Piston Coffee, Chinese Food and Pili Pili.

We ran through the rain, weaving in and out of the small taxi buses that make up the chaos that is Nyabugogo bus station in Kigali, Rwanda. Turns out that even when you buy a bus ticket it doesn’t necessarily mean that there will be a bus, huh. We were swept onto Yahoo bus lines and began our journey to Bujumbura, Burundi.

6.5 hours on a long winding African road is a great amount of time to get to know someone. My partner in crime on this Burundian excursion was Tella Osler, Bowen childhood friend turned travel buddy. Between the African reggae and swahili preaching on the radio the soundtrack to our trip was born.

Buj, as it is affectionately known, welcomed us with a warm embrace of hot sun. We made a b-line to the lake's edge and enjoyed very cheap and very refreshing beer. Once the bottles were drained and the sun was low we dubbed it time to find shelter. The Pacifica Hotel was home base. Running water, private bathroom, and clean sheets, we couldn’t have asked for more.

Our first full day exceeded expectations. We strolled the streets waiting to see what Buj would through our way. We found shared a French Press at Aroma coffee shop; some of the best coffee I have ever had. After failing in our attempt to contact a friend due to all phone networks being down we realized that we were totally isolated in the central African capitol.

The help we received from the locals in our effort to locate the FH offices was overwhelming. We couldn’t have done it without the local knowledge. We were then directed to a Chinese restaurant and I am very pleased to say I had some of the best Chinese food I have every had. The Burundians know their Chinese food.

We then decided to take another stab at our search for the perfect beach setting. We both crammed onto the back of a moto and 1800 Burundian Francs later we were standing on Gaga Plage, a beach bar that sported old school Dolly Parton. We basked in the sun and witnessed what looked to be Burundian gondoliers ferrying around Asian tourists in front of us.

I left the beach, sun burned with an afternoon buzz and made way for a Burundian buffet. The questionable looking food on our plate made me wonder weather or not we would make it home alive. I am happy to say that hot pili pili must have killed off anything cause I am still standing. We spent our last night at our beloved hotel sitting on the roof, listening to awesome tunes, taking swigs from a cheap bottle of wine.

The revamping of a friendship and Buj experience help me realize how anything is possible, even a Bujumbura Boxing Day expedition.

Kigali Take 2

The sound and flash of the thunder and lightening woke me up. Looks like i wouldn't be playing tennis today. The powerful down pour created rivers of water that surround Maji like a moat. Driving to HEAL was eerie. The streets were quiet and the shops were closed. Side roads had been washed out and some cars were having difficulty making it through the deep puddles. It felt like a snow day back at home.

We arrived at HEAL to be welcomed by an empty Jubilee Centre. Does a rainy day really mean a day off of work? After a quick email sesh I hopped back in the car and made my way to the border. Something weird happened, I wasn't hassled and everything worked out perfectly, including my moto ride to the bus station. I get on the bus just as the doors shut and I was off to Kigali.

Climbing out of Gyseni I spotted a mountain to my right, I had to double take, there was snow on it!! The snow combined with the microwave tower on top reminded me of the drive to Whistler and spotting Black Tusk. Its a white Christmas after all.

The 20-seater bus was jam packed with close to 40 people; thankfully I grabbed a window seat. I drifted in and out of sleep to the sound of loud music being played over the blown speakers. Lil’ Wayne, Shakira, and bad Swahili Christmas carols make up the melange of audio delight.

I pushed through the crowd of people off the bus and onto the Kigali streets. I quickly judged the flow of traffic and made my away across the busy street like playing a real life game of Frogger. The smell of fresh coffee and baking wafted through the air. I grabbed a seat and ordered my coffee. I am back in civilization for the time being. Christmas time with friends in Rwanda, lookin’ forward to it.

A Fragile Situation

The hot sun beats down on Goma so I find cover in the shade of one of the many containers scattered through the HEAL Africa property. Kenaynandry, a forensic specialist from Nairobi, joins me. He cracks a joke about how hot it is in Congo and then goes off on a tangent about how awesome Kenya is. We dive into deep discussion about the issue of rape in the Congo and what DNA testing can do to help and then out of nowhere... BOOM!!

Kenyanandry jumps to his feet in fear, everyone walking across the Jubilee Centre parking lot freezes for what seems like a minute and they then start to move towards the area where the sound came from. I stay seated in the shade. I don’t know what just happened. Was there an explosion? Is something actually serious happening? What do I do in this situation? A wave of mixed emotions washes over me: fear, surprise, and excitement.

Kenyandry finds a higher vantage point and says to me with a smile, “some idiot blew up a car tire” he chuckles and hobbles down the stairs with his crutch in hand. For a split second I thought that my time in Goma was completely changed. I didn’t know what was happening. It was comforting to see that the sound of an explosion wasn’t “normal” I was not the only one startled.

There is still an anxious feeling here in Goma, especially around the holidays. Talking with Lyn, she mentioned that when strife and conflict break out it is usually around the end of November. A spark has not happened yet to start the fire of conflict.

I can’t wait around; worried about what might happen and think about when it may occur. People here take it one day at a time, little victories. The situation is fragile over here. From reading the news, small cracks are revealed. I just hope that nothing shatters while I am here.

Necessity

No matter who you talk to about traveling abroad, and especially to the third world, they will most likely give you some dialogue about what you need to watch out for, what you need to bring, and what you don’t need to bring. Some of this advice should be followed but most of it falls by the wayside once you spend a decent amount of time in the area you are traveling.

My two-month anniversary is quickly approaching and I consider myself living proof of how traveling habits can fall by the wayside. I have taken on a more relaxed approach to what I watch out for and what I do.

Sunscreen is no longer worn out of necessity but rather on the odd occasion. Some of the expats, who have been here longer than me, have given up completely on malaria meds and have dropped the mosquito net as if it was an alien idea. I still drape my net only because after my first night of rebelling against “the man”, I woke up with a symmetrical design of mosquito/other bug bites across my chest. (Don’t worry mum I am still religious about my malaria meds.) I have also become less concerned over what I eat. Sure I have had my run in with the odd dish that hasn’t agreed with me but for the most part I am not too worried about food served at restaurants. I am able to say that I have popped the odd locust in my mouth and I have eaten something that looked awfully close to intestines. Lastly, instead of keeping a bottle of hand sanitizer in my back pocket wherever I go, the bottle is now perched on my desk back in my room at Maji.

Now, you have to understand that I am not completely careless. I still wash my hands and will turn down a fresh salad here and there. Along with the habits that I have dropped I have learned a few things that are important to know when living in Goma:

• Wearing long pants on a hot Congolese day is not a form of torture

• Washing your feet is more important than a full body shower

• A conversation is still coherent when 3 different languages are used

• You are genuinely excited when your ride shows up only 15 minutes late, or a meeting starts on time.

• Your plans at the beginning of the day do not always match the score sheet at the end of the day and that’s okay.

I don’t know where the idea comes from that when you go to Africa you need to wear clothes with as many pockets as possible. Sure I can see the odd pair of cargo pants being useful but are the goofy vests and double zip offs a necessity? Not likely. Although, it seems that this form of dress has become the uniform of the white African traveler.

It is interesting to see how people cope when traveling or living somewhere foreign. I still carry around my laptop, sunglasses and rain jacket where ever I go, cause you never know right? Haha. We all have things that make us comfortable in uncomfortable situations. After living in Goma town things like hand sanitizer and goofy looking sunglasses are used no longer out of necessity but rather for the feeling of comfort and safety.

The Holiday Season

Every year as soon as the calendar shifts over from November to December something weird happens to us. Our body clock for some reason knows that Christmas is near. Lights go up, tree hunting begins and Christmas carols echo hauntingly through shopping malls. I thought that by heading thousands of miles away from the western world i would some how avoid this phenomenon. Yeah right.

I can’t help but laugh when wandering the streets of Goma. Think of the most horrific, ugly, and tacky Christmas shwag you can think of, it has all been dumped here.

The supermarket on one of the main streets of Goma town is sporting blow up Santa Clause’s and blow up snow globes. Do the people running this supermarket really think that people have the electrical means of powering a fan to keep these things inflated? It’s ridiculous.

Step into Shoppers, the Lebanese run, Shoppers Drug Mart style store and a wall of hits you over whelming Christmas crap. Fake trees, Santa hats, and to top it all off, French and brutal Swahili Christmas carols.

Even the street venders have joined in the Christmas frenzy. Bad wool sweaters, streamers and tinsel weigh down the young men and boys as they dodge traffic trying to make their sales.

Who buys this stuff?

I have attempted to bring a little Christmas cheer to my everyday life by playing the Charlie Brown’s Christmas soundtrack and opening the tiny cardboard doors of the advent calendar that my mum sent with me. I have even made a sad attempt to have a hot chocolate (nesquick, powdered milk, and hot water).

For some reason the whole commercialized consumerist style Christmas seems out of place in Goma. Nwaboshi, one of the laborers helping me with my container project, expressed how important it was that he gets paid before Christmas because he needs to provide for a large family meal. This is coming from a guy who takes home blankets with holes in them and other discarded, unusable equipment from the container. The Christmas bug can infect anyone.

People go crazy around the holidays back at home. I guess I just wasn’t expecting it here.

The Good Times Are Killing Me

I bitch and complain about how frustrating, slow, and relative Goma is. It sometimes seems that whenever I am having a conversation about what is going on here or whenever I write about my time here it is always some sort of grumble or groan about life on the African continent. I have to say that this is not a fair impression of Goma or Congo for that matter.

Along with the bad comes the good. You guys, reading this blog, must have a pretty skewed idea of what life here is like. Here is a Goma fun fact: it’s not all bad.

If you add up all the annoyingly frustrating days that I have had within the past month, today washes them all away. I woke up today and wasn’t overly tired. That’s weird. I put on some Charlie Brown’s Christmas tracks, sipped my coffee and thought to myself, “Samo, today is gonna be a good one!”

When I showed up at HEAL I was met with the wonderfully surprising sight of my carpenter, Rubin, working hard to finish my shelving project for the container. The Internet was good, not great, but then again I am in Goma so I can’t set my Internet bar too high.

Lyn invited me to sit in on a press conference that was being held to announce the launch of DNA testing for rape victims at HEAL Africa. This is the first time this has been offered in the DRC. Its a step in the right direction.

At the end of the day my shelving unit was completely finished and I was approached by some laborers who are keen and ready to get to work in the morning. The puzzle that is my work life is slowing taking shape.

I got home, listened to some newly downloaded tunes, took a dip in the lake and enjoyed a cold one with some friends. Does it get any better than this? December in DR Congo, whoda thunk it.

It kills me to know that there can be days like this. Everything just seemed to fit into place. Though, it’s the tough days that make the days like today so sweet. And as it seems with every experience here, I gained a new sense of perspective and a new appreciation for the relativity of my reality.

Why Not?

It has become habit and sadly routine for me to ask my self “What am I doing here?” to start off my day. I climb out from under my mosquito net and look through my window that looks out over Lake Kivu.

I get asked the question “so what brings you here?” or “so, what do you do here?” more often than any person should by all of the guests that make their way through Maji Matulivu. I have rehearsed my story over and over, “I am an international development studies student from Canada and I felt like I needed to see first hand what development looks like.” Its hard to say that all of the time because I don’t really know if I even believe the words coming out of my mouth.

It is weird that I am here. I am not a doctor, journalist, or logistician. I don’t really have a title and I spend most of my day inside the HEAL Africa Jubilee Centre checking email and working on various little computer projects. For the local staff here I must look pretty weird.

As I write this post, the rain is pouring off the metal roof of the Jubilee Centre. The sound and flash of the lightening and thunder are not far off. My feet are playing chicken with the streams of water that creep slowly from the windows, despite the fact that they are closed. This is an average afternoon, but is it?

I am checking out the photos I took from my last excursion to Don Bosco, a catholic orphanage that feeds 3000 kids at least twice daily. The longer I look at each photograph the more I realize how out of the ordinary this all is. The dark lava rock roads are drastically contrasted by the bright blue sky and colourful dress of the locals, the amount of kids running in the street, and the odd UN vehicle driving by is now my normal, my average.

This place is wild. Things happen just because they can. TIA, This is Africa.

So I will find myself still asking the same question every morning, “What am I doing here?” The only difference between today and yesterday is my answer, “Why not?”

Virunga Market

The smell of drying fish and spices sting my nostrils as I weave through the maze of people. Colourful fabrics, half a cow, and tables full of fresh produce make up the mosaic of Virunga market.

The constant slur of French and Swahili drowns the sound of twenty or so sewing machines plinking away behind a barrier of fabric. Mounds of sugar, corn flour and maize are stacked tall in front of women trying to manage their table and manage their children.

Virunga market has levels. At table height the bartering, arguing and laughing takes place. Money is exchanged for flip-flops, limes, chili peppers, and pots and pans. The second, lower, level is a mess of discarded veggies and sleeping children.

Several young boys try to grab my camera and wallet by bumping into me accidentally on purpose. When I tell them I know what they are doing they just shrug and laugh.

Virunga market is a beautiful organized chaos. It is everyday life. The butchers wear graduation gowns to avoid getting their clothes bloody. Who knows how long the chunks of meat having been dangling from the rafters?

Going to the market is not a just one errand out of the day; it’s the event of the day. You get lost in the bartering and mélange of goods and produce. When you find the exit it is as if you are coming up for air after a long dive. The only issue is once you exit you are met with the outer market crowds and roads of Goma. The chaos is never ending.

I'm waiting...

I realize now that I have grown up in a fast paced, results based society. The Internet is getting faster and faster, we have drive through ATMs, and Starbuck has introduced an instant coffee that rivals its drip. Patience is definitely not a Western virtue.

I am using this blog post is a means of passing the time. I am waiting for the Internet to come back online, I am waiting for a phone call from a carpenter with an estimate and I am waiting for Lyn to become available. I sometimes feel that I spend more of my time waiting impatiently than actually doing.

Even yesterday, a day that I consider a complete success had its time of waiting. I was waiting in line at Kivu Market trying to buy the food in my hand. Kivu market was going through some renovations, it had introduced a new computer system and my check out line was the fortunate one to be blessed with a trainee cashier. I don’t speak the language and I feel that I could have made things run smoother if I had mustered the courage to jump the counter. What made the situation even more ridiculous was the fast paced club music pounding loudly in the background. Then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse the unreliable city power decided to cut out. We just had to be patient and wait.

Its difficult to apply my results based form of success to this slow moving patient world. In an email exchange with Richard Anderson of HEAL U.S.A. he helped me understand that I needed to be glad with the small victories of a day. I cannot always grumble and grown over how “unproductive” I was. In a more hippy way of putting it, I need to be happy with just being. My productivity, like many things here in Goma, needs to be viewed relative to my setting. I can no longer compare my successes back at home with my successes here.

I need to be patient.

What happens tomorrow?

“The youth of today are the leaders of tomorrow”

This saying has become cliché for my generation. As a younger person I have constantly been encouraged to go out and vote because my vote counts, and recycle because I want the planet to be beautiful for my children. These are great sayings, but are they falling on deaf ears?

Are there a lot of young people interested in development? If you were to ask me this question before I marched through the snow to a crowded Monday night IDS lecture my answer would be “for sure!” Yet now that I have spent a relatively short amount of time in a part of the world where you can’t cross the street without nearly being hit by some sort of NGO vehicle my answer is very different.

I don’t consider usually my self a young person. Maybe its because I am the oldest in my family, who knows. However, I can confidently say that I am the youngest expat currently working and living in Goma. I don’t mean to toot my on horn here but I think there is something wrong with this reality.

If we, as youth, are constantly being told that we are the future, then as people interested in the developing world and development as a profession, shouldn't we should invest more at a young age. Learning theory in a classroom is only beneficial if it is carried out and observed in the field. Theory needs to be given context.

Jo and Lyn Lusi have been running HEAL Africa for its lifetime. They are professionals and have been doing a great job at the helm of HEAL Africa. Unfortunately the awesomeness that the Lusis bring to the table will not last forever. We need to ask the question, who will be there to catch the awesomeness and run with it when Jo and Lyn retire?

The development sector needs to become a young person’s profession and passion. In order for this to happen we need to live up to the cliché and act and believe that we truly are the leaders of tomorrow. Cause no matter how hard we try to avoid it, we are.

Moving Forward

I have now lived in Goma for over a month. The adventures of the daily commute from Maji to HEAL have worn off and walking through the volcanic streets has become routine. The projects that I am working on have lost some momentum and I find myself discouraged.

I think my discouragement is fueling the fire of frustration that I have been slowly building these past couple weeks. My frustration comes from being an outsider in this world of insiders. I am a foreigner working in a local organization. It is difficult because I am here for an adventure, for experience and I am working with people where this is everyday life.

When you are traveling through a certain town or city there isn’t time for this feeling of being stagnant. You are constantly moving and therefore, like a car, easily roll through the rut in the middle of the road. However when you set up camp in one area for an extended period of time you slow down, making it easy to get stuck.

I have been spinning my wheels lately trying to get out, but in actual fact I am just digging myself deeper. The whole “woh is me" speech is getting old and I need to ask for a push. I am not sure what form this push will come in but I have an idea of where to start.

I need to remember how everything is relative. The average here in Goma is not the average at home in Vancouver. The trials that I find myself struggling with here are not the same as the ones back at home. I need to see the silver lining in my frustrations.

Sure, I have found myself spinning my wheels this time, but once I get out of this rut I know there will be plenty more down the road. The question is, next time will I take charge and make an effort to avoid them?

Goma

The view from the Jubilee Centre at HEAL. yes that is a volcano in the background.



A Goma local.


having a beer at Le Chalet after a long day.


Ottawa Senators fan?

Check it!

HEAL Africa is being featured on The Oprah Show! Check it out on December 1st and December 25th. http://www.healafrica.org/cms/

French Lessons

The sun beats down on the hard, black lava rock outside HEAL Africa. The dust billows in the air as the motos and chukudus fly by. My new French teacher, Stuart, meets me in the Jubilee Center and we start our short walk to his school.

Stuart is a self-taught translator/interpreter, who has been contracted by my NGOs in the Goma area to interpret meetings. As we mosey through the dusty streets he asks me about what life is like in Vancouver and excitement moves across his face as we discuss the Olympics.

We arrive at our destination, a small storefront on a side street. The windows are barred and the door locked. With a turn of a key we enter the small, cool room. The cement walls are painted turquoise and white plastic deck chairs are neatly ordered in the room. The small chalkboard is commandingly situated at the front of the class with old lessons smudged and smeared across it.

I smile as I hear Michael Jackson playing in the background. Stuart introduces me to the others in the classroom as they vacate from my private tutoring lesson. He switches off Michael and we get to work.

Kigali

Uggghhh

There are always hiccups along the way. No matter how hard you may try to plan something out something small will make you need to change your plan. This happened today.

I woke up this morning to the sound of my stomach, grumbling and groaning. Not good. I am only in Kigali for a short period of time and it is supposed to be my time for adventure. I attempted to shake of the sickness and tell myself I can go on.

I made it downtown Kigali via moto and met up with Loran and Desiree. We ended up going to a bookshop and a handy craft store. I was clutching on to my water bottle as if I was hanging off a cliff and it is the one thing that can save me. First water bottle drained so I cracked the seal on the second.

As a moved through the handy craft store I couldn't hold back the dreaded feeling that I would not be able to continue on with my day. I forced a smile and tried to laugh it off but who was I kidding. I reluctantly walked to edge of the curb to begin the routine of bargaining with a moto driver; I was going home. I stopped by a grocery store and picked up something to nibble on. I chucked my back pack onto the couch and an opened another water bottle. This was my vacation?

I had gone a month without incident. I guess it was bound to happen at some point. I need to be prepared to adapt to the situation no matter what it may be. Couldn’t this have waited until a day I didn’t want to go into work? Oh well. Moving on.

Thinking about Ethiopian food tonight. Gonna tough it out and go for the experience. Tomorrow is a new day, and a new adventure.

Bring The Rain

The dark, grey clouds loom over the Rwandan hills before charging across Lake Kivu. The rain here can only be described as stealthy, you never know when it’s going to hit and before you know it you are soaked to the bone.

This morning as I was walking back to the HEAL Hospital after having coffee a couple minutes down the road I was brutally attacked by the wet beast, and the worst part was I could see it coming. Harper and I were casually strolling when we noticed cars a block away switch on their windshield wipers. Harper, a seasoned expat resident of Goma, whipped out her rain jacket, it might as well have been in a holster. I felt as though we were under fire as she said, “go on without me!” Being the rookie that I am I thought that I could out run the gnarly squall.

I rounded the corner and I could see HEAL Africa's logo guiding me like the North Star only a block away. I could make it! Man oh man was I ever wrong. I splashed through the growing puddles with my flip-flops spraying the back of my jeans. It was as if Mother Nature decided turn on her pressure washer. I was instantly soaked through and quickly found shelter under a tree across the street.

Harper joined me soon after and all we could do was laugh and worry about our laptops. We waited under the tree, getting dripped on for several minutes before we decided to bite the bullet and make a run for it. When we finally arrived at our destination my shirt was see through.

As we entered the room we were greeted by snickers of the dry people hunkered down inside. The rain sounded like hail on the tin roof above us as I watched a mini waterfall explode out of the gutter overhead.

Next time I will not be so naive.

Night Moves

Last night was a first. It was the first time that I had gone for a drive at night in Goma. Now you might say, “driving at night is no different than driving during the day, it is just darker.” And I would respond “you are wrong, sir!”

The city of Goma changes when the sun goes down. Suddenly the armed soldiers you ignore during the day become menacing and sketchy. The cars drive faster on the roads and there isn’t as much foot traffic along the makeshift sidewalks.

Although getting ice cream was not our soul reason for going out, it was a very important mission. Weaving through the streets of Goma and coming to a quick stop in front of the Lebanese owned “Shoppers” grocery store was a contradiction in itself.

Walking through the doors of Shoppers is like walking into a grocery store at home. Pringles, Hershey’s chocolate bars and even Kellogg’s cereal grace the shelves at this wondrous place. We make a b-line for the freezer where a large assortment of ice cream is waiting. After a few minutes of deliberation we finally decide to buy two flavors.

We joke about how much we are going to enjoy our ice cream as we walk to the cashier. I slide my box onto the cashier’s counter and take out my wallet. I am not paying attention as she “beeps” me through until she tells me how much it costs, 17 American dollars!!! Ya I know its freakin’ crazy. I look at the other box of ice cream Loran is holding and without words we both decide that one will be enough. Despite what anyone may say, it was the best ice cream I have ever had and was worth every penny.

We were not proud of our expensive ice cream purchase. Especially since 17 dollars could help feed some patients at the HEAL Africa hospital who are without food. But we guiltily chose to indulge our selves tonight with a treat that we will not be a habit.

The comforts of home come at a cost when you are thousands of miles away. I am going to make an effort to learn about the comforts and treats of the local ‘Gomatricien’. I have a feeling they may be cheaper.

Good Night

The sun slowly migrates to the horizon as I wait to make the half-hour drive back to Maji. We pile into the car, packing as many people as we can in the back seat to avoid bouncing around on the pothole filled roads of Goma.

At the one intersection we have to stop at I hear the routine tap on my driver’s side window by a persistent boy of around 10 years old asking for some money or a cookie. I respond with the rehearsed Swahili dialogue that I tell him every day. “hakuna pesa, pole” “I have no money, sorry.” His smile turns into disappointment as he walks away, but I know that tomorrow we will do the dance again.

Once back at Maji, I grab my book and head for the water’s edge. I sit and try to read as the sights and sounds of the fisherman returning home distract me. I read until the sun drops behind the Congolese mountains and I can no longer withstand the constant swatting of mosquitoes.

After dinner and tea I dodge up to the apartment upstairs. I am met at the door by a smile and simple question, “can I grab you a beer?” We rehash the day’s events, the good and the bad, as my bottle becomes dry. Our eyelids become heavy and the generator shuts off leaving us in complete darkness. It’s time for the small trek back to my room.

I pass by a dark, silent figure with a large machine and a straight face, one of our three night guards. He apologizes if he startled me and continues on his loop of the property. By flashlight I organize my room and make sure my mosquito net is tucked away. I lay my head back on the pillow and look at my watch, its 9:45 pm and I am exhausted. Another day is done.

Driving

I am no longer a measly pollywog in Goma, DR Congo. I have crossed the metaphorical equator of driving its crazy streets. I am now a shellback!
This morning started like any other idle Thursday: breakfast lakeside coupled with discussion of the day’s events. I did not expect that today would be the day that I lose my African driving virginity. As we piled into the car I took my usual squished place in the back seat. Once I had settled in, I heard faint jingle of keys, like the sound of Tinkerbelle sprinkling fairy dust on Peter Pan. I had been selected to drive the team into town today! I immediately jumped to my feet and rushed to assume my new position in the cockpit situated on the right side of the car. With the turn of the key, my noble steed roared to life and after a quick turn to orient myself I was out into the madness of the volcanic Goma streets. My heart pumped as I zigged and zagged through the minefield of potholes. Moto taxis (motorcycles) zipped by me, I felt like Han Solo and the Pajero, my Millenium Falcon. As I gained confidence I used the horn passing trucks full of empty beer bottles. When it came time for my first right turn I was directed by a policewoman to bust through a crowd of people. I overrode my safety mechanism and dove in horn blaring.
As quick as it started it all came to an end. With the ritual two horn blasts the mighty gates of HEAL Africa opened. We had made it to our destination unscathed. Today I conquered the task of driving through the littered streets of Goma, my pink driver’s license is my badge of honour. Who knows what I will face tomorrow.

Treasure or Garbage?

The big metal doors open and the dry dusty air meets my nostrils. Boxes fill the shipping container to the brim. The frustrating sound of hundreds of individually packed syringes falling through the bottom of the broken box I hold in my hands is all too familiar. This has become my daily routine this past week at HEAL Africa.

The shipping container, that now acts as the keystone in the technical department structure at HEAL Africa, is full of medical supplies sent from Canada. My initial response to hearing that Canada was responsible for the medical supplies was pride. However now that I have had the responsibility of sifting and sorting through it all I am less than impressed, and actually more embarrassed. The supply consists of broken, outdated machines, and materials that have been expired for 10 years.

I would like to be the first person to say that I am being very harsh with my observation. There is a lot of great stuff that came in the container: orthopedic equipment and surgical gloves being the majority. Unfortunately the amount of expired, unusable goods, has cast a large shadow over the usable equipment.

Why do people think that our garbage can be some other person's treasure. This is not always the case, especially when equipment labeled "Unsafe!" or "Recall!" is in the mix. Something is not always better than nothing! In 2000, the WHO released 'Guidelines For Health Care Equipment Donations', one point jumped off the page to me, “if the quality of an item is unacceptable in the donor country, it is also unacceptable as a donation.”

It takes time and money in order to go through everything. Time and money that is valuable to an NGO.

There needs to be more thought put into what is sent overseas. I understand that it is time and cost consuming, but please take the time to thoughtfully fill it. I don't think I am the only one who would rather have to wait a long time for a full, useful container rather than having several semi-useful containers sitting on the already cramped HEAL Africa property. The useful equipment that has been collected will change how the hospital runs day to day, I just wish that the whole container could have had the same impact.

Sorting with my team.

Da Fashionista

Why should a sense of fashion be limited to those people who live in the west?

Walking down a main street in Vancouver you will come across some pretty elaborate clothing styles. Without even speaking with the people you can make an educated guess of what they are like based on the clothes they wear. People don’t wear the clothes they do purely out of necessity back at home; they wear them out of style.

The Congolese have their own clothing that is, with the lack of a better word, ‘traditional’. Bright, complex designs cover the garment weather it is a skirt, headscarf, or men’s blazer. However there are those people that are unable to purchase such ‘stylish’ clothes. These are the people that rely on donated clothing.

It is not uncommon to see kids and adults alike, walking to school and work sporting a Canucks t-shirt or Calgary Flames jersey. Not to say that die-hard NHL fans are non-existent in Goma, DR Congo, it's just that the people here do not wear the hockey jersey for the same reason someone in Vancouver would.

We, westerners, wear clothes in an attempt to make some sort of social statement or to fit in with certain crowd. That one t-shirt that we just had to have, the one that we really wanted is quickly converted into a garment that someone needs.

For instance, this is the last place I thought I would see this pair of footwear.



I thought I had chosen a lake water shower over thrashing powder this year, but, who knows, I may have just found my new ski partner for this season (sorry dad).

Good Morning

In the morning I am met outside the gates of Maji by Safari, my tennis partner. He passes me my tennis racket and we start a slow 2km jog down the lakeside road to the Karibu Hotel. Motos zip by us with a ritual honk as I try to dodge the potholes. Just five houses down from Maji there is public lake access.

The public lake access is not like the public beach access we are used to back in Vancouver. When I jog by at 6am the road and lake are teeming with activity. Families are filling up the jerry cans for the day, while others are doing a week’s worth of laundry. Moto drivers slip into the spaces at the water’s edge to wash their bikes as the fisherman sing their songs as they head out to drop their nets.

A diverse community gathers everyday at this one spot out of necessity. I receive the blank stares and the odd smile as I brush through the crowds with Safari. Boys run beside us asking for cookies and money unable to keep up under the weight of their water cans.

When we reach the red clay courts of the Karibu Hotel we are met by two armed Congolese soldiers; their general is playing on the court beside us. Just when I think I can’t chase the ball anymore Dr. Jo arrives ready for his swimming lesson. After doing our stretches and getting up to date one the local news, we slip into the pool for half an hour.

I arrive back at Maji to be met by a table full of people down by the water’s edge, fresh, clean fruit and homemade bread at my fingertips. I quickly eat and rush to get changed as the car horn honks to remind me that I still need to go to work today. Another day has begun.

A Comfortable Adventure

I have now been on the Africa continent for close to 3 weeks. I have been away from the comfort of Canada for longer than this before, like when I was on Class Afloat, but for some reason my stay in Africa has been different than my first few weeks on the Concordia. The most notable difference being that I am on my own. I am someone who likes to be surrounded by close friends; it is rare that I am given a blank slate to work with. Being alone in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language is a dangerous combo. It’s an uphill battle.

Now all that being said, I do have to remind myself that I am only 3 weeks into my African adventure, and I have to accept that "adventures" are not easy. However they do provide excitement. For example, today I had some time to kill before driving back to Maji from HEAL so I decided to research flights to Zanzibar. Where else could I just casually toy with the idea of taking a few days, hop on a plane and chill off of the east coast of Tanzania?

So after I got home i listened to some music that reminded me of home and i started to see my “hardships” in a new light. Living in Goma has opened so many doors for me. The opportunities are endless. Sure its going to be hard, but at the end of the day i have to ask myself where do you really want to be right now? And more times than not the answer is going to be, “RIGHT HERE!”

flying uncertainty

Goma is definitely not a quiet city. From the crowing roosters in the morning to the crashing thunder at night there is nonstop noise. However one sound is prominent through out the day, planes. Goma has a small airstrip that doesn’t ever seem to rest. Planes pass over the city approximately every 15 minutes.

With all of the air traffic going on it is hard not to ask the question, what is in those planes? They can’t possibly be all passenger jets flying people in for a weekend getaway in the eastern Congo, can they?

Today, a woman from Canada, a victim of a chimpanzee attack, dropped into critical condition. There was an imperative need for some sort of air evacuation, yet despite the constant buzz of planes overhead it was surprisingly inaccessible. Unfortunately we were unable to organize a flight and she had to travel 3 hours by land accompanied by an expat doctor to Kigali.

My imagination runs wild when the planes fly overhead. Are they full of diamonds? gold? coltan? UN VIPs? The list goes on and on.

In a region that lives in the shadow of social and governmental uncertainty it is hard to accept that it has a constant, efficient link to the outside world; maybe it is the air travel that creates the uncertainty. Even when presented with a medical emergency, other, more “important”, things take precedent. The airstrip in Goma seems to provide more questions than answers. I hope I am able to answer a few of them in the next several months.

Dinner Discussion

There is something about eating and conversation that just go well together. My family has always been a fan of the family dinners as I was growing up. Dinner was more than just shoving food in our mouths, it was a time to decompress, catch up on the day’s events, laugh and argue. The dinner table helped to facilitate a sense of community. I was fortunate enough to have the same luxury with my roommates last year at school.

I am privileged to have a similar community around the table at Maji in Goma. Unlike my family’s table and my roommate’s table, the table at Maji constantly has people coming and going. On one hand this is a negative because I am not able to really develop relationships when they are only in Goma for a short period of time. However, on the positive side, I have met civil rights lawyers, businessman, doctors, pastors, nurses and logisticians. There is no shortage of new stories, point of views and jokes.

I came to Goma looking to learn as much as I possibly could about the developing world and how I could operate in the development field. And I have learned a lot so far, I just never thought I would learn as much as I have from just sitting around the dinner table in the evening.

Lake Kivu

When I first saw Lake Kivu my first thought was “WOW!!” The lake is amazingly beautiful. In the morning, its dead calm and in the distance you can see fisherman paddling in their dug out canoes. In the early afternoon it sparkles as the high sun reflects off of its surface. As the afternoon changes into evening the large clouds roll off the Rwandan mountains showering Lake Kivu in heavy rain. The clouds move further south where lightening cracks over the rolling hills followed by and echoing boom of thunder.
On the weekend wake boards and jet skis fly across the surface accompanied by woops of laughter coming from the expats that ride them. Lake Kivu also acts as a highway for trade and transportation. However that is not the whole story of the magnificent lake.
As well as fostering fun the lake also fosters life. Thousands of people use the lake as their primary water source everyday. Although life may seem is easy for those living within walking distance from the lake, it comes at a price. As well as fish, the lake is also home to Cholera. Cholera is bacteria found in fresh water that can cause serious gastrointestinal problems. So... every jerry can of water pulled out of the lake needs to be treated with chlorine in order to insure that the water is truly clean. Chlorine costs money, money that not everyone has. This is where complications happen. The lake goes from being a life source to a source of disease and hardship.
After a long, hot day I am able to come home to Maji, flip of my shoes and plunge into the lake to cool off. For me Lake Kivu is a luxury, for others it is a hard earned necessity.

Crossing the border

The Rwandan-Congo border sits on the shore of mighty Lake Kivu bustling with energy. People cross everyday to sell their goods either in Goma, DR Congo or in Geyseni, Rwanda. UN vehicles drive across full of troops and refugee supplies accompanied by the odd Mercedes with a Dubai license plate. We hopped into the Land Cruiser flying the HEAL Africa flag and head into town. At first DR Congo seems no different from Rwanda, until we enter the city center. The smell of burning garbage and car exhaust hit us like a brick wall. The streets teemed with activity as the moto drivers (taxi motorbikes) weave in and out of traffic like ants in a uniform line. Goma is a sensory overload. The noise, smells and sights are overwhelming. We were definitely not in Kansas anymore. After a quick stop at the HEAL Africa office we jumped back out on the bumpy road to our final destination of the day, Maji Matulivu, the HEAL Africa guesthouse. Just a short distance away from the city center Maji sits right on Lake Kivu. Just a few doors down lay one of Mobutu’s many palaces, which now acts as a government office. Tired and hungry we enter the gates of Maji; we were met by the striking view of lake Kivu bordered both by Rwanda and DR Congo. Maji is an oasis in the volcanic desert that is Goma. Maji is a place of rest and relaxation amongst the business and stress that lie just outside the gates. While my days will be spent in the madness of Goma I will be able to sit back and decompress from it all comforted by the warm hug of Maji.

Back from Burundi

Here are a couple pics that capture some of what I have seen so far.

- A tea plantation in northern Burundi. It produces approx. 4 million pounds of tea per year.


- A few curious boys at a goat distribution in Mufumya, Burundi. The goat distribution is a program by FH that provides the women of the community with some sort of bank balance on legs. the goats provide a sense of economic security within their insecure situation.


These past few days have been awesome. We covered a lot of ground. From Vancouver to Kigali took well over 48 hours. And I have to say it has been worth the travel time. We have traveled through Burundi looking at various agriculture development projects with FH: coffee washing stations, terraces (I am now a terracing pro), a school project and many more.

We just got back from Burundi this afternoon and we are spending the night in Gitarama, Rwanda at the "Splendid" Hotel.

I am not even a week into my stay here in central Africa and I have already seen and experienced so much. I cannot wait until I reach Goma, where I will be spending the majority of the next 6 months,

Everyday has provided a new experience, a new acquaintance. I can't wait for tomorrow.


Samo