Anyone living in a big city knows the dangers are constant. Anyone living in Kinshasa knows exactly what to worry about, which places in the city require extra vigilance and which places are probably best to avoid and when. And of course there are the everyplace worries about car accidents. I think car accidents are the number one cause of death in African cities. If not number one- very high on the list. Drivers are crazy- self-centered and full of the intoxication that comes with suddenly being able to travel faster than the speed of a pedestrian (when not stalled in the tangled threads of traffic created by aforementioned intoxication that is.)
In light of the recent fight across the river, a new concern has popped up on the radar. Not for me but for my guy from Brazza. He's been working at a local school here in Kin for the past 7 or 8 years and people know him well. He's got a solid reputation around town and everyone from high ranking generals to affluent ex-pats call him for dance lessons, wedding preparations or special events. He knows how to light up a dance floor and he's magic with his students. Which inevitably brings a bit of jealousy from those on the fringe.
He's had endless difficulty with the security at the school despite his every effort to create a genial atmosphere (and constant gift giving of shoes, hats and francs.) After a break-in last year, the school turned to police security and that's when most of the confrontations began. However, despite a few dramatic escalations, its always been something he's worked around (installing one of his dancers at the gate to open for students so the police aren't bothered with this menial chore- that happens to actually be their job...) or muddled through (ignoring comments, glances or other affronts in an effort to make his students feel welcome and create a tension free atmosphere.)
Since the Kin-Brazza conflict however, things have reached a new level. Several times last week the comments weren't so harmless and the insults weren't restricted to just a few but instead spread to an angry mob. Chauffeurs and security personnel were caught up together in a band of ethnic hatred. Christian became a target for all the perceived wrongs of his government and countrymen. Threats of violence and death were hurled and repeated with increasing detail. They promised to invite the kaluna and suggested any dark night they could be waiting in the shadows after a class.
It's hard to know when threats are idle or should be taken seriously. I'd hoped to have a conversation about this with him to try and figure out how the next few weeks should go. Did we really have something to worry about or were they just shooting off steam? News stories flashed through my mind and I sensed with horror the ease in which a mob mentality could overrule any personal connections or logical thought an individual might have. Mobs are scary, powerful things. And kaluna need very little to ignite their raging hostilities that simmer constantly just beneath the surface. They harbor a volatile sense of injustice and are ready to act on it for any cause, real or imagined. And a few well placed francs goes a long way.
Before I could gather details and get what I'd hoped was an accurate perception of the danger, I found myself seated at an outdoor table greeting a colonel and his group of military men. The colonel made a point of not getting up when I reached over to shake his hand, a sign of his apparent importance. He was interested in purchasing Christian's car and this meeting was intended to secure the details and arrange a final selling date (which has since come and gone.) While the men waited for cold beers to presented, they engaged in small talk and eventually things got around to the situation at the school.
I felt a small ray of hope to hear these men recognizing that the world of politics should not play out in the hands of the masses- citizens are not their government policies- but that idea was quickly followed with recognition of the general ignorance of the population and the willingness of certain groups of people to get caught up in these kinds of affairs as an excuse for aggression and violence. In short, the colonel advised Christian to stay home. At least for the night classes. No need to risk it. Hearing a colonel suggest retreat kind of put things in a different light. Perhaps it was wise to take the situation seriously. At least for the next few days. After all, the first confrontation had resulted in being accosted by the police and taken as far the 'beach' where the ferry leaves port for Brazza. It would have taken mere minutes to be thrown on a boat or tossed in the river- never to be heard from again. Luckily, he is a gifted talker and somehow managed to get out of that situation. But there's no counting on luck.
Eventually the beers were presented, though warm and were since rejected (wait...what?! rejected beers in Kinshasa??? preposterous! I have never heard of or seen this before- and it is only just now in the writing that little puzzle pieces of suspicion are beginning to fall into place. No beers, no follow through on the deal, hmmmm. Could all those words about the error of politics being played out by the masses have been a polite but insincere front? A mask of the colonels? This is how the seeds of doubt and hatred get spread and continue to grow- in the fertile grounds of suspicion and incomprehension.The ease in which the emotions and sentiments of man can be manipulated is alarming.)
Things do seem to have calmed a bit since then. For caution's sake he had his dancers teach one night class but has since returned to his regular schedule. The lull of routine taking over as the persistence of fear is not one that can be continually sustained.
A residue remains however, that feeling of being trapped in your own skin- proud of who you are but powerless against those who harbor hate for no other reason than the very skin you inhabit. It's the story of human societies in countries all over the world- this flame of hatred both powerful and senseless- based on little more than the chance of birth.
UPDATE: Christian says there are plenty of people in Kin who would refuse a warm beer- including himself. See how easy it is to spread misinformation and undeserved suspicion...?
Showing posts with label prejudice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prejudice. Show all posts
18.5.14
9.5.14
Perils of pregnancy
I hate being a woman. My last, big, terrible secret. I have always hated it. Even way back in elementary school, I knew the female gender was getting the raw end of the deal. Every time. I did not grow up with any strong female role models- or any role models at all for that matter- and so had nothing to contradict my instincts.
When puberty arrived, it only seemed to confirm what I already knew. Inconvenient, embarrassing and expensive. Those 3 words pretty much summed up my experience of "becoming a woman." In my late teens, I remember finding myself in a convenience store in the wee morning hours with a friend. She was picking up some supplies for her friend and we both remarked about the unfairness of it all. Guys didn't have this monthly expense to worry about. We thought maybe the government should even be responsible for picking up the tab. After all, it wasn't our fault we were women.
While that argument seems a little, well, juvenile now, turns out that accessing and affording sanitary pads is a very real crisis for many women in the world. This amazing man made it his own personal quest to find a sanitary solution for his wife and women all over his country, allowing them to continue to provide for their families, gather the daily water from rivers and community wells and miss less days of school. (The Indian government has announced it would hand out pads for the poorest women and girls- guess our idea wasn't so far from reality after all, 25 years later and an ocean away.)
Being a woman- and hating it- has, of course, led to many conflicting emotions throughout my life. I've often admired groups of women friends- how supportive, nurturing and understanding they seem. So strong together. But I have never been a part of a strong circle of women and so I can only watch from a distance and imagine how it is they are together. I have often wondered if I am the only one to hate being trapped in this form. They seem so confident and comfortable, downright smug at times.
Over the years, I've tried to get behind women causes and believe in the power of women. I've tried to tell myself that while being a man appears easier, it doesn't necessarily mean it would be more satisfying. Sometimes the hard thing is the worthwhile thing. Maybe this struggle through womanhood would turn out not to be so bad after all?
It actually appeared there might be some truth to that logic when I became pregnant with my first child. Oh the wonders. The glow. The joy of harboring life within and feeling it grow. I was completely transformed with the birth of my first son. I understood the power of womanhood and the grace of motherhood. Every indignity I had suffered definitely seemed worthwhile for the experience of this prize at the end.
Except it's not really the end. Motherhood is only the beginning. And while there are a billion blogs out there toting the newness and niceness of pregnancy and birth, there are just as many who get down to the real truth about toddlerhood and adolescence. Far too often, the initial glow of new mommies turns into the haggard despair of the infamous juggler- maid, chef, CEO, teacher, nurse, psychologist, chauffeur- and that's just in the "off" hours. So, back to feeling like being a woman isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Well, that might be part of the problem. It is all it's cracked up to be- it just isn't "cracked up" very much. Facts are, women have a bad wrap all over the world. It might be slowly changing in some parts, certain domains, but overall, we women still have to fight to be considered in the realm of men. We have to fight to have our stories told. (I'm trying hard not go off on a tangent here and explode with furious rebellion about all the ways women are put down, let down and kept down. Sticking to this one story....)
With age, I have learned to embrace my gender more and more. I still have occasional (ok, perhaps frequent is a more accurate description) days of bitterness over feeling that men have an unfairly and infinitely easier path to travel, but I spend more time learning to accept myself and my gender with all of its strengths and weaknesses. At 40 and pregnant with a much desired child, I thought perhaps I had conquered that nasty little secret once and for all. I can handle being a woman. And I might even admit to liking it at times.
There are not many other conditions in which people feel so free to invite themselves into your life as pregnancy. Strangers and acquaintances suddenly feel inclined to make comments, offer advice, good wishes or evil eyes, make judgements, reach out to rub baby bumps, and ask any sort of personal questions. It becomes something of a battle field trying to navigate your way through each day (and of course, with raging hormones completely unbalanced and out of control, the battle is usually lost long before it's even begun.)
With 4 months to go, I'm now in the middle of my 3rd major battle. Our upcoming move will hopefully deter any future conflicts. I have every intention of heading into labor and delivery conflict free. My first major battle involved the job hunting.Trying to impress a future employer while simultaneously letting them know you'll need a bit of time off right at the beginning of the contract is a risky move. Virtually impossible. The whole story about timing - well, that's the story of my entire life- but in this case it's long and personal and depressing. Let's just say, sometimes timing isn't the most important aspect to consider. (And I am beginning to realize the universe has it's own ideas about timing, which are often in direct contradiction to human ideals.)
Quite honestly, I began my job search thinking it wouldn't be such a major deal. I have had 4 healthy pregnancies in the past and adapted to suit need. I was able to bring my first child to work with me on occasion and often attended university with my second child. I was able to stay home for about 5 months with my third child and my fourth- well, I was back at work within a few weeks, startling my substitute who hadn't been told to expect me. In each case, I tried to meet the needs of myself, my newborn and whatever work obligations I had. I expect to do no less this time as well.
Turns out employers aren't nearly as flexible or forgiving and they don't want anything to do with a pregnant lady. I spent a lot time trying to figure out if this was prejudiced or not. Unjust or not. I could understand the prospective employers' thought that if the job started on day Y and the applicant wasn't available on day Y then perhaps that wasn't a good fit. Except in one case I was told by the employer that I was a good fit, had several desirable qualities and would bring skills much needed by the school. Until I revealed that I was pregnant. Suddenly, the big picture wasn't so big anymore. Those precious 2 weeks at the beginning of the year eclipsed all other value I might have had over the next two years. And if I were a man expecting a child? I wouldn't even have to bring it up.
My current battle has to do with my fitness routine. I've been kicked out. It's a horribly dejecting feeling. I'm trying not to take it personally or feel too bad about it- but I just end up feeling bitter. And it is personal. Why does someone else get to decide what is good for my body? And since when are adults no longer competent to judge what is or is not in their own best interests? Apparently, it's when they're pregnant. You are no longer your master. From a professional perspective, I suppose my fitness instructor has a right to do what makes her feel comfortable- it is her class. But I am stuck back at that question again. Prejudiced or not? Unjust or not? In this, my 5th pregnancy, I feel I have had some practice listening to my body and heeding it's signals. There have been times when I felt the workout wasn't working....and I've either made adjustments or left class early. But staying in shape is so incredibly important to my mental and physical health I would never consider giving it up altogether. With each of my other children, I danced with abandon. And no one ever asked me to stop.
So, on the eve of the end of one of the hardest years here in Kinshasa, one of the longest, loneliest, battle-fightingest years, I have been kicked out of my exercise group. Another blow to my already fragile ego. Surely I will emerge from this year as Superwoman, stronger and mightier than ever before (unless death grabs me first. Isn't that how the saying goes?) I tell myself I am ready to create my own plan (and stick to it!) but I know I hate exercise for exercise's sake. I hate solitary work outs. I have no inner strength and discipline (this is why I pay good money to listen to bad music and follow someone else's steps that I could do in the privacy of my own home. I need to be cajoled, forced, encouraged, and hand held.) While my exercise group wasn't necessarily a source of support or strength, it was a place filled with people. And movement.
I still have dance. There are at least 3 of those classes a week and I have been working more on the instructing side of dance- which I completely enjoy. But just about now I am feeling in need of that other kind of exercise, the kind I really love to hate. Toning. Lifting. Losing. All the things I never really focused on before because I was too busy feeling the thrill of the dance, the speed of the bike, the sensuality of the step. And I still do that. But I've also begun to worry a bit about the extras that weren't there before. (And can you ever really get thin ankles again anyway?)
Aside from realizing I now need to toughen up my inner discipline and find some way to stick to a routine, mostly I just feel left out. Unwanted. Shut down. Decided over. Once again a woman powerless. Because I am a woman. And someone else has decided it's ok for them to decide what's best for me. Does that ever happen to a man? Because if it does, I really need to hear that story. Maybe 3 of those stories. Right now. Before I go work on my thighs.
When puberty arrived, it only seemed to confirm what I already knew. Inconvenient, embarrassing and expensive. Those 3 words pretty much summed up my experience of "becoming a woman." In my late teens, I remember finding myself in a convenience store in the wee morning hours with a friend. She was picking up some supplies for her friend and we both remarked about the unfairness of it all. Guys didn't have this monthly expense to worry about. We thought maybe the government should even be responsible for picking up the tab. After all, it wasn't our fault we were women.
While that argument seems a little, well, juvenile now, turns out that accessing and affording sanitary pads is a very real crisis for many women in the world. This amazing man made it his own personal quest to find a sanitary solution for his wife and women all over his country, allowing them to continue to provide for their families, gather the daily water from rivers and community wells and miss less days of school. (The Indian government has announced it would hand out pads for the poorest women and girls- guess our idea wasn't so far from reality after all, 25 years later and an ocean away.)
Being a woman- and hating it- has, of course, led to many conflicting emotions throughout my life. I've often admired groups of women friends- how supportive, nurturing and understanding they seem. So strong together. But I have never been a part of a strong circle of women and so I can only watch from a distance and imagine how it is they are together. I have often wondered if I am the only one to hate being trapped in this form. They seem so confident and comfortable, downright smug at times.
Over the years, I've tried to get behind women causes and believe in the power of women. I've tried to tell myself that while being a man appears easier, it doesn't necessarily mean it would be more satisfying. Sometimes the hard thing is the worthwhile thing. Maybe this struggle through womanhood would turn out not to be so bad after all?
It actually appeared there might be some truth to that logic when I became pregnant with my first child. Oh the wonders. The glow. The joy of harboring life within and feeling it grow. I was completely transformed with the birth of my first son. I understood the power of womanhood and the grace of motherhood. Every indignity I had suffered definitely seemed worthwhile for the experience of this prize at the end.
Except it's not really the end. Motherhood is only the beginning. And while there are a billion blogs out there toting the newness and niceness of pregnancy and birth, there are just as many who get down to the real truth about toddlerhood and adolescence. Far too often, the initial glow of new mommies turns into the haggard despair of the infamous juggler- maid, chef, CEO, teacher, nurse, psychologist, chauffeur- and that's just in the "off" hours. So, back to feeling like being a woman isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Well, that might be part of the problem. It is all it's cracked up to be- it just isn't "cracked up" very much. Facts are, women have a bad wrap all over the world. It might be slowly changing in some parts, certain domains, but overall, we women still have to fight to be considered in the realm of men. We have to fight to have our stories told. (I'm trying hard not go off on a tangent here and explode with furious rebellion about all the ways women are put down, let down and kept down. Sticking to this one story....)
With age, I have learned to embrace my gender more and more. I still have occasional (ok, perhaps frequent is a more accurate description) days of bitterness over feeling that men have an unfairly and infinitely easier path to travel, but I spend more time learning to accept myself and my gender with all of its strengths and weaknesses. At 40 and pregnant with a much desired child, I thought perhaps I had conquered that nasty little secret once and for all. I can handle being a woman. And I might even admit to liking it at times.
There are not many other conditions in which people feel so free to invite themselves into your life as pregnancy. Strangers and acquaintances suddenly feel inclined to make comments, offer advice, good wishes or evil eyes, make judgements, reach out to rub baby bumps, and ask any sort of personal questions. It becomes something of a battle field trying to navigate your way through each day (and of course, with raging hormones completely unbalanced and out of control, the battle is usually lost long before it's even begun.)
With 4 months to go, I'm now in the middle of my 3rd major battle. Our upcoming move will hopefully deter any future conflicts. I have every intention of heading into labor and delivery conflict free. My first major battle involved the job hunting.Trying to impress a future employer while simultaneously letting them know you'll need a bit of time off right at the beginning of the contract is a risky move. Virtually impossible. The whole story about timing - well, that's the story of my entire life- but in this case it's long and personal and depressing. Let's just say, sometimes timing isn't the most important aspect to consider. (And I am beginning to realize the universe has it's own ideas about timing, which are often in direct contradiction to human ideals.)
Quite honestly, I began my job search thinking it wouldn't be such a major deal. I have had 4 healthy pregnancies in the past and adapted to suit need. I was able to bring my first child to work with me on occasion and often attended university with my second child. I was able to stay home for about 5 months with my third child and my fourth- well, I was back at work within a few weeks, startling my substitute who hadn't been told to expect me. In each case, I tried to meet the needs of myself, my newborn and whatever work obligations I had. I expect to do no less this time as well.
Turns out employers aren't nearly as flexible or forgiving and they don't want anything to do with a pregnant lady. I spent a lot time trying to figure out if this was prejudiced or not. Unjust or not. I could understand the prospective employers' thought that if the job started on day Y and the applicant wasn't available on day Y then perhaps that wasn't a good fit. Except in one case I was told by the employer that I was a good fit, had several desirable qualities and would bring skills much needed by the school. Until I revealed that I was pregnant. Suddenly, the big picture wasn't so big anymore. Those precious 2 weeks at the beginning of the year eclipsed all other value I might have had over the next two years. And if I were a man expecting a child? I wouldn't even have to bring it up.
My current battle has to do with my fitness routine. I've been kicked out. It's a horribly dejecting feeling. I'm trying not to take it personally or feel too bad about it- but I just end up feeling bitter. And it is personal. Why does someone else get to decide what is good for my body? And since when are adults no longer competent to judge what is or is not in their own best interests? Apparently, it's when they're pregnant. You are no longer your master. From a professional perspective, I suppose my fitness instructor has a right to do what makes her feel comfortable- it is her class. But I am stuck back at that question again. Prejudiced or not? Unjust or not? In this, my 5th pregnancy, I feel I have had some practice listening to my body and heeding it's signals. There have been times when I felt the workout wasn't working....and I've either made adjustments or left class early. But staying in shape is so incredibly important to my mental and physical health I would never consider giving it up altogether. With each of my other children, I danced with abandon. And no one ever asked me to stop.
So, on the eve of the end of one of the hardest years here in Kinshasa, one of the longest, loneliest, battle-fightingest years, I have been kicked out of my exercise group. Another blow to my already fragile ego. Surely I will emerge from this year as Superwoman, stronger and mightier than ever before (unless death grabs me first. Isn't that how the saying goes?) I tell myself I am ready to create my own plan (and stick to it!) but I know I hate exercise for exercise's sake. I hate solitary work outs. I have no inner strength and discipline (this is why I pay good money to listen to bad music and follow someone else's steps that I could do in the privacy of my own home. I need to be cajoled, forced, encouraged, and hand held.) While my exercise group wasn't necessarily a source of support or strength, it was a place filled with people. And movement.
I still have dance. There are at least 3 of those classes a week and I have been working more on the instructing side of dance- which I completely enjoy. But just about now I am feeling in need of that other kind of exercise, the kind I really love to hate. Toning. Lifting. Losing. All the things I never really focused on before because I was too busy feeling the thrill of the dance, the speed of the bike, the sensuality of the step. And I still do that. But I've also begun to worry a bit about the extras that weren't there before. (And can you ever really get thin ankles again anyway?)
Aside from realizing I now need to toughen up my inner discipline and find some way to stick to a routine, mostly I just feel left out. Unwanted. Shut down. Decided over. Once again a woman powerless. Because I am a woman. And someone else has decided it's ok for them to decide what's best for me. Does that ever happen to a man? Because if it does, I really need to hear that story. Maybe 3 of those stories. Right now. Before I go work on my thighs.
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