The man on the porch

 There's a man who sleeps in front of our door every night. We know him, sort of. His name is Pierre and he is our sentinelle, our guard. I wonder often if we need to have a guard, and everyone assures me we do. Living in Africa as a stranger means you need a guard outside your door. I have had a lot of experiences with sentinelles, from those who stay in a guard house near the gate of the property to those who are further away, guarding the entrance to campus. But this time, we live in a house, without a fence or a gate, and so I guess that is what merits this man sleeping just outside our door.

We have a porch with iron bars around the front. It would be a nice porch for sitting on at night and looking across into the sky. But Pierre's grass mat takes up most of the space. He usually begins by sitting on the ground in front of the porch. It's a comical image, this small thin man sitting on his large square mat with the pink house looming behind him. It doesn't seem possible he could be guarding any part of it. 

Most of the guards I have had experience with are often older men who appear somewhat frail. I am always perplexed about the criteria that has propelled them into the position of guard. Pierre came with the house. He is actually a very good guardian. I hear him getting up every few hours, circling the perimeter, shining his light in all the windows, and checking the doors to make sure they're locked. 

I am a very light sleeper and all of Pierre's movements wake me with the rhythm of a newborn. Every two hours the metal gate creaks. I hear his radio emissions, his coughing, and all of the other sounds of humans. I am sure he hears ours. Pierre never gets a day off. He sleeps outside in the rain and in the cool crisp air of the dry season. I have been wondering how to find a solution for this. Of course, it is to hire another guard so they can share hours. I wonder also about Pierre's family, who say goodbye to him every evening and his wife, who sleeps alone every night. 

We need another guard at work, so those sentinelles can also have a day off. I wanted to suggest Pierre switch over to that job. It pays better than I can pay. But then I would be left with the problem of finding someone to stay at my place, in much closer proximity than I am really comfortable with. 

I was pretty convinced for about two weeks that I didn't need a guard. We have metal bars on every window and metal doors with locks and bolts. I thought I could put a padlock on the gate around the porch and call it good. But then I passed a Twitter photo someone had posted after a break in. Their metal window frames had been ripped from the concrete and were hanging loosely like crepe paper after a Halloween raid. Concrete is nowhere near as solid and strong as I had been led to believe. The thing about having no guard is that, if a band of thieves did show up, there is no one to call. There is no emergency 911 or police response team. I would just be here on my own, waiting it out or worse. 

I'd been joking with a colleague about the problem of guards and she recalled a conversation she had with her guard- something about "if I have to kill someone..." to which she said, ooooh no, we're not going that far. But he had slashed someone's leg one time. An intruder trying to get at....whatever is there. Which is really the problem. There's nothing here to take, but no one would assume that. We'd all be getting hurt for nothing. 

Guards in Mali had the same preoccupation, only it was a bit more severe. Terrorist intrusion is a much more probable event in Bamako than I imagine it is here. Of course, you're only imagining until it is real. Suddenly, the unlikely is happening and either you're prepared or not. 

Here I have heard mostly stories of stealing goats or chickens. We don't have either of those. We do have some electronics, and I suppose those are appealing to a potential thief. I am not opposed to Pierre. I do wish he had a place a bit further than the door. On the rare occasion I have to go somewhere at night, he is quick to question me. Am I really explaining my agenda to a strange man on my porch? Yes, at my age, I must still justify why I would be going out in the dark. 

While Pierre seems prepared to tackle night invaders, I have noticed he doesn't consider children part of his duties. The boys often come peering at the windows, asking to be let in, or trying to convince Mbalia to come talk to them. Like everything in Gemena, sometimes it is easy to laugh off and sometimes it is just downright annoying. 

I've come to accept we will have a person sleeping on our porch every night, at least for now. We can aspire to a guard house, or a fence, or even a new house in an entirely new area with a yard and a wall and guards who keep their distance. But you can never really escape the experience of having people in your space, milling about, noticing things, needing things, shining lights randomly in the night. It's part of life in Africa as a stranger. Even after 15 years, I still fall into that category. Even here in the village, I am still not part of life. 

There is one place where we don't have a guard. One place that feels a bit like home. We miss it. Maybe we'll have a chance to get back there soon. For now, we're managing with the man on the porch. 

Security

Security takes up a big percentage of moving unknowns.  Assessing it, understanding it, trying to get your finger on the pulse of it. Once you figure out where you live, you need to figure out how safe it is. Which can be incredibly difficult when you don't speak the language.

There are several layers to understanding security. It begins with the most personal, the security guards. As an ex-pat hosted by an organization, I am once again under the protection of school provided security. The biggest difference for me this time is that I am no longer living on a glorious spread of jungle rain forest with 30 other houses and an entire school campus. Now I just live in an apartment with one other flat upstairs. It means the security guards are much closer. Outside my kitchen window closer.

I feel watched, rather than protected. There are strange men wandering the periphery of the house at all hours. It's been almost a month and I can at least say they are friendly, but still, I don't know anything about them. Except they are there. Day and night. If I want to leave at any time, it will require disturbing them so I can get out the door. And when I come "home" I must knock, like a visitor. It feels more like their house than mine and I wonder how much time is required to tip the balance. The perpetual guest syndrome.

I don't really understand what kind of security they are providing. They are both on the elderly edge of life, or so it appears.  I admit to thinking them somewhat frail. Or, in the face of terrorists, they would be frail. But then, wouldn't we all?

They are not armed, thankfully. But I am left to wonder how they have prepared and what for. It must be maddening to try and keep a watchful eye day and night- it merges too neatly into routine living.

I see it all around the half built neighborhood we live in. "Security" which really means people living in garages and sitting out front of massive houses, or house shells. They play games on their phones, chat with a neighboring security guard if they are so lucky to have a neighbor, and alternate between sitting inside the border walls alone and catching the few sights of evening foot traffic or goat herders outside.

Our neighborhood doesn't feel insecure or dangerous. But it doesn't necessarily feel safe either. It feels empty and sterile. I guess we have neighbors, but I can't imagine ever meeting them. Friendly is not the first word I would use to describe the few people I've passed in strolls around the neighborhood. The Malians aren't quick to greet me but offer quiet stares that I can't quite read.

In one brusque incident, two men were walking-clearly home dwellers and not home protectors- who overheard my English conversation with a friend. One of the men came up and introduced himself, speaking English and happy to recount his connection to the US. He extended his hand to my (male) friend and completely ignored me. No acknowledgement nod, no quick smile, nothing. I did not exist. Welcome to the neighborhood.

Bamako has that "it's a man's country" feel which isn't exactly comforting for a woman.  Or maybe it's just me. I've been wondering where the sunny, warm Malians are all hiding out and what of the "friendly village atmosphere" everyone talked about. So many people are really enchanted with Bamako, I wonder what I am missing.

Of course, recent attacks around the city have left something of a desolate air (combined with the fact that apparently many restaurants close for vacation during the July-August months.) But comments from business owners are telling. One restaurant/art gallery parent told me that, although the place is well known, even on the international circuit, they've stopped doing openings. "A hundred or more people would be showing up," she said. "So I had to stop that. Now, it's just people coming and going in small groups. Word gets around from friend to friend. Kind of underground."

Most popular gathering places have made security changes. There are plenty of metal detecting wands and new double door entrances- like the bank. I don't really understand how this helps (I get it in the context of a bank-bank robber, but I don't get it in the context of restaurant-terrorist bomber.) You go in the first door which is shut behind you, leaving you enclosed in a small holding space. The second door is then opened and you enter the restaurant or hotel area. Some establishments have tried to add a bit of humor to lighten the mood (cool graffiti guys or little notes on the walls,) but it's a stark reminder of the reality. A night out could quickly turn from festive to fearful.

A few US Embassy representatives came to school to give us an update on the security situation. It was so fascinating I actually took notes. They were very candid, which was a shocking change from my last post, where all the official information from our school sounded vague and incoherent. Incorrect at times, even.

Not so Bamako. The US Embassy reps were straight up real. They told grisly stories of a policeman being chased and set on fire. They explained the phrase  "Article 320" referring to the cost of a liter of gas (300fcfa) and some matches (20fcfa.) People are frustrated. Things get out of control.

They talked about ways to stay in the loop-social media being a prominent source for on the minute info. Whatsapp- suggested for "happy hour groups, attacks, you know, the important things." The security situation was described here as "a dynamic security environment." Things are liable to change any second. There's really no way to predict it and so the best thing to do is be proactive.

Don't go to places with soft security. One new restaurant was noted as having a beautiful glass entrance way- all windows and doors. The only visible security is a guy with beefy arms and tight pants. Better to stick to places that are "hard security targets" with double doors and armed guards.

One of the guys shared his survival pack with us. Things to have on hand at all times. A "Plan of Peril." He related how some of the people at the recent attack in Kangaba (a place students took a field trip to just a week or so before the incident) ran into the bush to hide. Things that came in handy: one of those portable batteries (almost bought one in Paris, but it felt like an impulse buy- now I know it would have been a safety buy.) Nothing more devastating and potentially life threatening than a low-batt signal when trying to call friends to arrange a swift pick up at an alternate rendezvous site.

Other things like a flashlight (for signaling here-I-am help when out in the middle of nowhere and the choppers are searching for you) and a warm, water proof poncho are sort of obviously helpful but not something we generally carry for a night out on the town. Money, of course, in several places, not all grouped together in one spot. And a small first aid assortment. Not just for you, but for others you might find in the field. Mosquito spray too. You might not really understand how fierce mosquitoes can be until you've had to spend an entire night battling them in some swampy undergrowth.

Their frank discussion about the state of things (Malians getting impatient with the French, frustrated with lack of progress on the terrorist front, terrorist possibilities anywhere, anytime- cannot be predicted and cannot be avoided so just always use common sense and proactive awareness skills) came in the first week of getting-to-know-you teacher back to school. It was not entirely new to me, but I was imagining the shock of my colleague who is experiencing his first trip to Africa.

Honestly, I imagine there was a bit of shock from even some of the hardened Africa lovers in the room- and the not so hardened. The most difficult thing about the terrorist attacks is that there is no "why." You cannot protect yourself by not being_____ because it's the very essence of being you that is under attack. You are not them and that is all that matters. It is random and harsh and it cannot be undone.

I have heard of some teachers who just choose not to go out. Ever. No grocery shopping, no pizza lunches, nothing. Inside, all the time. It's a difficult way to live- enshrouded in fear.  But it's real. The topic has already come up in my performance arts class. One group of students put together a powerful piece they imagined would happen at a park or similar public place. One student was sitting in the middle with a mask and 4 others made a circle around him. Some of them were also wearing African masks. Two other students patrolled the area with gun-like props, holding signs saying, "We're not safe," and "Stop terrorism."

I imagined seeing this in a park, as I was strolling with Mbalia, enjoying a sunny care-free day. Yes, it would stop me. I would consider. I would be affected. Security. It's always an issue in Bamako, even when it's not.

How buildings go down...

This disturbing article appeared in my FB feed this morning. Construction is prevalent all over Kinshasa and meant to be a sign of the up-and-coming economy and development.

The problem of course lies within the means of achieving this prosperous goal. The article suggests that faulty materials used in the building may be the cause of the collapse. I am left to wonder who exactly, if anyone, knew about the inferior metal.

Was it the owner of the building, hoping to cut a few corners and save some cash? Was it the construction company themselves, hoping to shave dollars off the cost and pocket the difference? Was it the vendor of the iron bars- knowing the material was not suitable for such construction but selling it anyway?

Other questions abound as well- often I have wondered about the half-built buildings and the people that inhabit them, whether new owners of apartments or squatters who've found a temporary place to stay. It's not a sight I am accustomed to seeing in the US- half- formed buildings already open for business. I'm pretty sure there is some kind of inspection process required at several stages of  construction  and again upon completion.

The rescue team surely had it's work cut out. It was dismaying to read that perhaps witnesses heard the cries of children (or the cries of anyone) that were unable to be found. Watching the building go down, it appeared there was time to get out, though it is not clear if those inside were as aware of the imminent danger as the witnesses outside. (Of course, the video takes place only over 1 minute and with my slow connection, there are several pauses creating distortion in the actual time lapse. Upon reflection, one minute doesn't seem long enough to comprehend the situation and make a decision- or to run down three flights of stairs.)

As I drive through the streets of Kin, I often imagine taking a series of photos of the many buildings in their various stages of completion. The architecture is something to marvel at, with its many styles and inspirations- the one common thread being a flourish of grandeur. Round, arched windows, spiraling staircases, balconies and overhangs, massive guardian gates that reflect the intricate patterns of metalwork.  Like the proverbial book however, architecture cannot be judged by it's cover. It requires discipline, adherence to law and the integrity to follow safety rules despite any consequence to higher costs. All of these challenging qualities to come by in Kin.

Worldwide Caution

I've received my latest update from the United States Department of State Bureau of Consular Affairs. It is a lengthy caution about the risks of traveling as an American citizen. Apparently, many peoples of the world would like to do me in based upon my nationality. I receive many of these emails and texts messages from the American embassy here in Congo as well. They generally restate the fact that travel in and around Congo is dangerous. Some detail particular areas of heavy police presence or recent increase in robberies or other crimes against Westerners in a particular area. I find them akin to the evening news - only relating the very worst parts of life and rarely referring to the many positive aspects that occur more frequently.

For example, police in Kinshasa are the punch line to many a joke (shame-facedly I admit to laughing myself into tears during a recent teacher orientation exercise in which groups role-played traffic in Kin:  police bribes, the infamous "third lane" complete with sirened, presidential motorcade and a dead pedestrian lying admist traffic that barely drove around him were all spotlights of the skits,) but one rarely hears about the danger they put themselves in every day trying to direct the horrendous, complex, fast, disrespectful-of-police-presence traffic. No one commends the excellent job they do diverting 6 lanes of traffic into 1 at the notorious crossroads of the Boulevard and Justice. And I am not sure how often anyone (besides me, who has become quite conscious of fashionware in Kin---always on the look out for sappeaurs and other fancy dressers) notices the incredibly HOT uniforms they wear (LONG sleeved dark blue shirts, long pants, combat type BOOTS...oh! and if they happen to be wearing their 'riot gear' that day---add in knee pads, elbow pads, helmet......) I have gotten good directions from the police in Kinshasa, exchanged friendly banter that had me smiling as I drove away, received assistance to enter into traffic and cross an otherwise impenetrable road....It's not all bad.

But the cautions from the Department of State serve a purpose. One is to cover themselves. I believe they are willing to rescue me from minor dangers and to help evacuate my person, should I need evacuating. And if they can't fulfill these duties (in the event of death or capture) at least they can say I was properly warned. Secondly, these message serve as a reminder to be aware of personal safety at all times.

Personal safety has been on my mind a lot. Just before leaving Kin on my visit to the US I had been feeling especially vulnerable and aware of how trips out didn't seem so spontaneous and free but calculated and worrisome. More specifically, trips in the car....I have generally felt safe on foot.

I've since determined I am in the middle.  People often ask about the safety features when they hear I am living in Congo...or for those wishing to visit or new recruits to school. They wonder---Can you tavel about freely? How far out of the city can you go? What are the security risks?

It is difficult to answer questions like these because safety is a very personal issue. Everyone has a varying degree of risk that they feel comfortable with. It seems fair to say this risk is in constant fluxuation in countries like Congo depending upon recent events, personal experience and access or exposure to the various levels of rumor and gossip around town.

I've assigned myself to the risk group "middle" based on a global evaluation of basic human safety. We're all living with some kind of risk. Crime and hateful humans abound in every pocket of the world. Rural communities will always be "shocked at the heinous crime rocking this town" but they shouldn't be. They've just been living under a veil of complacency and delusion.

In the US, I gave virtually no thought to my personal safety. Some cats banging on the door in the night were the closest I came to feeling threatened. In Congo, I am aware of safety. It is something I consider nearly daily.  The actual feeling of being threatened or in danger has really only occurred once or twice and the danger level was minimal....discomfort at most. Recent stories about Sanam Gul (also Bibi Sanam) a 47 year old widow who was accused of adultery (becoming pregnant) and then shot http://edition.cnn.com/2010/WORLD/asiapcf/08/09/afghanistan.woman.killed/index.html?hpt=T2#fbid=XddCd_mtOSq&wom=false
or the woman from Guerekindo, in Central African Republic, who watched her husband and five children get tied up and taken away http://www.hrw.org/en/news/2010/08/11/cardr-congo-lra-conducts-massive-abduction-campaign have made me realize in many parts of the world, people are living in incomprehensible  states of fear and danger. My small apprehensions seem like grains of sand shaken from a toddler's shoes after a day at the playground. Annoying, bothersome but no great trouble to sweep up. Certainly not life changing.

Of course, the trickiest part of all of this is that shattering moments sneak up on us when we are least expecting them. They remind us that we can be powerless in the hands of others and ultimately in the hands of fate (or destiny, kharma, God's plan, whichever frame we are using to view the our world events.) So many stories from former child soldiers begin with idealic tales of life in the African countryside. They were walking home from school on a normal quiet day or playing with friends at the river when the unthinkable happened. The millions of women raped in the Congo begin their tale with ordinary days working in the garden, boiling water for meal preparation or washing clothes by the stream.

Occasionally, people know they are living in terror. Jonathan Kozol's book Savage Inequalities http://faculty.fordham.edu/kpking/classes/uege5102-pres-and-newmedia/Jonathan-Kozol-Savage-Inequalities-by-D-Beauford.pdf  and others targeting inner city life in the US include stories about children diving onto their living room floors (which are cleared out because all of the furniture has been moved in front of the windows) to avoid stray bullets. Sometimes, this is not enough. Their bodies are found slumped beneath beds or fallen on basketball courts, victims of misplaced hate and violence. These same children live in apartments with unchecked plumbing and unpredicatble electricity or heat. Pockets of disturbing distress exist in all countries, in villages and cities, in homes, on street corners and in temporary (refugee) camps around the world. 

These are the palces I am thinking of as I tell my boys, yes, it's ok to go out and ride your bike around campus. Even as we hail a taxi into town or walk down the hill to the vegetable market, I am aware, I am cautious and I am outraged. Worldwide caution perhaps, but living conditions for many remains unacceptable and inhuman. Where are my messages from the Department of State calling for worldwide action?