My biggest emotional challenge here is getting used to being so conspicuous. There is simply no “blending in” in a public setting. Conversely, my happiest moments are here are when I really do feel a part of things, when I am with Congolese who know me well enough to be completely unimpressed by my presence, who treat me as a friend. Those warm, wonderful moments of feeling part of the group, connected, at home. Like I belong here.
I have an ongoing internal debate over the word “muzungu” (the Swahili term for a foreigner, specially a white foreigner). Like many epithets, I don’t mind using it about myself in a self-deprecating joke, i.e. “Ah, we wazungu are so feeble, we have to drink filtered water or we get sick! And our skin is so weak that we have to cover it from the sun or we’ll turn into nyama choma (roasted meat).” But I bristle when someone yells it at me. Which happens all the time. Children in particular, if they see us walking down a road, come running, pointing and yelling “Muzungu! Muzungu!” Vendors in the market yell it at us, as do motorcycle taxi drivers.
One strategy is to smile and wave, like a celebrity being yelled at by fans. (Though usually I feel more like a clown with a huge red nose and floppy shoes that everyone has come to point and laugh at. I obligingly wave and smile, aware that, indeed, I am quite the spectacle.) Another strategy is to ignore it, as if the kids are being impolite and should not be encouraged. Or to try and encourage them to be more polite by setting a good example, responding with “Jambo!” or “Bonjour!”… you know, the way you greet an actual *human being*, not some kind of walking freak show. (Ahem... pardon the strong feeling there.)
As with most things, getting angry is never the solution. Humor is always, always better. A few nights ago, I was walking home alone after dark - NOT a good idea! - and had the following exchange (translated from French). Two guys passed me from behind and one said (without really looking at me) "Muzungu, muzungu, good evening!" I immediately prickled and said nothing. But, aware of my vulnerability, I also didn't want to offend and make them mad. Causing someone to lose face in public (such as by ignoring them) is not especially wise. So I tried joking to veil my anger: "That's not a name! Shouldn't you say 'Good evening, madame'?" They answered, "But you're a muzungu, right? You're a muzungu!" "Okay, yes. But would you like it if I said, 'Good evening, Congolese'?" "Yes, that's good, we would like that!" Then the conversation took a new direction: "So, where you going? Do you live around here?" I started thinking how I could end it and not have them follow me down the darkening street. Thankfully, a Congolese friend and his daughter appeared just then, and escorted me home, and the two guys faded into the night. I had fun telling our friend's 7-year-old son how his Daddy and sister had saved me from the bad guys (using great exaggeration, which is completely fine with kids).
I am trying now to be more positive about being yelled at and being called "muzungu". I'm trying to interpret it as a sign that they are glad I’m there and want to connect with me in some way. And I think this is very often the case. So I try not to take offense. If someone greets me with “Jambo, muzungu!” that is at least more polite than just pointing and staring or yelling. “Bonjour, madame” is even better, and I'll always answer... it would be very rude to ignore a greeting like that.
And “Jambo, mama!”… that is probably my favorite. It has an affectionate feeling, almost like they see me as someone who belongs here. :)
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Breaking Bread and Foufou Together (or Stuff Missionaries Like... to eat)
Our friend Bagali* is teaching a class to Congolese grad students on "Non-African Cultures". Bagali lived in England, with his family, for several years, and has worked with Western missionaries for over 20 years, so he has a good understanding of cultural differences and potential areas of misunderstanding. The purpose of the course is to help future translators understand the Westerners they will likely be working with (...like us). Great idea, right? Western missionaries usually get orientation to African culture, but Africans don't get any orientation to us and our strange behavior.
Last week, Bagali asked us to come speak to the class about Westerners and food... what we like to eat, what we consider a "meal", what we eat for special occasions, what we find difficult to eat, what makes us sick, etc. Many of these translators will be hosting Western consultants in the future, and we want these visits to be a blessing for everyone.
It's always hard to see your own culture clearly, so I sought input from Rebecca*, who worked as a cook for
German missionaries before the 1996 war and now cooks for the American family we are house-sitting for. Her first thought was that Westerners eat a lot of salad (raw vegetables), and a lot of cake. Then she expanded "cake" to say that we eat a lot of flour... bread, cookies, etc. We also eat a lot of fruit.
So what do Congolese eat? She listed sweet potatoes, greens (several varieties), rice, meat, foufou. Wheat is not a staple here, as it is in the West. Also, there is a big difference in how people prepare food. Westerners have indoor kitchens, and we use refrigerators, ovens and stoves. Congolese mostly cook on outdoor "jikos", charcoal stoves. Congolese like fruit (papaya, pineapple, passion fruit are locally grown) and would like to eat more, like we do, but most don't have the money for it. Buying habits are also different. Most Congolese do not have salaried jobs, so they buy food on a day-to-day basis. Today's income (if there is any) buys tonight's meal. They don't generally "stock up" or buy large quantities as do Westerners, or Congolese with salaried jobs. And most have their own gardens.
Back to the class. Bagali had students from different areas write on the board some basic meals: rice and beans, foufou and meat... basically a starch and an accompaniment. Then I explained how our meals might start with a salad, then the main course would be meat, veg and a starch, and then dessert. We talked a little about obesity, diabetes, high blood pressure, and other conditions that mean eating less sugar, fat and salt. These are known in Congo, but not as prevalent.
What are the main problems Westerners have had with food they have been served in Africa? Water - it should be boiled or filtered, or we can get very sick and not be able to do what we came to do. Also, a lot of Congolese food is cooked in large quantities of oil, especially palm oil. Some Westerners are allergic to palm oil; others don't digest it well and can have stomach problems. Another concern is over-spending. In many Congolese cultures, a visitor is honored with a special meal. The host gives sacrificially to provide something fine, slaughtering an animal or paying for expensive meat, milk powder, and other luxuries. But if the guest is staying for weeks at a time (as is the case with a visiting translation consultant, for example), the cost of sustaining these kinds of meals can be very high. We asked them, please, do not feel you need to do this, we just want to eat as you do and be with you. And not get sick.
What we learned from them was that, often, when Congolese are invited to eat at the home of Westerners, they leave feeling hungry. We tend to eat smaller meals more often (3 times a day, versus once or twice a day for many Congolese), and of course we are generally not as active.
Bagali told us about a missionary in his home area when he was growing up. People knew that, if you were invited to his house for a meal, you should eat before you go, because he wasn't going to serve much food (by their standards).
He recalled his first stay in England 15 years ago. For the first two weeks, he still felt hungry whenever he left the meal table. Then his system began to be trained to expect regular meals of more modest size. I think his personal story was very helpful to the class.
A related point: what counts as "celebration" food is different. At a wedding in the U.S., the most important food (at least in our home areas) is the cake. Even if you offer nothing else, you have to have a cake, that's what makes it a wedding. In Africa, you are expected to have a full feast - rice, meat, etc. Inviting someone to a celebration and just giving them cake... that would be bizarre (and inhospitable, I'm guessing). As Bagali said, at a Congolese celebration, the foufou in the pot at the center of the table should be so high that you couldn't see the guest on the other side!
Bagali also remembers another missionary - people noted that he fed meat to his dogs, and porridge to his employees. You can imagine what they thought of him and his love for the people.
One student lamented that we should have been having this discussion many years ago, it could have avoided many misunderstandings. We were very grateful to be informants, and to be better informed.
* names changed for privacy
Last week, Bagali asked us to come speak to the class about Westerners and food... what we like to eat, what we consider a "meal", what we eat for special occasions, what we find difficult to eat, what makes us sick, etc. Many of these translators will be hosting Western consultants in the future, and we want these visits to be a blessing for everyone.
It's always hard to see your own culture clearly, so I sought input from Rebecca*, who worked as a cook for
 |
| Rebecca makes amazing whole-grain bread for us |
So what do Congolese eat? She listed sweet potatoes, greens (several varieties), rice, meat, foufou. Wheat is not a staple here, as it is in the West. Also, there is a big difference in how people prepare food. Westerners have indoor kitchens, and we use refrigerators, ovens and stoves. Congolese mostly cook on outdoor "jikos", charcoal stoves. Congolese like fruit (papaya, pineapple, passion fruit are locally grown) and would like to eat more, like we do, but most don't have the money for it. Buying habits are also different. Most Congolese do not have salaried jobs, so they buy food on a day-to-day basis. Today's income (if there is any) buys tonight's meal. They don't generally "stock up" or buy large quantities as do Westerners, or Congolese with salaried jobs. And most have their own gardens.
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| Charcoal jikos, and social time |
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| Heading to the field, hoe in hand |
Back to the class. Bagali had students from different areas write on the board some basic meals: rice and beans, foufou and meat... basically a starch and an accompaniment. Then I explained how our meals might start with a salad, then the main course would be meat, veg and a starch, and then dessert. We talked a little about obesity, diabetes, high blood pressure, and other conditions that mean eating less sugar, fat and salt. These are known in Congo, but not as prevalent.
What are the main problems Westerners have had with food they have been served in Africa? Water - it should be boiled or filtered, or we can get very sick and not be able to do what we came to do. Also, a lot of Congolese food is cooked in large quantities of oil, especially palm oil. Some Westerners are allergic to palm oil; others don't digest it well and can have stomach problems. Another concern is over-spending. In many Congolese cultures, a visitor is honored with a special meal. The host gives sacrificially to provide something fine, slaughtering an animal or paying for expensive meat, milk powder, and other luxuries. But if the guest is staying for weeks at a time (as is the case with a visiting translation consultant, for example), the cost of sustaining these kinds of meals can be very high. We asked them, please, do not feel you need to do this, we just want to eat as you do and be with you. And not get sick.
What we learned from them was that, often, when Congolese are invited to eat at the home of Westerners, they leave feeling hungry. We tend to eat smaller meals more often (3 times a day, versus once or twice a day for many Congolese), and of course we are generally not as active.
Bagali told us about a missionary in his home area when he was growing up. People knew that, if you were invited to his house for a meal, you should eat before you go, because he wasn't going to serve much food (by their standards).
He recalled his first stay in England 15 years ago. For the first two weeks, he still felt hungry whenever he left the meal table. Then his system began to be trained to expect regular meals of more modest size. I think his personal story was very helpful to the class.
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| Meal to celebrate finishing Matthew's Gospel: rice, greens and beef stew |
A related point: what counts as "celebration" food is different. At a wedding in the U.S., the most important food (at least in our home areas) is the cake. Even if you offer nothing else, you have to have a cake, that's what makes it a wedding. In Africa, you are expected to have a full feast - rice, meat, etc. Inviting someone to a celebration and just giving them cake... that would be bizarre (and inhospitable, I'm guessing). As Bagali said, at a Congolese celebration, the foufou in the pot at the center of the table should be so high that you couldn't see the guest on the other side!
Bagali also remembers another missionary - people noted that he fed meat to his dogs, and porridge to his employees. You can imagine what they thought of him and his love for the people.
One student lamented that we should have been having this discussion many years ago, it could have avoided many misunderstandings. We were very grateful to be informants, and to be better informed.
* names changed for privacy
Saturday, October 30, 2010
"Jambo kanisa!" "Jambo sana!"* (by Jennings)
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| *"Greetings, church!" "We greet you so much!" |
(All photos in this post were taken by our friend D. Wright and used with his permission)
Church in Ibambi – a Congolese village church. Exuberant, participatory, communal. At least those were my impressions. The head translator's son picked me up, led me to the church, took me in the women’s side, and sat me next to a very kind older lady. The service was entirely in Swahili, but that didn’t matter too much – my neighbor told me when to close my eyes for prayer, when to stand, when to get my offering out.
The women were on the right side of the church, the men on the left. Children – some just toddlers – sat on low stools (which they carried in with them) at the front, off to the side a bit. I loved seeing them there, I loved that all ages were together in church, all singing together, dancing, giving offerings, praying. It is a huge church with tall, open (no glass) windows and a very high tin roof. An artifact of missionary days. No ceiling, terrible acoustics. It was hard for me to hear what the service leader was saying, but no one else seemed to have any trouble following what was going on. And the kids could mill around and giggle and it didn’t really disturb anything.
There was a Scripture reading from Colossians. I was struck by how many people had brought their Bibles and were following along. Anzabati told me later that there is a real lack of Bibles, not enough people have them. But those who do sure do seem to use them! There was a sermon (I think), and the “chef de poste” spoke for a few minutes. But most of the two hour service was singing! We used the Swahili hymnal for 2 songs; otherwise, there were maybe 5 different choral groups who sang, mostly in Lingala. There was a trio of young men, a trio of middle-aged ladies, a choir of 20 or so girls – from tiny to teens – who sang in perfect harmony and danced, and a couple of other groups who stood up and sang. Two young men (part of the trio) played drums, and a few church members had other traditional instruments (flutes, shakers). Near the end, the whole church was singing, led by one of the drummers, with some call and response, lots of swaying back and forth, and other gestures. Everyone joined in, from the littlest kid to the oldest lady, they all knew the song, they all sang and gestured. It was wonderful!
Ibambi (by Jennings)
(All photos in this post were taken by our friend D. Wright and are used with his permission)
Ibambi is what you think of when you think of Congo: lush forest, green everywhere, palm trees, cassava plants, chickens running around, houses made of sticks and mud with grass thatched roofs; kids laughing and running and playing. Gorgeous, fertile, humid, peaceful.
I am here to work with a local translation team, to finish checking the book of Matthew so they can publish trial editions. I am staying on what used to be a mission station, in a “Centre d’accueil” (conference center) built by a German organization. The housing for guests is starkly different from the housing of the translators who live on the same compound. The center housing is a row of single rooms, made of brick and concrete, with a tin roof. There is a lot of wood (mahogany, I’m told) – wooden ceilings in the rooms, wooden shutters in the windows (no glass), wooden doors. Even the outhouse has wooden seats with wooden lids to keep the flies out! The translators have stick and mud houses with thatched roofs. People hang light cloths in the windows and doorways during the day, to keep flies out and to let the breeze through.
There is a big, open grassy area where kids gather to play football. I have not seen so many smiling, happy kids in a long time.
They also put in a bore hole and pump, so water is readily available. I have my own bucket, so I can get water for bathing or washing clothes whenever I want. The center staff will heat water for me if I ask. And the head translator is providing me with filtered water for drinking.
The local staple food is manioc. The leaves are pounded and cooked (with copious amounts of palm oil) in a dish called “sombe” (sohm-bay). The root is cut up and fried in oil, or pounded into a powder and cooked with water to make foufou. Groundnuts are also plentiful – we’ve had them for breakfast and for snacks.
There are (or were) large palm oil plantations nearby, and coffee plantations. We have local coffee in the morning, along with groundnuts and beignets fried in palm oil.
Ibambi is what you think of when you think of Congo: lush forest, green everywhere, palm trees, cassava plants, chickens running around, houses made of sticks and mud with grass thatched roofs; kids laughing and running and playing. Gorgeous, fertile, humid, peaceful.
I am here to work with a local translation team, to finish checking the book of Matthew so they can publish trial editions. I am staying on what used to be a mission station, in a “Centre d’accueil” (conference center) built by a German organization. The housing for guests is starkly different from the housing of the translators who live on the same compound. The center housing is a row of single rooms, made of brick and concrete, with a tin roof. There is a lot of wood (mahogany, I’m told) – wooden ceilings in the rooms, wooden shutters in the windows (no glass), wooden doors. Even the outhouse has wooden seats with wooden lids to keep the flies out! The translators have stick and mud houses with thatched roofs. People hang light cloths in the windows and doorways during the day, to keep flies out and to let the breeze through.
There is a big, open grassy area where kids gather to play football. I have not seen so many smiling, happy kids in a long time.
They also put in a bore hole and pump, so water is readily available. I have my own bucket, so I can get water for bathing or washing clothes whenever I want. The center staff will heat water for me if I ask. And the head translator is providing me with filtered water for drinking.
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| Pounding greens with a mortar and pestle |
The local staple food is manioc. The leaves are pounded and cooked (with copious amounts of palm oil) in a dish called “sombe” (sohm-bay). The root is cut up and fried in oil, or pounded into a powder and cooked with water to make foufou. Groundnuts are also plentiful – we’ve had them for breakfast and for snacks.
There are (or were) large palm oil plantations nearby, and coffee plantations. We have local coffee in the morning, along with groundnuts and beignets fried in palm oil.
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| There are dozens of varieties of banana in Ibambi |
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| After a rain, the termites come out, and people collect them - a delicacy! |
Friday, October 29, 2010
Stuff Missionaries Like , Part 1
Here at the Centre d’Accueil in Ibambi, we eat off Corelle dishware. Corelle is what missionaries use. We *love* the stuff. It is lightweight, hard to break, and pretty. You can’t buy it in Africa (unless you buy it off a missionary), but you see it in the homes of many missionaries from North America.
At a meal one day I said to the head translator, “I can see from these dishes that missionaries have been here.” He said, “Our Canadian friends who used to live here donated them.” Missionary artefacts… evidence that we have passed this way before. Things do fall apart, roads disintegrate, church building deteriorate, houses are reclaimed by the forest. But Corelle… endures.
At a meal one day I said to the head translator, “I can see from these dishes that missionaries have been here.” He said, “Our Canadian friends who used to live here donated them.” Missionary artefacts… evidence that we have passed this way before. Things do fall apart, roads disintegrate, church building deteriorate, houses are reclaimed by the forest. But Corelle… endures.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Congolese stories
A few of the stories we've heard from friends, glimpses of their lives.
Robert*: translator for a local translation project, recently received graduate degree in Bible Translation from Shalom University here in Bunia.
One day when we were working on Philippians, he arrived about an hour late (very unlike him). At tea time, we found out what happened. A neighbor had come begging for him to help sort out a problem with her husband. Robert tried to insist that he couldn’t stay, but the family really needed him. They are Muslim, but they insisted that he, as a pastor, was the best one to help them out. The husband of the family is a local leader, the “chef d’avenue”. He is also a muezzin at the local mosque (sings the call to prayer). The problem is, he drinks a lot and chases other women. And their children are “in disorder” (as the expression goes). So Robert talked with them, and he read Scripture passages explaining to each one how they should behave. They were very grateful, and Robert was then able to come to the office.
Charles: Translator for many years with a different local translation project, close to completing translation of the whole Bible.
Several years ago, Charles had a scholarship to do a Master's degree at a Nairobi university. Since then, he has been back in Congo working on his language's translation, which is sponsored by a different Bible translation organization than ours. When the translation is finished, he will make an excellent consultant for other groups. For reasons we do not fully understand, none of the translators in his project have been paid in several months. Most people here don’t keep reserves of money, so we don’t know how he is getting by. But he says that God called him to this work, so he has to keep on with it. He also –- like so many Congolese we know –- has children who are struggling to find their way. When he had a scholarship to study in Nairobi, he used that money to send one of his sons to medical school. But when Charles graduated and the scholarship money stopped coming in, he had to pull his son out of school. Now he is back living with Charles and his wife, unemployed.
* names have been changed for privacy
Robert*: translator for a local translation project, recently received graduate degree in Bible Translation from Shalom University here in Bunia.
One day when we were working on Philippians, he arrived about an hour late (very unlike him). At tea time, we found out what happened. A neighbor had come begging for him to help sort out a problem with her husband. Robert tried to insist that he couldn’t stay, but the family really needed him. They are Muslim, but they insisted that he, as a pastor, was the best one to help them out. The husband of the family is a local leader, the “chef d’avenue”. He is also a muezzin at the local mosque (sings the call to prayer). The problem is, he drinks a lot and chases other women. And their children are “in disorder” (as the expression goes). So Robert talked with them, and he read Scripture passages explaining to each one how they should behave. They were very grateful, and Robert was then able to come to the office.
Charles: Translator for many years with a different local translation project, close to completing translation of the whole Bible.
Several years ago, Charles had a scholarship to do a Master's degree at a Nairobi university. Since then, he has been back in Congo working on his language's translation, which is sponsored by a different Bible translation organization than ours. When the translation is finished, he will make an excellent consultant for other groups. For reasons we do not fully understand, none of the translators in his project have been paid in several months. Most people here don’t keep reserves of money, so we don’t know how he is getting by. But he says that God called him to this work, so he has to keep on with it. He also –- like so many Congolese we know –- has children who are struggling to find their way. When he had a scholarship to study in Nairobi, he used that money to send one of his sons to medical school. But when Charles graduated and the scholarship money stopped coming in, he had to pull his son out of school. Now he is back living with Charles and his wife, unemployed.
* names have been changed for privacy
"This Congolese Life" (or "Learning")
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| walking a new road |
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