Hitch-hiking, Grand Hotel and cultural event--Kinshasa, May 2008

10th of May,2008 My parents went out early this morning to go and get the car fixed….and speak to the director of the alliance française to try and get French courses for me. I escaped going with them…as they realized they could come back earlier, and when they did, we (me, my mom, and mylene) left for the grand hotel for the fete we were invited to.

Well, as the car completely didn’t work (we were hoping it would maybe be fixed later on in the afternoon) off we were to try and hitchhike (with our nice clothes). It was amazing though how the timing of everything worked out so wonderfully…we had only just stopped to wait for a car after walking a little ways when a nice medical van (with aircon!) pulled up and gave us a ride. He took us a ways, and then let us off, but as soon as we had waved goodbye a taxi bus (you know those very crowded door falling off the hinges, homey little traditional transport) stopped right in front of us with Bibiche (one of the girls they give classes to, and the one who invited us to this event at the grand hotel) inside who told us to come with her. So we joined her on the bus, (where mylene said the salvation prayer with everyone there) and after we took a taxi (she insisted on paying for everything) and so we arrived.

Yes, true to African time…though it was supposed to start at 3:00 it only started at 5:00, the event was 2 hours late. It was a good thing we had only left the house at 3:00 or we would have been waiting there all that time…although maybe it is precisely that attitude that makes everyone else so late. As soon as we came in Bibiche’s uncle greeted us and took us to sit over on the row of chairs by the side of the stage ( bright yellow covered, extra special seats of honor I suppose) and right away asked if Mylene and my mom could say a little something and present some of the gifts and a trophy. Oh yes, well this whole thing was about an actor (I hadn’t really caught that before but I had my mom translate what was happening a bit while we waited), very well known here and in Brazzaville, a sort of comedian and this thing was in his honor. Anyways, well we seemed to be the only white people there (mylene said that was why they asked us to present the gifts when they saw us, it’s always like that if you’re white) except for a couple older men in front of us (who turned out to be directors of the main TV station here, who had supported this actor (and one of them gave a speech later). I asked Bibiche about the course she was doing…. she speaks pretty fair English, and she actually translated a lot for me of the speeches later, she said she was happy to practice her English, very nice of her anyways. Even though I understand bits and pieces of what people are saying when they are speaking French, and sometimes enough to get the basic gist of what is being said…when it comes to speaking I always get caught blank over whatever words it is I need to say. Even if I understand them when someone else says them, when I have to put the same words together myself, my mind always goes blank over the important parts….so I can’t say anything over a few words. I guess I just must keep trying. The girls here are really pretty, and they really know how to dress up….the blacks really like dressing up, but they are quite posh in their own way here. I felt quite out of place actually….a bit underdressed…I’m just not used to really dressing up….especially when there’s the conservative issue….I just don’t have the right clothes for it. But what I don’t get is lots of the black girls show their shoulders….some of them with quite little tops and straps….anyways. I haven’t seen any tribal dancing before, well you know the whole grass skirt costume thing, for some reason we never went for anything like that before in south Africa….but it was an experience I had now I suppose.

They really know how to isolate their butts….one of the guys got up and was revolving his hips like the Cubans (like the little Havana nights man…they got it from the Africans actually). They all love to dance, once they got started, all of the actors and actresses from this guy’s group got up in a big line and were all dancing away….some of them we saw at the door before you could tell were just itching to dance the whole time, kept breaking out in a little move whenever a good song came on during the long wait. I remember now, one day a while ago we saw in a truck on our way home a bunch of guys dancing in the back (there was traffic so the truck wasn’t moving too fast). I guess it’s in all of them here, the dance in their bodies. When we were watching that documentary about Mabuto a few nights ago, the thing he loved to have was organize a bunch of his people to do these big dances for him, where they’d all sing and dance singing glorious praises to mabuto….but that’s another story. So today they danced, and they lined up to give presents to this actor and have their photos taken with him. Actually he’s not just an actor, he writes plays or something, comedy shows but all about and set in Congolese life (in the jungles and villages and stuff), but he was all dressed up (big white coat and sort of ski boots, with this kind of rasta hat, big glasses, and a made up white beard). I guess that must be his classic character he’s known for or something, because one of the trophies they gave him was like a little statue of himself, with that whole getup. It was raining by the time we started to go….and yes we didn’t have a car….someone had gone already to try and get us a taxi but had so far been unsuccessful. We were some of the first ones leaving, but as everything had run late we realized that we needed to get back…..however it was that we were planning to get home. Mylene saw a car waiting outside the door and so ran to it to ask the driver if we could get a lift I presume…but it was a little awkward as waiting right there outside too were two girls…looking a little strangely at Mylene. When their mom joined them we realized it was their car…so Mylene ran back to the entrance and asked the mother if we could get a lift with them as it was raining and we couldn’t get a taxi from the hotel. They kindly agreed and we squeezed into the back with them… and it turned out they had quite an interesting story. They had just been at the hotel holding a press conference to spread publicity on their dad’s death, who had been murdered just a couple months ago in Goma where they were from. One of the daughters was a lawyer in Belgium (the mom was half-Belgian half Congolese, and her husband half Russian and Congolese) and their French was very refined (I didn’t understand much of what they were saying but my mom told me afterwards). They were trying to fight to get some support, as they said there has been a lot more killings than just their dad in that area, him because he said things against the corruption and against poaching and things and made some enemies, but there was almost a mafia there using the reputation Goma has for its violence to continue these things even though it was in the past now.

The other daughter had two little boys, and the younger one, the 5 year old, had said that he had a dream where he saw his grandfather, and he was telling him how beautiful heaven was and that he had to tell his mom and grandmother the things he said and to tell them that he was happy there. She even said that they were all sure of his presence and that he was helping them now. It’s a confirming thing almost to hear things like that for yourself from other people who have experienced things like this and believe in a life after death, outside of just the family testimonies and what we believe, that other people come to the same belief and conclusions. It was very recent this happening to them, and very touching, mylene and my mom were sure it was just the lord having us meet them right there and then….the mom even invited them apparently to go and stay with her if they ever go to Goma. Then after dropping them off at their place, she sent the driver to take us all the way home….an amazing godsend because finding a taxi in that weather would have been most difficult….(we drove by the enormous group of people huddled around the gas station waiting for taxis.) So many amazing things happen here, often just what could seem like ordinary things but here It’s different….you notice things more here, the little things. Out of the thousands of ways that things can go wrong here, when things go right it just seems so amazing I guess, but it’s only proof that we are well taken care of and that there is something that stays with us wherever we go. It’s so easy to ignore little things like that in other places…where everything is just sort of worked out and relatable to something. But here it’s not, everything is different and it’s not the same kind of world. Just the way things part and open for you with the people here when you say that you’re missionaries, the way people give so much respect for what you’re doing is in itself amazing….but there are so many other things that just by natural circumstances should end in a mess and in failure for these guys…but they’ve stuck it out, and they are still taken care of and things keep opening, and things happen and as helpless as they may sometimes seem, their work still thrives. I want to go to the market place again (the one we went to on Saturday, the 17th (when they celebrate being free from Mobutu) after trying to get into the palais de marbre, but when that didn’t work we went for a little walk to the street where there are just rows and rows of furniture making stalls, and all these groups of guys at work, other ones trying to sell you their couches. They even had one artist we saw, who was doing a clay model to pour copper into later. Anyways, it would have made a nice picture, the artisan street….and then after that when you go out the gate and past the wall it was almost like going into the jungle….with all the trees and plants ahead of us…and scattered along that walk some of the old Belgian houses….a little taste of Europe in an odd place. They also had the ‘meteo’ building, (apparently it used to be the best weather station building in Africa when the Belgians occupied congo and were using it). Ok I’m getting bitten by mosquitoes now and I have to go…