Author: Mzunga

Geography, Take II

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Two follow-ups to yesterday’s post about where the heck Congo is.

First, the Sara that I mentioned… she knows who she is, but my other friends named Sara might be wondering! Sara is a geography and history buff (an all-around very cool very smart gal) who noticed that I repeated my location and maps over and over again when we first moved here. Once over a cocktail during a visit back home, she said something along the lines of, “all right already! enough with the maps, we get it!” So I thought she might get a good chuckle out of yesterday’s post. (And I have even more stories for you on this topic, Sara, over another cocktail someday!)

Secondly, after posting the article and retiring to bed, I downloaded the newest episode of my favorite podcast, This American Life. (God bless our new Internet plan!!) Act One was a little fictional piece about a blind date between a tipsy gal named Julie and a warlord. Yes, a warlord. From Congo, apparently. Here was the little nugget that made me laugh out loud:

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Geography (or, Don’t you live in South Africa?)

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Sorry, Sara, I’ve got to post another map. After three and a half years of living in Congo, I’ve collected three and a half years of stories about people assuming we really mean South Africa. It’s kind of funny, really. On a visit back home in Kansas once, I caught my Dad saying repeatedly that I lived in South Africa. I finally wrestled out of him why he was saying this. For one, it’s not too easy to say “the Democratic Republic of the Congo”—it doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. (Which is why I almost always shorten it to just Congo; technically incorrect too, but it’s a place to start.) For another, he figures most people would have trouble relating to something so remote. South Africa is not just easier to say, it’s easier to hear.

He’s right. We travel home to Arizona usually about once a year to catch up on shopping, business meetings, and medical appointments. Time and time again I’ve had some variation of the following conversation, whether it’s with doctors, dentists, acupuncturists, hotel receptionists or sushi connoisseurs:

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Getting Schooled in the Congo

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Exactly 3 years ago I wrote about an idea to start a video pen-pal arrangement between a school in Congo and a school back home. A friend of mine took me up on it and today this vision is a reality! In fact if it weren’t for her optimism, patience, and clever ideas, it never would have happened. I’m indebted to her and her fifth-grade son who worked hard to make sure it did.

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Bonne Année!

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When Seb and I landed at Congo’s second-national airport on the 7th of January, it was a return to very warm weather, friendly faces and familiar sounds. Among the usual chatter of Bonjours and Ça vas were many well-wishes of Bonne Année (Happy New Year). Some of these greetings were politely directed at us, but most of them I overheard amongst the Congolese to each other. The airport is always crowded and chaotic, not just with passengers but with many employees working shoulder-to-shoulder day in and day out. It was these employees I overheard greeting each other even though it was nearly noon, and wishing each other a happy new year even though it was already a week after the holiday.

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Congo River Life

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The Kinshasa Orchestra story reminded me of another link a friend sent me shortly after we moved to Congo that I couldn’t check out over there. It’s an NPR series about barging along the Congo River, the second-largest river in Africa after the Nile, and the most powerful one. In fact the hydroelectric potential of this river alone could supply enough electricity for all of sub-Saharan Africa. (Look at a map of Africa and superimpose a map of the USA over the Sahara Desert. Everything below it is sub-Saharan. That’s huge.)

The first story in this 5-part series gives a lot of information in a short time about the history of the Congo. There’s both audio (with some great music!) and text worthwhile to peruse for a good overview of the country. The rest of the stories talk more about what life is like for those on board the barge — some of whom have been there for weeks — and for the villagers living near the river. It’s a fascinating glimpse into a life very different from ours.

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Kinshasa Orchestra

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My mom told me about this segment she watched on 60 Minutes shortly after we moved to Congo, but our poor internet connection over there never let me check it out. Last week at a sushi bar here in Arizona, a new acquaintance mentioned she saw it too. So I finally looked it up.

I had no idea that the only symphony orchestra in Central Africa could be found right here in our host country. (One more reason to get up to Kinshasa soon, Seb!) Kinshasa is the capital of the DRC, one of the largest and fastest-growing cities on the continent, despite having zero infrastructure to support such a population. I remember reading about the rich musical history of Congo in Michela Wrong’s excellent book “In The Footsteps of Mr. Kurtz,” including the sad photo of what she called “one of the last grand pianos in the city” at the declining National Conservatory of Music — a piano missing its third leg, propped up on a chair.

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Assholes on Planes

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Getting ready for Ethiopian Airlines’ Lubumbashi-Addis Ababa flight to depart. The last few passengers are boarding, we’re all getting settled in. I turn off my iPad and deposit it in the seat pocket in front of me, tuck all my other things under, and buckle my seat belt. I’m traveling alone this time and am lucky enough to have found a cheap fare in business class. Well, relatively cheap considering the cost of the competitors, and hard to turn down considering the overseas portion to Toronto will be on the brand-new Boeing 787 Dreamliner. So here we are, me and my privileged and genteel neighbors, sipping champagne and refreshing ourselves with warm wet towelettes.

The older British gentleman in front of me drops his towelette behind him. It lands on my personal item, a Congolese-fabric bag with my travel folder and other not-entirely-waterproof goodies poking out the top. Not a big deal. In fact I don’t even notice it until I hear him complain to the flight attendant, “I dropped my towel!” and urge her to give him another one. I consider handing his towel to him, but then decide it could be construed as rude. It’s now soiled, after all, plus he might think I’m forcing his hand to apologize or something silly like that. So I simply pick it up and put it with mine for the flight attendant to pick up later. This maneuver requires me to unbuckle my seat belt and nearly exit the seat just to reach the items at my feet, the seats are so gloriously roomy.

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