history- the place where white people came from to take over Congo;
current events- the place where UN and NGO workers come from;
economics- the place where most people can make a decent living;
health- the place where most people are not dying from curable diseases;
education- the place where teachers actually get paid and most people go to school;
language- the place where children grow up speaking the language of power, money and politics… English.

All of that in just one word!

Over the past four years, several people have asked me if it’s hard to go back and forth between Congo and Bulaya.  For the most part I don’t mind it, but I definitely face certain challenges.

The Thirty Minute Rule: In Congo, most small gatherings (2-5 people) don’t begin until thirty minutes after the said start time. There are several uncontrollable factors that might cause that delay- rain, a flat tire, getting stopped by the police, road construction, a neighbor in distress… even if none of these factors apply, it is not a big deal to be late.  (Exception: School. I go for a walk most mornings, and between 6 and 7:30 am you can tell exactly which students will be on time and who will be late.  Most groups walk at a leisurely pace, some speed walk, a few reach a light jog, and without fail there are always a few kids all out sprinting.)

I didn’t realize that the thirty minute rule had really affected me until last summer when I told my family I’d meet them in Shirlington for dinner, and sure enough they called me 30 minutes later and said- Where the heck are you? Are you still coming? Well of COURSE I was still coming! I didn’t think it really mattered if I got there 30 minutes later than everybody else.  Oops.

Following Rules: The thirty minute rule is the only rule you can count on people to follow.  The rule enforcers tend to bend, break, ignore and/or individually invent rules. You can drive on either side of the road, you can play in the midst of construction sites, you can cut to the front of a line because usually there is no line, just a crowd, and important documents aren’t actually for record keeping- they are simply for buying and selling.

One summer I met some friends for dinner in a large chain restaurant in Arlington. When we appeared with 4 out of 5 people present, we were informed that we could not be seated until the entire party was present. The whole place was empty. We waited. When the fifth friend arrived, the computer hostess man printed a ticket, and handed it a hostess woman who looked at it, fetched the correct number of menus, and took us to our designated table.  Immediately a busboy appeared, took the ticket, and asked for our drink order. Soon enough, the drinks were delivered and a waiter appeared to take our food order.

I sat, completely zoned out for about 15 minutes.  Why wouldn’t they just let us sit down immediately? There were so many open tables! Did they really need that computer? and the ticket? and three different people to get us from the entrance to a table? don’t the people around us look really overweight? why are these food portions so huge? Wait, what are my friends talking about? should I be paying attention? gosh this place is clean. But, back to the beginning- why couldn’t we have just seated ourselves? Sometimes everyone following the rules so perfectly starts to annoy me- and even just the sheer NUMBER of rules… starts to get under my skin. I think to myself- we don’t really need THAT many rules… but usually after a few weeks I begin to appreciate most rules again, and laws, and the generally law abiding culture of Bulaya.

 The Power to Consume & Waste: People in Congo don’t make enough money to buy much more than shelter, food, and some basic clothes.  Additionally, even if you do have money there isn’t much for sale, beyond building materials, food and clothes. So talking about recent or upcoming purchases is not interesting and not discussed often. Additionally, consuming doesn’t usually involve a plethora of choices- making it an even less interesting topic for discussion.

Entering a supermarket in Bulaya- for the first few times each summer- seems like choice overload, sensory overload. Do I really need 35 toothpaste brands to choose from? 50 varieties of cereal? 4 heaviness levels of milk? Vegetables that look bigger and prettier but less flavor? A box of 2,000 ziplock bags? Why not buy 10 and just wash and reuse? And what kind of chicken is this if it doesn’t have any bones?

I don’t really need that many choices. Nor do I need fashion accessories, tupperware, or a blackberry.  I already have an embarrassing number of accessories, I can reuse glass jars and plastic take-away containers, and my cell phone works just fine. I try to resist as long as possible without buying anything- feeling like it’s strange to spend money on things that I don’t really need. In Goma, every few weeks, it’s a big thrill just to buy a chocolate bar- knowing that I don’t really need it, I just WANT it! But in Bulaya there’s just so much out there to WANT, that eventually my resistance is broken. Although imperfect, at least the seed has been planted.  I’ll forever at least try to live more simply.

Being on time… following the rules… and consuming excessively. These are a challenge to readjust to.  As are the contrary, whenever I return to Congo.  Losing track of time… embracing flexible rules… and having nothing excess to consume (besides really delicious Belgian chocolate.)

Over the past four years I’ve done my best to stay happy in both environments. So, as in previous years, to prepare for my departure in three weeks I’ve begun to:

-Reconnect more with family and friends in the States.
-Plan how to celebrate contributions and accomplishments in Goma.
-Make sure I have lots of pictures and videos of people and things I love.
-Wrap things up at work, with my project, consider my/its long term future.
-Say goodbye to friends and colleagues here.
-Reflect on how I’ve changed, and how that might affect my return.
-Think about what I want to do this summer.
-Get excited for all the good things to come, like:

Bribe-free airports.
Bribe-free everything for that matter.
Smooth, paved roads.
Driving on them.
Running on them.
Hot showers, available anytime.
Electricity, all day everyday.
Internet, practically at the speed of light.
Mattie’s soccer games.
Megg’s rugby games.
Family dinners.
One stop, indoor shopping- without bargaining.
Teaching in my native language.
Getting to know new students.
Dining with old friends.
Making new friends.
Perusing libraries and bookstores, in English.
Living in a neighborhood without walls, barbed wire, and guards.
Seeing joggers and dog walkers instead of soldiers with guns.
Finding people to speak Swahili with.
Going to weddings, without having to cross an ocean first.
Decorating a new humble abode.
Having a trash collector.
Making phonecalls without calculating the time difference.
Fewer and smaller cockroaches.
Non-malaria carrying mosquitos.
Sunset later than 6pm sharp.
Cheap ice cream.
Flavored coffee.
Going to the dentist.
Street lights.
Sidewalks.
Just being home.
Just being.

An American in America again.
Muzungu mu Bulaya tena.

I’ve taught high school, middle school and elementary school and the skits are great at every level.  I’d much rather get a sense of what the kids know and understand via skit as opposed to a written Q&A session.  When I taught seniors at Charlottesville High School, a pair of girls performed a ridiculous skit with the narrator rapping about the electoral college. My middle schoolers in Kinshasa acted out all sorts of stories from Ancient Greece or the Mongol Empire. But with the mixed age primary class I work with here at the hospital in Goma… well… it’s been a wild ride to say the least.

You might recall the Peace Day skit from back in the Fall… where the initial theme was “If you want peace, prepare for war,” and the skit involved the students using their crutches to pretend-shoot each other… as they fight for peace.  Well, that’s nothing compared to the last three skits.

Like in every school around the world, the kids begin to get incredibly antsy for the last thirty minutes of the day. (Teachers do too, we just hide it better.) At our school here we usually save this time for singing, dancing, or storytelling- but sometimes instead we have the kids create and act out a skit.  Here is a summary of the last three skits the kids came up with and performed. Keep in mind most of them are between 4 and 10 years old.

Skit #1: Mulozi (The Sourcerer)

There once was a boy with a very good father. One day, the boy went to church by himself, and the very terrible pastor turned him into a sourcerer.  After a few nights of waking up in the night screaming, the sourcerer boy killed his father.  Then the evil pastor went with the sourcerer and killed everyone in the village, but one of the villagers happened to be traveling so when he came back he found everyone dead… except the bad pastor and the sourcerer.  Since the sourcerer was still just a young boy, the villager took him to the next town over where they had a good church with a good pastor.  The pastor put his hand on the forehead of the sourcerer and sucked out all the evil spirits and got the young boy to confess that Jesus Christ is the son of God.  After that, the boy told the good pastor everything that happened- about how the evil pastor had turned him into a sourcerer and made him kill all those people.  So the villager, boy, and good pastor went together to save the evil pastor. The good pastor did the same thing- he put his hand on the evil pastor’s forehead, and sucked all the evil out of him. Then they all lived happily ever after. The end.

After this performance Beatrice reminded the children that they are all good children, and in order to avoid becoming a sourcerer they just need to stick with Jesus.

Skit #2: Pombe ni Mubaya (Alcohol is bad)

There once was a family- dad, mom, and two children. The mom was always drunk and hanging around the nganda (bar). One day after school the two children stopped in the bar on the way home. The older brother didn’t like it and wanted to go home, but the younger sister wanted to stay with her mom.  So the brother went home and the sister stayed. Then the mom got really drunk and became angry with her daughter so she beat her to death and left her in the bar.  When she got home she lied to her husband and said she didn’t know where their daughter was. The son called his mom a liar and told his dad to go check the bar. After the dad found his daughter dead in the bar, he came home and together with his son beat the mom to death. Justice served. The end.

After this performance the kids compared the behavior of drunk people in their home towns.  Some imitated a drunken stupor, some explained that drunk people do the weirdest thing- they start to take each other’s clothes off. Beatrice reminded them that drinking too much alcohol is bad.

Skit #3: Ndege, Kidudu na Jamaa Moja (Bird, Insect and a Family)

Students were divided into two groups, and instructed to create a skit with these characters- a bird, insect and a family.

Group 1: The bird feels hungry. The insect crawls up a tree and the bird chases the insect until he finally catches it and eats it. Then the family comes and they feel hungry. They see the bird and chase it until they finally catch it and eat it. The end.

Group 2: Everyone in the family is dead. The insect crawls all over the corpses on the ground.  Then the insect gets full so it goes away. Then the bird comes and eats the eyeballs of the dead people.  The end.

After group 2’s performance there was an intense class discussion about which animals eat dead people. Half the class said dogs, definitely dogs. They’ve seen it. The other half said snakes, definitely snakes. They’ve seen it. Beatrice confirmed that there are many animals that eat dead people, so that is why we bury them- to protect and respect their bodies.

…

So, I’m around these kids everyday- I know them well. We’re used to each other, comfortable.  So our time together always feels normal. And to be perfectly honest, at first I didn’t even think twice about these skits.  It wasn’t until I started sharing them with other people, and hearing their reactions, that it began to sink in just how traumatized many of my students are.

I don’t really like to dwell on it too much, mostly because I like to think of and treat them simply as students and as children, rather than as victims.  Also, I have made a conscious effort not to share all of their life woes on this blog- not only because I think they are personal woes and deserve to stay private, but also because the world doesn’t need another story about the VICTIMS in Eastern Congo. But I wanted to share these skits as a reminder that-

Yes, people here have seen and experienced incredibly horrific things, and it’s definitely important to know and acknowledge that.  But for the most part, our daily lives are not a reflection of those evils. And I wish more people around the world could see that in Congo.  So hopefully a majority of this blog has captured the fact that life carries on.

Most of my time in school with the kids is NOT sourcerers, drunkards, and corpses… but rather simply A-E-I-O-U.

My chats with people around town are about family, work, and what’s for dinner.

People go to church for Easter.
To the market on Tuesdays.
To the gas station.
To school.

Even with trauma,
or rather,
in opposition to it?

Life carries on.

So, twice a week I worked in the library, helping them digitize their card catalogue.  I chatted in Swahili with a recent graduate, Cathy, as we took plastic covers off of books, printed bar codes, matched up titles and codes, taped on the codes, re-covered and reshelved the books.

Seeing as I have no internet or television at home, I got through the 40 books on my Kindle by the end of February.  I was hungry for more… so I began to consider the old dusty books at the Lycee Amani library.  Then, low and behold, I discovered that they have an ENGLISH section- a real pot of gold!  Once I started checking out books like The Little Prince (I can’t BELIEVE I hadn’t read it before, great book) my chats with Cathy turned into dramatic Swahili retellings of whatever book I read that week.  Cathy is pretty quiet and reserved, so getting her to laugh at my antics would really make my day.

Around that time we finished uncovering all the books in the library, but their was a problem with the printer so we couldn’t print anymore barcodes… “What can I do for you now?” I asked the sisters.

Well, these are the same nuns from my father’s birthday, who scolded me for not knowing how to cook.  So naturally… off to the kitchen I went!

For the past few months I’ve spent twice a week, chatting in Swahili to a group of five mamas, and learning how to cook Congolese food.  I help them rinse beans, cut potatoes, peel plantains, fry samosas, bag chapatis, de-string pumpkin leaves… and they told me they are saving the ULTIMATE for last… teaching me how to pound and cook bugali.

Helping out the mamas in the kitchen somehow always feels very therapeutic.  As we sit and prepare food together, I vent to them about my woes from teaching and life.  They inevitably make me laugh.

The week after my computer died, I was telling them how terrible it was and describing all the things I use my computer for that I wouldn’t be able to do anymore.  I got so into it that I wasn’t paying enough attention to the cabbage I was grating, and Mama Leontine started scolding me in Swahili, “You better pay attention to what you’re doing here!”

I began to slow down as she continued to scoff, “Hmmph… this is kazi ya mikono (work of the hands). Sara, you’re in the KITCHEN now… that grater is not a COMPUTER, it will slice your finger off!”

I doubled over laughing.

Afterwards I started thinking… in the grand scheme of things… knowing how to cook food is a far more important life skill than anything I do on my computer.

To help with my street cred, I like to tell everyone around Goma about my volunteering at Lycee and learning how to cook. They usually get a BIG smile on their face and inevitably say something along the lines of, “Congratulations, now that you know how to cook Congolese food, you can find a Congolese husband, and you will stay here FOREVER!!!”

I respond with an awkward face and say, “Ahhh, pole pole.”

As I near the end of my school year in Goma, I’ve been reflecting quite a bit.  There are a few aspects of my work that are just not quite there yet, the biggest example being that a large gathering of international and local teachers to share ideas did not fall into place.  As I continue to work toward that goal, I remind myself that I am an international teacher, so my work with local teachers, sharing ideas day in and day out, is building the foundation for something so much bigger.

I have learned a new language, new culture, and new schools. I plan on continuing to pursue educational progress for DRC in some capacity for the long haul, and I think this year spent observing, listening, and responding to what’s already going on will serve me better than if I had spent my days pushing my own agenda. As they like to say here, pole pole. Slowly slowly.

Tungane School

Way back when, I think sometime in February, Beatrice and I had a great after school chat and decided to make some changes.  For a long time we had talked about dividing up the class- I could teach the preschoolers outside, and she could teach the primary kids inside. I resisted because I didn’t want to try things that would require two teachers- knowing that eventually I would leave and Beatrice would be on her own again. Considering sustainability, mmhm! (The deeper truth is, both Beatrice and I don’t really know much about teaching preschoolers… and we both would rather attempt it together rather than alone.)

So! The compromise was a split in recess time. For 30-45 minutes each day, we could teach each group while the other was at recess. We talked about the importance of teaching reading and writing, and proceeded to divide the class based on literacy rather than age.  We gave them a simple assessment- write their name, the date, and the alphabet.  Three relatively clear groups emerged. Three students passed with flying colors, six were so-so, and five could still barely manage putting a pen to paper.  This led to another discussion.

During our teaching time with the primary students, the super stars could work with the Healing Arts program, learning to make crafts to sell, while we worked with the so-so group on reading and writing.  This turned out beautifully- happiness all around.

As Beatrice and I began to think more deeply together about creating reading and writing lessons, we got into a sort of routine.  Whichever letter we were teaching, at first I would write out simple sentences in Swahili on construction paper to read aloud to the kids. I’d try to pack in as many of the focus letter as possible. This evolved into writing whole short stories. For herufi O we read about Kondolo (sheep), for herufi I we read about Imani na makima (Imani and the monkeys), for herufi U, Ushindi na bugali. After a while we began to connect our drawing time with the stories. If we were reading about Imani and the monkeys, we would draw a girl with monkeys.  The routine turned into:

8:45-9:30 – Drawing characters from yesterday’s story
9:30-10:30 – Writing practice with new focus letter
10:30-11 – Recess
11-11:30 – Reading story and identifying focus letter
11:30-12 – Singing, dancing, and closing prayer

Classes were more fluid than back in November when we were teaching five completely unrelated subjects each day. The kids began to retain things with more ease.  Once we got to letter combinations, they got chances to be more creative- coming up with small skits (which most of them time ended up revealing how traumatized they are) and making lists of words with the focus letter combination.  One day the kids were on FIRE with Ba Be Bi Bo Bu, and even after the blackboard was completely full of words, they started shouting things that really got me laughing.

Sara, Sara…. KiBUtutu!! (They remembered the village where my stepmom did peace corps.)

AH! Sara… BUjumBUra iko na BU mbili! (City I visited for spring break… and it has BU twice!)

When ideas were dwindling, Beatrice was prodding them to say Banafunzi (students). She said, “You all are… YOU ALL arrrre…” And one kid so proudly shouted BASHENZI!!!! UNCIVILIZED!!  Beatrice and I both totally lost it laughing.

Not everyday is this good. A lot of times after school we sit and complain about work and life and Congo. Sometimes we run in separate directions, off to do our own thing. Sometimes Beatrice reads to me from her English notebook and I help her with pronunciation.

A few times Beatrice complimented my teaching and ideas, but one day, totally out of the blue, she described in detail some of the things she’s learned from working with me. She said she sees the value now in keeping track of each student’s writing notebook. She sees that reviewing things in different ways over the course of the week, helps students remember things better.  She sees that moving the desks to face the wall for writing time not only makes it easier to reach over students shoulders and help them, but also makes more space in the room for singing and dancing time.

Disappointed in not yet reaching the moon?
What moon?!

On to the next star…

Mugunga School

The Mugunga teachers crack me up.  There’s just no better way to put it.  I’ve been teaching them English after school three days a week, and we often find ourselves laughing.

When I first started lessons, I followed an incredibly dry workbook that the director passed on to me.  Please forgive me, Gods of Teaching, but I didn’t know where else to start!  After a few boring and frustrating lessons I simply used the table of contents as a grammar guide, and let all the rest flow more organically, more logically, and more INTERESTINGLY.

We got new vocabulary from translating school songs.  Then I created some new texts to show that same vocabulary in a new context. We worked in pairs, in groups, we drew pictures, interpretted, laughed at both the drawings and interpretations, wrote words phonetically, laughed at our spellings… and after a few lessons the questions started coming:

If I moved the desks this way in my classroom, half of the students would have their back to the teacher. Isn’t that a problem?

If we had the students read from their notebooks instead of from the chalkboard, wouldn’t they take more care in writing things correctly?

One day, after a lecture from the Ministry of Education Inspector, one of the teachers pondered- why is it that no matter how well I try to teach, there are always a certain number of kids that don’t get it. There will never be a time when 100% of the students earn 100% on something.  What followed was an amazing discussion about the different ways we can ask students to show that they know something.  I pulled out this example from our English class:

Ephremm is one of the most advanced English speakers in the class, but look at his drawing! Based on that drawing you would think that he hardly understands the text at all.  But when I verbally asked him questions- he answered them all perfectly.  Other teachers chimed in, “Of course, some students can draw well and some can’t. Some dance well and some can’t.  Some write well and some can’t.”  So why aren’t our assesments of what they’ve learned… more… diverse?  We thought and discussed and pondered some more. Oh, the delight of discussing big ideas with a room full of teachers. So many opinions, so many different ways to do things… so much to learn from each other.

So, back to the glory of abandoning that cursed workbook. The big project we’re working on now is our exploration of the present tense via writing as much as we can about our daily lives, our families, our work, languages we speak, churches we attend, etc.  And my oh my it is much more fascinating than those awful fill in the blank exercises.  (As far as I’m concerned those workbooks should all be BURNED!! Trying to fill in blanks not only involves cultural subtexts and knowledge of idioms, expressions, and vocabulary not yet learned… but most of it is random, and leaves the learner feeling CONFUSED instead of EMPOWERED.)

My “Aha, that’s why after ten years I never learned Spanish, but I learned Swahili in one,” moment came the day we first shared our one page write ups about our daily life. First, everyone went outside to find a quiet place to read aloud their page a few times- alone.  I made a few rounds listening, helping them to jot down phonetic notes for pronunciation.

Then came the presentations. After each person shared (using first person present tense very often) the audience would shout out sentences in second or third person:

You are a pentacostal!
He also builds houses!
You speak Kinande!
He has 8 children!
No he doesn’t, he has 9!

At the end of the lesson everyone was so tickled at their ability to listen and understand a presentation and create true and correct sentences. Everyone was engaged. The beginners could keep their writing and speaking simple, while the more advanced could be more creative.  In the car on the way home, in all their excitement, the teachers continued coming up with sentences.  It felt glorious- like a long overdue triumph over the evil empire of language workbooks. Ah, the feeling after a well done lesson.

I, too, was starry eyed.

Feeling closer to the moon everyday.
Pole pole.

I’m not sure if this is a worldwide phenomenon or not… but in Central Africa Barack Obama is an absolute 100% certifiable superstar. The proof is in the fact that you can find just about anything with Obama plastered on it: t-shirts, taxis, lollipops, belt buckles, shopping bags, clocks, pants, hats, bolts of fabric… I hope that someone out there is making a huge collection of photos documenting his superstardom in this region- because it’s really out of this world. And it’s not just in cities- the Obama gear reaches even the most remote villages. Here’s what I’ve been able to capture:

Needless to say, his stardom makes me feel proud to be an American.

My computer is dead.

Work is going well.

Life is good.

Will try to write more later.

French keyboards are difficult.

Long Crested Eagle (Above)

Sunbird

Flowers that fit the beaks of Sunbirds.

Western Snake Eagle

Just a beautiful view.

Allies, allies everywhere.
Important.

Monday, Friday: I go to the GSF Mugunga School. The first hour on Mondays is like church- the students sing and a handful of teachers read from the bible and offer a short sermon. Then I meet with the director about various nuts and bolts as well as projects we hope to develop this year. Afterwards I observe two classes on my own.  At 11:45 we have an early release, except one class of students stays.  Then all the teachers  and director observe one teacher for a 40 minute lesson. Afterwards the kids go home and the faculty stays to have an in depth discussion about strengths, weaknesses, and suggested strategies.  The teachers know each other well, and they offer lots of great insight. Yesterday we had a good laugh when one of the teacher’s hadn’t shared her critique yet, so the director asked for her thoughts.  She said, “Well, I know this isn’t that serious… but why on earth didn’t you open up the door and the windows?! It was so HOT we were all suffocating!!!” We all erupted into laughter- we’d all been wondering the same thing.  The teacher responded with, “Well look! When I have the windows open like this, the kids all bang their heads on them!” We sympathized, suggested shifting the desks around, and continued laughing.

On Fridays there is a normal, full school day (ending at 12:40). First I meet with the director, then I observe several different classes. After school I teach the faculty English.  I’d been resisting teaching ESL since August, but finally caved when they explained how they hate it when visitors and donors come to the school and they are unable to communicate. So- the theme of our class is connecting with guests.  I’m hoping that by the end of the school year every teacher will be able to give a school tour in English, explain a few of the school songs in English, and the director will be able to tell the school’s history in English! (As we work through this I’m hoping to create a trilingual book about the school and teachers, with all the information in Kiswahili, Francais and English.)

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday: I co-teach at the Tungane School in the morning. Since I arrived in August we made the decision to limit our curriculum to focus only on basic literacy, basic math, drawing, singing and drama.  For the most part attending Tungane is a safe space for the children- a place where they are loved, and given engaging activities to participate in.  Recently we did a letter and photo exchange with a class in Alexandria- the kids shared one thing that makes them happy. It was fascinating!

In the afternoons I go to Lycee Amani, an all girls Catholic school.  I am assisting the librarian in digitizing their card catalogue. I enjoy this because it’s easy to chit chat (in Swahili) as we match books with barcodes, tape them on and scan them into the computer.  I’m thrilled to be able to serve the school in this way as the sisters, faculty and I continue to get to know each other. Next week the students have exams, and when the new semester begins my role there will evolve, but we’re still working out exactly how… more on that in March!

Swahili: I still have highs and lows with Swahili. Some days leave me feeling great- proud that I was able to express myself for all occasions.  Other days leave me feeling defeated- frustrated that there are still SO MANY words that I have yet to learn. I don’t take formal lessons anymore, as I feel like I’m comfortable with basic grammar and structures. At this point I carry around a small notebook and write down about ten words each day that I hear and learn through conversation. Overall, I know that each day I spend immersed in Swahili leaves me one step closer to becoming fluent.

Connecting Teachers: I’ve scoped out a week at the end of April when I hope to arrange a 3-5 day teaching workshop with local and international teachers.  I’ve thought long and hard over the past six months about what we might be able to accomplish.  (Like Swahili, I have highs and lows about this as well.) So far the plan is to create a survey for local teachers (that’s neither too open nor too narrow) about what they might be interested in discussing, exploring and learning about.  Then I hope to spend sufficient time working with workshop leaders to create a brilliantly enriching experience for all involved. Also, I’m beginning to ask various folks here about their experiences arranging similar conferences or workshops… more on that to come!

My experience is constantly evolving.
Slowly, but evolving nonetheless.

I feel like June is already just around the corner…
So much to do!

My family arrived at the Rwanda-Congo border on a cold and rainy evening- leaving the entire day for me to restlessly await their arrival. I spent the afternoon on the corner telling Mado and the kids all about my family. When one of the street kids jokingly asked if he could marry one of my sisters I said, “ATTENTION! I expect you to really respect my family and give them a WARM welcome to Goma!!! You will not treat them like just ANYBODY! I really want you to greet them properly!! I expect you to say- KARIBU SANA! KARIBU GOMA! And that will be that!!” And although I expressed my highest of high expectations, I fully expected the kids to be wild and crazy and ask my family for money and bread just like they do everyone else.

Around 5pm, off to the border I went. After smiles, hugs, paperwork and a small bribe to the customs lady- I explained to my family that despite their fatigue, hunger and need for a toilet- we HAD to pass by the corner where my street friends sit. When we pulled up in the rain with all the windows down, our car was surrounded by all the kids shouting “Karibu!! Karibu!!! Karibu Goma!!!” Amidst many high fives, Mado also reached in to shake everyone’s hand.  After many greetings, we drove away to a chorus of “Uende mzuri! Uende bien!” (Go well, go well!) No begging, no shenanigans. It just might have been one of the most rowdy and beautiful greetings I’ve ever witnessed.

The next day we visited Lycee Amani, an all girls’ secondary Catholic school. The sisters gave us all BIG hugs, showed us into the sitting room where they offered us tea, bananas, yogurt and peanuts.  We sat for an hour, chatting in a mix of Swahili, French, English and laughter.  Then during the tour of the school grounds, I told them that the next day was my dad’s birthday.  They proceeded to pull me aside and interrogate me with whispers of, “Well, what are you going to cook for your father tomorrow?!”

I had no clue! I thought maybe a card with a nice note would suffice… but cooking?! I told them, “I don’t know! We’re going to Kibututu tomorrow so I don’t know if I’ll be able to cook! I don’t even really know HOW to cook!”  This was followed by lots of dramatic sighs, tisk-tisking, finger wagging and expressions of utter distress at my completely UNacceptable response.

At the end of the school tour, we gave the sisters some soccer balls, pumps, and four laptops donated by our mutual friend Kabahita. Then the sisters pulled me aside again, and presented me with two bags full of boiled corn, fresh mangoes and grilled peanuts. Then they said, “You must eat well tomorrow to celebrate! And pass by here before you leave in the morning and we will have a birthday cake for your dad!” Yowzah! Talk about a WARM welcome from the sisters!

And so it went on like this.

At the Mugunga School, the director, four teachers and about 60 kids made the voyage  out to the school to greet us even though it was in the midst of their vacation. In Kiwanja the current managers of CEDERU, Marcia’s peace corps project, made a trip to the office to greet us, chat, and give Marcia contact information for several old friends.  In Kibututu, a 73 year old man named Haji Juma welcomed us into both of his homes- giving us tea and coffee upon arrival, and flowers from his garden for our departure.  In Rutshuru, the Catholic priests put us up at their guest house, welcomed us to their dinner table, and even offered us communion at church in the morning! (We are not Catholic, so that last one was a BIG deal.)

I’ve thought a lot about how I’ve been treated here in Congo… and how I’ve treated foreigners in America.  I have been so warmly welcomed here… and it makes me ask myself- during my time in the States do I do enough to make foreigners feel welcomed?  How DO we welcome people in the United States? What are our passing greetings?  What does an invitation to our home require?

A few years back I read a short editorial in the Washington Post, written by a middle aged, white, Arlingtonian. He expressed his disdain at the fact that every time he went to a nearby 7-11, there were “too many” hispanic day laborers waiting around for work. He described how uncomfortable it made him to be surrounded by a foreign language, how unnerving it was to face this several times a week, in the heart of his own neighborhood.

In America, just like in Congo, just like everywhere- it’s SCARY when you don’t really know people. And there is nowhere in the world where EVERYONE walks down the street on sunny days sharing smiles, love and happiness.  There are plenty of unwelcoming people, mean people, rude people, and plenty of TFAs. (You can ask my dad what a TFA is.) So let’s not get carried away with the idea that everyone in all of Congo, or Africa for that matter- is smiley, warm and welcoming. That just isn’t true.  But I think the warm and hearty welcome that my family and I experienced over and over stems from a culture of lengthy greetings… which allows us to really get to know each other.

People in every country, town and village all over the world have their own culture, language, and habits. We all have our own way of exchanging greetings and we decide if and how we will welcome foreigners. They might be passers by, foreign exchange students, or refugees…

Will we speak?
Will we greet?
Will we welcome them?
Will we choose to get to know them?

What if we don’t?
What if we do?

During my time in Congo, I’ve begun to so deeply appreciate what it means to KNOW people.  To speak, greet, welcome, and really KNOW people. I’ve grown to absolutely adore Swahili greetings.  In a time conscious America, these exchanges might seem repetitive, excessive, and certainly too LONG! But here, the clock just doesn’t matter that much.

An everyday passing greeting usually involves a steady stream of questions and answers: Hello! How are you? Did you sleep well? How is your morning? Really, are you well? How are your parents? Your children? Really, are they well?  How is your work? Really, is it going well? I’m so (happy/sad/concerned) for you! Where are you headed now? I hope to see you soon! I’m sure God will bless you. Go WELL!

And everyday that passes, I have this conversation at least 10 or 15 times. And every evening when I return home I have the privilege of feeling like there is a community of people who genuinely care about my well being. Through our greetings we remind each other of what matters most in life- family, health, empathy and a never ending appreciation for all of the blessings we receive.  I just love that.

I love that I get to pass time sharing these greetings, and thinking about these things, instead of rushing from place to place… or sitting in front of a tv watching Jersey Shores.  Life without rushing, life without television or shopping malls, life without regular electricity or regular water, life WITH these lengthy greetings… really allows you to focus on what matters- and inevitably leaves you feeling enriched.

You have a lot less STUFF,
yet you feel so much richer.

Maybe it’s just the greetings.
Maybe it’s bigger than that.

Either way, I like it.

And wherever I go, whoever I encounter, no matter how big the rush- I will strive to continue practicing the warm and welcoming ways that I’ve learned here.

So here’s to you, Mother Africa! Thanks for your warm welcome into 2011, for teaching me how to greet and get to know people, and for reminding us all to reflect on what matters the most in our lives- family, health, empathy and all of the blessings we receive.