a month later

The queries of "How was your trip?" have faded, but the memories have not. I intended to blog about that question, as I found it extremely hard to answer. My response varied from "great" to "okay" to what it ultimately was for a short and quick answer: "there were highs and lows but it was a worthwhile trip". The longer answer was filled with backtracks and competing thoughts as I wrestled with much of my time in Congo.

The orphanage continues to be an amazing memory. As you may remember, part of the reason I went to Congo was to look at the feasibility of doing a child sponsorship program. It looks like it is going to happen! Get ready for Tumaini, which we hope to have as a 501c3 that will work with this orphanage and (potentially) extend to do other things in eastern Congo. I'll update when there is more information, but I'm really excited to be part of what's ahead. The kids want to be loved and the odds of them all being adopted is extremely low. If I haven't already mentioned it, formula costs ~$80/month for one child. Given that the "average" salary is $5/day, it's nigh on impossible to support multiple babies in this setting without external support. But there was joy at Kaziba and...sigh...it just makes me happy to think of them.

The adult group continues to be unsettling. At the end of the day it comes to this: the people I saw had more basic needs than physical therapy. So even though I was only prepared as a therapist, they saw a white person with resources. And if physical therapy could change their situation, great, but what the really wanted and needed was someone to provide basic necessities to give them hope for the future. I don't fault them for asking for money, etc., given their circumstances, but I just wasn't emotionally prepared for that.

I finally got a couple of pictures up and am still in the process of getting pics off my camera (I ran out of memory space on my computer--oops). Then, really, I might lay this blog to rest until I can give more info re: Tumaini. So, if anyone is still reading, here's how it feels a month+ later.

a drop in the bucket

I met with the disabled adults' group yesterday. To be perfectly honest, it was a challenging day. It wasn't the time spent: I actually spent less time than I had anticipated. It wasn't the pace: I had given up on the 12 minutes/person and spent as much time as I needed to get at least one or two exercises for each person. And it wasn't the complete change of what therapy looked like: I was ok with making my focus narrower and recognizing that the situation was going to look different than my practice in the USA. What was challenging was two-fold: 1. There were some differences in expectations in what I could provide, despite having had multiple conversations with the man in charge of it all, which led to some frustration for some of the people present. 2. The need was immense, and I felt like what I was doing was a mere drop in the bucket. I came home somewhat discouraged, even though I knew it might feel overwhelming.

But today we visited Harikwetu, a Catholic run rehabilitation center here in Bukavu. It is an impressive place which has many resources, from prosthetic limbs to a sewing training center for the disabled. When we walked in nearly the first person I saw was a woman whose son I had seen yesterday. She had brought her son back to remove his casts (he had four of them; two on his forearms and two on his legs). I had told her yesterday that they shouldn't stay on forever; she had been concerned that if she didn't have money for the next round of treatment that she should keep them. As it was he had sores on his feet since the skin had been touching the cast for quite some time. So maybe, just maybe, a drop in the bucket can do something.

I'll go back again tomorrow. Your prayers for all involved are appreciated. I'm hoping to get some pictures of a few of the people there, but am still trying to figure out how people feel about that.

home again, home again jiggity jig

My body hasn't quite adjusted; I couldn't sleep after 4:45am, but willed myself to stay in bed until 5:30. But I'm home again. 30+ hours on a plane/layovers felt interminable this time. I had a joyous reunion with family and am now preparing to celebrate Thanksgiving. I always have much to be thankful for, but this year feels especially poignant to me.

I am thankful for family who let me go to Congo.
I am thankful for friends who support me in the process.
I am thankful for prayers.
I am thankful for a God who loves all of us.

(Oh, there's so much more. But you get the idea.)
Thank you for sharing this experience with me.




I'll probably sign off for a while once I get some pictures up, but will post if I have more information on the non-profit we're starting. Thanks again for being part of the journey.

Kaziba

I'm nearing the end of tales from Congo, but can't imagine a better one than this. I went to the Kaziba orphanage on Saturday. It was a long, quite bumpy three and a half hours to get there. (Yes, I said five hours in an earlier post; it wasn't until we were leaving that I realized I had that number wrong.) We traveled out of Bukavu proper, through Essence (which reminded me a lot of the shantytowns I've seen in Mexico--poorly made structures nearly on top of each other, people everywhere selling any item you might imagine, cars and trucks and motorcycles jockeying for a position on the road. I wish I had a picture to share, but Congolese people don't like to have their picture taken without being asked and it just wasn't appropriate at the time. Not long after Essence, however, everything changes. Suddenly you're away from the chaos of urban life and into the country. You might see huts, varying in shape depending on the tribe which built them. Green hills/mountains punctuate the skyline. And people are far more spread out and you can see them carry water or wood or lots of other things on their head. It fits more of the stereotypical "Africa" of National Geographic.

And then, and then, there's the orphanage. From the moment I arrived, I saw people excited to see us. The term "muzungu" (which I think means white person, but might mean foreigner) isn't used. "Le blanc" is. It might not matter, but since "muzungu" had taken on slightly negative connotation for me, it was a relief to be called something else which clearly had no negative associations for the kids or the staff there. I walked in and saw happy kids who looked healthy. There was laughter. We were welcomed kindly. The mamas were so excited by the formula and bumbo chairs; not an hour later the latter were all in use. I got to train the women and the director on heel cord stretching. Ironically, because there are now more women to care for the kids they are now out of bed a lot more and I was hard-pressed to find a child that actually needed their heel cords stretched. I finally found one, but decided that this was a good "problem" to have. But the best part of the day was playing with the kids. They just want to be loved and held. It didn't matter that we couldn't communicate verbally; their body language was quite clear. As an aside, it reminded me of when I went to Mexico in high school to do Vacation Bible School with my church. Being surrounded by kids and spending time with them changed me then, as it did now.

The kids looked well, which is a huge change from a few months ago. When my friend Holly began going in February the children were extremely malnourished. She has raised money to help buy formula and milk powder for the orphanage and it has literally changed their lives. I am so honored that I got to see the kids and to hold them. I'm equally honored to have brought the gifts (formula and bumbo seats) many of you sent with me. Thank you for partnering with me; I can, without doubt or hesitation, say that you are making a huge difference in their lives.

There is a hope to start a 501c3 which will focus on helping kids in eastern Congo, including these. Let me know if you might be interested in being involved.

Although the drive was exhausting (and I started each time we saw a soldier with a gun), I am so glad I traveled to Kaziba. It made me realize that you can make a difference and that, the world around, kids want to be loved. It was a great day.

faces

I went back to the disabled adults' group on Friday. It was similar to Wednesday in many ways. There was the woman who was so appreciative of the exercises I gave her, and there was the man who left saying "But I'm poor.". That simple phrase caused me to burst into tears (after he left). All in all, I feel like sending polio vaccines and an orthopedic surgeon (specifically to correct club feet) is the best option for future generations of Congolese; an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, no? My time with the group left me saddened on a variety of levels.

But there are a few faces that haunt me. One is L., who, I think, had polio as a child. To note, when I was listening to people's stories I heard countless times "I was born well, but then...[usually around age two]...I got a high fever and then was paralyzed." Most people I spoke with never got a diagnosis, but given their presentation my best guess is polio. L. walks on his hands as his legs never regained any strength. His upper body is incredibly, incredibly strong. I watched him "walk" in and then reach up to the chair and pull himself onto it without hesitation or wobbling. He told me how he mends shoes to try to make a living, is married with multiple (I think 5 or 8, but I can't remember) kids. But what continues to reverberate in my heart is that he walks ten kilometers (~6 miles) on his hands to get to this disabled adults' group. That's a long time by foot, let alone by hand. Many/most? roads in Congo are dirt. This is the rainy season. So he may fairly regularly walk about twelve miles on his hands in the mud.

I may not be able to help most of the people I saw, but when someone is on my heart like L., I must act. I'm hoping to buy him a hand bike, which will allow him to be off the ground and closer to most people's height. I'm still trying to figure out the cost of the bike and how to get it to him, but those feel like small logistics. I can only pray that the bike will allow him to feel more of the dignity he deserves.



(I have a picture of L. I'll post once I get pictures uploaded.)

anticipation

I spoke with the pastor in charge of the disabled adults' group Saturday. He would prefer that I see people individually, which I had sort of come to myself. I want to know what someone's goal is, not what I think it might be. Here's the catch: he thinks 100-ish people will come. I said I'd come two days. That works out to two ten-hour days without breaks of any kind and 12 minutes per person. Let me put this in perspective: I see people I'm going to see again for 45 minutes the first time. I'm likely never going to see these people again and I have an interpreter (which makes this possible, but does add onto time spent). Add to this that I'm still a bit unclear about cultural expectations and how to keep things succinct without being rude here and you might understand why I'm a bit uneasy about the whole thing. I don't doubt that it's something I want to do, merely that it feels daunting. I've already given up seeing all 100 people; it just won't happen. But I hope and pray that the people I do see I can help on some level.

I'm not sure when this will happen; I'm trying not to do both days back-to-back, as that feels exhausting, both physically and mentally. But we haven't heard which days he'd prefer, so I'm still waiting for that piece of information.

The sweetest/funniest moment talking to the pastor was this: He turned to the interpreter and said, "I'm excited to have her come, but I'm a bit worried about her heart." [I had cried when I was talking about a girl with club feet, a problem that is "always" corrected in the USA and affects so much of her mobility, not to mention how she is perceived in society.] I told him I'd bring Kleenex.

day 1 in congo

It feels like I've been in Congo much longer than ten hours. I've spent the afternoon catching up with Holly, Mike and her family, and meeting the two wonderful girls they are in the process of adopting. Aside from not being able to open one piece of luggage due to a zipper breaking, it has been a very smooth day.

I looked through a photo album tonight. What photo album, you ask? One that the leader of the disabled group brought for me to peruse. I am so humbled by what I do not know. I examine these pictures and many times I think "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help.". I'm not even sure how some of these deformations of their limbs came to be (e.g. the foot doubled over and walking on what was the top of their foot.) And I'm positive that some of these limbs have been in these positions for years, so even if I could have done something at the beginning, I'll be hard-pressed to make a big change now. There are a fair number of children in this "adult" group as well.

I have a feeling I'll be dreaming about this group tonight. I meet with the leader/pastor tomorrow and hope that he can shed a bit more light on some of these people's histories. Maybe that will give me a bit more insight. I wish I had the power to heal these people. But I'll give what I have.