365 later

So, it has been almost exactly a year since I first touched down in Goma town. A year ago I was overwhelmed, excited, nervous and…well… overwhelmed. Now I am in a completely different situation. I am back at school, sitting inside my warm home shielded from the cold outside. Very different from where I was last year. School is different than I remember. It’s fun. I generally look forward to going to classes and I am eager to learn. I find myself actively seeking time to be alone and reflect. I don’t reflect on anything in particular I just think about where I have been and where I am going. Whether it be about school, friends or my last year I am trying to think, to make sense of it all, whatever “it all” may be.

A question I have wrestled since mid summer has been “how has your experience this past year changed you?” WOW. Deep eh? I thought the answer would come easy to me. I thought I would be able to just open my mouth and an eloquent answer would just flow out. But I open my mouth and…nothing. I don’t know if I can’t find the words or I just don’t know yet. Goma and HEAL seem so far away. Years ago. Another world. I know I have been affected by my experience I just don’t know how exactly. It will come with time. The odd smell, a song, even the sound of a helicopter flying overhead brings me back to the dusty jagged streets. Goma has become a part of me; I can’t point out what part it is yet. Patience.

international women's day

Monday, March 8th not only marked the beginning of my last week in Goma but also an amazing day for Congo. Monday was International Women’s day. It’s a day for the women of the Congo to stand up and be heard. In Goma they march through the streets, chanting, singing and smiling while wearing specially made Congo outfits. In a country that has been dubbed by the media “Hell on Earth” and “The Rape Capital of the World” this day represents a huge step forward for how the women are perceived by the global community. They are active not just passive victims. Unfortunately because of the strict laws I was unable to take photos of the event but the view will forever be in my mind.
As the sea of women stopped and surged down the main drag, men stood by watching from the sideline shouting the occasional comment. I shook some of the women’s hands and decided to call it an early day. I hissed down a moto, quickly bartered a “fair” price and took off beside the colourful parade. We were stuck in traffic amongst the hooting, hollering, exhaust and honking as women attempted to take over the road. This was their day and nothing or no one was going to take it away from them. While we were stuck in the traffic I asked my moto driver what he thought of the day’s events. He seemed to be supportive of the entire event. It was amazing to see the amount of women that participated.
If Congo is “Hell on Earth”, than hell can throw great party.

Time

Time is an interesting concept over on this side of the world. As i have mention previously everything moves slower, more relaxed even. I don’t mind the relaxed sense of time when it doesn’t inconvenience me. There is no rush to get anything done. “We can do it tomorrow”, “later”, “tomorrow” yada yada yada. I have found this easy to go along with because I have not had any future commitments while have been here. A friend of mine, Tella, described Goma as a bubble or black hole. She thought that it would be easy to show up here and before you know it a year has gone by. I think it’s because everything here moves at a manageable pace. Not to fast, not too slow. I think Goldie Locks would love it here.

However the my perfect relaxed nature is all about to change.

In 11 days i will be stepping on a plane and saying goodbye to the Great Lakes region of Africa. 11 days!! It is hard to comprehend that my time here is coming to end. Right now I have the same feeling one has during exam period. I am trying to get all of my work done while making the most out of everyday and night.

Today I had a brief glimpse of what I am in for once I touch down in Cairo. I was trying to come up with a plan of what I am going to do in the short amount of time I have and let me just say from what I have researched so far 9 days is not nearly enough time to see Egypt. But I have to make the best of what I have got. I will be thrown head first into a place bustling with energy. I will be restricted by bus and train schedules versus just meal times.

This sense of urgency with only be magnified once I get to Europe and then home to Vancouver. It is interesting how more tense and fast moving everything gets as I make my way closer and closer to home. Just thinking about applying for classes, going back to work, and then eventually going back to school is all very daunting.

What I have to work on now is not squander my time left in Goma. I can’t get ahead of myself

the BIG picture

Maji is full of people right now. Doctors, schoolteachers, hospital administrators, students and researchers. The conversation is non-stop and the place is teeming with an infectious energy.

But I must be immune to this energetic disease because I am just not feeling it. I consider myself to be someone who is willing to dive into any conversation over the dinner table, I jump at the opportunity to help people out and show people around. But not today.

I am quiet, tired and just want to be alone. I am tired in all ways possible. I am tired of talking, I am tired of sorting medical equipment, and I am tired of walking through the Goma streets. I want to escape. This is the first time that I have felt this way. I was even toying with the idea of trying to go home earlier. YA I KNOW CRAZY. I don’t want to go home, but right at this very moment it seems like it would be the easiest move.

I’ve never considered myself to be the type of person to take the easy way out. I need to stop everything and take a good hard look at why I am here. I am here to learn and have experiences. No one ever told me that I would always have a good time. So here goes nothing, time to go and sort some clubbed foot equipment. Another day, another piece of equipment to sort. Maybe i will catch the energy bug after all.

Gangsta Beats and Volcanic Dust

Just over three weeks ago the Lebanese owned Kivu Market, famous for its large selection of western delights, opened up a “fast food” restaurant, or at least as close as one can expect to a fast food restaurant in Goma. For my Haligonian friends it roughly resembles King of Donair and looks as though it would sit quite comfortable beside the Black Market at Pizza Corner. When you can buy samosas on the street for 300 Congolese francs (roughly 35 cents), buying a shawarma for $2.50 seems outrageous so its a place to go when one needs a little pick-me-up.

So today was a day for a treat. After working in the containers in the morning it was nice to swing open the HEAL Africa front gate and make the short dusty walk to the Kivu Take-Away. Climbing the narrow spiral staircase to the soundtrack of Madonna’s latest and greatest up to the patio is a welcome change of pace. While enjoying my shawarma I find myself mesmerized by the TV playing the latest and most popular music videos. Trying to maintain a conversation while Rhianna is dancing half naked with her music being played crazy loud is a skill, and a skill that I have not yet mastered. I used to not understand why you would see crowds of twenty or so kids packed inside and out of a small movie stand. Now I do. When you don’t watch TV for a long time it is hypnotic when you eventually do.

While taking our last bite of shawarma taking in the beats of Lil’ Wayne it dawns on me where we actually are, Goma DR Congo. And here I am sitting back in a K.O.D. knock-off listening to over paid rap and hip-hop artists talk about how rich they are and how many cars they own. A UN helicopter gun ship drowns out the music overhead and I am back into the reality of it all. We pick up our things, say goodbye to Jay-Z and head back to HEAL passing by street kids selling deodorant and key chains.

I have tackled with the reality that the global north and global south are on the same planet. It blows my mind that they can somehow coexist. Today just gave me a glimpse at how different the two worlds are. Now I find myself asking, which one is more real?

Trade or Aid?

Before I left for Goma I was leaning towards the ideology of “trade not aid”, but now that I have been over living in a country that receives over a billion dollars worth of aid per year I am not so sure any more.

I remember arguing in one of my IDS tutorials, what is more important social action or political action? There were great arguments for both sides, however the group of people involved in this small debate concluded that there is a need for a healthy mixture of both. I believe the same goes for trade and aid.

The aid argument has been around for a long time, I have read that there was even great debate over the Marshal plan after WWII. Yet I can say from first hand experience that aid is important to create the means for trade. One cannot expect a developing nation to join the global market place at a competitive level when it is unable to provide for the basic needs of its people.

A nation such as the Democratic Republic of Congo is a great example for this argument. The DR Congo is known to be a resource rich country, however it is unable to gain from its resources because of the constant strife and terror created by armed groups around the mining region. Conflicts have uprooted whole communities creating a large population of internally displaced people who are in great need.

A country like the DR Congo cannot simply cut off all aid and expect to rebound with the help of international trade if there is no means of legitimate trade. Talks and agreements are slowly happening to help make the trade of minerals legal. Until legitimate international commerce becomes a reality in the Congo it is ridiculous to think that aid is not needed.

Now just because I think that aid is necessary it is important to note how the aid is being given to the country. When one thinks about international aid pictures of relief work come to mind such as the Tsunami relief effort and now most recently the earthquake in Haiti. This is unfortunate because aid does not simply mean an expat handing out food from the back of a UN or other NGO vehicle. Aid is not solely a financial donation to a country in need, it can also be an investment in human capital- helping the people in need help themselves. The financial side of aid is needed however it is not right to think that is only way.

Thoughts?

dangerous tourism

Sorry for the writing drought I have been on the go for past few weeks and haven't had a chance to write. But I am back.

Instead of taking the regular route home Nadine, Tella and I decided it would be a good idea to go and check out the view from the top of mount Goma. Don’t get too excited it wasn’t actually a mountain, more of a glorified hill.

As we began our ascent i was really worried because i had forgot my camera and would not be able to document the view of greater Goma town and the harbor. However i quickly realized that this was the least of my worries. We passed by the army barracks and the heat in the car was turned up by the burning stares coming from the lounging soldiers.

After passing by the barracks we are convinced the only thing we would need to brave now would be the bumpy off camber road to the top. WRONG!

We came across two “checkpoints” on our way up to the microwave tower. Both military men in charge of their respective piece of tape blocking the road did their very best to make it clear that they were in charge and that it was going to be a difficult ride to the top. However, Nadine used her awesome Congolese sweet talk and got us through no problem.

Upon reaching the summit you could see all of Goma. It was quiet and the only sound was our complaints of how hot it was. We were totally alone on top of our small Congolese world. At least that is what we thought. Our moment was quickly shattered by a shoeless soldier with a gun come up to us and begin to forcefully become our personal “tour guide”. We quickly gained attention and soon we were being berated for money, condoms and whatever else we could possibly hand over.

As we took mental note of the astonishing view we quickly backed up towards our car only to catch a glimpse of the rocket launcher pointing towards Rwanda. One of the men, who knows could have been a soldier sporting a tank top and soccer shorts, told us it was for “killing the Rwandese” and the only reason why we are walking around free in Goma was because of what they were doing. ya...okay. We just smiled and nodded to what he was saying.

We thanked the Congolese combatants and took haste as we ripped down the bumpy cliff side road.

I apologize for the lack of photos but I hope you understand.

Ms. Goma 2010

The anticipation built with every step we took up the stairs toward the runway. The place was completely packed. Loran, Tella and I managed to snag three VIP-like seats right up against the runway. Awesome. There were a few acts before the main event got underway. Inappropriately loud music sounded over the blown out speaker system and from out behind a curtain 11 hopeful young ladies danced their way onto the stage. They all wore the same outfit, Congolese cotton beach wear, and sported the same snazzy hairdo. The flashes of cameras and the hooting and hollering of the excited crowd was incredible. After their intro the girls came out to strut their stuff one at a time. The MC tried to compete with the blaring music as he read out their measurements, favourite foods, allergies, medical difficulties and shoe size aloud to the audience. The term “meat market” was taken to a new level.

At the intermission Goma’s elite was treated to a modern dance and a surprise wedding proposal.

As the night progressed the crowd grew in size and rowdiness. The Minister of Tourism of North Kivu saw the large crowd combined with the copious amounts of Primus and diminishing attention span as the ideal audience for her big announcement. She launched into a long-winded, multi page proposal of how tourism was going to grow and benefit North Kivu. The spectators, hungry for more Ms. Goma, attempted to cheer the Minister off the stage. This took several failed attempts before it prompted a local radio show owner to lecture on the importance of listening to the proposal.

We took our own boredom as a sign to take our leave. Another night on the town in Goma is in the books.

Oh The Places You'll Go!

The two guards beckoned us through the open gates to the sound of the Indian MONUC house bongo band playing only what I can think was Hindi or Punjab music. The entrance walkway was lined with people holding trays full of glasses of your choice of rum or whiskey. Welcome to a MONUC party.

We walked around the empty pool, which has been transformed into a dance pit. Obviously the DJ was setup in the shallow end. We take our seats in a semi circle of patio furniture lit by Christmas lights wrapped around exercise equipment. We are served various Indian delights as we try to act casual while our photo is being taken. It felt like we were celebrities being accosted by the paparazzi.

“Okay party people it is time to dance,” said the enthusiastic DJ in the thickest Indian accent you can think of. And with that as his intro Elvis’ Jailhouse Rock was blared over the speaker system in the deep end of the swimming pool. I choked down my whiskey straight up and make the move to the open bar. I was told to add a shot of Bacardi to my beer because “it really hits you” said the MONUC anesthesiologist.

I hold off on jumping into the deep end (literally) until a fitting song came on. I sat beside Jo and tried to blend in; only problem was that i didn't have a lounge suit and I was missing a thick, dark black mustache. Oh well. Summer of ’69 roared over the speaker system and so I took it as my cue to jump in and bust a move. Mambo #5, Sweet Child of Mine, and The Final Countdown followed to create an awesome dance mix. Even Jo and Lyn Lusi broke it down in the deep end.

The night wore on and the sweat stains grew. I took a moment to check out my surroundings, an elephant mural on the right hand pool wall, samosas were being served up on the pool deck, and Backstreet Boys was blasting, I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face.

Pictures were taken and phone numbers exchanged. I know that the MONUC mission has been criticized publicly in the media, but one thing is for sure, they can sure throw a Monday night party. I look forward to the next one.

Cold Chillin'

I have driven the stretch between HEAL and Maji well over one hundred times, its routine. However today during the “routine” drive back from HEAL I noticed something.

The streets are constantly buzzing over here. People carrying food, holding hands, talking, selling goods etc. But if one looks harder there is also another activity people are taking part in, chillin. Now in the short period of time that I have been able to think about this I have come to the conclusion that it is awesome. There are people out front of stores, kisosks, and other names for places where stuff is sold. Some of these chillers are talking, don't know what about but for the most part it looks very important. Yet majority of those people chillin on the side of the road are taking part in one of my favourite activities, people watching. Groups of people look at you as you drive by with blank stares. They’re just watching, soaking it all in, the car fumes, smells, and the sights that the Goma streets have to offer. I think this needs to be introduced into everyday life back at home.

I understand that my proposition will be met with the excuses, “there is too much to do”, “we don’t have time to just sit.” Although this is true, take a minute and slow down for a second eh. I believe that if everyone just took a moment to relax and watch the day go by for a short period of time during the week everyone would be less stressed. I can be quoted complaining about “Africa time” but I think there is a reason to embrace it and just be.

Any thoughts?

The Itch

I have said this before and I will say it again. Everything has become “normal” to me over here. Soldiers, street kids, and skinned goats on the back of motos. Nothing seems to be surprising. I think that it is a sign that I am no longer traveling in a foreign land. What used to be foreign has lost its mystery.

I have wrestled with the idea of living versus traveling ever since I touched down in Goma town. And for the most part the argument has gotten the best of me. I have succumbed to the sleeper hold of it all. But now I feel that I have gained the upper hand.

Why does everything being normal have to be a bad thing? It’s just a sign that I am now a Goma resident versus just a nomad. I recognize faces at the border patrol and they recognize me, I know where the cheap beer is in town, and I am under the impression that I have gained the respect of a couple of the traffic cops on my daily commute into HEAL.

Yet, for some reason, I’m not comfortable. I am constantly feeling like there should be more. I am missing out; there is more adventure, more work, just more. WHY? Why can’t I get comfortable? Every day is different and brings new challenges with it. So why do I find myself feeling uncomfortable?

Its not like I am uncomfortable driving down the streets cause I am scared or I haven’t met any good people its something else. It is like I have found this awesome sweater in a store and no matter how cool I may look, or how perfect it fits, I can’t get over how it scratches the back of my neck.

I have come up with a way to make every week “exciting”. I am making little goals, little adventures that I need to do or accomplish by the end of the week. For example, going second hand clothes shopping in the big open air market, walking, instead of driving, back to Maji from HEAL. Small things. Manageable things. But things that help to give me a small adventure high that I have been looking to score.

I am not sure if I will be able to get rid of the itch but it can’t hurt to start by cutting out the tag.