In search of ghosts

There are always a million reasons why I haven't written -most to do with logistics, ie  my magnetic interference with all things electronic- but it is also the continued disenchantment with this city (through no fault of her own, perhaps.) I feel a need to add that last part because I know plenty of people fall in love with Abidjan- and a friend of mine wrote me these words, which probably have a ring of truth to them. "All countries are fabulous, it's just the heart perspective from where we're experiencing it."

And the heart perspective these last 3 years has been a little traumatized. I think I have needed a lot more nurturing and immersion than I can find here. Phil, the infamous camel drawing, blogger, traveler and restaurant owner, shares his thoughts about learning a language here. Granted, the post is a few years old, but it reminded me of all that I loved about learning Lingala. I completely agree that "if you  can understand how a language operates you are learning more than a means of communication, you are learning about a culture."

Not having a language to learn has thrown me off a bit, although truly the contracted French here really qualifies as it's own language. A stop in the Kinshasa embassy filled my ears with Lingala and made me realize once again how much I miss the sounds of African languages. So, before I get started with my Bambara studies, I am off to reconnect with my Lingala.

Preparing to return to Congo is an exercise in itself. A friend suggested perhaps I am searching down ghosts and it is more than possible he is right. But I have made several appointments with strong women, hopefully to inspire and motivate me. Maybe even kill off those ghosts altogether.

I've acquired a list of little bits of nothing intended to give a picture of life here (taxi drivers who pick you up with one destination agreed upon, only to change their mind half- way through and drop you off at a random location, without charge, but less convenient for finding new transport; a supremely congested traffic jam reminiscent of Kinshasa lock ups; the way a neighborhood street will fill up with tents for a wedding or birthday, and a soccer field transformed into a nighttime cafe) but none of these inspire a real story.

My experiences here have been tainted with the overwhelming amount of time I spend working. While understanding the French elite has opened a new perspective, it is not exactly the one I've been longing for.

So I am off in search of ghosts and whatever remnants of myself I left behind in Congo before embarking on another adventure- new language, new customs and new dance rhythms to learn.

** I've just come across this phenomenon of Japanese forest bathing. I've long recognized living in the jungle was a huge part of my seduction to Kinshasa. I have a deep love and attachment to trees, Instead of chasing ghosts, I will imagine a soul soothing forest bath.

Some images from around town:

Traveling preacher- a little morning church on your doorstep 

Piles of bones- tree slaughter continues

These great musicians played at our arts fest-I'm pretty sure
that's the music manifesting itself 

The weaver let me try his "bike." Even
though my mind repeated the steps, my
feet didn't always pay attention. 

How many years does it take to get lightning
quick like him?

The tents go up, the road closes. Celebration underway

I love this tree at the dance studio
It's like she's wearing her own
costume

My neighbor and I had a discussion about
whether tables at night on the soccer pitch
was ridiculous or entrepreneurial...
A few days later the addition of a small tv
 (rabbit ears style) seemed to give some merit
to her ridiculous vote. 

More of the balafonists...it was great to play
with them. Looking forward to more lessons
in my new spot 

Definitely gonna miss my favorite pottery teacher
and his wry grin whenever the pots get too "artistic"