Apples & Mangoes

Another day. Another epic bike ride – this time to and from Kawambwa. A certain hunch compelled me to ride to town this morning as opposed to waiting for afternoon transport. I'm glad I did because I later found out that none of the UNHCR vehicles had had room for extra passengers. I made good time on the way up, clocking in at around 1 hr 30 min, a personal best. I was VERY pleasantly surprised to discover that Nice Bite was serving chips, egg sandwiches, and a variety of fruits and biscuits. An Apple Max soda added the finishing touch to my lunch. Carol had planned to meet me later that afternoon but because of the transport situation, she never arrived in town. As I walked towards World Vision to retrieve my bike on the way to finding accommodation for the night, I serendipitously ran into Wakilongo and decided on the spot that it would be better to bike back to Kala that evening with him and two of his friends.

We talked the whole time and rode at a leisurely pace, taking shortcuts through bush paths and greeting friends along the way. The time was approximately 17:30 when we had departed Kawambwa. As we reached the large, open field toward the end of our ride, only a sliver of light remained. My eyes were struggling to see clearly – everything sort of blended together as one, with the fireflies adding the glittering touch to a gradient of blues and greens. The pond looked sublime reflecting the bit of light left in the sky against the darkening landscape. Insects were buzzing and chirping about, conversing in their esoteric language(s). Was I dreaming? I felt so lucky to be right in the middle of this, walking my bike up the large hill in silence, taking it all in.

At the top of hill, it was time to pull out my headlamp. Soon after, we were riding in pitch blackness. Wakilongo mentioned as we were about a quarter mile from the camp that he hadn't eaten anything before the ride and was feeling quite hungry. I dismounted my bike and offered him an apple before I bit into one myself.

"Ah," he remarked. "It's been years since I've tasted one of these. You know, when I fled Congo, I didn't eat any vegetables or nshima during my 100 km walk to Kalemie – only mangoes." He went on to explain that they had decided to leave when they had heard that the Banyamulenge, ethnic Tutsis fighting for control of the region, were coming to Uvira. At first, they had trusted in the government's military presence to protect them. But when they saw soldiers running towards them frantically, shouting, "Go! Go! Go!" amidst the deafening booms of approaching bombs, they hastily grabbed what they could and fled for the Tanzanian border.

"We walked day and night without stopping," Wakilongo explained. "We used to tie our children to ourselves with strings. Walking in the darkness amongst tens of thousands of people, if they had strayed more than even 10 meters, it was quite possible that you'd never see them again. Many parents lost their children forever that way." He went on until we reached the sign announcing the presence of Kala Refugee Camp discussing the origins of the war in Congo – the spill-over of fighting from the genocide in Rwanda. He talked of the importance he placed on educating himself in politics, current events, economics, whatever he could manage. As we reached the police compound, it was time to go our separate ways.

"So I'll see you at the office tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Have a good night, Wakilongo."

I handed him my headlamp – for he still had a ways to go to arrive at his house – and allowed my ears and my feet to guide me to my own, as lightning flashed softly in the distance.

That Sunday Afternoon

Today, I took a long solo bike ride heading east from the camp for about an hour or two. After the first twenty minutes or so, the villages began to disappear, giving way to dense forests, scrubby bush, and wide open fields. The hills were like roller coasters; I kept having to shift gears from 6 to 7 to 8 and then quickly back down to 6 again. Rain clouds threatening torrential downpours flirted from a distance. I saw many small and curious-looking reptiles on the path, perhaps the last vestiges of the prehistoric dino-era. They would always glance furtively over their shoulder and then scurry off into the nearby shrubs before I could really get a good look at them. On the way back, after rolling over the crest of the last daunting hill, I discovered three children playing barefoot on the side of the road, clad in Sunday dresses which had been soiled by post-church adventuring. One of the girls, no older than 11, began to run next to me. The others quickly followed suit. I began to gain speed, but they never let me pass them. The air smelled of dew and the surrounding foliage and roasted cassava. I carefully pulled my arms up and off the handle bars, mimicking wings as I flew through the air. The girls began to giggle wildly and emulate my gestures, while they continued to run. We laughed the whole way to Kala Camp, as we imagined flying through the clouds.

Sigh.... Another perfect Sunday afternoon.

Dear Heather

I am writing just to thank you by the name of my family for the warm assistance you have extended to me in good and bad times in Kala refugee camp. It has been an amazing experience to meet and work hand in hand with you on behalf of the Kala camp community.

Wherever I go, I'll never forget you.

You have made such a great contribution to the tragedy my family has suffered. Especially, I am very impressed with your good understanding. I only wish you sucess in your hard work for Africans.

I would like to let you know that you remain a good and great symbol of love in my family during our life here and after we are repatriated, your family and mine will remain united forever.

Best of luck in your continued work and I wish you and your family great success. I know the day may come when tears will stop coming to my eyes.

All the best.

Please keep in touch.


Love,
E. M.

Pweto District
Democratic Republic of the Congo

Here.

The day is ending,
our life is one day shorter.
Let us look carefully
at what we have done.
Let us practice diligently,
putting our whole heart into the
path of meditation.
Let us live deeply each moment
in freedom,
So time does not slip away
meaninglessly.

-Thich Nhat Hanh



---



It took me a long time to understand what this really means:

Things happen the way they "should."

Thank You

I wasn't expecting to reach this page back when I purchased this journal with Emily in August, as I was (planning) to leave Denver. Since then, many things have taken my path in surprising directions. I am sitting here, in the UNHCR guesthouse in Zambia working with refugees, smiling at my colleagues, my friends and family in the US, the full moon outside, and my past self at the beginning of this book who had no idea where she was heading. I can't say that this has changed much but I see now that there was a path, just not one laid out before me.

I smile at the Buddha(s) {teachers} who teach me, the Dharma {teachings} which guides my best actions, and the Sangha {community} which supports me, even if it presents itself as tough love sometimes. Every moment contained in this book was a lesson and something for which to be incredibly thankful. This book holds the details of my sacred circle, everything comprising my environment, to which I am heavily indebted. So, thanks, to anyone who may be reading this and everything that most likely never will.

To the people and things which provided me comfort and to those which/who showed me where I hold myself back, this book is for you. I am so very happy to be alive, here with you, in this beautiful world. Won't you join me for a moment in a space between words, thoughts, and concepts? Just follow your breath....

Arriving Home

After speaking with Charles out on the porch tonight admidst the stars and the waxing moon shining overhead, I began to understand why, even as a refugee, he did not want to return to the Congo. He explained to me that he could not even express the things he felt whenever he thought of Moba; I could see the enormous pain, anger, and frustration in his eyes as he momentarily relived the events which had brought him here. That place, which was once filled with memories of youth and prosperity, could no longer rightly be called home, for 'home' is a place of comfort -- a place of refuge, so to say.

We have spent the last month talking about the past, the future, our dreams, frustrations, our realities. For the past weeks since I have arrived at Kala Camp, in these discussions over the warm coal fire, I have also taken refuge, away from troubling thoughts and anxieties.

Whenever I awake in the morning to find the smoke of the smouldering coals glowing only dimly under a thick blanket of ash, I feel the fire continuing to burn brightly in me. It is with this fire that I am able to light the coals night after night, as darkness falls, and I seek the refuge of warmth once more.

It is this fire that compels me to continue on this journey, seeking to understand my world.

On Cross-Cultural Friendships

Living here has caused me to notice group dynamics and how they continually shift and change. In some groups, people open up, laugh, smile, and contribute. In others, they sit quietly, shyly, and awkwardly to where it becomes apparent that they do not consider themselves a true participant, or are unable to make themselves one.

The factors which determine a person's reaction to a group are largely lingual and cultural. If you are introduced to a completely new culture, you are bound to feel like an outsider unless there is some other ground upon which you can transcend these barriers and connect to the group. This is why people with an especially joyful disposition and open mind (or a love for soccer, haha...) are likely to find it easier to dive into a group with a new culture and language.

Of course, humour has always been the universal ice-breaker and should not be underestimated for its ability to initiate conversation. Nonetheless, many find the aforementioned barriers insurmountable and never reach the level of intimacy with the group that they would like.

As someone from a different socio-economic background and a non-Bemba/Kiswahiki speaker, I often find a large gap between my typical (or feasible!) topics of discussion and those of a refugee. My circumstances can isolate me and make it difficult for me to determine exactly where I would fit into Congolese/Zambian society. Many of my relationships here feel superficial, strained, or contrived as a result.


One another note, an interesting quote from a co-worker from earlier today: "I don't blame anybody else because then I would have to also blame myself for not doing everything I could to fix this..." It's food for thought.

This Sacred Life

Sometimes, it is difficult to realise that you are already on a sacred journey. You arrive somewhere and you think, I only need to make a, b, and c happen. Then, the real adventure will begin. There are many excuses for refusing to take the present moment for "the real thing" as opposed to mere preparation for such. However, every moment counts -- it is both the rehearsal and the production, the first and final draft. Now is not the time to be lazy in anticipation of another, more important period of your life. How you live this very moment will influence your future in substantial ways which you cannot understand right now.

One seemingly insignificant action can change the entire course of your life. I saw this while travelling to San Francisco six months ago in search of a job with no planned direction. I just showed up with a plane ticket, a business suit, a resume, and a small hope.

When you go to bed each night, how will you end your day? Will you reflect on what has happened and learn from it, or will you allow each daily lesson to pass by in forgetfulness? There is never a moment where an opportunity does not exist to learn, grow, and expand your perceptions and acceptance of this life. You learn to take humour out of annoyances and the things that scare you. You learn to let go and relax. You begin to allow yourself to be present, as you are, without needing to escape to somewhere else...

Waking Up, Getting Out

It's funny how the most acute suffering can arise from an inability to motivate oneself to do something. I started feeling a bit down this afternoon while sitting in my room during lunch hour. My mind drifted off to the past and future, as it is often wont to do in pauses between working, especially when I am alone. I kept shaking myself (metaphorically, of course :-) ) and saying, "Wake up! Look here!" But my mind was up to its old tricks, trying to tense up and avoid the undesirable. It refused to tell my body to get up and get the heck out of the house. It wanted to stay at home and think miserable thoughts instead.

I finally convinced it to bike to the office. When I got there, I found it quite enjoyable to edit footage for a while and give my pent-up creativity a chance to surface. Then, to balance things out, I went on a bike ride to my special place outside the camp and did some climbing. It was absolutely fabulous, as I knew it would be!

.

Heather, if you are reading this right now feeling a bit melancholic, irritated, tense, and/or impatient, it's probably because you've been in what Ms. Chödrön terms a "smelly coccoon" for much too long. It's time for you to fly out.

I have never underestimated the human tendency for restlessness, but I also believe that it can be overcome through the willingness to step outside the mental formations that prevent one from transforming it.

Ethical Relativity

Exhausted from operating day after day with practically no support or resource availability. I am left in quite a tangled web of politics (specifically -- intra-organisational, inter-organisational, with government officials, and the refugees themselves) with no sense of orientation. On top of that, finances are in dire need of mitigation, other resources such as power, internet, and transportation have become increasingly more unreliable.

I am feeling overwhelmed. I don't even know where to begin fixing things and can already see how patching one hole will cause four others to burst. I feel particularly responsible to the refugee community, which tends to get the shortest end of the stick in situations like these, when things keep failing despite our most sincere endeavors.

I am trying to maintain a head on firm shoulders but everything is SO relative here. What is right and what is wrong? Even my gut cannot tell anymore...

Take Whatever Comes

I spent this weekend by myself in the camp, at home trying to recover from whatever illness overcame me in the last week. Though I've spent much of the time in bed, I managed to get to the market to buy some vegetables and learn how to start a fire with coals, a candle, a cardboard box, and some matches. I find it difficult to feel pity for myself in any capacity, considering what my closest neighbours endure to survive here in this camp.

I have the luxury of spending the day in bed when I feel unwell and having someone to cook for me. I also have medicine and permission to leave the camp at will. I opted to stay in Kala as opposed to travelling to Kawambwa, where a slightly better array of creature comforts exists, because I feel more comfortable here.

This is my home now, even though my mind does occasionally wander back to Colorado. I feel more solidarity with my friends in the camp than any random Mzungus I might find elsewhere, the refugees' opinion of me NOTwithstanding. I can already see progress since I have come to Kala -- I am okay here. I don't feel a strong urge to escape to somewhere else even though life can be quite difficult sometimes. I am calmer even though -- I stress -- this is not to say that things have even generally gone my way, because they haven't. I can smile knowing that when I worry, I'm okay. And that it is also 'okay' to worry. I doubt that I will ever get to a point where I am calm in everything that I do. In fact, I have abandoned that endeavor. The point is not to seek continual calmness but to relax in the unease of being 'in-between.'

When I feel okay inside myself, the whole world seems okay. By "okay" I do not mean to imply that it is without problems or suffering, which would be a ludicrous assertion after the things I have recently seen. It just seems flexible and pliable, whereas at other times, it might seem overwhelming and "solid."

My tolerance for pain and disappointment has most certainly improved since I've been here, including -- in large part -- the pain of realising that I am slowly moving away from some of the most prominent people of my past...

Identities in Flux

More and more I am leaving my coccoon of security and making the effort to connect with my world. This involves a lot of fortitude and patience, especially considering the standard pace of things here. I find myself moving fluidly between identities, coloured by each of the languages -- Chibemba, Kiswahili, English, German, and French. The power outages continue to remind me to be present and to see the impermanent nature of all things which seem to be 'given.' I smile at my efforts to branch out and open up today in Kawambwa. Petit à petit, je deviens meilleur! :-)

The Middle Path

Remember the middle path. Remember that everything and everyone has a hard side and a soft side. Remember to drink water. Don't be too hard on yourself. Dream awake. Keep the big perspective in mind but dwell in the present. Take time to talk to the locals. Give the children hugs. Don't assume that people won't understand. Don't assume that they always will. Defend your position. Offer to clean the dishes -- no, insist. Coexist with others. Appreciate your own efforts. Smile at least once per day (or, better yet, per hour.) Don't hold grudges. Also, don't stand for exploitation. It is the middle path.

The Rotting Stench of Sorghum

Lately, I have been tending to spend much of my time criticising myself for not being where I want to be with my languages, projects, and other endeavors. At the same time, I can never find enough time in the day to fit everything in -- practise this, straighten up that. I find myself sitting and worrying about things that 'will' happen, but haven't. I often do everything but the doing itself!

The ride home from the office is plagued by the stench of rotting sorghum -- a remnant of the last World Vision rations distribution, which was contemptiously dumped on the ground by several refugee recipients. The scent lingers, in fact, intensifies by each coming day. Ironically, the same substance considered too repulsive to receive as food is used in other regions of Africa as a key fermenting agent in their beloved (and equally as potent) banana beer.

Fatigued and a bit on edge, as often is the case.

Dealing, as usual.

"It looked good on paper."

Remember Sister Annabel's technique for saving her village from the soldiers in Vietnam...

Calm is better. You just have to remember to breathe....



A sign we passed on the side of the road today served as a powerful metaphor: "Our war is against HIV, not people with AIDS."

Today has been a lesson in patience and compassion.
...Especially patience.

Opening Up

I have successfully created a mini-phrase book of Bemba words with the help of my friends Joe and Sydney in the UNHCR cantine. I am starting to understand conversations around me (not always to my delight...) I am seeing definite progress, however small. Things are becoming better.

The focus of my attention is on not pushing, not pulling. I am opening up, talking to others, networking, not relying on distant connections, and not running away from 'problem relationships' within the camp and in Kawambwa. Remember: It is the sides of a mountain which sustain life, not the top. Things are far from ideal but, yes, they are slowly improving!


The ride into Kawambwa this morning was phenomenal. It was so refreshing to ride through the Zambian countryside on a cool, sunny day on the back of an open truck bed, clinging on for dear life, wind and dust blowing about, seeing the people in the passing villages waving and smiling, feeling free...

Right now, I'm smiling back to my former self waiting at the airport office with my application to FORGE in hand, wishing I were outside enjoying the vast, open skies. I am here!

Friendship

I am hoping that the constant attention and bombardment of requests that comes with being the Mzungu newcomer will wane with time. I really enjoy meeting new people and interacting with other cultures; however, the inherent power dynamic that exists between an expatriate FORGE staff member and a refugee makes me feel very uncomfortable at times. By default, I have to close up and remain somewhat formal because of my position.

I would like to make friends with whom to share anecdotes, feelings, afternoons, meals, and so forth but I get this overwhelming feeling that many people are disingenuous with their reasoning for approaching me -- be it money, a favour, a ticket to the USA, and other things that I cannot provide. Because of this, I often find that my role is to act as a 'nay-sayer.' No, I don't understand. No, I cannot give you money, and so on. A very small minority of people have really strived to cultivate a genuine friendship with me, including C-, Mrs. H. and Charles.

I truly appreciate the respect and care that they have given me since I came to Kala Camp.

Climb On

Scheduled a camera tutorial class with FORGE refugee staff members. Cooked my own dinner. Feeling stronger. Staying present. Climbing on...

Extending my love to the beginnings of this particular journey, which began back at Apex and Centennial Airport. Smiles to Stella's and the library, RJ and the beautiful Rockies.

Happy then.
... Happy NOW.

Peak Experiences

I had a pretty moderate dizzy spell today, which put me a bit on edge. I think it's the sense of losing control that really puts me off, not being able to stabilise myself from falling over. Little by little, I am getting better at communicating with people in the camp, especially with our guard Charles, with whom I practice speaking French every evening outside of our house next to the fire.

I really appreciated a teaching by Pema Chödrön that I read earlier today, which stated that 'peak experiences' aren't really that big of a deal and that only slow, steady change would have a lasting effect. Especially in humanitarian work, one finds that most things progress extremely gradually with little to no actual breakthroughs. (Breakthroughs can be obstacles themselves when they envoke feelings of desire and 'lacking' instead of enriching one's life. They can become an addiction which ultimately stymies true progress in favour of visible, but empty rewards.)

In applying these lessons to communication, I will do my best to be patient with the language/cultural barriers, as I should not expect to wake up one day with a capacity to fully understand others and make myself understood. I can only do my best at every moment with the hope that each day will bring progress from the last.

Retaliation

I spent the last three days in Kawambwa dropping S-- off and spending time with colleagues. Many of my experiences reflected the difficult, frustrating aspects of the human experience. I found myself continually confronted with filth and insects and death and defecation, drunkenness, physical agression, supression, and holding back, anger and demoralisation, frustration, chauvinism, hypocrisy, and ignorance.

This is a part of reality that many seek to avoid and yet, by the mechanisms they use to eschew suffering, they inadvertantly throw themselves directly into the fire. All of this fighting violence with violent acts and misunderstanding with intentional silence perpetuates the grand wheel of samsara. It is absolutely absurd how our patterns trap us and keep us stuck. We could see that and still somehow, the comfort of familiarity would preside over the prospect of healing.

I received a message from A-- today, which made me very very happy. He still thinks of me on the other side of this Earth, even though it has been months since we have spoken. I really wish that I could have spent more time with him when we lived on the same continent. Our experiences together were always extraordinary, magical, beautiful. He was a reflection of the sea and everything it represents.

Southern Cross

Wow! Wow! WOW! The Zambian sky is nothing less than... incredible! Billions of stars, the milky way, all in plain, unobstructed view! I feel as if I could slip off the Earth right into the cosmos!

Today was as series of ups and downs -- a woman engaging in 'witchcraft' was beaten by a police officer in front of our house. I spoke at my first Kala section leaders' meeting, where I heard the concerns of the refugee community met with answers from the UNHCR, Zambian government, and partner NGOs. I also learned how to cook traditional Zambian food with our neighbours when we came back from the camp with rather empty bellies and nothing with which to fill them. The generosity of my new neighbours and friends truly blows my mind!