Dazed by Drama

Stunned. Numb. I was stupefied. When people would ask me how I was doing, I couldn’t give them a straight answer; instead I resorted to relaying the facts: A couple weekends ago, the missionaries who are invested in Vanga held a retreat in order to be refreshed, renewed and refocus our mission and vision. Lydia, a missionary kid from Kinshasa, who also happens to be one my friends was here on vacation.

One morning while my family, Lydia and I were getting ready to go to the retreat, Benvenu, our cook said to me, “Nancy, I just heard this morning that there was woman found dead. She was a student at ISTM (the nursing school). She was found this morning dumped in someone’s yard.” I stopped gathering my things, confused. Did I hear him correctly? Murder in Vanga sounds more like a mystery novel than real life. I snapped out my thoughts and thanked him for informing.

Later at breakfast, it had been confirmed, that morning a young woman’s body was found beaten around the head dumped on mission property (which is the land around the hospital and the missionaries’ houses as well as several schools). But who did it and why? We didn’t have much information, but as is common in Vanga, news comes in spurts and isn’t always reliable. Slowly, news trickled in and a couple days later we had the actual story.

It was an act of passion. It all started off with one man and two women. The man was married to woman #1 who worked as a nurse at the hospital. However, he was having an affair with woman #2 who was working at the hospital as a nursing intern. Somehow woman #1 got wind that her husband wasn’t being as loyal as she thought and decided to investigate. She confronted her husband and they decided that woman #2 needed to go. Together they went to her house and killed her. They, then, took her body and hid it in their house, only to be disposed the next day. Both Bonnie and Clyde were reprimanded and last I heard they were waiting a hearing.

Now, I know there’s been some social media posts circulating around about Dad and his potential arrest but here are the facts: Visas. They’re an interest document and also a key factor in this whole story. When we arrived, my parents and I came on a tourist visas with the plan to get our long-term missionary visas while we were here. When we arrived, the head of the DGM in Vanga informed us that he needed to fill out some paperwork before we shipped our passports to Kinshasa. The week of crazy also happened to be the week that our visas needed to be renewed. We made arrangements with Matthew Lind, a missionary in Kinshasa, to take our passports back to the Kinshasa DGM after his 3-day visit here.

(While writing this, I was interrupted by a whacking sound coming from our front steps. My dad and I ran over to our front door and sure enough, our night guard was killing a poisonous green snake! My mother advice, “Beware of whackings!”#missionarylife)

On the Monday before sending our passports, Dad ran into the head of Vanga DGM in the hospital. When asked the price for the paperwork, he assured Dad that it would be $10 per person and that he would send the paperwork that afternoon. Well, he didn’t show up till Wednesday morning and gave Dad a bill for $1050, which is 18 times the total price before! My dad told him that this was unreasonable and would need to talk to the authorities in Kinshasa. Not knowing the impending doom, my dad went ahead and sent our passports with Matthew. Late that afternoon, the DGM scouted out my father who was in the middle of our weekly missionary meeting. When the meeting was finish, my dad went out and talk with him. The head of DGM was furious that my dad had sent on the passports without paying. My dad calmly told him that he was waiting for confirmation from the authorities that this bill was accurate, which infuriated the DGM officer more. At that point, he announced to Dad, that he was under arrest. One of the other missionaries then suggested that they go speak with the AG (2^nd, or 1^st depending on who you ask, in command here in Vanga). On their way, they got news that the AG had already left work. The people there told the head of Vanga DGM, that he needed to wait until the next morning to have the meeting.

The next morning, Dad showed up for the meeting. The AG tried to convince the two DGM officers that they needed to back off. Then, the DGM said that Dad needed to be on house which the AG would not allow. The AG was going on about how important Dad was to the well-being and functioning of the hospital, when Dad got a phone call. It was the hospital calling Dad about an emergency! The DGM decided that Dad could go but needed to come right back so that they could talk with him and the head of the hospital, Dr. Mpoo.

When Dad exited the hospital, there were two DGM officials waiting to escort him to the meeting. At the meeting, Dr. Mpoo starting going off on the DGM and when Dad tried to cut in, Dr. Mpoo told Dad to let him deal with it. After a while, the DGM excused Dad to go home and continued to talk to Dr. Mpoo.

The next day, the DGM sent what looked like a signed confession that Dad broke the law by not having his passport at all times. Dad refused to take it from their messenger and sent him away. At that same time, Dad received an e-mail with the actual paperwork he needed that cost only $50 per person. He sent on a copy of the real paperwork and since then all has been quiet on the subject.

P.S. We heard today that this was all highly illegal and that the missionaries in Kinshasa had report this. They were supposed to file a complaint, but the high-ranking official from C.B.C.O (the Baptist organization) wouldn’t write it. Sadly, the system here is very corrupt and it’s hard for justice to reign.

Normally, after relaying these long stories, the people who would ask me how I was doing would be satisfied and I could go back to lying in bed staring at my mosquito net. I knew I should be feeling feelings, but I didn’t. There was too much. It was bewildering. One on hand, I should be scared for my dad who was in trouble and could go to jail, but he wasn’t scared and didn’t feel like they had the authority to do anything. Then, people who message me would be concerned about Dad and confused on what on earth was going on. My own personal experience of the injustice and criminal activity of the DGM kept bobbing to the surface. There were so many should and ought to feel this way and that. But I didn’t. It didn’t feel real. I couldn’t feel anything towards it.

But there were some highlights to the retreat we had, the main one for me was having Jonathan and Lydia here. Jonathan is another MK, we met back at Greenlake a year ago, but didn’t really get to know each other until we moved here. He is working in Kinshasa with the famous Aunt Katherine and Uncle Wayne Niles. Aunt Katherine was a former Fountain. He visit here every so often to hang out at retreats, work, and jump into the Kwilu, usually from 30 feet in air, hanging from a branch! Lydia is MK who lives in Kinshasa as well. She’s in a very similar situation as me and we’ve become fast friends! The three of us would spend hours, after the retreat was over sitting on a porch swing talking about everything under sun. We connected in ways that I think is unique to us. I am so thankful for them and their beautiful souls!

Just the sunset from our yard...

P.S. I’m sorry this was so late. I had it all written up and was waiting to post it on Wednesday, but life got busy, I turned 18 and we’re all getting ready for the big inauguration of the salle technique at ISTM, the nursing school. 

When the Lonely Meet

Lonely. Surrounded by tons of people. But. Lonely.

A People Person. Surrounded by tons of people. But. Searching.

Talkative. Surrounded by tons of people. But. Quiet.

An Extrovert. Surrounded by tons of people. But. Introverting.

Lonely. Surrounded by tons of people. But. Lonely.

Until…

               

Together. Two Women. And. Together.

The smell of beignets. Two Women. And. Conversation.

Luku* Learning. Two Women. And. Laughter.

Italian Culture. Two Women.  And.  Discoveries.

Together. Two Women. And. Together

Wait, details…

Lila. My Friend. She’s. A Nurse.

Dark Red Hair. My Friend. She’s. Congolese.

God-loving. My Friend. She’s. Encouraging.

Kituba. My Friend. She’s. Teaching.

Lila. My Friend. She’s. Lila

Ahhh, but…

Hard. New Friendships. Are. Work.

Language. New Friendships. Are. Difficult.

 Sharing. New Friendships. Are. Touchy.

Slow. New Friendships. Are. A Snail.

Hard. New Friendships. Are. Work.

*Luku—A traditional Congolese food also known as FuFu.

Are you smiling??

Of course!!!

A Walking, White, Dollar Sign

          “Are you single or married?” asks the tall, slender nursing student with a thin mustache. We are standing beside sandy path in front of male nurse’s dorm. We had, just a moment ago, been talking quite normally. I hesitate not sure if I should tell the truth, very Christian-like…..

“Uh, single; but I am too young to get married. I am not getting married for a long time, several years from now. I am too young, now.” I explain, waving my arms, avoiding eye contact.

              
          Pause. Let me stop here and explain a little about Congolese culture. As far as I understand it, the age that a girl is ripest for marriage is 18. 18! At that point, if you are interested in a girl, you voice your interest. If the girl accepts, you must go to her parents and talk about the bride price. You save up and once you pay the price, you can continue with the proper procedures to get married. There's no real official dating period, you're friends, maybe, and then you get married. Okay, play.

               
          He scratches his head, “Oh hmm, that’s interesting. So, I am looking for a wife.” At this point, I kind of have an idea where this might be heading and start shifting from one foot to another. I hear a goat’s death-like baaa in the distance.

 I smile as I slowly back away, “Oh really, how nice!!!”

 He interrupts, trying to get to the point before I disappeared “And I was thinking…”

“Oh, No, no, no!! There is so many girls here!!!” I say, gesturing around to the village. Now, I turn and start walking. “But!” I swat the air, “Nah, nah, nah!”

               
          That was the first of many similar “proposals.” Men of different ages, from different parts of the village, and different life situations tell me they're looking for a wife. They never come straight out and ask me the actual question, they just kind of lead up to it and by that time I’m gone.

          “Mbote.” (hello) An older man says to Sydney as we’re walking on a sandy path next to a football (aka soccer) field.

          I look at Syndey, “Pesa Papa mbote, Sydney!” (Say hello to papa)

 She puts out her hand, “Bote!” He turns to me, I notice that he’s probably in his 30s,

          “What’s her name?”

I looking down at Sydney whose on my hip, “Sydney. Her name is Sydney.”

          He looks at her and smiles with a bit toothless grin, “Ahhh, Yney. And you?”

I look at him, “Me, my name is Nancy.” We shake hands.

          “Are you her mother?”

I laugh, “No, I watch her while her parents are working. She’s like my niece.”

          “Ah, I see, I see and are you married?”

I pause, not again…”Yes, I am.” (I promise you, my parents didn't teach me to lie.)

          “Ah, okay, how many kids do you have?”

“None yet, but I have Sydney, she’s like my niece.”

          “Yes, yes, well, I am looking for a wife.”

 I sigh, seriously. “That’s great, but I am already married.”

          “Yes, but I am looking for a wife.”

I start turning away wanting to get away from him, “Well, Sydney’s very tired, we have to go.”                      “But…”
“Nah, nah, nah, we must go, I’m sorry.” I say as I swat the humid air.

          This didn’t make much sense to me while I walked home, but then later, Ryan explained it to me. Polygamy is a thing here. That may have been it, or it may have been he didn't understand why I would be married and not have any kids... Every time, I’ve seen him since then, he’s been very demanding and scowls at me.

               
          Why aren’t you flattered Nancy? Why are so frustrated and annoyed at these men? Because these men don’t know anything about me. Because some of them only know my name because a kid just told him.  Because they know nothing about my personality; they don’t know how I love to laugh uncontrollably, but I don’t often. Because they don’t how I love to eat good food with good friends and share stories. They don’t know how I long to heal the pain of the world and that I feel it pressing on my heart everyday. They don’t how many sisters I have or that I have “adopted” siblings. They don’t know me. They only know that my skin is white; which is thought of as beautiful and associated with intelligence. They only know that my skin is white; which means I have money. They only know that my skin is white; which means I have opportunities. My skin is white. That’s all.

               
          It’s about my skin. It’s literally skin-deep. It’s actually feels more like an insult than anything else. It’s just frustrating, I would have liked to get to know these guys, to be friends or at least acquaintances; but I’m just a resource to them, not much more. I am a walking, white dollar sign.

               
          Now, whenever I walk past “hot spots” places where I know they are a lot of men who have or are likely to propose, I walk fast. I don’t want to dawdle and take my time because no matter how nicely it starts, it always ends up with the same, “I am looking for a wife.” thing.

               
          Last night, I was walking with Shannon and Sydney back to their house. We were walking past the white dorm buildings again. The same young nursing student called out to me from his seat on a bench next to the path. “Why do you always walk past here so fast?”

          “Because I am always late.”(Very white-rabbit-from-Alice-in-Wonderland-y) I reply slowing down a bit. (This time I'm not lying, I promise)

          “Late for what!? This is not friendly, it’s not nice!!” (Now, it’s important to remember here, that I am in Africa and being late and time have little importance here. Relationships are key. At the time, I kind of forgot about culture differences…)

          I spin around, heat springing to my face, he’s calling me a liar, “I am late because I have to watch Sydney while her parents are working!”

          “Ah, no!!!! This is not nice!!” I spin back around, I couldn’t say another word. I continued on to the Potter's with tears in my eyes.

           Cultural differences are hard, ya’ll. They are very hard. It’s a learning experience. With God’s help, I hope to learn slowly. Sometimes I can laugh about it, but sometimes I have to cry about it. Please keep me in your prayers as today, I must go talk to the nursing student and explain why acted as I did and apologize. It won’t be easy, but then again sometimes things aren't…

P.S. I don’t know of these guy’s names.

I think this photo pretty accurately explains how I feel right.

......ESPECIALLY in Africa

     I scream, you scream, we all SCREAM for ice cream ESPECIALLY in Africa.We had our first experiment in making ice cream here in Vanga!! We made both vanilla and chocolate/peanut butter! Aunt Katherine had brought some heavy whipping cream from Kinshasa with her and voila ice cream!!!! It was delicious, the perfect frozen treat!!! It didn't quite have the same texture as ice cream, but if you mixed the vanilla and chocolate/peanut together you got pretty close!!! We hopefully will be making it again soon!!!

Peanut Butter and Chocolate Ice Cream!

Vanilla Full-Creme Ice Cream Flakes

We LOVE ice cream!!!! GAHHHHhhhhhhhh!!!!

Here's the two mixed together!!

Memories and Minutes

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty five thousand moments, oh dear
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

            525,600 minutes, that's how long it's been since I moved away from the States; And so much has happened! Moving to France, traveling through Europe, learning French, meeting awesome people, cutting my hair off, getting my nose pierced, moving to Congo, seeing Vanga for the first time, feeling a baby inside the womb for the first time, and so on. It's been a year of growing for me, a year of learning and a year of adventure!! I am so blessed to have made such new, great, lasting friendships and to have old friends come visit me as well as family!! I loved all the weekend trips I took with my one-of-a-kind parents!! These last 365 days, I have learned more about my parents than ever before and they have become my friends. It hasn't been all peaches and cream (although that does sound good in this African heat) there were plenty of trials and there are now and will be, but with God's, my parent's and my many, many wonderful friends I made it through and will continue too!!! It has been one of the best 12 months of my life and I hope to have many more just as full of adventure, travel and amazing people!! Here's some photos that I haven't posted yet, because well....the internet isn't great, I wanted to post more but well.... the internet.

Heidi and I at my French Language School Graduation!! She has great taste in coffee, music and movies!!! (I mean what else matters.....)

Greg and I saying a final goodbye. It has been the worst part about the last 12 months.

The past 365 days, Heidi and Roxy (aka Charity) have shown me some of the best films including V for Vendetta!!

Guarana Antarctica, the best soda, shout out to Jonathan who introduced me on my birthday!

Yay for Gecko friends and Megan friends who make moving much better!

High on the happiness of traveling and adventuring!

Irene and I, Irene is one of my friends here in Vanga; we're still working through cultural differences including smiling in pictures!! 

Thank you for all of you have followed my wanderings and have supported me through all of it with kind word, prayers and well-timed Skype calls!!!

Wanted One French Alps City, Goes by the Alibi Albertville

Our visit to Paris!!

This is a journal entry I wrote a couple of days ago, while I was in Kinshasa. I found myself surprisingly homesick and wrote about what I was missing. Here it is, with some edits and additions for clarification!

Today, I was looking at a toy camera that the Lind Kids’ got in Paris and each time you pushed the shutter button, it would show pictures from Paris. Oddly, when I saw them, I got homesick….it’s not like we lived there or even visited often; but there was something about it that made me miss France.

Last picture in Albertville

 

Most of all, I miss the people, our short time with those people in Albertville. I miss my classmates, who made class fun and the talk of cockroaches ever-present! J I miss Greg’s love of limes and sassy comments, Tom and Melissa’s shared coffee, Rachael’s perfectly understandable notes, Bryant’s love of brownies in yogurt containers, Patrick’s stories of his son’s eating habits, Donette’s healthy in-class snacks, Susan and Melissa’s unintentional matching outfits and Nathan’s good explanations. I miss my friends there (this not extensive, if it was you’d be here for quite a while). I miss Jonathan’s amazing guitar playing, Sarah’s sarcasm, Amanda’s always available hugs, Heidi’s sassy spunk, Roxy’s listening and presents (not the gift kind), Julia’s love of Gilmore Girls, Pascal’s readiness to go, Emma’s art talent, and Naomi’s silliness! I miss Anne and her laugh, her cough. I miss her gentle corrections and quick smile. I miss living in such a close-knit community.

Family Friend Photo

I miss my friends there who didn’t go to the language school. Our language partners, David and Isabelle, who are sweet, kind and hospitable. Roxanne, Fanny and Anaelle and our laughing and observing. Allen, I miss him too with his warm smile and quick bisou. His constant compliments. His commenting on my Savoyard accent with his Savoyard accent.

Hiking in Albertville

I miss being a hop away from Sydney. I miss walks to the clear, swift river. I miss ConFlans (our medieval city). I miss being a courtyard away from my friends. I miss quick internet and plenty of pillows. (Not sure where that came from…) I miss having full #CongoTeam dinners and bringing baked goods down a flight of stairs to the Linds. I miss boulangeries and delicious cheese.

I miss my coffee shop. The Wednesdays I spent there with Heidi and Roxy and our frappes. I miss Tuesday night movie nights with stellar movies and delicious “lemonade.” I miss night walks. I miss the lights of my city from way up high. The way they glowed and reminded me to look up at the many stars up above. I miss cooking and being able cook several course meals from Julia Child’s cookbook. For euro prices that I can understand and little grocery shops. My heart aches for it.

Albertville at night!

Albertville won’t ever be the same and, honestly, I’ll probably never go back. Maybe, but it’s not an easy place to get to. I had my little stay there. I was put there at the right time with the right people. I love my Albertville. It is my home. St. Louis don’t worry so are you, but now I have 2 homes. Soon, I’m sure another will be added, but Vanga hasn’t felt like home, yet; but it will come with time, it will come.

Playing with Mama

But there are tastes of Albertville here, tastes that make moving easier. The Linds are just a short MAF plane ride away and the Potters are just a walk across the village. Both families have been to our home in St. Louis, our apartment in Albertville and our house in Vanga, they’re our family and friends here and I am so very thankful to have them so close.

I spy a Lindian!

The Strange Predicament of Being Called Nounou

     "My highlight is probably finally being here, it's just so nice after years of preparation to final be at the finish line; to actually know what we were working towards. Another thing that's been really nice is finally knowing what I'm going to do with my gap year, at least for the most part. Working for my Aunt Rebecah, doing YWAM, looking at universities...I just have a clearer plan, which is nice. The only problem is that means I have to realize that in May, I'll be leaving." I turned to the wall, hiding my face from the others around the dinner table. I look over at Sydney whose playing beside the table, smiling up at me. "It's hard because I really want to a part of..." I cover my eyes with my hands, and stop, unable to continue. I pull my hand away, wet. "I just really want Sydney to remember me, I want to be part of her life." Now tears are just pouring down my cheeks, and as I look over, Shannon's checks are also wet. "It's hard because she's so young and she probably won't remember me. And yeah, I am going to try and visit, but it's not...." I can't go on. "She'll remember you, when kids have big life changing events when they're young they usually remember something. I remember when I moved when I was 3." I nodded, "Yeah, that's true.... And I am going to try and see you whenever you guys are in the states, no matter where ya'll are at. If you guys end up staying here, then when I visit my family, I can also visit you. Leaving and having to say goodbye to Sydney is definitely my lowlight."
     This is my predicament for all of Sydney's life, I've lived in the same city. I met her as a sweet red-headed newborn, a day after she'd been born, in the hospital. I held her in my arms the second day of her life and I've held her for many after. For the first 10 months of her life, I would watch her whenever and as much as they needed me to, which wasn't very much. I was still a part of her life, able to get to her with a 15 minute drive. Then, our families moved. I watched her 4 days a week and saw her everyday, all day, as she only had to crawl and then later on walk, across a hallway to get my house. Then, our families moved once again, this time to Congo. It was a big transition on many front, instead of being 3 steps from each other, we are now a 10 minute walk. Our commute is now 10 x longer than it was in France. But I also saw another transition happening, somewhat undetected during our larger transition, I saw Sydney transition from baby to toddler. It had already started happening even before I realized it, but as I saw her running around the airports while waiting for flights, I knew it had happened. We've been through quite a few big transitions. But we won't always go through transitions together. We won't always live in the same city. I have to go university at some point, live on my own and get a job. I won't always be able to touch that beautiful, round, toddler face. I won't always be able to mess with her spunky, red curls, that I promise she gets from me. I won't always be able to get an extra-tight squeeze and a sweet kiss from my little Fraggle. And that breaks my heart. Honestly, it breaks my heart. I love her with all my heart, no matter what. I want you to know that, Sydney. Someday, when you can read, I'll show you this, so you can know how much your Nounou loves you. I will always be here for you whether or not we live in the same city. I will always be ready to Skype or message you. I will always want to give you advice on things that you're struggling with. I love you, my darling. You will always be my Sydney Fraggle and I will always be your Nounou.

In a Whirlwind

In a whirlwind of travel and friends it’s hard for reality to set in; but it’s still there lurking in the dark corner of your mind, waiting for those quiet moments to creep onto center stage. It’s the time when you’re awake in bed, it’s when there’s a lull in the CARversation, and even when you’re sitting on the toilet, that the show starts. The reality that I had to leave my home, again. That even though I love Albertville and all the mountains and boulangeries, I still have to leave. In the past 10 months, I have made so many friends, real friends, friends who understand the nooks and crannies of the transitions I am currently going through. The worst thing is that I had to leave them, our friendships had to shift and make adjustments that all long-distance friendships have to make. Adjustment that make my stomach turn inside out. I knew my time in Albertville would be short, that I would eventually have to leave, have to say those sickening goodbye; but even though I possessed that knowledge, I still made friends with some of the most down-to-earth, caring people. I sit here and they are sitting there, around the rest of the world. We were blown by our predetermined life plans, scattered, regardless of our wishes. Basically, goodbyes are the worst. I hate them, just like every other person, I think. In reality, I probably won’t see these people again, we’re all over the world, which made the goodbyes extremely hard. I will try very hard to keep in contact with these awesome people, but it’s a two-way street and Africa doesn’t always have great internet. I am very thankful for those who are working with me to continue our friendship. I love you guys!

Throughout our travels, I would get stuck on these feelings; and then I would look to what was next for me. Honestly, the next step in my life is very blurry. I saw where I was going, Congo, but I hadn’t ever been there or even to Africa. I didn’t have the security of knowing what it would be like. Yes, I had been told many stories about Kinshasa and about Vanga, but that only goes so far. It’s hard to leave something so good, so amazing, and head to something unknown.

Along with all the other great things about living in France, learning French was one! French has been so useful, here in Congo. Sure, it would be great if I also knew Lingala and, maybe some Kituba, but hey… I am able to actually talk with the two Congolese pastors that stayed at our house in St. Louis! We are able to understand and when I don’t know a word or have trouble understanding them, they are very patient. I think my hours of stressing out over exams and class actually sort of paid off!!

One day while we were in Kinshasa, we went and visited one of the schools that New City Fellowship supports. The school is run by Papa David and has around 200 students in it.        When we arrived we talked with Papa David and some of the other pastors; but the longer we talked the more little heads peeked over the gate. After a bit, the students came in the schoolyard and sat, watching us talk. Finally, Papa David turned to them and invited them to come meet us. Smiling, they trotted over to shake hands.  Mom taught them a simple hand-slapping games, which they liked even though the rules were a bit foggy. Megan and I picked up the cue and started playing with the others. After a few games of muddle hands, we evolved it into a simpler version. The kids, then sang along, both in English, French and Lingala. It was a fun time of connecting with the kids and loving on them. This is the sort of thing I hope to be able to do, to touch the lives of kids in tough situations, whether it’s in Africa, France or America. I want to be able to use my talents and passions to help out others. I hope that my time here in Africa will be a way for God to open the door to touching people’s lives. Sometimes I feel like I don’t have anything to bring to the table. I feel that way a lot, and it’s in those times that I have to a remember moments like this; moments that feel small to me, but bring smiles to other people’s faces.

I walk down the dusty street surrounded by my family. We are walking to a Kinshasa missionary’s house. We past many staring faces, up ahead a policeman/solider/guard is talking to another man. My dad who is walking in front of me says good evening to the man as he walks away from policeman, the conversation apparently over. As the man passes, I say good evening and he nods to me politely. My dad passes the policeman and with a burst of American forgetfulness, I say good evening to him as well. He turns, looking me up and down, smiling.. gahh, bad idea…. “Eh mama, mwa! Good evening to you! Mmmn, you are so beautiful, eh.” I look down at my feet and continue on. Sadly, this was the normal in Kinshasa, anywhere Megan or I would go. And no, for all who say it’s flattering for women to get catcalled, it’s not. The only reason we were catcalled was because of our skin color. It’s the one lowlight of being in Kinshasa, and that’s the honest truth.

A couple of nights ago, the Linds and us reunited for the first time since we said goodbye at the Kinshasa airport. O Poeta (a pizza restaurant in Kinshasa), screaming kids, and hair trimming were all done. We got to see their wonderful, “spacious” new home and catch up on all that had happened that week. It also meant saying goodbye again and this time not just for a week. It was going all fine when just as the others were getting into the car. Axel (who is notorious for only wanting his parents to hold him) reached out for me. I took him and gave him a big hug; and as I tried to give him back to Lisa (his mom) he started fussing and trying to hold onto me. It was such a precious, heart wrenching moment. I turned away, hearing him scream and whine as I left. I turned around, tears falling and saw that it wasn’t just Axel and I who were crying, but Lisa also. Goodbyes are hard, especially to family.

Vanga, I saw you, first, from hundreds of meters away, up in the sky. You were small and large at the same time. Your palm trees blanketing the sandy ground with green, purple orchids adding polka dots of color. I saw your river, brown and alive. Smoke rising from fires and fields. I saw your hospital welcoming us, as every other traveler, with the double “HI!” Your people hearing and seeing the small MAF plane, looking up and waving; some breaking into a run heading towards the airport. I see what I am told is my home peeking through the trees; a flash of white among the green. The sandy ground gets closer, reaching out to hug the plane. A gentle nudge and we’re suddenly slowing down. Enchanté, Vanga!

Yesterday while the adults were having a meeting, Megan and I watched Sydney at the Potters house. We were running around the yard, chasing one another and soon enough there were little black fingers and eyes peeking through the gate. We went over and introduced ourselves; Megan started a impromptu game of catch with the big, flat, shiny pits lying on the ground. Soon enough, there were 20 kids playing and laughing and having a grand time. After a while new kids would come and old kids would leave, it was a never-ending cycle of kids. Mamas and Papas would stop and smiling watching us interact and play with the kids. It was here that I met, Irene, a French speaking woman who is probably a little older than me. We talked and talked while watching the kids, at this point I was holding Sydney who had gotten too tired and overwhelmed. The kids would ask her question every once in a while in Lingala or Kituba. She would then translate their questions into French, so that I could answer them. Once it started getting dark, I told her we had to go to which she replied, “Let’s go then, I’ll walk with you.” The four of us, then set out towards our house, but we made a detour to her house. There we met her mother and got to see where she lived. The rest of the way home we talked about everything, from cutting Megan’s hair off so that Irene could have to getting catcalled to Kinshasa! I can’t wait to talk to her again!!

For the second day in a row, we threw on our swimsuits and jumped into the Kwilu River. After a long day of unpack and toddler chasing, it’s just the refreshing thing you need.  Sydney got to float down the current with her new lifejacket. The water was slightly cold and murky, we saw thousands of hippos in their annual migration to South Africa. But first they had to give hugs to the local villager, Qkuah Mudelele. But in reality, there were no hippo sightings, maybe next tomorrow….

AND NOW A SHORT ANOUNCEMENT FROM MEGAN: Gecko friends are highly prevalent. High ratings on the cuteness scale; 68.9. They like to stick on the ceiling but don’t seem to want to converse with us… or be associated with us in any way… when I waved to one in a friendly manner it then proceeded to scurry out of sight. Rude. BUT, for some reason I do still believe we are friends. 

Darn Renault Clio

    The car trembled again as I looked to the trees. "It's not the wind, that's shaking our car." I said to Alison and Julia. "And you're sure I'm not somehow causing it?" Alison asked looking around our rental car. "No, it's not you. We should pull over." I replied as Alison pulled into a pharmacy parking lot. Then we heard it, the terrible tick, it was coming from our engine and I knew I had to call someone. I got out of the car, trying to locate exactly what and where the sound was. I pulled my phone out and dialed in Dad's number. No answer. I called Mom's. No answer. Thankfully though, we live in an apartment building filled with other students; and I was able to call our downstairs superhero, Matthew, who got me connected with Dad.

Dad: Hello? What's going on?
Me: Hey Dad.... It's Nancy. Um, it looks like we put unleaded in our diesel car... We just filled up about 15 minutes ago, we thought our car took unleaded, so we filled it up and kept driving. But our car keeps shaking and now we hear this terrible ticking from the front of our car.... Are we going to die?
Dad: Well, that's not good. No, you aren't going to die, but you do need to get the diesel out of the gas tank. (Here he went into the reasons why our car was shaking and making the terrible ticking.) You should call Hertz and figure out what they want you to do. You might be able to siphon the gas out of the tank, but I'm not sure. It might also be good to try and get to the nearest service station if you can.
Me: Okay, I'll see if we can find one and call Hertz. Talk to you in a minute.

     So here we are, on the outskirts of Marseilles, France, with our broken rental car on a hot Saturday afternoon. I found the Hertz emergency number and called them next. I then proceeded to talk with the Hertz employee for 5 minutes explaining our situation; but when He asked for specific information about our rental agreement, I hung up. Being a Rice, I wanted to make sure that we had exhausted all cheaper options, before going through Hertz. Then, I received a text from Dad saying that we should find the nearest service station and see if they had a bucket and a hose, so we could try to siphon the gas out of our car.

     Before we headed to the gas station, Alison, Julia and I decided to walk to our hotel which was supposedly just down the street. We walked right to where the GPS said it would be, but all we could find were closed shops. 10 minutes later, we decided that we needed to head to service station.
      "You have arrived at your destination." The GPS, now called George, cheerfully told us. There we were standing in front of a closed gate, we look through the bars, but it didn't look anything like a gas station. Shaking my head, I walked back to the parking lot of the next building where there were two people working on some construction machinery.
     I approached them, trying to calm the butterflies. "Um, bonjour. J'ai une question un peu bizarre." I stuttered, hoping that the workers would be understanding. I continued to explain our predicament: How we needed a bucket and hose, as well as asking where the nearest service station was. Worker #1 turned to Worker #2 who was up on the large machine, relaying my situation and asking where the nearest open gas station was. Worker #2 was unsure which gas stations were open, because as worker #1 told me later, if it's a hot day in France most business will close and go to the beach. Great. The nearest open station was too far to walk. After some dispute, worker #1 said that she could take one person in her car to the nearest gas station. I turned to Alison and Julia and relayed all that had happened. We decided that I should go with Worker #1 because I was the only who was actually taking French classes and I knew the most French. Alison and Julia, in the mean time, would try to find our hotel and meet me at the car after checking in at the hotel. I said goodbye to Alison and Julia and got into the car.

      After about 5 minutes of driving, we passed a service station, as we passed Worker #1 told me, they're at the beach. We continued to pass 2 more gas station that were closed before we reached the one gas station that was opened on Saturday. We went into service store and with the help with Worker #1, I bought 5 liters of diesel. But when I explained again that I needed a hose and large bucket so that I could siphon the gas out, the service station worker laughed at me. "You can't siphon gas out of a rental car, especially a new one. Now, they have protections so people don't steal your gas." I sighed, looking around but there wasn't a hose or bucket even for sale.

    Once I was back with Alison and Julia, I explained all that had happened, but I still had hope of finding the materials we needed to siphon out the gas. I even went to a florist and asked if they had a large bucket that I could buy off them, but I don't think they trusted me and wouldn't sell me one. Finally, we had to face it, we would have to go through Hertz. We had tried to find a cheaper option, but we had exhausted our other option.

     I called Hertz and told them all that happened in a mixture of French and English, because when you push "2" for a representative who speaks English, you really get someone with a thick French accent whose English is really just French. They told me that they would send a tow truck to get our car. Afterwards, a taxi would come get us to take us to the nearest open Hertz office to get our new car. Worker #1 had shown me where our hotel was, so while we waited for the tow truck, Alison went to check in to our hotel which was a 15 minute walk away. The tow truck came and took our car away, unfortunately by that time all the Hertz office were closed except the one at the airport, so we took a 70 euro taxi ride to pick up our new rental car. Finally, after 5 hours of stress, we were able to go to our hotel, after getting lost several times through rush hour Marseilles.

The view from our bnb on Friday night.

     I am glad to report that was the only low light of this past weekend. Alison, Julia and I were on a weekend road trip through the south of France when this happened, but everything worked out. We had that morning seen the beautiful, just blooming lavender fields and driven along beautiful mountain roads. The lavender was a beautiful blue/purple and smelled amazing. We were early enough in the summer that there weren't any other people there, it was just us and the lavender! The next day, we went to Cassis, a cute little town on the the Mediterranean Sea, and relaxed on the beach. It was a wonderful weekend, even with our little hiccup. Alison and Julia, you are both beautiful, wonderful, and great travel buddies. Alison, thanks for having good taste in music and giving us jams to enjoy on our drive. Julia, thanks for putting up with my crazy slap-happy jokes and cracking up too!

Our BNB on Saturday morning

Alison walking by the windmill.

The Windmill

Beautiful, large lavender fields

They smelled so amazing!

I love all the colors!

Candid photo, Alison was just really excited to be there!

Oh, hello, just a little house in the middle of the lavender.

Beautiful little chapel. We were there just in time to here the bells!

Stormy mountains on the way home.

Mountain Shades

Sunset Sunday night!

Sisterhood of the Adventuring Sisters

     A couple of weekends ago, I had the great privilege of getting to spend time with two of my wonderful sisters; it was a time of laughter, tears and a good-ole times! Here are some late picture from their visit, because, like they say, a pictures worth a thousand words. Afterwards, there is a verse inspired by their visit, sorry for the lateness!

What won't a Rice do for a good picture?!

Sister Selfie!

Enjoying fresh orange juice! We Rices, love our orange juice!

      

Sisterhood of the Adventuring Sisters

By Nancy Rice

     Some call us sisters, some call us The Little Women, some call us Those Crazy Rice Kids, but we're actually much more than that. We're once roommates, best friends, co-workers at the Rice's Weirdness Factory. We've seen each other at our best and at our worst. We fight, we tackle-hug, we over share; We are slices in one delicious Diana-made pie. We get each other, in a way no one else can. You are totally yourself around your sisters, you just let it all hang out and know they'll love you anyway. To my sisters who have been there since day one, who have help me learn how to walk, talk and be true to myself, I LOVE YOU!!

   

My Brain is Funny, Weird Place

      Hey ya'll! I know it's been a minute since I've blogged, but well, life gets busy. Luckily for you, I have a two week break and so I should be posting more frequently. This morning, we packed up and drove the 3ish hours to the Mediterranean! We'll be here til Monday! (pictures on Facebook) Anyway, this blog is going to be a rant about a lot of random things I'm passionate about/things I love a lot. If you like my mind and how bizarre it is, then read on!
      First off, I really love dogs. I have always had a pet dog growing up and can I say they are the best ever! They make great vacuum cleaners! For example, if you drop food on the ground, they will gobble that right up, no need to clean the floors! They also are really nice and there are so many different types of dogs! There's basically a type of dog for everyone! Like if you want a little lap dog for to cuddle with, you can get one; if you want a big dog to do awesome snow-sledding with, you can get one! There're just endless possibilities! They are great friends, both of my dogs let me bully them so much. It wasn't even really bullying, just intense love. Like you know, when a toddler sees another toddler they really like, they just have to tackle hug them. (I should know, I hang out with quite a few toddlers now) Well, it's basically the same thing! Dogs are just the best and if you don't have one you should get one! (P.S. I might be missing my dog, Shadow, just maybe)
     Music is probably the best thing ever. No matter how you feel, there is always music to match it! It's also great to study to; I am so much more productive with music! It keeps the boredom away! Also, true fact, listening to Mozart while you study helps you remember it better! Mozart, you genius! Music helps motivate you! It can just get you pumped for anything from a basketball game to doing the dishes! For example, tonight I was hesitant to volunteer to do the dishes, (I know, I am such a terrible person) but then I realized I could listen to music while I did them and was super excited about it! Hooray music! You know who's great to listen to music with.... your dog! They like every type of music and sometimes they sing along!
     Sunset, can we just talk about sunsets?! They are seriously gorgeous! They are better than sunrises, because then you don't have to wake up early to see the sunrise. Plus, after the sunset, you get to see the city lights come on; which is awesome in itself! Sunset are beautiful and there is nothing like them! One of my goals in life is to see sunsets in the most beautiful places on earth. How awesome would that be to travel around the world and experience all the most gorgeous sunsets ever! I mean, it sounds like a good plan to me. We got to see the sunset tonight and it was just beautiful. It set just over the edge of the Mediterranean!  Well, that's all the brain babble for now!

Call me Ezer-kenegdo

     Hey Ya'll! Welcome! I know that it has been quite a long time since I've posted anything, but hey, I am posting now so....yeah. Before I delve into the real meat of this blog, I wanted to give ya'll a heads up; The following is a paper I wrote after I got very interesting in what God's view of women is and if he really views both women and men as equals. It is longer than my usual blog, but it's well worth the read if you have the time. I had such a fun time writing it and if you are interested in talking to me about this, I would love to share my knowledge on the topic! I would like to give a special shout-out Halle Neyens! She was such a help during this process and really got me interested and excited about it! Thank you so much, Halle! I miss you and love you! Anyways, onto the fun reading, I will be posting again soon, I promise! :)

Jesus’ actions show that God holds women higher than society does. The society that Jesus came into, the same one the Bible was written in, looked down on women, considering them worth nothing. The Bible, as well as Jesus, shows astounding love and respect for women within a cultural context. It is very important to read the Bible or any other historical document with the context that it was written in mind. Women must figure out if the God they serve sees them as treasures and equals with men. By looking at God’s care for women in Ancient Jewish times as well as Jesus’ actions in the New Testament, one can begin to understand God’s heart of love for women.

Ancient Jewish culture was very different from present-day America. Thus, we must learn about Ancient Jewish culture in order to understand the context in which the Bible was written. Jewish women had very few rights. The only education women were allowed to get was on how to run a household and raise children. This meant that a woman’s career and life were decided for her. Even her father chose when, why and to whom she married. After that, her husband got to make all the decision in the home. Women were seldom allowed to divorce their husbands; only the man could initiate a divorce. Women were mostly confined to their homes, and if a man was seen talking to a woman in public, he would often be shamed. Jewish men were thought to be superior to women even to the point that they would pray this prayer: “Praise be to God. He has not created me a Gentile. Praise be to God. He has not created me a woman. Praise be to God. He has not created me an ignorant man.” Women, gentiles and ignorance were on the same non-desirable level. Women have been treated as inferior to men since the fall. Even so, God provided for the women living in the context of Ancient Jewish culture.

This context is very important to remember while reading the Old Testament. Just like Sarah Bessey says in her book Jesus Feminist, “I believe it’s misguided, and probably profane, to look at a diverse collection of books written over thousands of years -- history, poetry, law, Gospel accounts, proverbs, correspondence, and other writings -- as absolute literal instructions without context, as we understand them, in all cases” The Bible if taken at face value can look like a blatant display of sexism, but things become clear if the cultural context is considered. The first verse is Genesis 2:18, “The Jehovah God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make a helpmeet for him.”  The key word here is “helpmeet”, which is commonly interpreted that God created Eve only to give Adam a helper worthy of him, someone who was “appropriate for” or “worthy of him” but that is not correct. The word “helpmeet” is translated from the Hebrew words ezer-kenegdo; There are only two contexts where that the word ezer-kenegdo  is used the first is when referring to desperately needed military help. The battle would be lost if this military help did not come. Help is needed desperately. The second context that the word is used in is to describe the Holy Spirit. The word is used to show how the Holy Spirit is our helper, he saves and directs us and without him we would lose the battle. Woman have been given the same name as God! Eve was sent to help Adam because, without her, he wouldn’t make it!

Deuteronomy 25:5 “If brothers are living together and one of them dies without a son, his widow must not marry outside the family. Her husband’s brother shall take her and marry her and fulfill the duty of a brother-in-law to her.” Now, at first glance this often looks like  forced marriage, but in biblical culture this was actually very helpful for widows. In Biblical society, it was very shameful to become a widow and life was hard. Widows couldn’t earn a living and it was very difficult to remarry. They would be impoverished if their parents would not allow them to move back home, and even if they did it was very shameful. Their kids would be taken from them, and they would have no place in society. Therefore, God set up this kind of marriage, called levirate marriage, to help protect the widow, give her purpose and provide for her. Levirate marriage gave her status and financial security.  God had to set up laws like these to help provide and protect women in a culture where women were not viewed highly.

The next verse is Deuteronomy 22:28-29, “If a man happens to meet a virgin who is not pledged to married and rapes her and they are discovered, he shall pay her father fifty shekels of silver. He must marry the young woman, for he has violated her. He can never divorce her as long as he lives.” At first glance, it seems like this verse is forcing a woman marry a man who violated her, but while that is true,  the reason why must be considered. First off, marriage was a big deal and serious financial commitment; A husband must provided for his wife and kids for as long as he’s alive and if he can’t, this is the one time, she is allowed to divorce him. By making the rapist marry his victim, it is making sure he does not get off the hook and go around raping a bunch of woman. This punishes him by making him do what he should have done first and provide for her forever because he is not allowed to divorce her. Ultimately though, a woman’s father has authority over her and has to give permission for her to marry. If the victim’s father doesn’t think the marriage is a good fit, he can forbid them to get married. The biggest problem, though, was virginity was highly prized. It was very difficult for a woman who was not virgin, especially a woman who’s been raped, to find a husband. Thus, if she did not marry her rapist, the woman would probably live desolate and single the rest of her life. God set up this law to provide, for the victim,  if she so chooses, and punish the rapist. This would have hindered rapists. It isn’t ideal but it does make things a little bit easier for the victim and a lot harder for the rapist. Looking at the Canaanite culture, though, this is quite outstanding; The Canaanite religions often were centered around sex, prostitution and rape, so it was shocking to them that Israel actually had consequences for rape and sex outside of marriage. It is so important while reading through the Bible and any other religious text that the culture and context is taken into consideration as one reads. Women were walked over and oppressed until one Man came and gave men an example of how to treat women.  

Who is this man who broke down this injustice? His name is Jesus. His view of women was totally different from anyone who had walked the earth so far. Looking at Jesus’ actions toward women is the best place to figure out God’s view of women, because Jesus is God in the flesh; Jesus’ actions are a direct reflection of God’s view of women. God knew from the fall that he needed to return to earth. He could have chosen any way to return, from lights and angels to just appearing; But he chose to come through a woman as a baby. This way he choose to honor Mary and all women, by giving a woman the task of bringing the Savior into the world! God, in the flesh, came to earth and the first person to know he was coming was a woman. And this delighted God! Throughout Jesus ministry, there are so many women who treasured him and he treasured. He surrounded himself with all sort of marginalised people, sinner, tax collectors, prostitutes, adulteress’, and women! And this delighted God! In John 4 not only was he speaking to a woman in public, but she was a samaritan, a divorcee, an adulteress; she was essentially worse than a gentile; And Jesus talks to her like she’s a human being. Then in Luke 7, a prostitute comes while Jesus is eating and uses expensive perfume and her own tears to clean his feet. She was touching him but instead of being angry and mortified like the Pharisee sitting across from him, he treats her with kindness and love, exalting her above Simon and the Pharisee!

Simon, along with 11 other men, are part of Jesus’ disciples. The disciples are mention quite frequently, but Jesus also had a group of female “disciples” as well. Luke 8:3 says that “these women were helping to support them (Jesus and the disciples) out of their own means” the Greek word used here is διηκονουν which translated means “to serve, wait on, minister to as deacon” so these women were Jesus’ deacons. The women followed Jesus wherever he went, tended to what he needed and played a very important role in his ministry. Jesus treasured them. He invited them to take part of his ministry and join the men in activities, treating them as equals, which was revolutionary at the time. They stayed next to him when the Twelve deserted him. They supported him while he was crucified even while none of the disciples were to be seen witnessing this horrific act done to their Savior. Jesus also chose some of these women to witness probably the most astounding things in Jesus’ ministry. The Marys’ were the first to hear that Jesus had risen from the angel, and they were first to meet the resurrected Christ. In fact, in all the gospels, women are the first to see Jesus after he is risen. Jesus sent women out as the first preachers of the Resurrection-that’s how much he respected and loved them. Jesus chose women who had a low status, instead of the beloved disciples, to experience one of the greatest events in the New Testament.

Ephesians 5:22-24 is one of those verses that the context is needed in order to really understand what is this verse is saying. It says, “Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.” This verse looks terrible but really it honors women. First, people misinterpret and use this verse to make all women obey all men. But if one looks at it, that is not what the verse says at all. It says for wives to submit to their husbands, not any man that happens to know her. And before that Ephesians 5:21 makes it clear that everyone, not just women, are supposed to submit. In this passage, it tells woman to submit to their husbands like the church submits to Christ. Women, like the Church, are called to trust that Christ/husbands want what is best for them and sometimes knows better than they do about what is good for them. Women are supposed to comply with men as the church is to comply with Christ. This is supposed to be a mutual submission and putting the other first. Husbands should be looking for every way possible to serve their wives; While wives should look for every way possible to serve their husbands. Men are supposed be like Christ to their wives by giving up everything they have, everything they want, everything that would directly benefit them and die to themselves and their selfishness in every way possible. Sarah Bessey says, “Christ’s relationship with us as the Church is characterized by his crazy love and sacrificial giving, not power grabbing.” The bar for men has been set a lot higher than for women. Sadly, this verse is often misinterpreted and used to abuse and oppress women, which is not at all what this verse is saying. This verse exalts woman and hold men to a higher standard.

1 Timothy 2:11-14 “A woman should learn in quietness and full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet. For Adam was formed first, then Eve. And Adam was not the one deceived; it was the woman who was deceived and became a sinner.” Context, context, context, it is the key to understand all of these passages! First off, it’s important to know that Jewish worship was solemn and schedule-based. During the time that Paul was writing to Timothy, some women in the church in Ephesus were behaving, speaking, dressing and teaching inappropriately which was making it hard for everyone to learn; Therefore Paul was addressing these issues in this passage. Sarah Bessey reminds us, “He wasn’t assigning superiority to Adam he was just pointing out that Adam; was there first and so had something to teach Eve. She needed to learn she wasn’t inferior, she was ignorant lacking in knowledge. Paul was reminding women that this isn’t an issue of inferiority-to learn with a quiet spirit in humility-as they had much to learn.

Paul wasn’t saying that the women shouldn’t be in the synagogue, but that they shouldn’t be interrupting. The next problem is that the word authority is mistranslated; The Greek word used in this passage is “authentein” and it’s the only time the word is used in the New Testament. The normal, most common word used for “authority” is “exousia” meaning “a carrying out of one’s official duties.” Authentein, at that time period, didn’t mean legitimate or routine authority but had more sexual, violent and dominating tones. Paul wasn’t saying that women don’t have legitimate, godly authority over men; But that they shouldn’t use that power inappropriately. Women, just like men, can lead and have authority over the other sex. Women, just like men, shouldn’t abuse that authority. Women, just like men, are equals.

God treasures women and men equally. He sees how unique and talented each person is and what gifts each brings to His family. He changed the culture towards women by sending Jesus to show men how to treat women, in a loving, kind, respectful way. We see God’s loving care of the women in the Ancient Jewish culture. God provided a way to care and provide for women even in non-perfect ways. Jesus surrounded himself with marginalized people and he was delighted. The Bible shows great respect for women within it’s culture context and Jesus shows women his great adoration during his ministry.