I find myself in this predicament quite often. I can't seem to relate to the foreigners I am living and working amongst. We seem to have such opposing views of how to function in someone else's country. (Though I harbour the fantasy of living abroad long enough to feel I have adopted and been adopted by a country, I've yet to find the place and invest the years...I accept my status as temporary visitor/drifter.) Though it may be a tie that binds, too often it appears to be the only strand. It all becomes clear in the perspective.
Our ideas ranged from charitable to condescending to downright misinformed. I felt it was inherently wrong sitting in a room filled with a majority of white women trying to plan a Congo week to celebrate and appreciate a culture which most of the participants seemed to know nothing about. Perhaps the problem began because we'd failed to define 'culture.' I wanted desperately to move past food and clothing. I wanted to delve into something positive and beautiful and authentic.
We were stuck discussing nature walks and bird calls. While I tried to see the geographical value in this, I sulked like a petulant child. All I could see was a disappointing walk through the woods slapping mosquitoes and searching for hidden birds among dense treetops. No binoculars, no bird call references (I had no doubt we would hear birds....) We kicked around ideas about making some sweet potato snack and getting clothes made for the kids to dress up in. I wanted something dynamic, daring and most of all, something that might actually introduce the children to a new perspective of the culture they weave in and out of on a daily basis. I wanted something eye opening. Awe inspiring.
As the women discussed the traditional pagnes for the girls (complete with head wrap? here?) and cloth print "pajama style" (did someone really describe it that way?!) outfits for the boys, I was becoming discouraged. I hardly ever see men in African cloth here and women tend to favor straightened hair or the traditional standing braids over head wraps. Were we trying to present Congolese culture or an archtypal image of African culture? Because I had just spent three weeks in Guinea (complete with complicated folds of fabric twisting and turning from the heads of Guinean women and the flowing, regal cloth draped in traditional style for Muslim men) I was distinctly aware of the differences. Kinshasa has a very strong Parisian influence that has molded the image on the street.
The US embassy releases a weekly newsletter..The Congo Bongo...and, coincidently, the most recent edition featured a story about the Sapeurs..a subculture of young men infatuated with fashion, style and finding the right suit. The article included a brief, though fairly fascinating, history of the movement which began in the 1950's. Since it seemed inevitable that a dress up area would be included, I was hoping to at least infuse some fashion and style. (While I admit that I haven't really seen too many men dressed in such outlandish costume, one is more likely to see a suit than African print cloth.)
In many ways, I understood the difficulty. I, too, had spent my intial months here searching for my image of Congo. I've since concluded that it simply doesn't exist. Congo has evolved under its own distinct set of circumstances and influences. It has morphed and merged its traditional beliefs with an influx of Euro-Christian ideas and practices. The result is something uniquely Congolese. It can be heard in the music, seen in the videos and felt in the nightlife. Caught up in the excitement of my newfound acceptance, I wanted others to embrace these same ideas. I wanted to present a Congo to the students that was modern, bright, interesting and intelligent. A culture that could be valued and learned from. As we battered around ideas about giving rides in a taxi bus around the central campus circle, I felt like we were miles away from anything close to sharing a culture. It felt more like a zoo.
We were stuck on aspects of daily life that didn't really reflect culture but rather circumstances of being. It seems a stretch to say Congolesse value their cramped buses and the scarcity with which they are available. They don't enjoy fighting for a seat any more than you or I would and certainly everyone would prefer orderly, clean city buses or carpooling with a neighbor. We were stuck pointing out differences in class rather than celebrating the precious messages parents pass on to their children about being part of a family, respecting their elders and caring for siblings.
I managed to get these ideas tossed into the conversation and we briefly entertained some kind of experiential room where children would try out being in a large family with responsibilites and rules. They might move from station to station completing chores, sharing meals, and greeting elders.
Of course, the taxi bus ride presented a more immediate thrill and had the added value of reflecting Western sensationalism and oversimplification.
