Several months ago I wrote of the great tragedy involving the death of our avocado tree. Well, happy times are here again. Although all the lower branches were brutally cut off and burned, the upper branches were left on the tree. This didn’t do us much good because the tree branches were too high to get the avocados from so we could only pick up a few from the ground. Last week, it was rather windy here. So windy that one day a massive branch from the avocado tree fell down, raining avocados. All of a sudden we had more avocados then we knew what to do with. We kept some for ourselves and gave away a bunch. Slowly, the avocados began to ripen. First there were 3, then 5, then 7, then 23, then more ripe avocados. And one must move quickly when an avocado becomes ripe lest it become over ripe and turn into mushy green gross stuff. Over five days four people ate something like 18 avocados (four because Stefano and Clara were out of town). One meal alone featured an astounding 6 avocados. That’s a lot of avocados. I like avocados, but unfortunately, I think I like avocados the most in the community. Imagine eating avocados for five straight days with every meal when you really don’t like them. Imagine eating avocados for five straight days with every meal when you really do like them. It has been a test of creativity and trust in the California sponsored avocado website to come up with new and excited ways to present avocado at every meal. I have enjoyed testing the culinary boundaries of avocados and I have quickly learned there is so much more than I ever imagined to this delicious fruit…Avocados: they are more than guacamole!
Let me share with you some of the culinary delights of avocados:
-rolled in cornmeal and fried (my favorite),
-in a pie mixed with lemon juice and sweetened condensed milk (reminiscent of key lime pie)
-soup (not so good, I felt like I was drinking Spock’s blood, a sort of Vulcan Vampire)
-cooked with tomatoes served over rice
-in potato salad
-in deviled eggs
-rolled in sugar and fried
And of course
-guacamole
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Meet the Community
It has been several months now since I dedicated one blog to introducing you all to my community member Tomas and I figure it is time to tell a little bit more about my other community members.
I will start with Lydia since I have known her the longest. Lydia is a year younger than me and is from Vancouver, Canada. Being Canadian, she is, of course, very nice unless someone (like an Italian for example) tells her that Canada is just an extension of the United States. She doesn’t think it’s a funny joke (even though us Americans know it’s not really a joke ;)). I will say this about Canada: their postal system is far superior to ours. It has taken three months for one package from my parents to arrive here. In that same time, Lydia has received 5, yes FIVE packages from Canada. I wish the U.S. were really an extension of Canadian postal system. Lydia studied kinesiology at University which means that when she came here to Aru she was a qualified physiotherapist. When we first arrived here in December she was told she could have her own physiotherapy clinic at the Canossian run health center. She was very excited to get started and to see the clinic take shape. One week later she was still waiting for the door to be opened. 2 months later she was still waiting for a fresh coat of paint. In fact, her clinic opened about 2 weeks ago, four months after it was first proposed. In Africa is takes all of four months to put together a room with a bed and a desk. This ordeal was an incredible test of patience and a wonderful cultural learning opportunity for Lydia. Now her clinic is up and running and she is bringing physical therapy to the people of Aru. Lydia has an abundance of energy for all things, she is always willing to go for a bike ride, a walk, a hike, a run, or play with the neighborhood kids. Her energy is so abundant that she doesn’t even take Sunday naps, whereas I look forward to my Sunday nap with great anticipation all throughout the week. There is, of course, much more to say about Lydia, but I think that is adequate for now!
Next, I will attempt to describe Stefano. Stefano is my age and hails from Brescia in Northern Italy. He came to Congo for one month last year and after decided to leave his lucrative job in the construction sector and spend a year in Aru. He is in charge of various construction here including a new convent, the library (which I will set up once he is finished building), and other small projects such as building a brick oven for the bakery. Stefano, like Lydia, possesses boundless energy and he is often zooming about from one place to the other on one of our many bikes. However, unlike Lydia, Stefano has an almost uncanny ability to take naps. He falls asleep on the couch in about 2 seconds. One day, he actually fell asleep in the brick oven he is building at the bakery. That’s right, he fell asleep in an oven. That is talent. Stefano also eats a massive amount of food. For the average meal, he probably eats about 4 times the amount I eat. He has a large first helping, then a large second helping, then a massive third helping, and the finishes by eating whatever is left on the table. When I had malaria I ate one piece of bread per day. When Stefano had malaria he ate like a normal person. That’s how we knew he was sick. Stefano is also a very talented photographer and musician. He loves to make videos of himself and the community cooking, eating, washing dishes, etc. and then shows them to us. During these videos we usually die from a combination of boredom and laughter- they tend to be about 20 minutes of boring daily life activity interspersed with 5 seconds of absolutely hilarious happenings. It’s the closest thing we have to watching to TV. Other than video making, Stefano has offered the community many other entertainment ideas. For example, shooting spit balls at the world map on the wall (in the dark no less because the power was out). I could go on for some time about Stefano as a source of entertainment, but suffice it to say our community is greatly brightened by his presence.
Now on to Clara. Clara is Superwoman. She cooks, she cleans, she drives the tractor, she feeds stray cats and children…she does it all. Clara is also from Brescia and after her experience in Aru last summer decided to leave her career as a veterinarian and come to Congo for an indefinite amount of time. Besides her official task of running the farm, she is always doing something or another around the house. She cleans things I would never think of cleaning and does chores I would never think needed to be done. Our house is now clean and tidy because of her. Clara is also a wonderful and experienced cook. She is able to make amazing meals from nothing. Last Sunday the only food we had was 6 small tomatoes, a few potatoes, a bit of fruit and leftover meat (the gross meat that I had refused to cook the day before). From these meagre ingredients she made a fantastic feast featuring two kinds of pasta, a delicious potato and meat pie, and a fresh lemon cream tort topped with fruit for dessert. It was a miracle. It’s really a wonder we survived 2 months without her.
The last member of the community is Matteo. He is from Treviso in Northern Italy and joined up for one year after spending one month here last summer. Matteo is like the UN. He is very busy here, but I’m not entirely sure what it is that he does. I see him going here and there, but I don’t know where he is going or what he is doing. I feel the same about the ubiquitous UN vehicles that drive up and down the country all the time. Matteo is trained as an electrician so he fixes our broken electrical stuff and all the broken electrical stuff of people around here. He does various odd jobs and finds himself quite busy with…whatever it is he does. Matteo tips the scales of the community for those who like to nap (me, Stefano, Tomas, and Matteo) versus those who do not nap (Lydia and Clara), although he has yet to fall asleep in the oven or while working on the solar panel on the roof.
So that’s my community for now. Since I am here for 2 years and everyone else is here for one, I will have an entirely new community in the future. Even those who came several months after me will depart long before me, so you can look forward to a future installment of “Meet the Community.”
I will start with Lydia since I have known her the longest. Lydia is a year younger than me and is from Vancouver, Canada. Being Canadian, she is, of course, very nice unless someone (like an Italian for example) tells her that Canada is just an extension of the United States. She doesn’t think it’s a funny joke (even though us Americans know it’s not really a joke ;)). I will say this about Canada: their postal system is far superior to ours. It has taken three months for one package from my parents to arrive here. In that same time, Lydia has received 5, yes FIVE packages from Canada. I wish the U.S. were really an extension of Canadian postal system. Lydia studied kinesiology at University which means that when she came here to Aru she was a qualified physiotherapist. When we first arrived here in December she was told she could have her own physiotherapy clinic at the Canossian run health center. She was very excited to get started and to see the clinic take shape. One week later she was still waiting for the door to be opened. 2 months later she was still waiting for a fresh coat of paint. In fact, her clinic opened about 2 weeks ago, four months after it was first proposed. In Africa is takes all of four months to put together a room with a bed and a desk. This ordeal was an incredible test of patience and a wonderful cultural learning opportunity for Lydia. Now her clinic is up and running and she is bringing physical therapy to the people of Aru. Lydia has an abundance of energy for all things, she is always willing to go for a bike ride, a walk, a hike, a run, or play with the neighborhood kids. Her energy is so abundant that she doesn’t even take Sunday naps, whereas I look forward to my Sunday nap with great anticipation all throughout the week. There is, of course, much more to say about Lydia, but I think that is adequate for now!
Next, I will attempt to describe Stefano. Stefano is my age and hails from Brescia in Northern Italy. He came to Congo for one month last year and after decided to leave his lucrative job in the construction sector and spend a year in Aru. He is in charge of various construction here including a new convent, the library (which I will set up once he is finished building), and other small projects such as building a brick oven for the bakery. Stefano, like Lydia, possesses boundless energy and he is often zooming about from one place to the other on one of our many bikes. However, unlike Lydia, Stefano has an almost uncanny ability to take naps. He falls asleep on the couch in about 2 seconds. One day, he actually fell asleep in the brick oven he is building at the bakery. That’s right, he fell asleep in an oven. That is talent. Stefano also eats a massive amount of food. For the average meal, he probably eats about 4 times the amount I eat. He has a large first helping, then a large second helping, then a massive third helping, and the finishes by eating whatever is left on the table. When I had malaria I ate one piece of bread per day. When Stefano had malaria he ate like a normal person. That’s how we knew he was sick. Stefano is also a very talented photographer and musician. He loves to make videos of himself and the community cooking, eating, washing dishes, etc. and then shows them to us. During these videos we usually die from a combination of boredom and laughter- they tend to be about 20 minutes of boring daily life activity interspersed with 5 seconds of absolutely hilarious happenings. It’s the closest thing we have to watching to TV. Other than video making, Stefano has offered the community many other entertainment ideas. For example, shooting spit balls at the world map on the wall (in the dark no less because the power was out). I could go on for some time about Stefano as a source of entertainment, but suffice it to say our community is greatly brightened by his presence.
Now on to Clara. Clara is Superwoman. She cooks, she cleans, she drives the tractor, she feeds stray cats and children…she does it all. Clara is also from Brescia and after her experience in Aru last summer decided to leave her career as a veterinarian and come to Congo for an indefinite amount of time. Besides her official task of running the farm, she is always doing something or another around the house. She cleans things I would never think of cleaning and does chores I would never think needed to be done. Our house is now clean and tidy because of her. Clara is also a wonderful and experienced cook. She is able to make amazing meals from nothing. Last Sunday the only food we had was 6 small tomatoes, a few potatoes, a bit of fruit and leftover meat (the gross meat that I had refused to cook the day before). From these meagre ingredients she made a fantastic feast featuring two kinds of pasta, a delicious potato and meat pie, and a fresh lemon cream tort topped with fruit for dessert. It was a miracle. It’s really a wonder we survived 2 months without her.
The last member of the community is Matteo. He is from Treviso in Northern Italy and joined up for one year after spending one month here last summer. Matteo is like the UN. He is very busy here, but I’m not entirely sure what it is that he does. I see him going here and there, but I don’t know where he is going or what he is doing. I feel the same about the ubiquitous UN vehicles that drive up and down the country all the time. Matteo is trained as an electrician so he fixes our broken electrical stuff and all the broken electrical stuff of people around here. He does various odd jobs and finds himself quite busy with…whatever it is he does. Matteo tips the scales of the community for those who like to nap (me, Stefano, Tomas, and Matteo) versus those who do not nap (Lydia and Clara), although he has yet to fall asleep in the oven or while working on the solar panel on the roof.
So that’s my community for now. Since I am here for 2 years and everyone else is here for one, I will have an entirely new community in the future. Even those who came several months after me will depart long before me, so you can look forward to a future installment of “Meet the Community.”
Thursday, April 1, 2010
My First African Wedding
Remember in high school when one of the teachers got married and you got the whole day off of school so that all the other teachers could go to the wedding? Neither do I. But here in Africa, this is what happens.
Last Saturday one of the teachers from Aiti got married. Since I am also a teacher from Aiti I was invited by default (I actually have never met this man and don’t even know his name, but I was at his wedding). The church ceremony took place at 6:30 am, sadly I slept through mass that day, so I did not get to see it. The reception was at the more civilized hour of 1:30 in the afternoon, although this being Africa it did not actually start until 3:00. Luckily, I had shown up fashionably late (and yet at the same time unreasonably early) at 2:00 so I only had to wait around for an hour. But let me start at the beginning.
As I mentioned, I slept through mass last Saturday morning, but my early rising community members informed me that the marriage of an Aiti teacher had taken place. Even though my class had been cancelled several weeks earlier for another wedding, I naively assumed that my afternoon class would go off as usual. I set off to school at the regular time only to be intercepted by the other English teacher who informed me that there was no class because ALL the teachers were going to the wedding. He invited me to come along, a suggestion to which I readily agreed. So off we went over hill and dale to another part of town to join in the wedding festivities. We arrived and were seated with the other Aiti teachers. I quickly noticed that all the teachers were wearing the same shirt, or a dress from the same material for the lady teachers. Apparently, Aiti teachers have some kind of wedding uniform that I knew nothing about. By pure luck I was wearing the correct color scheme. However, the lack of the Aiti uniform did not make me feel like I stuck out so much as being the only white person there did. So anyway, as I have mentioned the bride and groom were about an hour and half late so we sat and chatted and waited for them to show up at 3. The reception was held in a tent made out of branches and tarp with flowers and greenery decorating it. The bride, groom, and family sat in the middle on couches and the rest of the guests were arranged around the center, facing inward on plastic chairs. When the bride and groom arrived they were greeted with singing and danced their way into the center of the tent. The reception began with prayer and then the cake cutting. Just as in America, the bride and groom cut the cake together and feed each other the first bite. Then everyone else gets a small piece. After the cake it was time for the feast. Gigantic bowls of the African staple food foo foo were brought out along with rice, beans, and bitter green stuff that is kind of like but not nearly as tasty as spinach. And here is where I ran into my first social difficulty. It is, of course, impolite to decline food. However, foo foo is, shall we say, not my favorite food. In addition, I was not feeling so good with what I eventually found out to be a second case of Typhoid/Malaria. So I really did not want to eat. What to do? I worried about this for some minutes and finally decided to go up to the buffet line, but only take a drink. This strategy only sort of worked as several people asked me why I didn’t eat. I gave the excuse I wasn’t feeling very well, but I fear they saw through this façade and know that I do not like their beloved foo foo. Well anyway, after the feast it was time for gifts. And here is my second social difficulty, and this was a major blunder. What kind of person goes to a wedding without a gift?! I mean, come on, what was I thinking?! The gift giving is actually a really fun part of the reception because everyone dances up to the table, gives the gift, and dances away. Everyone else is dancing and singing along and it makes for a jovial atmosphere. The guests are called up by groups: the bride’s family, the groom’s family, the teachers, and so on until every one is called. So when the teachers were called, I was in a bit of a pickle, not having a gift and all. I was saved by the kindness of the other English teacher (the one who had stopped me along the road and asked me to come along to the wedding with him); he palmed me a 500 shilling coin (something like 25 cents) and I joined in with the teachers in the gift dance. 25 cents may seem a paltry sum (and in fact, it is), but here the thought is truly what counts. Many people are not able to give more than a tiny coin, but the important thing is to give something. Rest assure I was not the only one to give a small coin. The gifts were quite typical of weddings: money and household items and such. After all the guests had danced up to the gift table the festivities were over and I made my way home.
It was great fun to participate in a wedding and I hope I have a chance to go to another one someday…I wills surely not forget a gift a second time. Much of the wedding was very similar to American traditions with the cake cutting and feast. But a more important similarity, as in any culture, is that weddings are a time for communities to be together, enjoying each other’s company and celebrating a joyous occasion. Sure, I had my awkward moments with being the only white person in sight, not knowing the name of the bride or groom, not eating, and not bringing a gift, but still I am so happy I was able to share in the occasion and I feel like I am a little bit more a part of the community here in Aru.
Last Saturday one of the teachers from Aiti got married. Since I am also a teacher from Aiti I was invited by default (I actually have never met this man and don’t even know his name, but I was at his wedding). The church ceremony took place at 6:30 am, sadly I slept through mass that day, so I did not get to see it. The reception was at the more civilized hour of 1:30 in the afternoon, although this being Africa it did not actually start until 3:00. Luckily, I had shown up fashionably late (and yet at the same time unreasonably early) at 2:00 so I only had to wait around for an hour. But let me start at the beginning.
As I mentioned, I slept through mass last Saturday morning, but my early rising community members informed me that the marriage of an Aiti teacher had taken place. Even though my class had been cancelled several weeks earlier for another wedding, I naively assumed that my afternoon class would go off as usual. I set off to school at the regular time only to be intercepted by the other English teacher who informed me that there was no class because ALL the teachers were going to the wedding. He invited me to come along, a suggestion to which I readily agreed. So off we went over hill and dale to another part of town to join in the wedding festivities. We arrived and were seated with the other Aiti teachers. I quickly noticed that all the teachers were wearing the same shirt, or a dress from the same material for the lady teachers. Apparently, Aiti teachers have some kind of wedding uniform that I knew nothing about. By pure luck I was wearing the correct color scheme. However, the lack of the Aiti uniform did not make me feel like I stuck out so much as being the only white person there did. So anyway, as I have mentioned the bride and groom were about an hour and half late so we sat and chatted and waited for them to show up at 3. The reception was held in a tent made out of branches and tarp with flowers and greenery decorating it. The bride, groom, and family sat in the middle on couches and the rest of the guests were arranged around the center, facing inward on plastic chairs. When the bride and groom arrived they were greeted with singing and danced their way into the center of the tent. The reception began with prayer and then the cake cutting. Just as in America, the bride and groom cut the cake together and feed each other the first bite. Then everyone else gets a small piece. After the cake it was time for the feast. Gigantic bowls of the African staple food foo foo were brought out along with rice, beans, and bitter green stuff that is kind of like but not nearly as tasty as spinach. And here is where I ran into my first social difficulty. It is, of course, impolite to decline food. However, foo foo is, shall we say, not my favorite food. In addition, I was not feeling so good with what I eventually found out to be a second case of Typhoid/Malaria. So I really did not want to eat. What to do? I worried about this for some minutes and finally decided to go up to the buffet line, but only take a drink. This strategy only sort of worked as several people asked me why I didn’t eat. I gave the excuse I wasn’t feeling very well, but I fear they saw through this façade and know that I do not like their beloved foo foo. Well anyway, after the feast it was time for gifts. And here is my second social difficulty, and this was a major blunder. What kind of person goes to a wedding without a gift?! I mean, come on, what was I thinking?! The gift giving is actually a really fun part of the reception because everyone dances up to the table, gives the gift, and dances away. Everyone else is dancing and singing along and it makes for a jovial atmosphere. The guests are called up by groups: the bride’s family, the groom’s family, the teachers, and so on until every one is called. So when the teachers were called, I was in a bit of a pickle, not having a gift and all. I was saved by the kindness of the other English teacher (the one who had stopped me along the road and asked me to come along to the wedding with him); he palmed me a 500 shilling coin (something like 25 cents) and I joined in with the teachers in the gift dance. 25 cents may seem a paltry sum (and in fact, it is), but here the thought is truly what counts. Many people are not able to give more than a tiny coin, but the important thing is to give something. Rest assure I was not the only one to give a small coin. The gifts were quite typical of weddings: money and household items and such. After all the guests had danced up to the gift table the festivities were over and I made my way home.
It was great fun to participate in a wedding and I hope I have a chance to go to another one someday…I wills surely not forget a gift a second time. Much of the wedding was very similar to American traditions with the cake cutting and feast. But a more important similarity, as in any culture, is that weddings are a time for communities to be together, enjoying each other’s company and celebrating a joyous occasion. Sure, I had my awkward moments with being the only white person in sight, not knowing the name of the bride or groom, not eating, and not bringing a gift, but still I am so happy I was able to share in the occasion and I feel like I am a little bit more a part of the community here in Aru.
Monday, March 22, 2010
A Few Thoughts
Community
My entire community has been in residence at Chez Voica for one month now. Actually it’s been less than a month because we were recently joined by yet another member. His name is Etienne (French for Steven) and he is a kitty. He’s really cute, as you can see from the pictures. He’s fun to play with and I enjoy watching him romp around pretending to be a lion. So here we all are: Lydia, Matteo, Stefano, Etienne, Tomas, me and Clara and below is Etienne.
The new community has brought a significant improvement on the food front. As is turns out, Italians know how to cook. We still eat eggplant, potatoes, and eggs everyday, but the Italians have a knack for making these things new, exciting, and tasty. Italian cooked food comes out delicious all of the time. This is in contrast to me when the food comes out delicious maybe ¼ of the time. They make things I have never thought of or don’t know how to make. Hopefully I can pick up a few ideas from these Italian master chefs and come home knowing how to cook delicious eggplant!
Communication in this multi-cultural community continues to be an interesting challenge. Most of the time we speak what I like to call Fritalingalish(Czech). That’s French-Italian-Lingala-English (Czech). We don’t really speak Czech, but I threw it in there because Tomas speaks Czech and you know he reads this. This makes conversations around the dinner table alternatively hilarious and confusing. And that brings me to my next subject:
Language
My time in Congo has taught me something very important about myself. I have NO talent for learning languages. Some people are able to listen a bit and after one or two days can miraculously start speaking a foreign language. Not me. I’ve been here for nearly 4 months and French still bewilders me. I have been told that it is easier to understand then to speak and most people can understand a lot more than they can say. If this is true, I’m in big trouble because I understand virtually none of what people say to me. My favorite phrase is “Je ne comprends pas” or “I don’t understand.” I use it every day, every hour, in fact, I use it whenever someone says something to me in French. And if someone is saying a lot in French I sit there trying so hard to listen but really panicking because I have no idea what this person is saying. I’ve missed a few community decisions because I don’t understand what anyone is saying. I’ve decided it’s time to renew my efforts to learn French and I’ve broken out the old French books. I hope more study will help because the you’ll-learn-when-you’re-there-and-everyone-speaks-French method has so far been a failure.
The End of Something from Home
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Floppy Carrots
You know how when you bite into a carrot it gives a satisfying snap and then you crunch, crunch, crunch it? Carrots here don’t do that. They are floppy. Floppy carrots don’t crunch, they sag. Imagine what would happened if a carrot went to a yoga class. It would get all bendy, right? African carrots take yoga. This creates a major problem when it is time to peel a carrot. It is virtually impossible to peel a yoga-going carrot. The peel is either non-existent or and inch thick. So we end up eating half peeled, mutilated, floppy carrots. But there is hope. The other day as we were leaving the convent, Lydia and I spotted a Mama selling what appeared to be crunchy, snappy, carrots. Lydia literally ran home to get some money as I kept watch over this Mama with her carrots. We jubilantly bought a whole pile of them. And we were right to be so jubilant, because these carrots were a joy to peel, a joy to cut, and a joy to crunch. Unfortunately, we bought so many carrots that we could not eat them all in one day. There must be a yoga center around here, because the following day our carrots had taken on a decidedly bendy physique. The next day, they were downright floppy. Next time we find some un-floppy carrots, we will eat them all right away. Or we’ll root out the nearby yoga center and shut them down. That is all I have to say about carrots, and congratulations to everyone who was actually able to read an entire post devoted solely to carrots.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
For Your Viewing Pleasure
Finally, a few pictures of Congo. Enjoy!!
The Avocado Massacre. This is what's left of the avocado tree in our backyard :(
Views of the farm
This is Clara measuring the farm. She is 50 meters away from me here
On the Road to Bunia with Sr. Carmela, Madre Tina, me, and Tomas
Bunia- Lydia and Tomas on the roof of the youth center and library
On the Road to Butembo, Here we are in the land of mud
Butembo
Lake Albert
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Take Me Home Country Roads...Or Better Yet, To Bunia!!
This past week I was privileged to take a small tour around Congo. The head hauncho of the province, Madre Tina, needed to drive to Bunia from Aru and invited Tomas, Lydia, and me along for the ride. Early (like before sunrise) Saturday morning Madre Tina, Tomas, Lydia, Sr. Carmela, our chauffer (and it’s totally legit to use this word here because it’s French), and I piled into the Sisters’ jeep for the ride to Bunia. Bunia is just over 100 miles away from Aru. In America 100 miles would maybe take 3 hours if you try to drive really slow. In Congo it takes 9 hours. And we even took the shortcut though the super fancy paved roads of Uganda, which cut approximately 2 hours off of the journey, even though it added many miles. So you can imagine what the roads are like when it takes 9 hours to go 100 miles. However bad the road conditions are, I still greatly enjoyed traveling through the countryside and seeing what Congo looks like outside of my little village. We arrived in Bunia in the late afternoon and were heartily welcomed by the Bunia community of Canossian sisters. I then took a nap. After nap, I joined the community for prayer and dinner and went to bed early.
There are 4 sisters and 11 postulants in Bunia. This make the convent feel a little less like a convent and a little more like an all girls dormitory since there are 11 22-24 year olds running about. Despite being in a city, the convent has power for only a few hours in the evening, and has some serious running water problems. The up side of the water problems was that we were given a bucket of warm water with which to shower. I like showering with warm water. Running water showers are great and all, but as it turns out, I would rather shower with a bucket of warm water then a running cold shower. But, alas, I was destined to return to Aru and the cold shower there, so I thoroughly enjoyed each warm bucket shower while it lasted. The convent was gigantic (it has room for 11 postulants, you see) it even had stairs, lots of stairs, in fact, since it’s built into a hill. I haven’t climbed more than 3 stairs in several months, so the 10 stairs to my room felt like quite the haul. The other remarkable thing about the convent was the lack of mosquito nets on the beds. On this subject, I give you one piece of advice. If you ever find yourself in Bunia and someone shows you your bed without a mosquito net and says to you “We don’t have mosquitoes here in Bunia,” call them a liar. Call them a big, fat, liar. There are mosquitoes in Bunia and they will torture you while you sleep (or try to sleep).
Bunia is a “big” city with stores and restaurants and a ton of UN people running about. It’s so big they even have a traffic cop on the main drag. During our stay in Bunia we visited their impressive market, which included dozens of meat shacks (Aru’s market has 2 goat shacks and 1 cow shack) and tons of other foods. None of the food was different then what you can find in Aru, there was just a lot more of it. The stores were a different matter however. They were full of stuff you can’t find in Aru, like fake Nutella, canned pears, salmon, and Cadbury’s chocolate (actually, most of this stuff we bought at a open air shack at the side of the road, so I’m not sure it qualifies as a store). I was so excited to see candy bars I bought a way overpriced Mars bar. But it was worth it. We also visited a priest from Spain who runs a youth center and library. I enjoyed seeing how his library was set up and it gave me some inspiration for setting up the library in Aru. Too bad he only spoke French (and Spanish I presume) and I was only able to fully understand a fraction of what he told me about the library. I got the basic gist of it, but I would have loved to understand the details and maybe even be able to ask some questions. A real highlight of Bunia was eating in the MONUC (the French acronym for the UN mission in Congo) restaurant. It’s great, the people there don’t even speak French, only English. Oh, the UN. Here’s the thing about restaurants: you sit down and ask for what you want, then they bring it to you, then they take your dishes away and you pay and leave. You don’t have to cook the food or do the dishes! It’s awesome. I had a burger that had spent a large amount of it’s life frozen, but was still good because it was a burger, plus fries and an interesting interpretation of chocolate mousse.
We also took a few side tours during our week in Bunia. On Tuesday we left for Butembo. Butembo is about 150 miles away in the next province, North Kivu. It took us only 9 hours to get there. Heavy rains had covered the entire region the previous night so the roads were wet. It wasn’t so bad going for most of the time until we reached the forest and the land of mud. It was probably about a foot deep in places. We passed a semi that had gotten stuck going up a hill with a bunch of people trying to dig it out. I can’t imagine how they were going to get that thing up the hill. At the bottom of a hill was a tiny white car in mud up to it’s doors. That thing wasn’t going anywhere. Driving in this mud reminded me of driving in a really bad blizzard minus the visibility problems. There was the same feeling of slipping around the road with no control and that if you stopped, you’d never be able to start again. Basically we glided through the whole region. It was slow going, but we made it. After the land of mud, we crossed the border into Ituri’s neighboring province, North Kivu, or, the land of plenty. It wasn’t long after we crossed the border that we found ourselves driving along an asphalt road. Wow. We were in 5th gear for whole minutes. We went 100 km an hour. Wow. Sadly, we could not sustain this 5th gear speed even in the land of plenty since goats do not care if a road is asphalt or dirt. They will run in front of your vehicle no matter the terrain. So after whole minutes of zooming along in 5th gear, we would be forced to slow down for some inconsiderate goat traipsing across the asphalt.
North Kivu had a more prosperous feel then Ituri Province where Aru and Bunia are located. There seemed to be more power lines and commerce. Or maybe it’s just that a stick and mud hut village looks more prosperous when it is situated next to a smooth ribbon of asphalt complete with a little sign warning drivers to look out for children. At any rate, I was impressed with my foray into North Kivu, it just had a general feeling of prosperity.
After Beni, about 25 miles short of Butembo, the asphalt miracle ended and we passed over the mountains on the more typical Congo style “roads.” At dusk we finally arrived in Butembo, a lovely mountain town and were welcomed by the Praying Sisters (this can also be translated as talking sisters). Their place had plenty of electricity (until 9:30 pm) and running water, plus a comfy bed. On Wednesday, after mass at the sister’s chapel where we received our ashes for the Mercredi de Cendres, one of the sisters took us on a short tour of the beautiful grounds. Then we waited around for one of the postulants who had traveled with us to take us to the market. In typical African style she showed up over 1 hour late. But that’s how they roll in Congo. The Butembo market is very interesting. I think an excerpt from our Congo guide book best describes it “Butembo is a curious town of riches where there really should be none, a financial [center] in a place where there really should be none…It’s a curiosity to be sure, and whiling away your time wondering how all this fancy stuff gets here, after grinding along awful roads for so long, is the main pastime” This is true. The Butembo market was teeming with people and stuff even though the town is basically in the middle of the mountains surrounded by barely passable roads. This is Congo. We bought potatoes, onions, peas, carrots, cloth, this, that, and the other thing and then headed off to Bunia, a mere 7 hours away (the roads had dried up so it was much shorter on the way back since we didn’t have to drive through the land of mud).
Since we didn’t finish with our shopping until after noon, we were on our way very late to Bunia so we drove for the last hour and half in the dark. Dark in Africa is serious. The road was through the savannah (think Lion King tall grass) and it was truly dark. The sun goes down and it’s like a light switch here. The sun is up and it’s light, the sun is down and you can’t find your hand. So this last bit was interesting driving, but we made it back safely, unloaded the vehicle, ate a simple dinner (remember, it’s still Ash Wednesday even though I had sweat my ashes off some 9 hours earlier) and crashed into bed, even before the electricity was turned off at the convent (lame, I know, but I was tired).
Our second side trip was to Lake Albert situated about 2 hours (so like 5 miles) from Bunia on the border of Congo and Uganda. It was one of the worst roads I have experienced in Congo. I wanted to throw up. But I didn’t. But I was very happy when we made it to the lake and the car finally stopped. The lake is kind of pretty, although it’s quite polluted and the beach is covered in trash. So maybe a better description is that it could be pretty, if it were properly cared for. There were tons of fishing boats, although most were pulled up on the beach. It was wretchedly hot under the noon sun and the sand was like walking on fire whenever a few grains slipped through my sandals onto my skin. We walked down the beach a bit taking in the sights and then were on our way back to Bunia.
After a week in Bunia and surrounds, we had seen all the sights and done all there was to do in Bunia. Early Saturday morning, we packed up all our purchases from Bunia and Butembo and were on our way back to Aru.
It was wonderful to have this opportunity to travel through Congo and see other parts of the country (especially that land of plenty, North Kivu). Congo is a truly beautiful country with varying landscapes and terrain. From flat grassland where the lion once roamed, to pine filled woodlands (the kind that get John Denver’s “Take Me Home Country Roads” stuck in your head, especially when you are bouncing along a picturesque dirt road), to rainforest, to tall, lush mountains, and gorgeous valleys. It was also interesting to take note of the population. Sometimes as we were driving along I felt in the middle of nowhere, so far from any kind of settlement, and then we would turn the next bend in the road and there would be a village, or a group of kids, or a woman standing in a field. My observation is that Congo is both very full and very empty. There are people everywhere, yet at the same time there is a massive amount of open space. There wasn’t a lot of other vehicle traffic on the road, although there were many people on bikes or walking along, especially near the larger towns. When there were other vehicles, the majority were UN. Goodness knows what all those UN people do here, other than drive up and down Congo in their spiffy white vehicles with UN painted on 4 sides. Traveling in Congo was certainly a memorable experience and I am grateful I have gotten to see more of this beautiful country.
There are 4 sisters and 11 postulants in Bunia. This make the convent feel a little less like a convent and a little more like an all girls dormitory since there are 11 22-24 year olds running about. Despite being in a city, the convent has power for only a few hours in the evening, and has some serious running water problems. The up side of the water problems was that we were given a bucket of warm water with which to shower. I like showering with warm water. Running water showers are great and all, but as it turns out, I would rather shower with a bucket of warm water then a running cold shower. But, alas, I was destined to return to Aru and the cold shower there, so I thoroughly enjoyed each warm bucket shower while it lasted. The convent was gigantic (it has room for 11 postulants, you see) it even had stairs, lots of stairs, in fact, since it’s built into a hill. I haven’t climbed more than 3 stairs in several months, so the 10 stairs to my room felt like quite the haul. The other remarkable thing about the convent was the lack of mosquito nets on the beds. On this subject, I give you one piece of advice. If you ever find yourself in Bunia and someone shows you your bed without a mosquito net and says to you “We don’t have mosquitoes here in Bunia,” call them a liar. Call them a big, fat, liar. There are mosquitoes in Bunia and they will torture you while you sleep (or try to sleep).
Bunia is a “big” city with stores and restaurants and a ton of UN people running about. It’s so big they even have a traffic cop on the main drag. During our stay in Bunia we visited their impressive market, which included dozens of meat shacks (Aru’s market has 2 goat shacks and 1 cow shack) and tons of other foods. None of the food was different then what you can find in Aru, there was just a lot more of it. The stores were a different matter however. They were full of stuff you can’t find in Aru, like fake Nutella, canned pears, salmon, and Cadbury’s chocolate (actually, most of this stuff we bought at a open air shack at the side of the road, so I’m not sure it qualifies as a store). I was so excited to see candy bars I bought a way overpriced Mars bar. But it was worth it. We also visited a priest from Spain who runs a youth center and library. I enjoyed seeing how his library was set up and it gave me some inspiration for setting up the library in Aru. Too bad he only spoke French (and Spanish I presume) and I was only able to fully understand a fraction of what he told me about the library. I got the basic gist of it, but I would have loved to understand the details and maybe even be able to ask some questions. A real highlight of Bunia was eating in the MONUC (the French acronym for the UN mission in Congo) restaurant. It’s great, the people there don’t even speak French, only English. Oh, the UN. Here’s the thing about restaurants: you sit down and ask for what you want, then they bring it to you, then they take your dishes away and you pay and leave. You don’t have to cook the food or do the dishes! It’s awesome. I had a burger that had spent a large amount of it’s life frozen, but was still good because it was a burger, plus fries and an interesting interpretation of chocolate mousse.
We also took a few side tours during our week in Bunia. On Tuesday we left for Butembo. Butembo is about 150 miles away in the next province, North Kivu. It took us only 9 hours to get there. Heavy rains had covered the entire region the previous night so the roads were wet. It wasn’t so bad going for most of the time until we reached the forest and the land of mud. It was probably about a foot deep in places. We passed a semi that had gotten stuck going up a hill with a bunch of people trying to dig it out. I can’t imagine how they were going to get that thing up the hill. At the bottom of a hill was a tiny white car in mud up to it’s doors. That thing wasn’t going anywhere. Driving in this mud reminded me of driving in a really bad blizzard minus the visibility problems. There was the same feeling of slipping around the road with no control and that if you stopped, you’d never be able to start again. Basically we glided through the whole region. It was slow going, but we made it. After the land of mud, we crossed the border into Ituri’s neighboring province, North Kivu, or, the land of plenty. It wasn’t long after we crossed the border that we found ourselves driving along an asphalt road. Wow. We were in 5th gear for whole minutes. We went 100 km an hour. Wow. Sadly, we could not sustain this 5th gear speed even in the land of plenty since goats do not care if a road is asphalt or dirt. They will run in front of your vehicle no matter the terrain. So after whole minutes of zooming along in 5th gear, we would be forced to slow down for some inconsiderate goat traipsing across the asphalt.
North Kivu had a more prosperous feel then Ituri Province where Aru and Bunia are located. There seemed to be more power lines and commerce. Or maybe it’s just that a stick and mud hut village looks more prosperous when it is situated next to a smooth ribbon of asphalt complete with a little sign warning drivers to look out for children. At any rate, I was impressed with my foray into North Kivu, it just had a general feeling of prosperity.
After Beni, about 25 miles short of Butembo, the asphalt miracle ended and we passed over the mountains on the more typical Congo style “roads.” At dusk we finally arrived in Butembo, a lovely mountain town and were welcomed by the Praying Sisters (this can also be translated as talking sisters). Their place had plenty of electricity (until 9:30 pm) and running water, plus a comfy bed. On Wednesday, after mass at the sister’s chapel where we received our ashes for the Mercredi de Cendres, one of the sisters took us on a short tour of the beautiful grounds. Then we waited around for one of the postulants who had traveled with us to take us to the market. In typical African style she showed up over 1 hour late. But that’s how they roll in Congo. The Butembo market is very interesting. I think an excerpt from our Congo guide book best describes it “Butembo is a curious town of riches where there really should be none, a financial [center] in a place where there really should be none…It’s a curiosity to be sure, and whiling away your time wondering how all this fancy stuff gets here, after grinding along awful roads for so long, is the main pastime” This is true. The Butembo market was teeming with people and stuff even though the town is basically in the middle of the mountains surrounded by barely passable roads. This is Congo. We bought potatoes, onions, peas, carrots, cloth, this, that, and the other thing and then headed off to Bunia, a mere 7 hours away (the roads had dried up so it was much shorter on the way back since we didn’t have to drive through the land of mud).
Since we didn’t finish with our shopping until after noon, we were on our way very late to Bunia so we drove for the last hour and half in the dark. Dark in Africa is serious. The road was through the savannah (think Lion King tall grass) and it was truly dark. The sun goes down and it’s like a light switch here. The sun is up and it’s light, the sun is down and you can’t find your hand. So this last bit was interesting driving, but we made it back safely, unloaded the vehicle, ate a simple dinner (remember, it’s still Ash Wednesday even though I had sweat my ashes off some 9 hours earlier) and crashed into bed, even before the electricity was turned off at the convent (lame, I know, but I was tired).
Our second side trip was to Lake Albert situated about 2 hours (so like 5 miles) from Bunia on the border of Congo and Uganda. It was one of the worst roads I have experienced in Congo. I wanted to throw up. But I didn’t. But I was very happy when we made it to the lake and the car finally stopped. The lake is kind of pretty, although it’s quite polluted and the beach is covered in trash. So maybe a better description is that it could be pretty, if it were properly cared for. There were tons of fishing boats, although most were pulled up on the beach. It was wretchedly hot under the noon sun and the sand was like walking on fire whenever a few grains slipped through my sandals onto my skin. We walked down the beach a bit taking in the sights and then were on our way back to Bunia.
After a week in Bunia and surrounds, we had seen all the sights and done all there was to do in Bunia. Early Saturday morning, we packed up all our purchases from Bunia and Butembo and were on our way back to Aru.
It was wonderful to have this opportunity to travel through Congo and see other parts of the country (especially that land of plenty, North Kivu). Congo is a truly beautiful country with varying landscapes and terrain. From flat grassland where the lion once roamed, to pine filled woodlands (the kind that get John Denver’s “Take Me Home Country Roads” stuck in your head, especially when you are bouncing along a picturesque dirt road), to rainforest, to tall, lush mountains, and gorgeous valleys. It was also interesting to take note of the population. Sometimes as we were driving along I felt in the middle of nowhere, so far from any kind of settlement, and then we would turn the next bend in the road and there would be a village, or a group of kids, or a woman standing in a field. My observation is that Congo is both very full and very empty. There are people everywhere, yet at the same time there is a massive amount of open space. There wasn’t a lot of other vehicle traffic on the road, although there were many people on bikes or walking along, especially near the larger towns. When there were other vehicles, the majority were UN. Goodness knows what all those UN people do here, other than drive up and down Congo in their spiffy white vehicles with UN painted on 4 sides. Traveling in Congo was certainly a memorable experience and I am grateful I have gotten to see more of this beautiful country.
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