Anicka & John

There were few things in Congo that caused me as much stress as the constant requests for money. Often it felt like our whole day was spent negotiating such requests, from street kids to housekeepers to close friends. Something our country rep told us at the beginning was helpful – there is no shame in asking. In our culture, asking for money involves a certain loss of dignity, but in Congo we soon saw that people did not feel this way at all. The longer we lived there, the more it seemed that the redistribution of cash between individuals was like a kind of glue that held the society together and cemented relationships, but it was so complicated to figure out the unwritten rules. This was the domain where I often felt the most lost and out of my depth. There were so many moments when it was clear in retrospect that a bill or a handful of bills should have been pressed into a palm; other times I handed out money and later realized I had created an unhealthy precedent; the worst was when the callousness I had developed about people’s criticism of our money-sharing habits (or lack thereof) suddenly backfired and I realized I had actually deeply offended a friend by offering too little.

Inside Menno-Santé, I felt righteously certain that we were making the right choice in keeping our grants small, insisting on repayment of loans, being strict with grant criteria, and hammering on the importance of sustainability during conversations with the doctors. I still can’t imagine doing it any other way, still feel like we did more or less the right thing there – though I think I’m open to being challenged on this.

With strangers, I also ended up feeling fairly confident I had hit the right balance (police, hotel service staff, airport staff, parking attendants). The key seemed to be to use the money as a way to seal a relationship and to keep the link between money and a service rendered a weak one. For example, in an airport a washroom attendant might ask for money for letting me use the washroom, but as long as she wasn’t actually sitting at a little desk, looking official and there was no sign saying the washroom cost x to use, I was free to give or not; I did not have to give again if I went twice. When someone asked for a “sucrée” then the right response seemed to be to give every once in a while but certainly not every time, and more as a token of appreciation for someone’s help. There were certain situations where it was almost obligatory to give but I still resented it – for example at a small city airport where an obsequious guy attached himself to us as our “protocol” – we pretty much had to give him a tip because he was a friend of a friend.

With our friends, money issues felt more awkward. I think this was because of our Western idea that requests for money don’t belong in a personal friendship. Our Congolese friends did not seem to feel, as we did, that a request for a loan would jeopardize a friendship or at least change the balance of power and make things feel awkward for a while. By the end we had lent money to several friends, given gifts to several others, and converted at least one loan to a gift after non-repayment. We definitely experienced moments of feeling hurt, taken advantage of, and even used by friends. In one case we initiated a direct conversation with friends who were taking their time about repaying, even though they had recently come into some money. This heart-to-heart was helpful for us; I’m still not sure how it came across to them. I think we were able to take things a little less personally in the end. We also learned, though, that our attitude about the role of money in friendships (we prefer it to play no role) is very deeply ingrained in our culture and is not easy to give up. I’m happy that we did not feel, at the end, that any friendship had been permanently soured because of a money question.

I was always interested in gaining a better understanding of people’s attitudes toward money, and trying to understand how our money habits might appear to them. An illustration I once heard in a sermon was a key to helping me understand the importance people placed on keeping money flowing and not holding onto it as a source of security.  The preacher described a young man with some means, who could have afforded a more varied diet, and who nevertheless chose to cook himself simple fufu and pili-pili every day. The preacher’s point was that it is wrong to do this when God has given you more; the only possible reason for such self-restraint is a hoarding mentality – hiding one’s wealth so as not to have a horde of relatives and neighbours descending on you to ask for a share (cue nodding and giggling from his audience). North American-style voluntary simplicity or solidarity with the poor certainly was not a possible interpretation of this man’s frugality. The preacher exhorted us: if you have the means to take a vacation in South Africa – you should do it by all means! Don’t hold back! And though this might sound a little like a prosperity gospel, I think it really quite consistent with Jesus’ teaching about generosity, and consistent warnings against “storing up” things for oneself. Money is there to be used, not hoarded, and being free to party or vacation extravagantly when finances permit may be better than trying to store it up for a rainy day with the excuse that we are being “wise stewards”. By Congolese standards I fear we often appeared quite miserly.

Overall, I am glad that we learned as much as we did about how to negotiate the infinite complexities of daily financial transactions in Congo. However, the question of how to use money to best work for global justice continues to niggle at me. I still feel unable to resolve the tension I feel between Jesus’ teaching about generosity, my conviction about the importance of giving nothing for free in a development project, and the relatively low importance my Congolese friends (and Jesus) seem to place on saving up money for a secure future.

In Congo our involvement with church was somewhat limited because of our status as guests and outsiders – we weren’t always invited or aware of events at the beginning for example. It was also limited by our frequent travels and our own attitude (we were frequently irritated by certain aspects of church such as a lack of transparency about finances, or by what felt like incomprehensible church budgetary priorities, such as buying a sound system instead of fixing the only toilet). And increasingly at the end, it was limited by needing to care for Anne-Sophie during the service and sometimes needing to leave early.

We were, however, quite faithful in our attendance throughout the entire time and although we visited a few other churches in Kinshasa, we believed it was important to have one home base and stick with it. By the end, I felt like I understood a lot about the church dynamic, did not feel like an outsider anymore, and sometimes even knew the latest news before others did.

My involvement was:

• two sermons, one about the dishonest manager in Luke in March 2010 and one about loving enemies from Matthew in September 2011; both were well received. Preparing and delivering these sermons was a big highlight for me. Both times the power was off so I had to speak loudly to be heard without a microphone.

• participating in women’s group including singing in the choir. There were months when I hardly participated, alternating with other times when I went regularly. This seemed to be the pattern for many of the other women as well. Spurts of effort interspersed with down times. I sometimes regret not having given a teaching to the women’s group at least once – I think it could have gone really well and might have blossomed into something exciting. Women’s group was largely a Lingala-speaking domain, actually one of the only places/times in Kinshasa where I was forced to practice my Lingala.

• hosting a small group about three-four times with two couples; it never really got off the ground

• having Anne-Sophie dedicated

• visiting church members (in a group, along with others) after family members died

• contributing money for communal meal preparations. I kind of regret not actually getting involved in some of those meal preparations with all the mamas – they were a formidable example of competent, last-minute organizing of meals for a large group. There was always something that came up preventing me from participating, but I also always knew I probably could have overcome those obstacles with a bit of effort.

• participation in annual meetings, and in a commission nominated at one of those meetings to deal with a conflict (I got the sense that people were excited to have us participate in that way and really wanted us to say yes to the nomination).

• We also provided a listening ear to pastor Jean-Baptiste who liked to come and talk to us regularly.

Certain aspects of church life irritated me greatly, while others uplifted and encouraged me. Overall, I felt like I was part of a group of believers who were trying to follow Jesus, and who were often distracted by the urgent business of surviving and/or other business concerns (though no more so than people here in Québec).

I’ll close by describing one thing that I came, over time, to deeply admire and respect about our church (and by extension, many other churches in Congo): many people had what could be described as a very audacious faith (a less flattering term would be “obnoxious”).

In the beginning I couldn’t relax fully to join in the community prayer times because I was asking myself, with some irritation, why people had to pray so loudly and so long. Why did they all pray aloud and at the same time, creating a cacophony of intense, even angry-sounding voices? Why did prayers sometimes sound so demanding? This was something that initially repelled me, yet that I found strangely attractive. I spent a lot of time trying to wrap my head around it and in the end, became convinced that the Spirit was moving here, and that it was important for me to learn from it, put my judgments aside, and participate.

I became convinced that this is what Jesus, in his parable of the widow who pesters a judge for justice, calls “persistence”. The Congolese church is telling God (and anyone else who wants to listen): HEY! We are here! We matter! Don’t ignore us! We’re not going to stop bugging you! And by continuing to speak to God this way in spite of a lack of improvement in miserable circumstances, they are showing the kind of faith that the Bible repeatedly commends.

Leslie Hawthorne Klingler, in her series of vignettes about her MCC term in Costa Rica, talks about a similar praying style in the church she attended, and describes how she had to learn to “ride the waves” of the “earnest communal intercession”. For me as for her, it was awkward at times, and I never felt proficient, but when I allowed myself to go with the flow, I found deep meaningfulness in some of those times. I concluded that the Congolese church has a lot to teach us Western Christians about how to put aside our inhibited, awkward, cautious and ultra-polite prayers and get real with God. “Obnoxious prayer” can be an expression of dignity: we are not ashamed to ask God to pay attention to us. In a context characterized by great suffering, I think such audacious prayer is the right way to go. Just seeing that Christians all over Congo have enough faith to keep on praying like this gives me hope that the Spirit is moving and that God has not forgotten them.

We’ve been away from Congo for seven full months and I am still regularly feeling a sense of relief to not be there anymore.

At the beginning I had not articulated that this was what I was feeling – relief – but it came into focus more clearly during and after the re-entry retreat and after my talk with the psychologist there.

One thing he said after listening to my describe my struggles with depression and anger while I lived there, was that he hoped I didn’t feel under any pressure at all to go back to a place where there were so few resources to help me with my struggles. I was quick to say that no one was pressuring me to go back, and that is true, but after thinking it over a little more I realize that in my own mind I was bracing myself for an inevitable return to a place like Congo – a place where there is no professional help available for mental health issues; a place where the routine that I thrive on is constantly sabotaged; a place where someone struggling with anger will find more than the average number of things to get angry about; and a place where someone who uses exercise as a main coping strategy for  depression will find it hard to get sufficient fresh air and health, heart-pumping workouts.

I still regularly feel a sense of relief to think that I don’t have to go back there. I feel it especially when I experience something that is in high contrast to some of the things I hated about Congo:

• public health nurses at the vaccination clinic today falling over themselves to explain the possible side effects of a vaccine; making sure that we stayed 15 minutes after the vaccination in case we had an allergic reaction; showering me with pamphlets to make sure that I knew everything I needed to know about possible side effects (oh, how the lack of transparency and the constant hoarding of what I thought should be basic public knowledge, wearied me after three years!)
• a crisp late-summer day where I am free to put my child in a stroller and walk along well-groomed sidewalks, briskly stretching my legs, free to focus on where I want to go with no distractions, not one single person harassing me along the way (what a feeling of freedom and how it brings home to me the extent to which my freedom to move around in Congo was constantly constrained!)
• receiving letters in the mail offering us child tax benefits – we don’t have to lift a finger and our government seems to be showering us with money; the state actually has working mechanisms in place to help children in low-income families get enough to eat (what a contrast to a state whose only purpose is to siphon as much wealth as possible off its population!)
• giving birth in a hospital where my freedom to labour in the position of my own choice was respected, where it was CLEAN and where no hospital staff tried to get me to pay them before drawing my blood or weighing my baby, and where I was offered meals and snacks without paying a cent (what a blessed feeling of being protected in a vulnerable moment and respected as a woman giving birth, and what a contrast to the experience of my women friends in Congo submitting to sexist, poorly educated and unbearably condescending male doctors and believing that their labour will take longer if they don’t listen to everything those doctors tell them!)

Of course I miss many things about Congo, and dislike many of the things I find here in Canada (more about that another time). I’m aware that re-entry involves a honeymoon stage, and that the above vignettes exemplify an infatuation with our new home that is certainly unbalanced and probably won’t last. But it surprises me a little that I am still honeymooning with my “home” country. I think it is because after seeing the psychologist, I finally let myself take a big breath and give myself permission not to think about returning to Congo in the near future. I don’t have to go back next year, in five years, or EVER! For now, that gives me a surprising sense of relief even as it doesn’t preclude moving back there someday.

Over the course of our three years in Congo, many of the things that initially bothered, irritated or greatly frustrated us, became comprehensible, familiar. We even became fond of some of those things that used to drive us crazy. But in other areas we continued to hold onto our difference. Was that because in those cases, we needed them as coping strategies? Or did we just not get far enough in our adaptation?

We never had a TV, even though many of our visitors remarked on its absence, all our Congolese friends had TVs and the TVs were always on if the power was on. Our friends watched whatever came up, including violent films and cheesy soap operas. I once permitted myself to ask Dr Gaspard why he would do something so un-Mennonite as watch a war movie all evening. He shrugged and was clearly not interested in a discussion.

We never got used to very loud sound systems and blaring speakers in church. Once we got up and walked out of an MB church in Kikwit that Dr Benza had brought us to visit. It was so loud and the sound system was being operated so badly that there was constant screeching feedback. When we left, Dr Benza stayed behind. Later we talked about it; he didn’t like the loudness either but must have felt it would be rude to leave. The usher, asking us about why we were leaving, clearly didn’t comprehend our reasoning in the least. Another time, I moved from the guest of honor seats right next to the speakers, to the back row during a service at Kimpwanza MB church in Kikwit. Rev Pelende, who was giving a talk, referred from the pulpit to my move as a way to chastise the sound system operators for its loudness. I was embarrassed but not overly so. Ultimately, I don’t think it was a big deal for us to be eccentric in this way. We would be taking ourselves too seriously if we thought that anyone was mortally offended by our stance in this area.

I never cooked fufu at home for just John and me to eat. I made fufu when friends came over (and they always provided a little bit of supervision and advice to make sure I got it right) and I chose fufu almost every noon at the little restaurant near our office, because I enjoy it. But I did not feel I needed to apologize for preparing our own food in the evenings, the way we liked it. By the end of our stay, we genuinely enjoyed a well-prepared Congolese meal. But we also liked our Indian curries, grilled pork kebabs with satay sauce and lemongrass from our yard, and baked pork ribs. We found out that many Congolese adults are picky about the food they eat in a way that would be unacceptable for an adult in North America. They didn’t hesitate to say if a Western dish (even one that had just been served to them) did not meet their expectations. For example, one of our colleagues once criticized a meal served by a Westener, saying he hadn’t really eaten because there was no fufu, and anyway, chicken should never taste sweet. It’s only fair to say that I once had an interesting conversation with a Congolese woman about how she thought Congolese people were so complain-y about food, and she found this totally unacceptable – eat what’s in front of you and don’t complain, was her motto. She was the exception that proves the rule.

We protected our swim times at TASOK, and our other “downtime” activities, quite jealously. We didn’t hesitate to tell people this wasn’t a good time to come over, or say we already had plans, even if our only plans were to go for a swim or relax at home. The way to say this seemed to be “we already have a program”. We mostly would do this in order to preserve nap times and exercise times, both of which were sanity-savers for me. Sometimes I felt guilty for not being more flexible and hospitable for unexpected visits. But given the struggles I was having with depression at that time, I felt it was essential for me to keep from getting overtired and underexercised, and our swim times at TASOK in the afternoon were pretty much the only exercise we got (walking on dusty roads dodging traffic in the blazing heat and polluted air did not really provide a good heart-pumping exercise, plus it was very unpleasant).

Those of you who know us personally know that we’ve been back in Canada for six months now – since February. This blog has been inactive since well before then, mostly because right after the previous entry we adopted our first daughter, and then a few months later got pregnant with our second – we have been very busy! Also, it seemed that after the first year or so of our assignment, it became harder both to find the voice to write about Congo from the “outside” as we focused more of our energy on just living there, and harder to feel connected with our contingent of readers after being gone for so long. I think that’s probably a normal thing.

Now, however, we’re back, settled into Montreal, and I am feeling a certain desire to bring some kind of closure to our MCC term. This blog feels like the right place to try to do that.

We had a lovely re-entry retreat in August. During our time there we received a book from MCC by Lesley Hawthorne Klingler – a set of vignettes about her and her husband’s term in Costa Rica. Reading it prompted me to want to tell more of the story of our time in Congo, partly as a way to bring closure to that time, and partly in order to ensure that important lessons learned there don’t go un-chronicled (and then get more easily unlearned).

So, over the next few weeks and months, look for some posts that sum up our time in Congo and some more that speak to what it is like to come back and try to re-enter Québec and Canadian society.

https://mennosante.flexkb.net

Our supervisor Suzanne asked us what we learned during our trip. It was really hard to answer her. It felt like we did more unlearning than learning. This isn’t actually unusual, but what’s unusual is for me to admit this, even to myself. Sometimes after I get back from a trip, I focus on writing down all the ideas which give me a comfortable feeling of certainty. For example, I feel confident that a rural hospital in DRC can make some progress at plugging its leaks, losing less potential revenues, and becoming more sustainable. It seems like in our trip reports, I focus on such comforting islands of truth, while ignoring the raging sea of confusion all around them. Here are a few examples of areas where I feel like I know less than I did before.

1. How involved should we get in church politics?

Both CMCO and CEFMC (Congo’s two major Mennonite church denominations) have been going through a certain amount of upheaval recently. Different people tell us different things, and most people’s point of view makes sense – until we hear the next person’s version. Sometimes I think we don’t have enough understanding of the situation to take sides. However, we do take sides in a way, through our actions: in a general way we support lay initiatives, and involvement of laypeople in church decisions, rather than unilateral top-down decisions. We support free movement of information and informed debate by sharing information when we can. We also require clear reporting and accountability for money that we give to others, no matter who receives the money. And we try to share information about what MCC is doing in Congo, always including specific dollar amounts, even before people ask, so as not to give anyone a chance to use knowledge about MCC as a way of holding power over others. But beyond this, we try to stay fairly uninvolved.

I have quite a lot of ambivalence about whether we should get more involved, or not. By not getting more involved, are we empowering some in the church at the expense of others? Would that happen regardless of how involved we got? Are we taking ourselves too seriously if we think that MCC’s involvement actually makes a difference to anyone here? Or are we underestimating the effect that our involvement, or lack of it, has on the situation? Will we look back in five years and conclude that staying relatively uninvolved helped contribute to more dysfunctional, authoritarian leadership? And yet, how can we possibly refuse to work with rural hospitals just because some faraway, high-up leadership is involved in a conflict or isn’t publishing transparent financial data? These questions continue to niggle at me.

2. We saw first-hand that it’s not a good idea for a hospital to replace an accountant with a cashier, while letting the cashier continue to be a cashier, essentially supervising himself. That is a conflict of interest. But, how does knowing that prevent it from happening anyway?

3. Theft happens. Medications can be stolen right from under the nose of an excellent medical director. Fortunately, the theft was discovered and a new system was instituted in which the pharmacy doesn’t collect money from patients directly. The next month, sales in this pharmacy almost doubled, reaching levels never attained since the beginning of the project. Was this a coincidence? How much other theft is happening that we are unaware of? It’s likely that detailed analysis of pharmacy revenue patterns helped us to discover this theft. That feels kind of good… I guess.

4. It’s better when different donors don’t support the same beneficiary at the same time and in the same way. E.g. WHO giving medications to Kajiji hospital when they already have plenty of medications. Perhaps the recipients of the double gift can be convinced that they don’t need more WHO medications and that other health centres can benefit from these. But the larger question is, how can hospitals here deal with the reality that different donors will always be choosing to give them things, based on their own priorities, and without necessarily consulting the hospital? How should they organize their pharmacy to deal with medications from a variety of sources and with a variety of prices? Technically, this problem is solvable, but only if there is a good, collaborative relationship with the Health Zone office. If that is lacking, then a lot of things will continue to stagnate.

5. When a church’s sound system is turned up too loud, I will no longer endure sitting in special visitors’ chairs right next to the main loudspeaker. I will get up and move to the back of the church, where things are a lot more interesting anyway. The woman next to me will whisper questions and explanations, I get to practice my Lingala, and smile at beautiful babies. The downside is that someone might make a comment from the pulpit about our decision to move to the back, and everyone might stare at us. But after some reflection and consultation with various people, we have determined that we are not deeply offending anyone, and so we will choose to take care of our ears first. In some ways we can fit in, but in other ways we will always stick out.

6. It’s a lot of fun to play “Big Boss, Little Boss” (a card game) with hospital staff, as long as you change the game a little so that the top position is “medical director” and the bottom is “travailleur ordinaire” (i.e. the grass-cutter, sweeper, or cleaner at the bottom of the salary scale). People got really into this game where everyone competes for the top position, everyone gets to heap abuse on the person at the bottom, roles are constantly shifting but things are rigged to keep the top person at the top, and you can complain all you want to about the injustice of it all, in the presence of those people with whom you work every day. It was a good reminder to me that there are many things we don’t understand about how power works in a rural hospital.

7. The air in Kinshasa is extremely polluted. We noticed this from the airplane when, several kilometers outside the city, we flew into a thick white cloud. At first we thought it was a fog or mist, but the pilot explained that we were just back in Kinshasa smog. It’s worse than usual now, at the very end of the dry season. As soon as we arrived, both John and I got headaches that persisted into the next day. Coincidence? Dr. Benza asked John once what impressed him in Europe during our vacation. John said, large trucks that drive quietly with no emissions. We all laughed loud and long at this bizarre concept. In any case, we and our fellow Kinois are all waiting eagerly for rain.

Maybe on this trip I learned that it is OK to stay afloat on the messy sea of uncertainty, rather than docking on an elusive piece of solid ground and holding on for all I’m worth. Or maybe I learned that the ground really isn’t that solid anyway.

During our last visit to Kajiji and Mukedi, I tasked myself to take a closer look at the cell phone enhancer packages that these two hospitals had purchased. They are both well outside the range of the cell towers in nearby towns, so the only means of communication is the two-way radio which is expensive and inconvenient for most of the population. We had great success with the cell phone enhancer in Nyanga so we thought we would try in Mukedi and Kajiji. Unfortunately, it hasn’t been easy. Until recently, we weren’t able to find a location where the enhancer could pick up a signal.

In Kajiji, I suggested that we take a motorbike with the equipment and a battery to test some other locations closer to the cell phone tower. What started out as a mostly technical task ended up being a great (mostly) non-technical experience for me for which I am grateful.

On one of our testing trips, I learned that the owner of the motorbike I was riding with was a young woman who drove all the way from Angola for her fistula operation. Think about that for a moment – bumping around with that condition for days on a motorbike and having to maintain concentration just to hold on, not to mention dealing with the border crossing and dangerous diamond routes. In understand that Kajiji hospital serves many patients from Angola.

Makupa and a family at our first location which happened to be a honey processing plant.

I also had lots of time to take in the scenery as we whizzed along as I wasn’t driving. I saw kilometer after kilometer of lush growth and fruit trees all along the 50km stretch we were on. We passed through several small villages with lots of children and adults together. Without stopping, Makupa (the nurse-turned-antenna-installer-and-excellent-driver) yells out the status of our mission to the curious onlookers who asking whether we’ve got a signal yet. I wondered what in the world we were trying to do with this antenna. What good would it do anyway? The basic physical needs of the population aren’t being met, and we’re essentially installing a phone? I began to think that although this phone and internet connection would offer a link to the outside world for some and that would be good, that perhaps there were other more significant benefits of us taking a couple of days to explore the options. I thought that maybe the connection with people along the way was a very good thing for me and perhaps for them too.

We had a flat tire a couple of times. This actually turned out to be a good thing! One time, we were quite close to a village and so Makupa suggested with a smile that I could test the antenna while he fixed the tire. There were several families sitting in the shade under a giant mango tree so we pulled over there. As we assembled the pieces for the antenna and asked someone to climb up the tree to hold the antenna, I sat and observed some of the many small children who were obviously curious about the presence of a white man who couldn’t speak and had appeared out of nowhere. I tried waving to some of them and some came to shake my hand. Another small boy who must have been about 2 years old was terrified of me and hid behind an older friend or family member and peered out from time to time to make sure I wasn’t moving in his direction. The uncle laughed and laughed at the boy for being so timid and then we all started to laugh. We got what seemed to be a very good cell connection but unfortunately our amplifier wasn’t strong enough to send back a signal to the tower (3 watts is the maximum strength for consumer products in North America). So after taking the wheel apart twice and reinforcing the gaping hole in the rear tire, we packed up the antenna pieces and started again on our way to the health center. The other day we had a signal there and we were hopeful to have enough of a signal to make a call.

Flat tire, turns into 5 bars (but no usable connection)

We arrived a few minutes later at the health center which had been recently painted on the outside. We quickly unpacked the equipment and found a long bamboo pole to attach the antenna to. In a room close to where we test, there is a bare room with a single red maternity bed. Presumably, the woman who came to Kajiji for a fistula operation gave birth on a bed similar to this one and as obstructed labor is purported to be the leading cause of fistula onthis continent it is quite possible that during childbirth she developed her fistula. As we walked to a second location close to the building a large group of barefooted children followed us in anticipation of something, anything happening with this weird man (me) and this even weirder metal box and black cable. Unfortunately, I noticed a lot of hospital waste as we walked: used needles, empty glass vials and paper garbage. I’ve found this to be typical of the hospitals we work at and haven’t understood why the waste isn’t at least thrown into a pit and burnt. This, the apparent lack of sterilization, and the more general disinterest in keeping health centers clean and safe remains a mystery to me. At some point, we decide that the signal here isn’t strong enough to make telephone calls. So we are disappointed as this was the ideal spot (after the hospital) to set up the antenna. But, we try not to think of this as a failure. At least, I’m thinking that it was worth the effort to try.

This is a tree close to the clinic

The maternity bed at the clinic

The other day, I was at the clinic and I saw a wonderful patch of color on the ground. These were beans drying in the sun. These beans are an excellent source of protein and, if I understand correctly, this particular variety of bean was developed over time from missionaries who brought different varieties of beans from Canada in the 60s and 70s. These beans, tomato sauce, garlic and local rice with a little bit of red pepper is one of my favorite Congolese meals.

Colorful beans, a great source of nutrition and one of my favorite meals

Our next and final stop for the last day of testing is about seven kilometers away from the clinic. We must first pass over a river on a small canoe with our motorbike. At first it looks like bit risky, but the boat driver expertly and seemingly effortlessly guides us over. This time there are several older men playing cards and enjoying several very small fish that have been smoked over a small fire nearby. By small, I mean 1 cm by 5 cm. The last time we crossed this river, Makoupa said to me that he was afraid of the water. When I asked him for more details, he says he was afraid of the children fishing in the water. I asked him again, “Why are you afraid of the children? Will they come and tip our boat (and your motorbike) into the water? Do you know how to swim?” He says “no, that’s not the problem”. I wait a bit, sensing that he wants to say something further, and ask him again “So why are you afraid? I don’t understand what you mean.” He pauses and then tells “I had a child who was fishing just like that, near the current, and he drowned.” I say that I’m sorry and we are silent for a moment as we look over the quickly moving current.

Canoe crossing with Makupa

We climb out of the marshy river area and up over a small hill – probably 100-200 meters high. But this is the hill that was blocking our signal from the clinic, I think. On top of the hill we find the church again and in the heat of the middle of the day, we try once again. This time we know it should work because it worked last time. But the first test renders nothing. I’m beginning to wonder if this will ever work. Then we move a few feet away and try again. This time it works! I make a few calls to test and the signal is good. I’m sweating in the blazing sun without any cover except for my black hat. I quickly take out my computer and plug in a 2G modem to test the Internet. It works, barely – and so this might be a location where the hospital staff can come and send reports and receive written feedback. But at the very least, they’ll save time and fuel by avoiding 40 km more of travel or 120 km if they go all the way to Kahemba and back. When we’re all packed up, we snack on some left-over pancakes and a couple of bananas from breakfast and are satisfied with the fruits of our labor. Makupa seems still optimistic that we can make the antenna work at the clinic. I’m happy he seems to have taken an interest in this project.

The antenna works near a church building project 32km from Kakjiji

As it is so hot, and we have at least 90 minutes of road ahead of us to return to Kajiji, we pack our things up and return to Kajiji. This time the guys at the river refuse to take us back as we have forgotten to bring money. We wait for a while on the canoe while the river guy explains that he will not move until we pay something. Fortunately, I have a banana in my bag which is readily accepted. In fact, the boat owner and Makupa have a hearty laugh over my improvised payment. As I pass over the water, I wish I could dive in take a swim, but alas we have no time nor do I have any extra clothes with me.

On our way home we pass by a little house – actually just a roof with poles. Makupa tells me this where the men drink palm wine. “They are drinking,” he says as we pass by. Palm wine comes directly from a palm nut tree a little like maple water.
I continue to reflect about what we’re doing on our way back. The chances of this antenna actually being set up and maintained are pretty low – even though hundreds of people could make use of it. It is true that it has the potential of connecting a remote part of the world with family and friends and medical supply depots for the hospital. Perhaps I don’t realize how important that is. In any case, I’ve enjoyed this task and getting to know Makupa – who is now confident enough to continue testing on his own.
On our way back, Makupa, who is also a nurse at the Kajiji hospital, recognizes a young woman who waved to him. She was a recent surgical patient at Kajiji hospital and Makupa stops to say hello and asks how she is doing. I’m delighted because she looks healthy and hopeful.

Makupa also points out several spots where there has been a recent motorbike accident in the sand. I am thankful that we did not have accident. Driving on dry sand can be dangerous as the only viable technique requires driving above a certain speed in order to kind of ski your way through.

When we arrived back in Kajiji (no flat tire this time) I learned that the local ANR (the Congolese version of the CIA) had told the hospital that they would have to cough up $300 to have the privilege to set up such an antenna. I couldn’t believe it – I felt myself getting very angry at the injustice of it. How can anything good happen here if the government clobbers every initiative before it even gets off the ground? I have to choose not to do anything or say anything at this time, because I can’t think straight. After our visit in Kajiji came to an end, the fistula patient, now terribly weak and in post-op pain, flew back to Vanga with us and had to wait an extra 40 minutes waiting for the migration police and other airport officials to clear our plane for takeoff even though they had done the same checks just a few hours before. The usually calm and collected MAF pilot returns to the plane clearly frustrated from the egotistical behavior of the airport officials.

The road back to Kajiji

Although our trip wasn’t exactly an amazing technical success, I am grateful for the opportunities I had to explore the countryside near Kajiji. I am also now more aware of the difficulties – some technical but I think mostly political and behavioral – that remote communities such as Kajiji face in their efforts to make life better for themselves. After almost a hundred years of paternalistic colonialism and nepotistic Mobutuism, communities like Kajiji struggle to survive and develop their identity in this new era of opportunistic neo-colonialism. I look forward to visiting Kajiji again in June 2011 when we have our next scheduled hospital visit. Maybe this time I’ll go swimming.

-John

Anicka and I visit each hospital at least every six months. We do this at the same time the hospitals order supplies so we can take advantage of the flights and avoid the very long trek by jeep. As usual, we traveled first to Kikwit where the supplies are ordered from a local pharmacy depot and carefully weighed and put in boxes with handwritten packing slips. Then, when everything is ready and hopefully everything the hospital ordered was available, we put all the boxes in a city bus called a “City train” and head off to the airport where we hope that our MAF charter will land in an hour or two. Many government officials such as the DGM (in-country migration police), ANR (secret police/CIA), TVA (airport tax people), and representatives of the Congolese air force crowd in for the inevitable “official” verifications and taxes they require before giving us their blessing to take off. Of course, everyone knows we are a humanitarian organization working under the official national organization of churches with an official mission to visit hospitals, and that there is no doubt that what we are transporting are medications and supplies. However, this is one of their few opportunities to make some extra cash with the implied (and sometimes stated) threat of refusing us the right to use the airstrip. So while we wait for all the paperwork to be done, Mr. CIA with his large sunglasses and almost-permanent scowl of suspicion (except for the fake smile when he starts asking for bribes) and his fellow government agents who all look overfed and under-worked stand around anticipating their cut in the fees. Needless to say this isn’t exactly the most fulfilling part of our work.

MAF dropping off medications & supplies, and picking us up in Kajiji. The children are always the first to greet us and the last to say goodbye.

Once that’s out of the way and we’ve optimized the amount of payload we can bring with us on this flight we say our goodbyes and thank yous and jump on board for a 90 minute flight to our first stop: Mukedi.  We land and drop off about half the supplies and our personal baggage and in a few minutes, Dr. Gaspard continues on the same flight to Nyanga with their supplies and his motorbike. We’ll stay in Mukedi for a week to visit with hospital staff and help them validate and analyze their financial documents and hospital health indicators.

After a week at Mukedi we catch a smaller MAF flight to Kajiji about 500 km to south of Kikwit. This time we go with Dr. Benza who is making a supervision visit for the Kajiji hospital.

MAF dropping off medications & supplies, and picking up a patient to take to a larger better-equipped hospital in Vanga

Then the plane full of meds comes and drops off the meds and picks us up for the return flight. This time we have enough room to bring a couple of passengers. One passenger is a young woman who traveled all the way from Angola (over a 100km away) by motorbike with her husband for treatment for fistula. She was operated on at the Kajiji hospital and the operation didn’t go well so she was referred to a larger hospital in Vanga where the plane happens to be going. This flight makes a 5-6 day journey into a 3 hour journey. Unfortunately, we had to stop in Kikwit on the way and are harassed by the government officials for 40 minutes before we can continue on to Vanga and she can be admitted to the hospital. She has spent many days already recovering from surgery and has lost a lot of weight. We hope that she survives.

Then we continue on the same flight all the way back to Kinshasa where we are greeted by a thick cover of smog and the regular (and more pleasant) government officials at the N’dolo airport. We are grateful to MAF for their friendly and professional support.

-John

I returned from our trip with lots to contemplate and reflect on. Here are a few of my thoughts.

Missionaries, mines and malnutrition in Nyanga

During this visit I was able to experience Nyanga a little more than on previous visits, because I was there on a Sunday, and because I was able to walk around Nyanga a little with Ida. In the past we had usually been too busy working at the hospital to really get out and about. I am glad to have learned more about Nyanga, but sad that what I learned was almost uniformly depressing.

One morning I accompanied Ida on her trip into the village to buy food for the day’s main meal. As we walked along the main avenue, we came across the occasional stall set up outside someone’s house, where a few basic items were being sold: toothbrushes, soap, sugar, coffee. One stall sold second-hand clothes. Fresh vegetables were extremely scarce. I saw one basin of corn flour, one basin of rice, one small table of pilipili peppers, one tiny table with a couple of tomatoes and a pineapple, and two stands with dried fish. I also caught sight of some garlic and onions. There was also a house that sold palm wine, freshly tapped, from a row of gourds suspended on a stick. As we went along we eventually arrived at the actual “market” – a few empty tables in a clearing. Ida assured me that this market was no better stocked than the avenue, and that there was no actual market day. When compared to the overflowing markets in Mukedi and Kajiji, Nyanga, with a similar population, seems a wasteland. I learned from Ida that finding an accompaniment to the daily fufu is a real challenge. Sometimes people come to her house to sell pondu (manioc leaves) or to tip her off that a cow is about to be slaughtered. But more often than not, she relies on her own chickens and rabbits for a reliable supply of meat, and gets her husband to bring whatever he can from Kikwit or Tshikapa.

Ida and Gaspard’s situation is relatively good because they are among the few who have access to cash to purchase the food they need – but most inhabitants of Nyanga have to make do with the bare minimum; children may end up eating just fufu and salt. When I talked with the Médecin chef de zone (health zone director) stationed in Nyanga, he told me that Unicef’s latest survey showed a 14% rate of severe malnutrition among children under five in the Nyanga health zone – a very high number even for Congo. As I walked through the village, I saw several small children sitting listlessly on the ground, looking sick – something that I had not seen in other villages.

Why is Nyanga’s situation so bad? According to Dr. Gaspard, because Nyanga is located in a diamond region, people had gotten into the habit of surviving off artisanal diamond mining and had never developed a farming culture. Now that the diamond market has crashed, they are in trouble. In addition, while many families would produce at least some corn and manioc, people often choose to sell their food for cash instead of consuming it, or convert it into local alcohol for sale. The little bit of money received doesn’t pay for many essentials at Nyanga’s high prices – all goods have to be transported from Tshikapa, 100 km away, by bicycle, motorcycle, boat or large truck. Recall that in Tshikapa, a loaf of bread worth 100 FC in Kinshasa sells for 250 FC; add a markup for the transport, and the salary of a typical nurse at Nyanga hospital who is paid about 8000 FC a month doesn’t stretch very far at all (of course, people in Nyanga don’t buy bread because fufu is cheaper – but the same idea applies to other products).

As Nyanga’s situation started to sink in, Sunday arrived; this was my first time being in Nyanga over a weekend. That morning I got up expecting church to start around 9. I had been told it could start between 9 and 10. That day, it was 11 before anything started happening. Dr. Gaspard and I went, while Ida stayed home. In the back of the church was a big pile of sand. There were wooden benches, which were filthy and had to be wiped off before we could sit on them. The benches were obviously not frequently filled. The church felt like an old, empty, echoing shell. There were less than 30 people present, including only 5 children, in a building designed for about 500. Singing was half-hearted. After living in Congo for a while, I now know that such a situation is highly unusual. Run-down church buildings are commonplace, but are always compensated for by attendance, music and charisma. All the churches I have visited until now, which the exception of one other CMCO church in Mukedi, have been full, with a strong group of children, several choirs even on the most ordinary of Sundays, and energetic, lively singing. As I sat in this church listening to the sole choir accompanied by an out-of-tune guitar, with memories of Nyanga’s “market” and its starving children still fresh in my mind, I started to become angry. Dr. Gaspard tells me that “this is what is happening in all our churches”, that is, they are being deserted by the youth. However, in Nyanga, apparently no churches are well-attended, not even the Église de réveil (Independent churches that have exploded in Congo). Again according to Dr. Gaspard, churches have emptied because people have gotten fed up with their pastors practicing adultery and witchcraft. As I sat there, I asked myself how the people of Nyanga became so bewildered, shiftless, unanimated and dysfunctional. Nyanga has had a large share of missionaries and development workers, including many MCC workers. I wondered what these people would say if they could see this church and this village now. I wish someone would tell them that the churches are empty, the former rabbit projects promoted by missionaries have ground to a halt, and the people of Nyanga are struggling to survive while surrounded by fertile land. I want the situation to be widely known, not so the missionaries will come back and do more of the same, but to promote some serious reflection about what exactly was going on here during the missionary period, that led to so few tangible results.

After the service, I poured out my thoughts Dr. Gaspard and we sat and talked for about an hour. He said that former missionaries sometimes visit Nyanga, but because their visits are announced in advance, the churches usually fill up – there are plenty of former members out there who can be rustled up and can sing a mean hymn, apparently. So outsiders might not know what the reality is really like. And on the topic of missionaries, in his opinion the missionaries didn’t invest sufficiently in people, and in preparing people to truly take over responsibility for churches, schools, hospitals and other structures after the missionaries left. Moreover, he feels that the missionaries taught hypocrisy, by preaching against drinking while drinking surreptitiously in their homes.

I asked him if he thought that contact with the West should end. He answered that none of us are sufficient to ourselves: we all need each other. Perhaps if all missionary and development assistance ceased, people would wake up one day and realize that they need to take responsibility for themselves. But though that would be a good thing, Dr. Gaspard insists that there should always be exchange. The important thing, though, is to promote true exchanges. In his own words, “the hand that gives is bigger than the hand that receives,” and in the past, exchanges tended to be unequal. He doesn’t want to see any more exchanges where one side is always asking for more, hand outstretched. An ideal relationship would focus on investing in people and in their capacity and their ability to manage themselves.

Two weeks later, thoughts about Nyanga keep on circling in my mind. I feel angry, sad, and frustrated, without knowing whom exactly I am angry, sad and frustrated with, and what exactly I should do about it. Disseminating better information seems like the first step, and Dr. Gaspard encourages me to do so … but where to go from there?

June 30th celebrations – a glimmer of hopefulness for the DRC

You can listen to a great Congolese independence song, composed pre-1960, here. This song played over and over again on TV on June 30^th. One delightful evening program showed several “traditionally built” women interviewing some of the original performers and composers of this song, and then dancing to this tune with them, clad in 50^th anniversary print pagnes.

In Kikwit, John watched a huge parade from the balcony of his guesthouse and even managed to sneak a few photos. There was no parade in Nyanga, but since Dr. Gaspard and Ida have one of the few televisions around, several of their friends joined us to watch the celebrations in Kinshasa. It looked like a grandiose day, and following months of roadwork in Kinshasa, the capital was looking better than ever. I was interested in the eight prayers spoken by the leaders of Congo’s eight main religious confessions: Kimbanguist, Muslim, ECC (union of protestant churches to which the Mennonites belong), Salvation Army, Revival Church, Independent Church, Catholic, and Episcopalian. Several asked forgiveness for Congo’s sins; all prayed for protection for the president and his family, and a couple mentioned the problem of corruption. President Kabila gave a long address which we all listened to attentively; he covered a lot of ground and said all the right things, though without much charisma. The parade following his speech was impressive and long. It was curious that the speeches started late because of the late arrival of Paul Kagame, Rwanda’s president, and that the microphone, which had worked fine for all the prayers, suddenly went quiet when Kabila stepped up to it – the first minutes of his speech were marred by loud feedback and frequent cutting out. Later in the day the TV broadcast an excerpt of Lumumba’s fiery 1960 Independence Day speech – the minute it came on, Dr. Gaspard’s attention was riveted, and he kept saying, “That’s a real speech!” I invite you to listen to it (audio only with English subtitles) here.

My feeling is that many Congolese people felt doubtful of what the June 30^th celebrations would amount to, but that most were pleasantly surprised when the day came. I feel a tiny current of hopefulness about Congo’s future that wasn’t there before. When we returned to Kinshasa, the chauffeur who picked us up at the airport took us along the new Boulevard Triomphale – I commented that it looked great, and he replied, “You haven’t seen anything yet, just wait until the next part – this is a real boulevard!” It was the first time I had heard such pride in anyone’s voice about their city or country. I can’t help feeling a little hopeful myself, though it is marred with shame when I read about Canada’s (fortunately unsuccessful) blockade of debt relief to Congo because it might threaten the former’s mining interests.

Hidden leaks at Mennonite hospitals

While in Nyanga I spent a large part of my time helping the hospital lab staff to analyze their lab, in order to determine whether it is breaking even or running at a loss. I had some idea what to expect, because John and I had done similar analyses at other hospitals. It turns out that each month, the lab loses about 67% of its potential revenue, or approximately 120$, because it offers free services to such a large number of patients. Interestingly, even given such a large loss, the lab manages to cover all but 25$ of its monthly fixed and variable costs with its meager revenues. This means that if the lab were to tighten up just a little on the number of free tests offered, it could not only break even but start to generate revenue that would bolster other services at the hospital.

The lab staff and hospital administration had a general awareness that they were losing money, but clearly had no idea of the details of their financial situation. It was interesting to talk it over with them and to see them start to understand their situation from a new perspective.

When something like this comes to light, one way to interpret it is to compare it to a beam in a house that seems firm, but that crumbles when you touch because it’s being eaten by termites from within. But I think it is more accurate, as well as more positive, to say that we have simply gained a better understanding of some of the intangible staff benefits that motivate people to keep working in hospitals even though they aren’t paid a living wage.

A missionary recently told us that he feels sick when he hears people talk about sustainability in hospitals in Congo – he says that first, health care is not a business and cannot be sustainable, and second, churches in the West are well-off and have the obligation to help poorer brothers and sisters, indefinitely if need be. I sympathize with his point of view, but can’t help thinking that hospitals could be a whole lot more sustainable than they currently are, and that such changes would be only advantageous to all concerned. It seems a little condescending to assume that people are incapable of helping themselves and need outsiders to pay all their hospital operating costs; the reality as it seems to me is that outsiders’ dollars are often creatively diverted anyway, that ongoing losses at the hospital are due to mismanagement, inefficiency and lack of follow-up, not just to the poverty of the population, and that when subsidies inevitably end, people will be no better off than before if they haven’t been encouraged to manage the little they have as efficiently as possible. At least, this is the approach that we and the coordinating doctors have chosen to take. Perhaps this sounds condescending too?

What a trip!

It started on June 21st, when we traveled to Kikwit. We stayed there together until the 28^th, for a busy week that included our quarterly meetings with the coordinating doctors, and several visits to Kanzombi hospital. Both doctors were also busy preparing their July medication orders, and we spent some extra time at Zenufa, the pharmaceutical depot, observing the preparation of bills and packing slips.

A few days into our stay we started hearing rumours that travel would be restricted around the 30^th of June, DRC’s grandiose 50^th anniversary independence celebration. Since we had a flight booked for the 29^th, we were a little nervous. In the end, the flight had to be moved to the 28^th at the last minute, though even the flight provider wasn’t given official notice of the closure until just a few days before.

On the 28^th, John and I separated for a week; I accompanied Dr. Gaspard to Nyanga (300 km away), via Mukedi (200 km), with the medication delivery flight. Meanwhile, John stayed in Kikwit and worked with Gogol, Dr. Benza’s assistant, on reporting and computer training, and did some more work at Kanzombi hospital. At the end of the week he flew to Kajiji (1000 km away) with the medication delivery, and stayed overnight to help set up a cell phone signal enhancer antenna – unfortunately without success. The next day, accompanied by Kajiji’s medical director, he flew to Nyanga where Dr. Gaspard and I embarked and we all ended up in Vanga, a Baptist mission with a large hospital where the ultrasound training would be held. Two other doctors joined us there after traveling by road from Kikwit (about 100 km).

We stayed in Vanga three days, just to be present for the first few days of the two-week training and to make sure that everything was progressing smoothly. John and I were graciously hosted by three brothers in a Protestant order (one of whom is a doctor and is teaching the four Mennonite doctors how to use their new ultrasounds). We enjoyed some German- and Swiss-style meals and a beautiful evening Communion service with these men. Our trip ended on July 9^th with an uneventful flight back to Kinshasa.

I find myself feeling very tired and unable to face our regular responsibilities. Fortunately we have a few days off to rest and process the events of the last three weeks. As I look back, I see a higher-than-usual quota of stressful and unexpected events, along with a good dose of intensely thought-provoking conversations and discoveries, punctuated with a few delightful moments.

Unexpected and stressful

Dr. Gaspard hurt his foot (little toe bent backwards after hitting a root while on motorcycle; entire foot swollen) so he arrived in Kikwit a day later than expected after a gruelling and painful day of motorcycle travel.

Dr. Benza and his young daughter both got sick during our time in Kikwit, and had to leave earlier than expected to Kinshasa because of June 30^th closures; we lost a lot of the time with Dr. Benza that we had been counting on.

The cell phone signal enhancer antennas that we tried to set up in Kajiji and Mukedi haven’t worked yet; in both places our arrival to help set up the antennas was unexpected and our stay was too short (1 hour for me and Dr. Gaspard in Mukedi, about 20 hours for John in Kajiji) to be able to really test the devices. For example, in Mukedi, a pole was hastily put together, with the antenna at the top; Dr. Gaspard oversaw a frantic testing session while I reminded him that the pilot was waiting for us at the airstrip and that we were already overdue for departure…

The price to pay for a delicious snack of BBQ pork eaten in a local bar with Dr. Gaspard on the evening before our trip to Nyanga was a bout of food poisoning with fever, diarrhea, nausea and fatigue that overshadowed my first several days in Nyanga. Dr. Gaspard got sick too, though less acutely, but John, who barely touched the pork, was luckily unscathed.

The ultrasound training, tentatively scheduled for the end of July, ended up needing to happen about two weeks earlier; this required us to move very quickly to get manuals printed in Kinshasa, despite looming independence closures, to approve the budget more hurriedly than we would have liked, to deal with a sudden need for cash that we hadn’t planned for, to make lots of convoluted plans to circumvent our cash flow problems, and to make last-minute changes to travel plans to ensure that doctors could all make it on time. Fortunately, it all came together, and the training has gotten off to a great start.

And, saving the worst for last: on the evening of our arrival in Vanga, we realized that we had left several thousand dollars in our guesthouse room in Kikwit two days earlier. The room had already been cleaned and was being occupied by another guest… Fortunately, after some frantic phone calls, the money was retrieved, but not before we had had a really good scare! And even though the money was secure in Kikwit, we still had to deal with the fact that we didn’t have that money in Vanga where it was needed. It all gets very complicated when one lives in a cash-based society where large and small payments are all made with wads of 100-dollar bills or bricks of Congolese francs.

Ahhh… I am relieved that we made it through each of these frustrations, but realize that their cumulative effect has been to wear me out more than usual!

Delightful

During my visit to Nyanga, Ida (Dr. Gaspard’s wife) made delicious donuts that included lemon zest, eggs, sugar, oil, flour, yeast and baking powder. We sat and cut them out together on a low wooden table outside as the sun set, and fried them in palm oil.

The Ghana match was such a disappointment. But sitting and watching World Cup soccer with a dozen of Ida’s and Dr. Gaspard’s friends and colleagues, palm wine in hand, was delightful, and watching the Netherlands beat Brazil was especially so!

I really enjoyed talking with the pharmacy manager at Nyanga hospital. He is exceptionally detail-oriented and is doing several checks on his own initiative to follow the medications more closely. For example, every day he checks the theoretical revenue from medication sales with the money in the cash box (kept by a different person), even though MCC has never asked him to do so. He also does a mini-inventory several times a week of medications kept in the night nurses’ office for midnight emergencies, and keeps track of any discrepancies that would indicate that medications had left the cabinet without being paid for.

In Kikongo, where our return flight made a brief stop, we saw a kitten playing with a clawless river otter cub (an endangered species)! Both animals (along with an antelope and a few alligators) are being raised by a missionary couple. See this article for more details.

Thought-provoking

I’m still thinking… see the next post for some more in-depth reflection about some of the things we experienced on our trip.

About two months ago, we experienced our first theft. Somebody walked into our parcelle, opened our screen kitchen door while we were eating in the dining room, and stole two pairs of sandals and one phone. We were especially sad to lose John’s new Birkenstocks (just a few months old), because all he had left to wear after that were these old ones:

People in Congo highly value being well-dressed and wearing well-polished shoes. It was embarrassing for John to walk around in these old things, and recently he went right through the sole so one of his feet was always touching the ground. We were tentatively planning a trip to the Grand Marché this weekend to see what we could find in the way of shoes, though we expected it to be pretty challenging to find them in a large enough size.

Today I was on foot in nearby Kintambo-Magasin, buying a few groceries. Suddenly my eyes were caught by that exact pair of Birkenstocks that we had lost, being polished by a young boy. They clearly belonged to a money-changer sitting a few feet away. I went right over and asked him where he had found those shoes. He claimed he had bought them in a large market a few months ago. It might be true and it might not. What are the chances that this was another pair of Birkenstocks identical to the first? Pretty slim.

Fortunately, this guy Georges was willing to sell them off his feet. I called John and he came over and negotiated for a while, and ended up paying 30$. Since we paid over twice that for them in the first place, we felt like it was worth it. So now John is walking around in these again:

Over the past year we’ve had the chance to test several ISPs in and outside of Kinshasa. Several people have asked what types of services are available and their respective prices. Here is a list of the ISPs we’ve used and some specifics about their pricing, speed, and reliability. This isn’t an exhaustive list.

Microcom

Client connection: Fixed antenna on house connected to modem and wireless router
Advertised speed: 140kb/s upload
Actual speed: varies greatly 30-180kps down, 60kps up
Locations tested: Gombe
Price/package: ~$160/month with unlimited usage
Notes: When the network is running normally, this is a very good connection. However, it is expensive and browsing can be extremely slow. Skype (even video) works well almost all the time.
Disadvantages: Mandatory fixed antenna, so no mobility. Expensive.
Customer support: Good. Technicians are available and come when there is a problem.
Website: https://www.microcom.cd
Coverage: Kinshasa and some other cities

iBurst (Recommended)

Client connection: Propietary iBurst modems (USB or Desktop both with external antenna plug)
Advertised speed: upto 1Mb/s upload
Actual speed: varies greatly, but comparatively very fast 200-600kb/s, 80kps up
Locations tested: Gombe, Kintambo-Magasin
Price/package: $0.16 – 0.10/Mb without time restriction OR $0.03 – $0.05 if used within a month OR ~$500/month unlimited usage. You buy prepaid cards and activate them online as needed. The modem costs about $100-120 and antenna about $20.
Notes: iBurst definitely offers the best speed and the best price per Mb. No blacklisted IPs on this network.
Website: https://www.iburstafrica.com
Coverage: Kinshasa and some other cities, connection rates vary greatly even in Kinshasa depending on location. For instance, in Kintambo-Magasin we’ll definitely need an external antenna, and in one location in Gombe we also need an external antenna.
Bottom line: Cheapest and fastest option (unless you continually download torrents)

Vodacom

Client connection: Huawei E220 HSDPA 3G modem, or 2G stick modem
Advertised speed: 120kb/s
Actual speed: unknown, but nowhere near 120kb/s (not fast enough for voice Skype)
Locations tested: Gombe, Kintambo-Magasin
Price/package: $0.40-$0.29/Mb OR a little cheaper using prepaid specials OR ~$400/month unlimited. The modems cost $50 for 2G and $180 for 3G (both use 2G technology).
Notes: Vodacom is the only affordable choice with a very large coverage in the DR Congo.
Website: https://www.vodacom.cd
Coverage: Everywhere there is a Vodacom cellphone signal (largest coverage)
Customer service: Not too great. However, there are many stores all over the DR Congo.
Bottom line: Recommended for use outside of Kinshasa because of best coverage

Standard Telecom

Network type: CDMA Hybrid, with fibre optic infrastructure in Kinshasa
Client connection: EC226 CDMA 2000 USB modem
Advertised speed: 140kb/s upload
Actual speed: ~130kb/s down, 60kp/s up
Locations tested: Kintambo-Magasin, Gombe (Much better reception in Gombe)
Price/package: $125/month with unlimited usage, Modem costs about $180. For $200 you can buy a wireless router/modem, but that is $200/month. You can also buy a faster USB service for $250/month.
Notes: Unfortunately, the network IPs are blacklisted by many mail servers because Standard has not effectively handled SPAM originating from its clients (presumably from e-mail viruses on client computers). I and others have talked with them about this problem, but they have not done anything about it. This means that most outgoing e-mail gets a very high SPAM score and is likely to end up in a junk mail folder or worse, silently rejected and deleted.
Customer support: OK, until you have a problem, so terrible. Complaints are postponed and shuffled, and no one seems concerned about customer care or loyalty. Their advertising is sometimes misleading.
Public IP(s): 217.194.152.1 (presumably one of a few IPs shared behind a proxy)
Website: None
Coverage: Kinshasa and some other cities
Bottom line: If you want to download torrents 24/7, this is way to go. However expect a lot of your e-mail to get spammed.

General notes about internet in DR Congo

1. All ISPs in Congo actually just buy satellite bandwidth and share it via cell towers or other local wireless technology. There is no fiber optic cable (yet).
2. I’ve seen people with computers bought in the USA with wireless cell network modems pre-installed and that seem to work well with the Vodacom network. You just buy a Vodacom SIM here and add credit to it. So you can use the internal antenna in most good laptops that is superior to the external USB modems that you buy from Vodacom.
3. I haven’t experimented with a a USB capable router. However, I have successfully shared a USB-modem through a basic wireless router using Windows Internet sharing. However, the best solution so far is with a free program called Connectify (requires Windows 7) — no router required, it simply sets up your host computer as a wireless access point.

Bottom right: Traffic police in training; Middle-left: The spot where I was stopped

Today was grocery day as are most Fridays for us. Anicka gave me a list of groceries and in the morning I left our house to drive to the downtown core with an itinerary. Going downtown in a vehicle can be quite a draining experience and usually involves a lot of patience (or I end up getting angry).

On my way to my second stop, I noticed (with some amazement) the nice white fresh lane lines and pre-intersection arrows that help guide traffic. I was driving in the right-most lane and steered slightly towards the left to give extra space for the pedestrians that were crowed on the sidewalk — and notably 5-6 bulky traffic police and a police motorbike. One of the chubbier police officers jumped in front of my car to stop me while another one came to my passenger door and tried to get my attention by hitting the window and repeated attempting to open the door. Another police officer came to my window and made up some false accusation that I was too far left (remember I was trying to give them extra room). I rolled down my window half way (because some police have the habit of reaching in, unlocking the door, opening it, and hanging on until you give them your documents which they use to keep you hostage) and tried to calmly talk with him. Clearly I had done nothing wrong and they were just trying to extort me for money.

So, I made a quick decision and decided to use my “colonel” card which means I pull rank on him and say that I’m amount to call a very high up official in the police hierarchy. I don’t actually have the colonel’s number, but I do know his name and I also know that the police know that if the colonel were to talk to the police they would be harshly reprimanded. Meanwhile, I’m becoming extremely agitated and angry about these very well fed guys hanging off my car. But, shortly after my threat and my closing of the window and pulling out of my phone, the police get out of the front of my car and wave at me to pull over so we can “discuss”. I take this opportunity to drive away and spend the next few minutes trying to recover from my feelings of anger.

This isn’t an uncommon experience for most drivers in Kinshasa – especially visible minorities (expats). And I’ve listened to many, many stories of similar intimidation and extortion. It is a common topic of discussion at mealtimes and we all laugh about how ridiculous it is or how the police got reprimanded etc. In the first few months of our stay in DR Congo, these discussions allowed us all to vent how we were feeling and share strategies. However, these discussions are becoming predictable and aren’t edifying – and so I must find other ways to deal with the anger.

This is just one small level of corruption that we see daily. But it is really only the tip of the tip of the iceberg. The organization (MAF) we use for air travel to the interior, says that they spend half of their operating costs to the various government officials in order to get the necessary documents they need to keep their planes in the air. This money is supposed to go into funding the aviation regulation and facilities like airstrips and airports. Sadly, none of the money is accounted for and we see little evidence of improvement. Another friend who worked for the government as a tax consultant tells us that most import taxes on goods shipped into the country (including humanitarian aid) are collected by tax officials, but never officially accounted for as national revenue and so is never spent for the general population. This probably amounts to hundreds of millions of dollars each year that the poorest of the poor never see.

So, I’ve been asking myself: how do we live in a good way inside this environment? If we are constantly angry with those “corrupt” people around us, we’ll probably get very tired very quickly. On the other hand, if we do nothing, we’re implicitly condoning the corruption. I’ve also been asking how one practically combats corruption – what process can we use to diminish it? Some people talk a lot about transparency as a tool that can be used. I think transparency has a lot of merit and certainly would help in many cases. However, it seems to me that in social systems where corruption is so ingrained and even rationalized in its ethos, transparency just won’t be enough to make a significant impact. I wonder if individuals and small cohesive groups must first be convinced of the necessity to be honest with each other and offer an alternative example to others.

See these articles posted today covering Governor General Michaëlle Jean’s speech at the Palais du Peuple this morning

Article AFP (French)

Canadian Press article (English)

Toronto Star article (English)

As Canadians, John and I were invited to attend. I was excited just to get into the Palais du Peuple, where the Congolese Parliament meets, and hopefully to catch my first glimpse of President Joseph Kabila. The security to get into the gates was pretty straightforward – just a basic search of our vehicle, three searches of our bags, and two metal-detector searches. There were plenty of military people and other officials around, but they were mostly friendly and professional.

The building itself was very impressive – easily the nicest building I’ve been in yet. The entry-way is massive with ceilings about 4 stories high and several large chandeliers hanging down. It is well-constructed and well ventilated. Here in Kinshasa, I notice this kind of thing because it is so unusual. We went through some more security to sit in a large auditorium (capacity of about 1000-1500 people, I estimate). The front half was reserved for MPs (“députés nationaux”), senators, and other members of the government, secretaries, and other officials. There was a whole section for Canadians. It felt surreal to be greeted as we came in by a Québécois man from the Embassy who promptly gave us his card. Just hearing a Canadian voice almost made me cry. A little attack of patriotism, I suppose.

We wore some of our nicest clothes, but still felt pretty scruffy compared to most of the other Canadians (UN or private sector workers, at least the ones we talked to). There were eight UN casques bleus seated at the front of the Canadian section, and three UN volunteers. Then us, and lots more people behind us. It felt so funny to be sitting with all these compatriots, but to have relatively little in common with them. A good proportion of the UN workers were Québécois, and it was wonderful to hear their familiar accent, since Congolese French is so different. We talked for quite a while with a man on our left who was managing a private clinic in Kinshasa. We also learned that there are only five Canadians among the 600+ UN volunteers, and not many more than 8 Canadian peacekeepers.

After while, it got pretty boring, since we had arrived at 10:30 and the Governor General didn’t arrive until about 12. Between 10:30 and 12 there was endless adjusting of chairs up on the podium, lots of journalists frantically walking back and forth, and a brief power outage. Once it actually started though, things moved fast. We were all invited to stand to welcome the Governor General and President Kabila. They walked down the aisle not five feet away from us, preceded and followed by many other dignitaries. A man in an all-white suit then led us from the stage in an a cappella rendition of Congo’s national anthem. There was a brief word of welcome by the president of the parliament, and then Michaëlle Jean stood up to speak. She spoke quite quietly but was clearly audible. At the beginning, there were a lot of interruptions for applause, but these got fewer. At the end, we stood for an identical repeat of the Congolese national anthem, and then filed out. Outside, dignitaries and other big shots were getting into their big black cars with smoked windows, ready to shoot across town and disrupt traffic due to their automatic right of way, even in the middle of traffic jams. It felt strange to see such a high concentration of these untouchables and to think that they live and move in Kinshasa without having much contact with the frustrations that plague the rest of us.

Other analysts have already given their varied perspectives on the speech. Personally, I was somewhat surprised that she spoke only about gender equality and violence against women in the East. I appreciated her statements, but also, since I am cynical, wondered what the underlying agenda was for Canada. She emphasized how much Canadians empathize with Congo’s struggles – very diplomatic, but is there much truth to it? She talked about the need for better cooperation between Canada and Congo – what exactly does this mean and who gets to decide what is “better”? Does Canada really care about the DRC or are they just interested in its resources? I guess I get impatient with all the diplomatic hot air and wish someone would talk straight both about the unbelievable level of corruption in this country, and the less than altruistic motives of many of the outsiders who want to get involved.

For an article that does just that, I highly recommend this fascinating, in-depth article by Adam Hochschild (author of King Leopold’s Ghost, a must-read history of Congo), just published on the Mother Jones website. It’s a little long, but very worthwhile if you’re interested in a different, but historically very well-informed perspective on this country that Jean says is central to Africa’s hope for peace and stability.