The City (II)

 

The 10...to...1 countdown begins. Though I'm trying not to count down the days.
Recent Events: I'm finished teaching classes now and will give my students a final test this coming week. I've seen off several friends from America and Norway now; greatly enjoyed getting to know people from around the world here.

Today I headed for a short visit to Goma where the adventures continue. I can't do a whole lot as far as seeing the volcano goes due to insecurity in the area, back in July it was under threat of invasion by the rebel M23 group.The threat has decreased now though and I'm thankful to be able to see it before I go. Though I've been here only 5 hours now, I can already see that it is a stark contrast to Bukavu.

I'll update more in the coming week. But for now here is the second lot of pics from around Bukavu.

The City (I)

Alright so my previous post was initially meant to be merely a short thought aimed at introducing some photos of the city. But I get a little carried away in my metaphorical musings I suppose.
So here now I had better stick to my original intentions and finally provide some
visual confirmation that I have been living in the city of Bukavu. 
This will be one of two or so posts with photos of people, daily life, the nature, cityscape...etc which has made up the place where I chosen to call home for these summer months of 2012.
Here be the first.

A new hotel being built up near the lake.

 Mantis. Took this photo while waiting for the gorilla crew that fateful Sunday morning. 

I had to take ten or more photos before one actually focused on the mantis

thus the fella was getting quite agitated with me being in his face,

hence his butt is sticking in the air.

 Every time I walk the path to or from Orchid Hotel this is my view. 

The outskirts of Bukavu. Communities of IDPs (Internally Displaced Peoples).

Fisherman...obviously. From the day of my canoe ride.

Artist starting a mural for a daycare or school I believe.

 Back alley. I'm told these dirt hills are deadly in the rainy season. Slip'n'slide.

 From La Rosche Hotel. One of my favorite places to plan lessons,

 I don't meet many people here though hence my increased time at Orchid Hotel.

 Sunrise over Bukavu and the Rusizi River.

 On the way to visiting a family mourning the loss of their baby.
The beauty and the pain.

 Soccer field and trash heap near my church. The heap serves as a reminder of the poverty in this city as I see people - adults, teens, children carrying babies - pulling scraps out of the trash.

Though the man you see on the heap was actually just reading a book, 

a strange place for such an activity I thought,

but to each his own.

Small kids, huge truck. 

In the morning, after visiting one of my best students who was hospitalized by malaria. 

He is well again now and back to attending classes.

 A Catholic church that I discovered only about a week ago despite walking quite nearby it almost every day. I guess I haven't walked with quite enough awareness of whats all around.

 

Houses being constructed. Everywhere. Anywhere.

 Some may take 20 years to build as people just buy materials whenever they have the money.

 A different life.

Live the Past.

Some recent thoughts of my recent days.
-----

Today marks two weeks until my departure from the Congo.
I suppose that this is the post I now make stating how I can't believe how fast time
has flown by and that I don't know where the days went.
But, that wouldn't be true to say, because I can absolutely believe I've spent nearly 3 months here.
This experience has been so rich and so full.
My life has been deeply affected in a way that takes time,
a careful process where a different way of life has only begun to percolate into my own.
A process of living alongside people for even a little while,
of tasting of the daily bread of their lives,
of catching a glimpse of the types of sunrises and sunsets that begin and end their days.

Soon now though all this shall become just a story,
not one that gathers dust on a bookshelf,
nor one that is picked up to be read again and again,
but one that becomes part of an ongoing, forward turning of the pages.

I've been affected by so many things and have had the opportunity to enter, even if only for brief moments, into the lives of so many new people here
I hope that I have adequately recognized what a privilege it is to write a line, paragraph or page
into another person's story. 
As the pen of my thoughts, words and deeds has touched the paper that is another life,
I hope that my writing has not been sloppy or unintentional.
Did I think about what I would write or did I just let the ink bleed all over the page?
Oh the many pages this time has filled,
and I hope that I have been able to fill those of others with love, hope and faith.

----

The days already almost begin to feel like times passed.
When I walk familiar roads outside the mission gates
sometime I feel like I'm already walking through my own memories.
I find myself wondering if this shall be a moment, if he shall be a person,
if that shall be a sound that I will think back on, as I walk Canadian streets,
and that I will dearly miss.
When I lie in my own bed, will I think of the night and early morning hours here
where I laid listening to the sounds of the city while trying to keep my
feet from scraping against the mosquito net?
When I sit in my Canadian church, will my thoughts return to the church and choirs here
with the beating of the drums, the movement of the dancers and the intensity of people's prayers?

I'm glad that I am thinking of these things already.
There is the risk of checking out, of course, or leaving this place before I go.
But there is also the possibility of using these thoughts to recognize
that I am still in control of my final days here that will, one day, become old memories.
That the sort of baggage, good or bad, that I'll be carrying around with me later on
I'm packing it today.

People say that you can't change the past,
but I don't fully agree.
Right now I'm choosing and changing the moments that will become my past.
Right now I'm changing my past.

Maybe I actually have more control over my past than my future. 
I can now ask myself: 'If I had that moment again, what would I change about it?',
while I still actually have the ability to make that change. 
While I have the ability to live the memory before losing the moment.

People say not to live in the past.
I agree,
but maybe - if I can say it without sounding like I've spent too much time in the clouds -
maybe we should live the past.
Live the past while we still have it now.
So that we can say we had spent our time under the sun
soaking in life rather than letting its waters just run us by. 
Etching the details of a moment into our minds
by really seeing each color that has been painted into our surroundings,
by noting each texture that has been woven into the fabric of life,
by hearing the inflections of emotion in another person's voice
as we intently listen to their words.

By nurturing the moments so that they may grow into memories deeply rooted in experiences
rich in risks taken, mistakes made, integrity upheld, people loved, faith proudly held firm
and of still, quiet moments where we breathed deep, quiet breaths. 

----

It's All Real.

Yesterday I drove with Raha and a few others up to the village of Katana and the surrounding regions. Here they will be doing a needs assessment for a food security program. Once again I feel overwhelmed by the rich diversity of experience that I have been offered while in the Congo, and I'm thankful for all those working hard to try and provide food and security of life for the people here.
---
I was able to drive again on the country-side roads of the Congo and I must say I enjoyed it immensely. Did you ever sit in an old vehicle as a kid and imagine yourself as an adventurer driving a land cruiser through mountains, beside lakes and dodging craters in the road? Well I felt like I was that kid again in some old vehicle dreaming those old dreams. Except I wasn't imagining it anymore, its real life now; filled with sounds, smells, more beautiful scenery than I had imagined and with kids yelling to me from the side of the road one of my many names here such as 'Mzungu', 'MONUC', or 'Biscuite'.
---
One of the regions we visited was a peninsula 5km wide and 10km long and hosted more than 7000 people. The main crops of the area are casava, beans, groundnuts and bananas. However both the bananas and casava are currently affected by disease, and this has taken an especially hard toll especially on the banana production.

 A diseased banana.

Casava drying in the sun. These took about 10 months to grow, I was told.

Here are a few photos from the day.

A schoolyard. Sometimes when I'm standing in these places and my eyes are wandering through my surroundings I feel like I'm looking at a picture or painting; but then someone walks out of a door and I remind myself that its all real.

I tried to make friends with this young one, but he just started crying. Alas.

The chicken was a gift from our host from the village. I chuckle every time I see this stare-down.

The team.

Lake Kivu.

I doubt I shall ever see again a land so rich with a people so poor. Keep this place in your prayers.

David.

Sometimes its the little things,
like the clicking of a pink, metal cane against the stony ground.


-----

   The past weekend I had a bit more time to myself as my English classes were cancelled due to a special weekend of prayer at the my church. Wanting to do something intentional with my time I decided that instead of working on my computer at home I would take it to Hotel Orchid as it has been a place that I have been able to meet several new people and strike up conversation with them. So with this decision in mind I packed my computer and several other items into my backpack. I brought along only a small amount of franks as people often ask for money on that road and I would rather not lie to them when I say I'm not able to give money. Perhaps that seems a bit cold-hearted, but sometimes the most loving thing you can do for someone is not to give them what they want right away, and to state the obvious, there is just no way that I could ever give to everyone that asks me here. But I digress.
    With my bag packed I locked my front door, headed out of the mission and made my way to the hotel. I often think that maybe I'll catch a moto to where I'm going but I never do and I'm always glad that I walked. Down the busy street of Lumumba, past the money-changers and the round-a-bout and up the dirt road which will eventually curve down to the path leading directly to the hotel.
      It was on the dirt road that I encountered David. He was by a big gate on the right of the road and when he saw me, the color of my skin, he made his way across the road to where I was walking. He didn't run as a lot of boys do though, rather, he quickly limped, grasping one of his legs with one hand and a pink, metal cane with the other. Then, with the most helpless sounding voice he could muster, he began to ask me for help. For money. I told him that I did not have money to give, that I could not help him. He continued to follow me though, working hard to keep up with my quick steps. Behind me I could hear his voice, and I could hear his footsteps intermingled with the click, click, click of his cane on the stony ground. I didn't look back at first, but it began to affect me as I thought about this young boy struggling to keep up with my steps just so I could give him a few franks. I could hear him following me, following me, and as I walked on that path beside a brick wall lined with wires and dusty flowers, there came within me a swelling anger; I felt like picking up the stones from the ground and throwing them against the wall. I felt like turning towards this boy and yelling at him "I CANNOT HELP YOU!" Not because I was mad at him, but because I was angry with how little I felt I could do for him and the people of this place. Because I felt like I just actually had nothing I could give this boy that would change his life. But I just kept on walking. In a few moments that clicking stopped. I turned around and saw him sit down by the wall and rest as I continued on towards the hotel.
     While at the hotel I didn't strike up conversation with anyone, but that visit where I sat in the presence of bankers and miners meeting with other business partners, would play a part in my opportunity to visit the gorillas three days later. However that's another story entirely.
    I left after an hour or two and then made my way back up the hill from Orchid which overlooks Lake Kivu. Now at a certain point this path from the hotel twists around to climb the hill in the opposite direction leading to that road with the brick wall, the dusty flowers and thorns and with David. He was there again, as was the quick click, click, click of his cane as he made his way across the road again towards me. I felt like that clicking was a hammer driving a nail into my heart, it hurt to hear it every time. Yet I prepared again to tell him that I could not help him, and that I had no money to give. This time he did not persist for so long, after I said that I was not able to give he went back to the big gate where a few other boys were sitting.
      I still felt somewhat angry and frustrated with myself that I could not help him, that I felt like I had nothing to give. Then as I was walking I felt that conviction within me and some sort of voice whispering to my heart "Andrew, maybe you do have something else to give." I knew what it meant - why couldn't I at least pray for this boy? At the very least, why couldn't I greet him in a deeper way and ask to pray for him that day. I felt this strong on my heart, but by this time he was a fair ways back and chatting with his friends again. I rationalized reasons to keep walking, but I couldn't rid myself of the feeling. Nor could I rid myself of the thoughts of how many great things never happen simply because a good person refuses to act. How wonders will never be seen if people do not attempt wonderful things. How a sure way to have an ordinary life is to never do anything out of the ordinary. These thoughts kept coming and coming, until finally I said "Alright, I'll go back."
    So, the first thing I did was stop walking. Then I pulled out my phone and pretended to call someone until several people passed me by. Then I wondered why the heck I cared about whether or not people see me change directions. Then I started to walk back to the boy.
    I arrived there where the boys were sitting and muddled my way through some small talk. Asking one boy behind the big gate about the whistle he was blowing. Asking them their names, which is when I learned David's. Then finally asking David what had happened to his leg and he told me that he had been hit by a car. I guess it never healed properly and I could see how it was still deformed from the accident. Then I asked if I could pray for him, and he said yes. So I knelt down in front of him and put my hand on his leg.  Almost as soon as I had began to speak I could feel tears welling in my eyes, a lump in my throat, and I could feel my heart opening to truly love this boy. I thanked God for David's life, I prayed for God's presence in his life and I prayed that his leg would heal quickly and that he would be able to run with the other boys again.
    As I prayed I could sense a few other people gathering and watching. I tried not to be distracted, though I was feeling very self-conscious, and I tried to end with the most focus I could.
   I finished the prayer, which I had said in English, hoping that God would speak to David through my actions as much as my words. And I think God did. Because when I finished I looked at David and he was looking back at me differently than he did before. I felt like he saw the love I was trying to show him rather than letting him see me merely as a source of money or free handouts. This was confirmed to me as well when one of David's friends began to speak. For soon after I had said amen, one of the other boys began to ask for money, but before he could even finish asking David stopped him and then just looked at me with that knowing look.

----
    I don't know if David's leg will heal, I sure hope so though. What I do know is that at the end of the day I don't really need to see the signs and the miracles. If I can rest my head at the end of the day knowing that I did my best to selflessly love and to relentlessly obey, then that is enough. I believe that I obeyed God with my actions, and now He can do what He desires with them and if He wants me to see the results, I give Him praise. And if He wants to hide from me the results of my obedience, I give Him praise.

----
Since then I have seen David again. Sunday morning as I made another walk down Lumumba I heard a quick click, click, click of a cane on the paved road and saw David making his way towards me. This time though he had a beaming smile on his face as he came towards me. His leg was still the same, but his eyes clearly were seeing me in a different way.  He didn't ask for a thing, but rather just wanted to greet me. I talked with him and few other boys (who did want something) for a few moments, however I had to meet some people very shortly so the meeting was quick and I made my way off again.
    I wished that I had taken a moment to pray for him again though and hoped for another opportunity. This would also come later that day as I met David by the big gate again. I asked him more questions about his family and tried to get to know him a bit more, then asked if I could pray again and he said yes.
    I've tried to walk the dirt road that passes the big gate each day in the hope of seeing him at least once more before I go and to have the chance to give him a small deck of Canada cards with a note saying something that I really want him to remember. I hope to see his beaming smile again. I hope to hear his footsteps without the clicking of that cane, but in all things I will give praise. I pray for that opportunity, and I thank God for that little thing. That little moment where He  provided the opportunity for this heart to open up and to learn to love a little more. To believe a little more. To increase in faith. To be deeply affected by the clicking of pink, metal cane on the stony ground.
    

I Went Down to the River.

Alright, I realize that I have intended to post photos of Bukavu city for some time now but other amazing things just keep coming up instead. So I am going to delay the photos of the city once again, well twice again, at least. I have a few posts I want to make before making that post.

The first post is of the small journey I was on today with a friend by the Rusizi River as I finally made my way to Panzi hospital where a large amount of women who have been victims of sexual violence are treated. More on that in a time to come.
For now I want to share the walk with you along this river which stretches from Lake Kivu to Lake Tanganika and which divides the Congo and Rwanda.
 I'm not sure how many poetic words I can muster this time around to describe my experience,
I've had a lot on my mind the past week and its been a full day in itself.
I will say this though, I never would have guessed that less than an hours walk outside of the chaos of the city was a place like the one I visited today. I've thought this so many times during my stay here, and today only convinced me more that even on small geographically canvases life is painted with every color here in the Congo.
 Each day, if you allow it to be, is so rich, is so full of experience and beauty and pain and breath-taking moments. I'm so thankful to have been able to have known this place for the time I have.

Also, I will say this. There is something about the river that draws such a deep part of me towards it. If I ever disappear, don't worry, you can find me by the water's edge.

To the left is Rwanda, Congo to the right.

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