energy took a bit of a chaotic turn.

Our next project was to work in teams and draw random lines with a black marker. Then the boys spent time using crayons to fill in the spaces they had created. It is fascinating to watch how the different teams organize themselves. Inevitably there is a team that ends up with clearly divided areas. There are teams that work together to coordinate colors and teams that just randomly fill in wherever and however they wish. Each group came up with a name for their design and presented it to the group. Mama Annette asked them to explain why they had chosen a particular name and it turned almost into a school lesson. They said things like, "Banana because they are filled with vitamins and vitamins are important."or  "Okapi, it is the pride of Congo." and " Ferme because when you don't have enough to eat, your stomach is closed." Profound thoughts from 7 and 8 year olds.

There are several challenges when going to the centers, one of which is figuring out how to work with the educators. My two experiences have been incredibly positive and the women have helped to translate for me, teach me a few words and maintain order.

On Sundays, the "auxillary" staff are present. They are not the trained workers but fill ins so the regular staff can have a day of rest. They may let the routines slide a bit and be a little less involved in doling out morale and encouraging good behavior. But in general, I felt like the kids were lucky to be in such a positive place.

I couldn't help comparing them to the girls at the center I had visited the week before. The girls were calmer, appeared more tired and worn out. They are at a day center and this may be part of the reason. While there are sleeping quarters, the girls can come and go. There was a greater range of ages and on my first visit, I was introduced to the president, vice president and secretary. They did the same activities but with shyness and less exuberant energy. Their drawings were full of food (pineapples and fish) and the pestle and mortar used for grinding. They talked about preparing food and listening to the radio. Some of them talked about fashion. They all seemed to name their group pictures after countries (carte de Amerique, carte de Congo, carte de Angola, etc.)

The second day at their center, we built with legos and pattern blocks. They learned how to play Jenga and Connect Four. They had a lot of questions about my hair- most of the younger girls appear boy like because thier hair is so short. One girl sported some beads just in the front-"Rhianna," she told me, after the famous pop star.) They offered to fix me up and I sadly had to tell them that the dreds don't actually come out. The courtyard is not covered and we were in the sun for much of the time. They alternated between sleeping and building lazily. I watched one young girl who appeared to be mentally retarded do most of the work washing cups and dishes. I really wanted to call her over and tell her to play but wasn't quite ready to over rule established routines. This was quite different from Mama Annette who told me about one of the boys that seemed a little slow in speaking, but now she noticed he was quite intelligent with the art we were doing. She also remarked about how  coordination in some of the children could be improved and I felt like I had a good supporter in her.

The program involves me rotating around to all of the six centers - which means it will be a long time before I get back to the girls. I had such a good time talking with those girls and laughing together I thought I wanted to insist on staying at just one place. Then I met the boys today and we had a different kind of fun. So I see, maybe the rotation is good for awhile. All the kids can benefit from making art and playing games with the white lady, Mama Soumah. And I am learning more Lingala and how to have my own real exploding smile.