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.