africa

Teaching English (or Trying To)

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A company contact (and friend) asked me one evening at a social function if I’d like to volunteer part-time as an English teacher. She knew of three guys who were looking for a little help, but for some reason couldn’t use the company’s training department. She thought one of us expat wives might enjoy a project a couple times a week, and knew I was looking for ways to get involved. So I was happy to say yes.

That first class was April 19, 2011, over three years ago! I can’t believe how time flies. It started off as a twice-a-week sort of thing but then quickly grew; by September 2012 I was teaching five days a week, and today I still am. The numbers vary pretty widely as people come and go, but today on average I would say I have about eight regular students. That’s a good number; about as many as our little picnic table can hold. Continue reading →

School’s (not quite) Out for Summer

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School may be out for summer back home, but in Congo the kids won’t start their break until the 2nd of July, the coldest part of winter here. My hometown friend with the pen pal project managed to grab another round of letters and videos from her son’s class before they finished out the year, and on Friday I went back to the school to see what we could accomplish. It had been several weeks without any news from our liaison, so I figured there hadn’t been much progress. I went expecting to have to present the newest letter and video from Kansas for the first time.

It turned out I was totally wrong. Not only had the kids already received the materials, but they had already studied them, started their responses, and posted the printouts up on the wall.

But not on the wall of their classroom… they were on the wall of the principal’s office! Along with those of the first round, the Kansas kids’ photos have a prominent position next to a poster of the Presidents of Africa. Continue reading →

The Return to the Road to Nowhere

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My friend and I returned to the airstrip today for our second round of incredible exercise for the week, secretly hoping the women who had been working there on Tuesday wouldn’t be there any longer. They were. We decided to walk anyway, but only one lap, and after that we would walk the village road to the grocery store. While our magic exercise car followed us, of course.

The women were excited to see us, and were much more forward today. As soon as we stepped onto the tarmac two of them approached, waving. They wanted to give us a high-five, which felt pretty awesome. But then the second one said, in good English, “Give me…” which, sadly, is the way many sentences begin around here, while she searched me for something she could take. I didn’t have anything on me except my iPhone. “Give me…” she repeated, followed by something unintelligible. But it didn’t matter. I looked her directly in the eye, still smiling, then deadpanned, “No.” It came off like the joke I wanted it to, and all the ladies from the sidelines laughed. Even the asker laughed, and moved back to her side of the tarmac as we sped on. Continue reading →

The Road to Nowhere

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Wheels are a relatively new invention, as far as village life in Congo is concerned. Each time I have the opportunity to get on a set myself and leave base camp, maybe 2-3 times a week, I still can’t help but stare out the window at all the action outside, all the people coming and going on foot. They are a kaleidoscope of shapes and sizes, colorful clothing and big smiles. On Sundays we often skip the wheels and walk to the village market, mixing and mingling with everyone else. This is my favorite part about living in Africa, actually. People spend most of their time outdoors, interacting with their neighbors, each other, and with us. Each time we make the market trip I count at least two dozen hello’s and how are you’s. I love it.

It’s always a huge culture shock in reverse when I return home and realize how few people are out and about on foot. We have sidewalks everywhere, built expressly for this purpose, yet no one uses them! A good friend from Warsaw who used to live in Congo with us told us about the time she was walking along a perfectly nice wide sidewalk in a Dallas suburb. A nice wide sidewalk that was also empty, since this was the kind of place where people didn’t walk; they drove. She was so out of place that she got the attention of some police driving by, who pulled over to ask her if everything was all right. She said yes, I’m just getting some exercise. Still suspicious, they questioned why then wasn’t she wearing a jogging suit. Continue reading →

Guava Season

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Our resident French doctor friend came by the house last weekend with a bucket full of guavas for us. Guavas are falling off the trees around here; it seems they all come into season at the exact same moment and last only a couple of weeks. Kind of like mango season a couple months ago, intense but brief. Guavas are apparently really good for you: A single fruit contains four times as much vitamin C as an orange! They’re loaded with antioxidants and have lots of traditional medicinal uses, including fighting cancer.

The only guava I’d ever tasted before was guava juice at a breakfast buffet in Thailand. I’d loved it. But a bucket of guavas and no juicer in sight? I didn’t know what to do with them. Continue reading →

Cooking in Congo

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So I threw a little Thanksgiving party last night. Yes, it’s March, but hey, we live in a mining camp in the middle of Africa. One never knows when they’ll get their hands on a turkey. And this turkey that I stumbled across was way too big for our freezer, so I invited the first two people we ran into after buying it, saying, “Hey, how’s dinner four days from now for ya?” A day or two for defrosting, a day or two for brining, another day for roasting, and there you go.

We found this turkey at the bottom of a freezer at our camp grocery store during their closeout sale, before changing management. Where had they been hiding it, and for how long?? Not that we’re picky. I remember having lived here for six months when I found a rack of pork ribs at the bottom of the same freezer, not even wrapped in plastic. It was completely exposed, slightly freezer burned, but I said hey, that’s different, I think I’ll take that. I had never made pork ribs in my life before, but no matter. I was desperate for something new. My neighbor thought I was crazy, then later told me her husband was jealous she hadn’t bought them. I found a killer recipe online that is now one of our favorites.

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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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