The Calm and the Storm

In March, we watched in horror and wonder as COVID-19 spread through much of the world. In DRCongo, we began to prepare and brace ourselves. But so far, there have only been 2 confirmed cases in our province, and those were months ago. So it was as if we were living in the calm before the storm. Except we had our own storm. Here’s how it all looked to us.

March 31, 2020: Coronavirus had begun to spread in the capital, Kinshasa, and there were 2 confirmed cases in Ituri province, where we live, including one in our town of Bunia. The Congolese government issued restrictions: schools, churches and restaurants were closed; public gatherings of more than 20 people were prohibited. Our administration decided to close our office. We had a final prayer meeting and said good-bye to each other.

Prayer meeting to close our office

Displaying social distancing behind our office, just before we all went home

At the same time, militia attacks on villages were increasing. One night, there was an attack so close to Bunia that people in town could hear the explosions. Our leaders came up with a plan for where we would all go if we needed to leave Bunia. We packed our “grab and go” bag in case we needed to leave Bunia, and we stocked up on canned goods, rice and beans, and water, in case we needed to stay home for a long period.

The same day that our office was shutting down, our landlord sent over a team of masons to start building a drainage ditch and wall running the length of our property. This team of 10 young men would be with us 6 days a week, 8-10 hours per day, for the next 6 weeks. We had our employee Daniel buy a bucket with a tap to use as a hand-washing station. We gave them all hand-outs in French and Swahili prepared by our office explaining what coronavirus was, and recommended ways to prevent it. They seemed interested, though they also joked a lot about it. One young man said his main way of getting information was through WhatsApp. There is a lot of disinformation about coronavirus in Africa, as there is elsewhere in the world. But even though they laughed and pretended to cringe when I yelled out the window “Nawe mikono! (Wash your hands!),” they did it. J

There were rumors that the governor of Ituri province might close the Bunia market. Prices went up, and people worried about how they would find food, or how they would sell their goods. Most people live day to day, without a cushion of savings. There is no government safety net, such as unemployment or food stamps. Thankfully, the market has stayed open throughout.

It was very weird not going to the office. Douglas and I are both homebodies, so we didn’t mind being home. But we did miss being able to talk to colleagues, and especially to chat during coffee break. Gradually, our office did open back up for very restricted hours, and with no visitors allowed in the building. It was such a relief to see each other. We continue to observe social distancing, wash our hands (using the hand-washing station set up for Ebola a couple of years ago), clean surfaces, etc.

Up to now (June 2020), there have been no more confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our province. But the restrictions are still there. People (including a nurse!) have asked me if I think coronavirus is real or a hoax. I’ve told them about people I know personally who have had the disease, so I told themd that, yes, indeed it is real. Some people are suspicious of foreigners, saying we are bringing coronavirus. We can explain logically that we’ve been there in Bunia since the pandemic started, that we are as concerned and vulnerable to the disease as they are. But of course when people are afraid, logic isn’t always effective. So we try to keep a low profile.

Churches have suffered, since people aren’t able to meet and give tithes and offerings. We heard that a large denomination in town cut salaries by 50%. Most pastors aren’t salaried. We don’t know how people are getting by. In our small church, the pastor has been coming to our house the first Sunday of the month, which is communion Sunday and also the day for giving to the “serviteurs de Dieu (servants of God)”. It gives us a chance to hear how he is doing and share time together. He also has a sermon just for us, and the bread and grape juice.

We didn’t have masks when all this started. But we found a solution. A doctor friend of ours had given a pattern to a local tailor, to make double-thickness, pleated masks. I had an old, torn queen-size bedsheet and fitted sheet, so I gave these to the tailor, and she was able to make about 80 masks with them! We gave some to a pastor friend who works with elderly, retired pastors. The rest we are keeping until / in case the virus starts to spread in Bunia, then we’ll give or sell them.

So we have been living in something like the calm before the (COVID) storm, while watching the actual storm rage in Europe and the U.S.

Meanwhile, we have had our own storm: a local militia has been attacking people and burning villages in Djugu territory for over two years. The DRC army (FARDC, Forces Armées de la République Démocratique du Congo) and the United Nations (MONUSCO, Mission de l’Organisation des Nations Unis pour la Stabilisation en République Démocratique du Congo) have had limited success in stopping attacks and arresting leaders and soldiers. A prominent leader of CODECO has even called on his members to lay down arms. But attacks have continued. Tens of thousands of people have fled to Uganda or to Bunia, staying in camps. Aid organizations are trying to help, but they are overwhelmed.

https://www.thenewhumanitarian.org/feature/2020/05/05/Ituri-Congo-Hema-Lendu-CODECO-demobilisation

We have seen our role as listening and caring for friends who have been traumatized, and giving practical help as we can. There are a large number of street children in town these days, many more than there used to be. Some have clearly been coached to beg for money – they repeat the same phrase in French over and over, “Nous sommes les déplacés. Donne-moi l’argent (We are the displaced people. Give me money.)” But they look genuinely hungry and in need. We have friends who work with street children, and we asked their advice. We never give them money, but we do give them food sometimes. There are always local children selling small packs of peanuts for about 20 cents. You can buy a bunch of those and then give them out to the kids, and it’s at least a bit of nourishment for them. It’s not a solution to their predicament of course.

One of our closest friends is from the ethnic group that has been targeted by CODECO. He is working with a pastor in one of the displaced-people camps to identify people most at risk – often widows raising children – and help them out with food. We’ve joined him in that. He says sometimes he has to turn his phone off, he's just overwhelmed with calls for help. 

Several friends are housing displaced family members. They might sleep on their floor, or under a tarp outside. Men, women and children. Sometimes the children are malnourished from having walked for days or weeks to get to Bunia. Sometimes they die. They need help with medical care, or help paying for a casket and food for the funeral. One friend had a family staying with him, including a sick child. The father felt badly for imposing on our friend, and took a chance going to his field to pick some food to contribute. He was hacked to death.

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Strange, tragic times.

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I'll close with a couple of photos of our dogs, Elikya (white) and her son Puck. They have been a great comfort to us all along.

Quiet morning

Playing their weird little game