Gorillas in the Mist

OK...there were gorillas, but no mist. I took the opportunity on Sunday to join my friend James (SIS from UK/FH) and his father John to go see the gorillas at the Par National de Kahuzi-Biega an hour and a half outside Bukavu. Gorilla watching is something I have always wanted to do. You can see them in Uganda, Rwanda or Congo but it is cheaper in Congo and from what I have been told, much better.

Our day started at 7:20 when we picked up the FH driver, Fidel to drive us to the park. Funny thing, Fidel was dressed in his church clothes: black suit, white dress shirt, tie and dress shoes. The drive to the park was fun; the road not so fun. The biggest thing about Congo is it's lack of roads. The road we were on took us along the lake, past the Chinese MONUC base, past the nunnery where the nuns make/sell really good ice cream (I'm told). We branched off before the airport, but the road also leads to the Bukavu airport. Along the way we say fishing boats, a rolled over bus and countless other incongruous sites.

We arrived at the park at 9:00 am and met with the park official. Unfortunately, as it is dry season, the gorillas have ventured quite far away and we had to wait for the guides to find the family before we could head out. Also waiting was a large group of Pakistani UN soldiers. They are funny. A couple of them wanted photos with James, his dad and I. What is that all about! After an hour and a half of waiting, we were off. Accompanying us was a group of four French nationals who lived in Burundi. The park is home to three family groups of gorillas. The group we were going to see had one male silverback, 17 females, 2 babies and one juvenille. The head guide gave us a brief introduction and instructions then we were off. The lead guide went ahead with a machete to clear the path. It was unbelievable. I kept thinking, when is Indiana Jones going to appear. We truly were hiking through the jungle. At times, the underbrush we were working on was so thick you couldn't see the ground. The machete guide had to completely clear the path at times. It was so cool. What was not cool was stepping into the water in the marsh and having to climb over a watery mud hole. Nor was it cool that we had to walk for close to an hour.

But....... ...it was so worth it! We started to come across piles of gorilla dung so we new we were getting close. Then...GORILLAS! It was awesome. They were not afraid of us or the machete wielding guide who cleared the bush around them so we could get a good view. The silver back was huge, bigger than anything I could imagine. And scary looking. Some of the young ones came up quite close. One of the gorillas was in a tree above our head. We watched for sometime, then the silver back got up, yawned, and ran off. It was amazing and scary at the same time. The rest of the family followed their leader and we followed as well. The viewing wasn't as good, so we headed back to the vehicles.

The problem with walking downhill for an hour? Having to walk back uphill. My legs were so tired; I could hardly lift them to walk over the logs and debris. As we walked back I listened. There was the sound of my heart pounding from the exercise and the sounds of the forest: birds and bugs. I was so excited to reach the vehicles at the top of the hill, but sad the experience was over. This is definitely something I want to do again. So if you have ever wanted to see gorillas...come and visit and I'll take you! (see the album on the left)

Congolese Wedding

I went to my first Congolese wedding this weekend. Our FH driver Israel's daughter was getting married. It was nothing like a Canadian wedding. In Congo, the church has not been given the right to perform a legal wedding. Therefore, there is a civil ceremony before the church ceremony. And before the civil ceremony, there is another get together. The first get together was last weekend and the civil ceremony was on Thursday. The church wedding was on Saturday morning at 9am.

The muzungu attendees were myself, Joel, Michael and his wife Holly and Liz (All FH Staff) Since most African (Uganda/Congo) events do not start on time, we decided to leave around 9 am to get to the wedding around 9:30. However, we were late leaving and didn't arrive at where we parked the car till around 9:45. We were met by one of Israel's friends and walked to the church....straight up a very long and steep hill. Have I mentioned I was wearing 2 inch high heels! It was not a fun walk. Then, when we reached the church, when I was red faced and sweaty, we discovered we wer late. And of course, as muzungus, we were seated right at the very front. YUCK!

The wedding itself was interesting. It was in Swahili and French which means I hardly understood a thing unless it was translated by Joel or Liz. There were two choirs that sang and a skit. That was the first hour. Then there was the 40 minute sermon. Then the vows and exchange of rings. There were speaches by the father and mother of the bride and groom. Funny thing...the groom was around 22 years old; his father was 100 years old! The one thing I can't get past, and really taints my view of Congolese weddings, is the tradition that the bride and groom cannot smile. Never! Not in the photo for the invitation, not at the pre-gathering, civil ceremony, wedding or reception. If you smile it shows you are not serious about the marriage. And the bride has turn her face down towards the floor. It was awful; the wedding party looked like they are at a funeral while the rest of the guests are whooping it up. In fact, the bride looked terrified; I have never seen hands shake like that.

I think I am pretty open to the different cultures and customs I have encountered since arriving in Africa. I try really hard not to judge but to accept the differences. This one, the bride and groom not smiling, is just too much. I never felt comfortable watching the wedding party and found the seriousness of the bride and the groom too discordant from the joyful celebration going on around them.

Before the vows After the vows

My Weekly Treat

I learned from my friend Holly that there is a flower guy named Jean Paul. He makes his livelihood carrying a metal bucket full of beautiful flowers…on his head. And for $5 dollars (USD) I get a gorgeous bouquet of flowers every Saturday. There are a variety of flowers in the bucket (I don’t know all their names). The first time he came I told him that the Calla Lilly’s were my favorite. Now when he comes, I give him the vase, he empties the old ones, I put water in the vase and he creates a masterpiece, always with Calla Lilly's. See for yourself.

The Menagerie

I think I mentioned it in a previous post, but I thought I would tell you a bit about the animal gang living at my house.

First there is Ruth. She is an absolutely wonderful guard dog. (Please don’t ask me what breed she is, I know absolutely nothing about dogs - I am a cat person.) I am told that Ruth was initially the guard dog at the office, but that she wasn’t getting fed and was too thin and almost died. Joel, brought her home and she is now thriving. Joel has been giving her a piece of bread every morning to fatten her up. I have continued the trend while Joel is away. She loves me!

Then there is the newest addition to the gang. His name is Buddy and he’s my favorite. Joel brought Buddy home from Rwanda. For the first week Buddy would spend the day outside with Ruth but slept in the house, in my bed with me. It was fun, but after a week of being woken up every few hours, it was decided that Buddy was ready to sleep outside with Ruth at night. He is the cutest puppy. But he bites and jumps a lot. If anyone has any dog training tips, I could certainly use them.

The third resident of our menagerie is Hommie. Hommie is Joel’s Africa grey parrot. He has a specially built cage on one of the side decks of the house. Actually the entire deck has been caged in to make a big parrot home. African grey’s are known for being talking parrots, and boy does he talk. (Funny thing…Joel’s not sure if Hommie is a boy or a girl – I hear it is hard to tell with birds) Hommie whistles, says his name, some other things I can’t distinguish. But best of all, he mimics the yelping cries of Buddy. The first time I heard it I thought it was Buddy and I raced outside to see if he was OK. And the second and the third. Then I clued in that it was Hommie. It is absolutely uncanny.

So that’s the gang. I wanted a cat, but I am pretty sure that the dogs would kill it. And if the dogs didn’t it, then Joel would if it ever got near the bird.

A Day in the Life

I have been is Bukavu for three weeks now. Settling in has been easy, probably because I have done it once before. I have the room and bathroom on the main floor and have quickly made it my own. It’s funny. Here I was looking forward to having a housemate, to not living on my own. But in the three weeks that I have been here, Joel has only been in Bukavu for the equivalent of a week. First he had to go to Kinshasa to work on getting the necessary papers to get 4 new vehicles out of the government impound. Now, he is away for a month. Three weeks of vacation and a week bringing another vehicle to Bukavu from Nairobi. So, again I am living all on my own.

But, it’s not so bad. The best thing is that we have Jeff. He is the most amazing cook and launderer. It is so nice to be able to come home after a long day of working (most of the time from 8am to 5:30-6:00pm) to have dinner already prepared. He works during the day, ensuring there is always fresh fruit salad for breakfast and dinner for when we get home. My favorite, though, is Saturday. Jeff makes breakfast (pancakes and French toast so far) and then prepares meals for Saturday and Sunday. Saturday’s dinner is always pizza. I love this man. I joked with my dad that it was going to be hard to come home after this pampering. Since I hate to cook, I was either going to have to come home and take cooking lessons, marry a chef or stay in Africa the rest of my life. Dad said,” Bring Jeff home!” It is hard, sometimes, the feeling that you get when you have someone who cooks and cleans for you. But, I try to remember, that my purpose here is to work as effectively as I can in the short amount of time I am here. It is often a full time job just living in Africa. Jeff makes it possible to focus on our jobs and gives him a good paying job, something that is hard to come by in Bukavu.

So what does life look like for me in Bukavu? I get up just after 6am to get ready for work. By 7:15 I am getting my fruit salad and toast. Some mornings I have the a car and driver and some mornings I get picked up by Kostas, the County Director or by Michael, the Program Manager. This is while Joel is away. Joel usually drives us to and from work. Side not, I got my drivers license and will be taking some lessons driving the FH trucks. They are big, heavy suckers and getting in and out of the driveways at my house and Kostas’ are tricky. I can’t officially drive the FH vehicles until Joel gets back and approves me, but I will get some practicing done in the meantime.

Devotions start at 8am. Because FH/DRC is primarily funded by USAID, the Christian part of devotions is only a very small part. First we sing a song or two, either in French of Swahili, then a small bible reading, then announcements. After devotions, I head to my office to check my emails. Then the day starts. First, let me tell you about the office and my office in particular. The FH office used to be a five story apartment building. So the office is divided into suites. Finance is in suite #1, and my office used to be the kitchen. Yep. It has yellow tiles all around the room and pipes sticking out of the wall. Plus it has a little balcony. But since it faces a brick wall and on the other side of the brick wall are very noisy school classrooms, I don’t go out there very often.

My job keeps me busy most days; it is evolving every day. So far I have re-allocated funds for three grants, a process that involves digging through a dinosaur DOS based financial systems and binder upon binder of receipts trying to figure out where funds expenses have been misallocated. It has been frustrating and rewarding all at the same time. Nothing like getting your feet wet all at once as you figure out the names of regions, sub regions and individual fields. It’s not as straight forward and separate as things were in Kampala. But I love it. There hasn’t been a dull moment yet, and it is exciting to be a part of such a large organization undertaking large scale relief work. The biggest challenge of the day is the French. I have a tutor from 9:30-10:30 Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings. But I am frustrated at how slow my progress is. I don’t understand much of what is being said in devotions and often feel isolated because I can’t socialize with the staff. That is not to say that most don’t speak at least a little English. I have been able to get by with a mixture of French, English and sign language (not formal sign language – more the kind of gesturing you do when people don’t know what you are talking about). I am a little worried that the staff might take my lack of socializing with them the wrong way. So if you are reading this, maybe you could say a quick prayer asking God to help me speak in tongue – French specifically!

Lunch is at 1pm. I bring leftovers from home and Vincent, the office cook, re-heats it for me. I eat in my office and take this time to browse the internet, catch up on world news. Then it is back to the grind until 5:00. By then it is 8am in Vancouver and I usually spend a bit of time Skyping with Elaine at CFHI and my parents, then it is off for home. I love my time with the drivers. This is where I practice my awful French and learn about their lives outside of work. Bahati, my favorite, is a pastor and has 10 or 11 kids. His church was just built with assistance from an American church. And I learned last night that is 18 year old daughter is very sick, is in hospital and may need an operation. Let’s just say he doesn’t make enough money to pay for that. The other driver is Nuru (which means light). He was a moto (motorcycle taxi) driver but was hit by an FH driver and had a serious leg/foot injury. He hadn’t worked for a long time, and has a family of 4 to feed. Joel felt very bad for him, so he hired him as a driver. He has a very funny accent when he speaks English. Both Nuru and Bahati are so incredibly patient with me. I adore them both, although Bahati is my favorite (in the whole office!!!!)

When I get home, I turn on the oven to re-heat the dinner that Jeff has prepared. I am trying to exercise on the elliptical before dinner, but my desire and my actions are not lining up right now. Dinner is always fantastic and always includes a salad. Yeah salad! Then I spend some time reading or watching TV. Then bed and up at 6am to start it all again.

To break the routine, I have women’s bible study every other Tuesday and Friday’s are games night with the whole FH ex-pat crew plus Kim who works with International Rescue Committee (IRC). The weekends are pretty lazy affairs; it is hard to get motivated to do anything but read and watch TV. Luckily everyone else is motivated, so most weekends I have a visitor or two. Katie and Kostas’ son Daniel likes to come visit Hommie as does Michael and Holly’s daughter Natalie. But I am gradually building a good circle of friends. Renee is fantastic and has lived here her whole life. Through her I am making Congolese friends. My biggest prayer is that my French will improve drastically and I will be able to make more friends.

You might be asking yourself, what about Church? Well, that’s a fun story. The only English service in the entire city is at the Anglican Church down the road. It is within walking distance of the house. Problem is, the English service is at 7:30am. Ouch! There are about 10-15 Congolese who attend and the pastor is Congolese. The non-Congolese congregation consists of the FH ex-pat staff and Kim from IRC. That’s it. As it is an Anglican church, the service is more formal and structured than I am used to. But, the choir is fantastic and the church is large and bright. The best part is that Church is done by 9 am and I have the whole day ahead…to do absolutely nothing!

The down side of living in Bukavu right now is definitely the French and Swahili. Because I don’t understand a lot of what is being said at any given time, I don’t feel comfortable being out on my own. The area that all the ex-pats live in is called Muhumba and it is also the location of MONUC, the UN Peacekeeping force. There headquarters is just down the street from my house. The area is very safe, although there are a lot of street kids and they have been getting a bit more active in Muhumba. It’s not that I don’t feel safe. I do. But because my French is not so great, if anything did happen I wouldn’t understand what was going on, nor could I talk my way out of a difficult situation. So, for now, I don’t really go anywhere but to work or to Michael or Kostas’ house. But I am trying to get up the nerve to get out and walk around on my own one of these weekends. There’s something else you can add to you prayer list.

So…so far so good. It is always exciting and challenging, and there is so much to learn everyday about life in Bukavu. It isn’t an easy place to live, for ex-pats or locals. War ravaged the area four years ago and it has taken its toll both on the city and the people. But there is hope. And with hope and God, miracles can happen.

What to Do When there is Everything and Nothing to Do

My last day of work in the Kampala office was Friday March 14. However, my flight to Kigali was not until March 31^st. The reason for this time delay was to give me ample time to sell the contents of my house (at least everything that I wasn’t taking with me). But they say God is in the details and he sure has been in all the details from start to finish with regards to my move to Bukavu. When I told my landlady I was moving, she asked if I was taking my furniture. When I told her that I was selling everything she said she wanted to buy it. Praise God! It took a while, but we settled on an amount that worked for both of us. With this out of the way, I had two weeks to get ready for my move. The biggest challenge was completing 40 hours of one-on-one French re-fresher classes. I had a fantastic teacher, Saloman, who was so encouraging. If I had had him as my high school French teacher I might not have needed his services now! (For those who are interested, I took 4 hours of French a day for 10 days – the last class was on the 31^st, the day I left)

The other big challenge I had was finding appropriate work clothes. In Kampala, although the female national staff tend to wear dresses and skirts, the ex-pats adopt a more informal style of dress. But in Bukavu, the expectation is for more traditional formal office attire. The DILEMMA: I brought a lot of clothes with me. But there were two problems. First, most were informal clothes; a lot of t-shirt, tank tops and casual pants. Second, I purchased most of my clothes in spring of 2007 then put them away in a suitcase. But then I went ahead and gained too much weight over the summer, and now many of the clothes that would have been appropriate no longer fit. The PLAN: go shopping for dress pants, skirts and formal tops at Oweno market in town. Sounds simple enough, right? Not so much! Oweno is a large African market. Think rows and rows of stalls, makeshift shops made of wood, tarps and metal sheeting; exposed to the elements through the gaps in the “roofs.” You can buy anything you can dream of at Oweno: second hand clothes and shoes from the US, Canada and Europe, cheap Chinese knockoffs, food, home wares. You name it, they have it.

Rainy season started in March, and we had a doosey of a storm the night before my shopping adventure. I wore flip flops, my usual foot attire. My shopping partner, Juliet (Ugandan staff member who works with the Go-Ed program), warned me that I should change shoes. I didn’t listen! We took a special hire into town, through major rush hour traffic. When we pulled up in front of Oweno, I was struck first by the smell (of garbage) then by the shear size of the market. It was nothing like I had expected. I had been warned that the market was crazy. Most Mazungu’s get grabbed and dragged into stalls by their owners. With Juliet, this wasn’t a problem. She walked so darn fast I had to race past everyone with my head down making sure I missed the mud puddles and didn’t slip and fall flat on my butt. Juliet knew the market very well. I barely saw a quarter of the market as she took me straight to the clothes section. We passed many a stall until Juliet stopped and one in particular. I stood there, pointing at things I liked and wanted to try on, while several “boys” went looking for other items that matched the descriptions of what I wanted to buy. It was a little disconcerting getting changed behind a blanket being held up by random guy as the shop owners across the way and people passing by watched. But, I was game so I tried on a bunch of skirts and pants. They kept trying to bring me small pants and tops, bless their hearts! We managed to put together a few outfits, then the part I dislike intensely: the bargaining. Juliet would have got me a fantastic price if only I had kept my mouth shut. But alas, I didn’t, and only got a good price. (Juliet informed me via text message, not to say another word!)

From there we went on to the shoe section. It’s crazy! There were large white sacks full of shoes from the West, and men and women sitting around cleaning them. I saw used Nike running shoes that had been cleaned so well they looked brand new. Thanks to my Aunt Candis, I now have a shoe problem, so I was in heaven. I found two pairs of shoes which I liked, and Juliet bargained real hard for them. We actually walked away for a while and finally the guy came down to a price that was reasonable for both Juliet and I. After the shoes we headed out of the market and across the street. The whole area around the market has clothing and fabric stores. I was looking for a nice purse, but found a really great dress and leggings instead. After a quick stop for a soda and fries, Juliet and I headed towards the taxi park.

The taxi park…what can I say about it. It is a mass of humanity and vans. Taxis in Uganda are called Matatus; 14 seater vans in varying degrees of mechanical and aesthetic condition. I have been trying to avoid riding in them for several reasons, the most important being that they drive like maniacs and my friend Stella was injured in a Matatu accident. But this was a day for firsts, so Juliet and I hoped into the taxi going to Muyenga. The thing about the taxi park and the taxi system in general is that it looks like a big ‘ol mess, but really is quite organized and very inexpensive.

So, shopping…check. French classes…check. Furniture sold…check. The next challenge was packing. Joel, the logistics director with FH/DRC was going to be driving through Kampala on his way from Nairobi to Bukavu with two 8 ton trucks. The problem was, he didn’t know when they would be released and ready to go. It could be sometime during the two weeks or sometime after I had already left for Bukavu. This caused a few problems. First…when to pack? I didn’t want to pack too early and be living in an empty house, but I had a lot to pack and needed to be ready for the trucks as it would only take a day for them to arrive once they left Nairobi. Second…if Joel didn’t come during the two weeks, where was I going to store my stuff? I arranged with the Logistics boys in Kampala to store my stuff at the office, so that was one problem solved. I decided to start packing in my last week; starting with the room I didn’t use and the storage in the hallway. I used the other spare room as the packing room. I timed it perfectly – no God timed it perfectly – and I was all packed by the end of my last weekend and Joel arrived Sunday night. Did I mention that I was flying out the next day?

Yes, Joel and his other driver Jules arrived late Sunday night. This meant the packing of the truck would occur Monday morning; the same Monday that I was flying to Kigali. Thankfully I didn’t fly out till 9:50pm. We got the truck all packed, Joel picked up last minute items at the office and Game (the South African version of Canadian Tire) then he was on his way. As for me, I finished up at the office saying my goodbyes, went into town to pay the bills for radios for FH/DRC that I had picked up for Joel earlier in the week, then went to my last 4 hours of French class. Finished that and headed back to the office where my friend Finn was picking me up to take me to the airport. It was a busy day for my last day in Kampala, but it was typically me.

Now the fun begins….

Sometimes I am like my mother and sometimes I am like my father. When it comes to being at the airport early, I am just like my mother. My flight was at 9:50. so I got to the airport around 7:30. My tickets had been arranged by FH/DRC and I had the email with the confirmation number. Good thing I was early, as after having taken my suitcase, laptop bag and camera bag through security, I was told at the counter that my confirmation had been cancelled as no ticket was issued and that the flight was full. You can imagine how flustered I was at that moment. I had no more Ugandan shillings and only American dollars. I knew if worse came to worse I could call someone to get me, take a taxi back to Kampala or spend the night in Entebbe. But I had no money in the bank to withdraw Shillings and the exchange at the airport is awful so I wasn’t looking forward to any of these options. I wanted on the plane! They check-in people told me to go upstairs to the Rwandair office. So out I went back through security with my suitcase, laptop bag and camera bag only to find that the elevator does not work. It is only one long flight of stairs, but a little hard with my 22 kilo suitcase and other bags. A very nice airport man carried my suitcase upstairs which was most appreciated. I got to the office flustered, worried and a little ticked off only to have to wait while two Rwandair employees chatted and laughed. This did not help my disposition. Finally one of the ladies told me to come inside and have a seat. It was around this time that I felt the tears coming. Then I remembered the nine months of fundraising and six months of living in Uganda and remembered that this was not a big deal. If I didn’t get on the flight, big deal! There were other options and I could handle it.

The nice lady booked me a standby ticket. Luckily I had the US cash to pay for the ticket. I then lugged my suitcase, laptop bag and camera bag down the long flight of stairs, through security again and back to the ticket counter. We got everything all sorted, then I had to sit down and wait and see if I would get on the flight. I prayed a bit during this time. Mostly I just sat back, and waited to see where the cards were going to fall this time. I have felt that God wanted me to come to Bukavu; everything had been lining up since I made the decision to move. And this night was no different. I made it on the plane. I was so relieved.

However, I might have made it to Kigali, but my suitcase remained behind in Entebbe. Actually, 15 suitcases where left behind in Entebbe. There were a lot of very angry people at the airport that night. Most were yelling at the poor lady who had to take our information. I preferred to be nice to her and even prayed for her before I went to bed. My friends Seng and Jen were waiting for me and I couldn’t get a message to them telling them that I was there, but waiting to give my lost luggage info. Thankfully they waited having figured out some baggage had been lost. So with no luggage in hand other than my camera and laptop bag, we headed to Seng and Jen’s. Unfortunately, they had a guest stay longer than expected so I had to sleep on the couch. Not a problem, but this meant that there was no mosquito net. And boy were there mosquito’s that night. So there I was sleeping on a couch with very large cushions, in the clothes I had been wearing for over 12 hours, trying to cover my head from the mosquito’s buzzing all around my head. I ended up with two bites on my forehead. But bless Jen. I slept in, and when I got up, saw that Jen had left me a large basket of toiletries and her makeup. I was able to shower and do my face, even though I only had my stinky clothes from the day before to put back on. Luckily, my bags came in on the 9:50 flight that night and I was able to feel human again the next day. I also got to sleep in a real bed that night.

I spent two days at the Kigali office. I did a little training with Seng who is the Regional Finance Manager, but mostly I caught up on email and visited with friends. I went to my favorite place in East Africa, Café Bourbon, and had the best latte this side of Starbucks. And I had Indian with my friends Jen & Christie who I also met in training in Peru. It was a nice few days of recharging after leaving Kampala and before arriving in Bukavu.

The last leg of the journey passed uneventfully and I was soon at the airport in Kamembe. I had planned on studying my French on the plane, but instead had a delightful young man as my seat mate who spoke only French. So instead I practiced my French with an 8 year old Congolese boy. Renee from the office was at the airport to greet me, which made me extremely relieved as I didn’t want to have to cross the crazy border without her assistance. I have to say, however, that my border crossing experience was much easier this time. I think it helped that we had an FH vehicle this time and that the border guards remembered me from last time.

So now I am in the Congo, settling in to my new house and making it my home. I share the house with Joel, the head of logistics, his parrot Hommie, Ruth the guard dog and Buddy the puppy, the newest member of our menagerie. I miss Kampala, my friends, how comfortable I felt in the city. But I am excited about the possibilities: the job, the friends, and the country. Congo has been the source of exploitation, war and misery since it first attracted the attention of King Leopold of Belgium in the late 1800’s. The last 10 years have seen over 5.4 million Congolese killed through war and the effects of war; it is the worst humanitarian crisis on the continent of Africa. And yet, have you heard anything about the Congo? Northern Uganda…yes. Darfur…yes. But nothing of the death and destruction that has been wrought in Eastern Congo for years. I hope that I will be able to bring you stories of hope and resilience during my 2 ½ years, to bring to life the past, present and future of this magnificent country.

Get Your Plane of the Tarmac Please! (Part 2)

So off I went on my first outside Uganda adventure. My flight to Kigali Monday night was uneventful and Seng was at the airport to pick me up. I spent the night at Seng/Jen’s house (along with their 2 roommates). It was really great to see Jen again as it had last seen her in Peru last May. Kigali is so much nicer than Kampala. It is clean and organized, with wide 2 lane roads and manicured boulevards down the middle. Side note about the cleanliness…the black plastic bags that are endemic to Africa have been banned in Rwanda, and in Kigali, the last Saturday of the month is cleaning day. All residents are expected to get out in their neighborhoods and clean. Buses/taxis are not allowed to work and unless you are headed to the hospital or the airport, the police will stop and question you and ask you to return home. Now that is taking the clean to the streets!

OK, back to the story. We went into the office in the morning after dropping Jen at the FH guesthouse. This was a bad mistake on our part. Seng had mentioned when he picked me up at the airport that President Bush was arriving in Kigali in the morning for a visit; there were extra police and military forces on the road in the morning as we drove to the office. We should have gone straight to the airport instead of to the office. This was around 8am and my flight was at 11am. But, neither one of us thought of it. Instead we went to the office, went to devotions, and then left for the office. Unfortunately, the police started closing all the roads and we couldn’t get to the office. Seng was driving, Becky from the Regional Office was with us and we had an FH Rwanda staff member with us. Well, the boys thought we could find another way to the airport. So off we went. Long story short, we ended up on the back side of the airport just in time to hear Airforce I land (and see the tail with the American Flag). We could also hear the drums beating at what I would assume was the welcoming party on the tarmac. As we were sitting at the military base on the backside of the airport, the Rwandan staff member kept repeating that he was sure the airport was closed because Airforce I was at the airport. I kept insisting that Rwandair wouldn’t have issued a ticket 4 days before the scheduled visit of President Bush if the airport was going to be closed. I thought it best that we call the airline and find out.

By this time it is about 30 minutes before my flight is supposed to leave and I am a little panicky. As some of you may know, I inherited my flying routine from my mother which entails always being at the airport before the mandated time. I am starting to get more and more frustrated at the defeatist attitude of the Rwandan staff member and a little ticked that we hadn’t just stayed at the main road and waited for the convoy to pass. So we start to make our way back to the main road, but since they have blocked the main road all the side streets are blocked with cars. We end up going down little dirt roads away from the airport trying to get to the main road. By this time Becky has confirmed that the flight to Bukavu is flying and had informed them that I am on my way. Finally we get stuck, park the car and walk with my suitcase (small rolling carryon) up to the main road. The road is still closed, but Bush has gone by. We hop the fence and start power walking towards the airport. Moments later, the road re-opens and we decide to put me in a taxi. But not before I got a great shot of what turned out to be Airforce I and II. I got to the airport 15 minutes before my flight was supposed to take off. Unfortunately, the plane left almost 2 hours late. But I got up close and personal with Airforce I & II. It was cool; like the movies. There were Secret Service stationed at the nose and tail of each plane and an SUV parked at each nose.

Arriving at Kamembe airport in Rwanda is surreal. It is the smallest airport I have ever been in. It is one small building. Half is arrivals and half is departures. You walk off the plane and into the building and fill in an arrivals card. Then you wait for your luggage to be brought to the door and carry it down a steep flight of stairs to the parking lot. A very nice young lady named Renee was there to pick me up. Renee is third generation American missionary to Bukavu. We took a cab down to the border, filled out the Rwandan departures card then jumped in Renee’s truck to cross into DRC. To get to the DRC border, you leave the parking lot, cross a rickety wooden bridge then drive 500 meters up hill to the DRC border. It is a bit surreal. There are people waking or pushing wheel barrows along the road carrying foodstuffs on their backs or heads. The border area is awash with people some in uniform, most without. We parked the car on the side of the road and went into the small building housing border patrol. Renee speaks Swahili like it is her mother tongue so I didn’t have to do much. It was funny watching her with the officials. They obviously new her very well; there was a lot of joking going on. This one guy cracked me up. He was asking me all sorts of questions through Renee, and as we were leaving said, “Watson, I want you.” It cracked me up. Then we had to go down to a smaller building that house the health lady (for lack of a better description). It is mandatory to have your yellow fever vaccination to enter DRC. The health lady went through all my vaccinations and got stuck on the Oral Dukoral. You may or may not know that Dukoral is marketed as a vaccine to get to prevent traveler’s diarrhea. You know the kind you get in Mexico if you have ice cubes in your glass or eat the salads. It isn’t a mandatory vaccine. The problem is that it is also a vaccine against cholera. Or at least that is what the stamp says. And it only lasts 5 months. So health lady, in Swahili, started going on about it being out of date. This went on and on for a while. Finally I told Renee it is an optional vaccine and is used to prevent diarrhea. Repeating saying the word diarrhea had her handing me back the booklet and letting us go. You see in DRC, they are just looking for a way to make a little money on the side. No vaccine…just slip her a few dollars and she will stamp your booklet.

We got back in the truck and had the back door opened by random guy who wanted to see inside my bags. I only had the small suitcase and my backpack that contained my laptop. I opened them, he looked then he closed the door. We drove a few feet to the where a guard lifts up and down the gate (actually just a pole). While Renee was chatting with the guard, who knows her dad, another random guy opens the door and wants to see my bags. Renee isn’t really paying attention and I am trying to tell him they have been looked at. Finally Renee turns around and starts telling him that they have already been checked. When he leaves I asked Renee what was up. These random guys are border patrol and again, they are trying to make a buck. Trying to find something they can intimidate you into paying a bribe. The problem with these random guys…not one of them is wearing any kind of uniform and with the crush of humanity hanging around the border; it is hard to tell who is official and who isn’t.

We left the border and drove the ten minutes to the Country Directors house where I will be staying. I met Kostas’ wife Katie and their two sons Daniel (2 1/2) and Jonathon (7 months). I had a great time with Katie and the boys, had an awesome lunch cooked by their cook/house keeper and learned a lot about living in Bukavu. Kostas came home early from work and we spent a lot of time talking about possibilities and options. That evening I went with Katie to the Orchid, a Yaletown type restaurant right on the lake. A bunch of ladies were starting a women’s bible study group and were meeting to decide what to study. We all had ice cream at $5 – $7 USD a pop. Expensive…but very nice! The next day I went to the office to interview/be interviewed by each department head. It was a chance for me to find out where they needed help the most. At the end of the day, I sat down with Kostas and told him what I thought was needed. His response, “I wish I had a tape recorder. You just wrote your own job description.”

The next day I started my trek back home. Again in the crazy DRC border office, across the rickety bridge, Rwandan border office where people don’t understand what a line is or personal space, then the airport. It was a little weird, no scanners so had to open the bag for the lady to go through. Everything is manual. On the plane I talked with this guy I had first seen on the flight from Kigali. He was a Congolese guy producing records in Rwanda and engaged to a girl from England. We had a great chat and when we got to the Kigali airport offered a ride to wherever I needed to go. I assumed Seng would be there to pick me up. We had talked about lunch with his wife and one of the other girls I had met in Peru during FH training. But when I got to the main lobby…no Seng. The problem was, my cell was not working and I didn’t know Seng’s number or the number to FH Rwanda. Nor did I have any Rwandan Franc. So I went out, found my new friend and asked if I could still get a ride. I blindly assumed that the taxi driver would now where the FH office was. He didn’t. No one did. And none of us could get the number to FH Rwanda even though I was texting my friends Julia and Kenny back in Kampala. I did have US dollars so they took me to town to exchange for francs. As we were driving we passed Café Bourbon (the best latte I have had outside Starbucks). This was where Seng and the gang were taking me for lunch. After exchanging money I had them drop me off at Bourbon. Seng had called by this time and was on his way with Jen and Cheryl to meet me at Bourbon. All was well. I was pretty proud of myself for not freaking out during all this time!

Had a great lunch with the gang, went back to the office with them then to their house for dinner. Jen and Seng brought their baseball gloves, so Jen and I threw the ball around for a bit before they took me to the airport. I was so glad to touch down in Entebbe. Being back in Uganda felt like coming home. Which is why I was so surprised that it felt like I had to make the move to FH/DRC. As much as I loved Uganda and Kampala, I really felt like joining the team in Bukavu was what I was supposed to do.

I told Kostas before I left that I was 99% sure I was going to take the job. But I wanted to talk with Paddy (my pastor in Canada) before I made my final decision. I had been worried about how Cap would react to me leaving Uganda/Bufukhula and wanted to be sensitive to that. Although I told Sang Hoon Friday that I was going to make the move to FH/DRC, talking with Paddy the next day solidified my decision.

So there you have it: the entire journey from start to finish. It was a battle; one that tested my faith, had me questioning what God requires of us and generally turned me into a basket case for a month. I don’t regret a single moment of the struggle. I feel like I am a stronger person because of it. Stronger in faith, stronger in my relationship with God and sure that God has a plan for me that is much bigger than anything I could ever have wanted for myself. And most of all, I finally trust Him with my life. That is something I haven’t been able to do. For this I am grateful.

The Phone Call That Changed My Life (Part 1)

It was a Thursday morning in the middle of January when I got the call. Actually is started with a Skype chat. My friend Seng, who is also the Regional Finance Manager (Region = Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi & DRC), Skyped me to see if I was free and able to leave the office so he could call me. I was; so I went outside, took his call and began walking laps around the FH compound. Now I was expecting Seng to ask if I would be interested in doing some regional training. We had Skyped about the option a few months back, so that was what I was expecting. Instead Seng shocked me into silence (something that doesn’t happen too often!) with a request to consider the position of Finance Director in FH/DRC. I was stunned to say the least. We talked for quite a while about the situation in the DRC, how they hadn’t had a Finance Director for over a year, how hard the transition was to the new Sun Systems, how deadlines would come and go without the necessary work being completed. I spoke of my love of Uganda, the connection that I have here, the life that I had created for myself, the roots that were starting to settle.

The reason Seng asked if I would consider a move to FH/DRC was because he was aware of how under utilized I have been in the FH Uganda office. When I first arrived I spent time training the field coordinators and accountants in the use of Excel and the new financial system. This, coupled with a big learning curve kept me fairly busy. However, now that we have settled into the new financial system, my main role has been adding the receipts sent in by the field and ensuring they match the journals they have sent in. It is important work, but not very challenging and not the best use of the education and experience I bring with me from Canada. My life in Kampala is wonderful, but something was missing at work. I knew God brought me to Uganda, but I just wasn’t sure if this is what I was supposed to be doing. I figured I would wait it out; see where things would go. Have patience that God had a plan for my time in Uganda that He would reveal when it was time.

So back to the conversation with Seng…I was obviously not going to be able to give him an answer then and there, not did he expect one. He asked me to give it some thought, and that if I had any further questions, Dwight Jackson, the Regional Director, would be at my office the next day. So I went back to work, completely stunned and unable to talk to anybody about it. Well, actually, I went directly to my friend Julia (who works with the Go-Ed Students). I had to tell somebody! Then it was back to work. It is fairly hard to concentrate when someone has just asked you to consider a life changing decision. But somehow I managed. As soon as I got home and my parents came on line, I Skyped them to tell them the news and run things by dad. We talked and I cried for two hours. Dad and I went round and round and round. He kept asking me questions, trying to help me make a decision. Just to give you an idea of what was going through me head during this time: I have taken two accounting classes and spent five months working in NGO work…what were they thinking? There was no way I could do the job they were asking. Then there was the thought of leaving Kampala, my house, my friends, my church, the youth group and BUFUKULA. There was just no way I wanted to leave all that to go to a country I had never been too, where they speak French, and to a job that was bigger than my schooling and experience.

By the end of the conversation with my dad I had decided that what I really love best is training and Uganda and that being in the Director of Finance position in the DRC would not allow me to do that. I was completely prepared to tell Dwight Jackson, thank you but no thank you. I met with Dwight that morning and started by asking him for some more information about the situation in FH/DRC and for information about the DRC. I wanted to make sure they new they were asking someone with little finance experience and no schooling and almost no NGO work. Dwight was wonderful to chat with. He told me God works with our weakness and turns them into strengths; that there are things that can be taught, but that my leadership and management qualities were something they needed desperately in the DRC office. Some other things he told me. FH/DRC is the largest field in all of FH, size and money wise. It has an approx. $11 million budget in USAID grants with the potential for another $33 million over the next 5 years. As Dwight said, “It’s like we have a six inch pipe and are trying to shove a ten inch pipe inside it.” By the end of our conversation I was convinced I could do the job. He also told me that there was no way I could make a bad decision; if I stayed it was a good decision if I went to the DRC it was a good decision. So…instead of telling Dwight I was not interested in the job I told him I needed more time to think it through.

To give you an idea of the time frame, the day I spoke with Dwight was Friday January 18^th. For the next two and a half weeks I went back and forth and back and forth. I spoke with several of my ex-pat FH friends and with friends from church. I wanted to say no, yet couldn’t. A few things stood out for me during this time. First, I spoke with Gary Zander who is a Canadian on the board of FH International (actually with the name change FH Association). He pointed out to me that what I was experiencing was grief: the grief of leaving Uganda and all the ties that I had made. Understanding what I was feeling was a big step forward. Once I understood what I was feeling I was able to begin working through the grief and explore the possibility of leaving. Second, in one of my many conversations with my friend Julia she asked me if I wanted the job. I had never asked myself that question. I was focusing on could I do the job and did I want to leave Uganda. Third, Julia told me to stop stressing about the decision.

So I did. I stopped stressing and I stopped praying about it. I completely stopped giving the decision any attention. And that is when the work started. I would be in morning devotions and would be banging my head on the table as we sang Trust and Obey. We were working through the book, On Earth As It Is In Heaven by Darrow Miller and Bob Moffitt, during our devotions. Little things would have me shaking my head. It was as if the words or phrases were directed right at me. Finally Seng came to Kampala and we sat and chatted. I told him all my reasons for wanting to say NO, but that I couldn’t and had to see what that meant. I still wasn’t saying YES, but I was ready to move to the next step. That step was letting Kostas, the Country Director in FH/DRC, know that they had approached me for the position of Finance Director. I should note two things here: first, at this point the only people who officially new about the offer were me, Seng and Dwight and second, there was another offer on the table. That other offer was the option to be a regional trainer. It was something we had talked about in our original phone conversation and that I had talked about with Dwight. But their first priority was finding a Finance Director and this was the answer I had to give them.

The next day Seng asked me to send my resume on to Kostas and about three days later Kostas called. We chatted for a while and it became clear that the role of Finance Director was not suited for me (something I kinds knew already) but that there were many other ways they could use me in their finance department. In his own words, “We’re drowning here!” I got off the phone excited about the options and ready to take a trip to Bukavu (where the office is located) to visit and flesh out some of the options. But now the cat had to be let out of the bag. Elaine had to be informed and more importantly (sorry Elaine!) Sang Hoon, my country director had to be told. This is where things hit a snag. I talked to Elaine that very night. She was wonderful although it was a little faux pas on my part not to have told her sooner. And I Syped with Seng, told him I was ready for a visit to Bukavu but that Sang Hoon had to be told. He asked me to email Dwight, as it should really come from the Regional Director that they wanted to move an SIS from one field to another. The problem was that Dwight was in the US interviewing for the new Country Director position in Uganda. So I waited and I waited and didn’t hear anything from Dwight. Seng was in the dark and Kostas kept sending me photos of Bukavu to show me how beautiful it was there.

During the next two weeks, as I waited to hear from someone, we continued with the Bob Moffit/Darrow Miller study in devotions. There had been little pieces here or there that seemed to be speaking right to me, but then we came to the chapter on servant hood and we read from Philippians Chapter 2:

¹Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, ²then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. ³Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, ⁴not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others. ⁵In your relationships with one another, have the same attitude of mind Christ Jesus had: ⁶Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; ⁷rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. ⁸And being found in appearance as a human being, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death— even death on a cross!

This verse and the phrase a servant is some who voluntarily and sacrificially serves changed the whole course of my decision making. I began to see that perhaps it was God calling me to the Congo and as such, I had no option but to obey. I was felt that my answer had to be YES. But…I still wanted to visit Bukavu, meet Kostas and his team in FH/DRC and discover what role they had for me to fill.

Almost two weeks later, I received an email from Kostas telling me that Dwight had contacted him and that I was to go ahead and tell Sang Hoon what was up. This was not cool with me! Kostas volunteered to be the one to tell Sang Hoon although in hindsight I should have been the one to do it. Actually, it should have been Dwight, but that is a whole ‘nother story. I was on Skype with Seng when an email from Kostas went through to Sang Hoon (it was Seng who told me he had received it). About 10 minutes later Sang Hoon called me into his office. I was a little worried; this came out of left field for him. But he was so gracious. He had first served in the Congo over 10 years ago and the country has a special place in his heart. He also recognized that when looking at the region as whole, the Congo is where there is the need for the most financial help. Lastly, as an SIS himself, he recognizes that as SIS we follow the call from God; if that is where I felt God was leading me, he couldn’t stand in the way.

Everything went very quickly after that. This was early Friday afternoon. By 5pm my tickets were booked for me to fly to Kigali the following Monday evening, then on to Kamembe/Cyangugu Tuesday morning (to get to Bukavu, you fly first to Kigali then to Kamembe/Cyangugu which is a small airport/town on the Rwandan side of the Rwanda/DRC border)

THE STORM

I was awoken at 1 am last night to the deafening sound of wind tunneling through my house, the slamming of doors, the claps of thunder and the flash of lightening. Oh and the fan beside my bed going off. There was a very powerful storm going on outside my windows. The curtains were blowing and from experience I knew there was a puddle accumulating on the floor below the windows. I think it was after the door slammed shut that I got out of bed to see what was going on outside. I have to say again, the sound of the wind was incredibly loud. From what I could see out the window, the trees were a moving. I got up, closed the windows so as not to have a flood in my room in the morning, propped open the door that slammed so it would do it again, then got back into bed clutching tightly to my flashlight. I have to say, this was the scariest storm I have experienced ever...and we had some good ones in October/November.

All was calm when I got up in the morning. There wasn't any noticeable branches down when I looked out the window so I thought all was OK. The first thing I noticed when I walked out the door to go to work was that the small plastic bin that sits on the porch wasn't there...well the lid was but not the bin. As I walked down the stairs and over to the driveway...that's when I saw it. One of the garage doors was lying on the ground. The wind had, not torn it from the hinges (the piece of wood with the hinges is still attached), it had broken the wooden door completely. All I could do was laugh. I thought I heard a loud bang as one point. Oh and my shoes that were on the porch were scattered across the lawn as were a multitude of large pine needles, small branches and one large palm leaf.

We are in the hot season right now, so it is common to have storms in the evenings. Here's hoping tonight is a little less eventful.

FH Congo Website

I just finished browsing through the FH Congo website. It is by far the best Food for the Hungry website I have seen...and I have looked at many. Please click on the link on the left of my blog and learn about the work FH is doing in the Congo; read the stories. Let God weave the people of the Congo into your heart they way he is doing in mine.