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.