Saturday, November 15, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
Nyiragongo
A little damp, but tucked warmly into my sleeping sack, I began falling asleep to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. A sound I haven’t heard since last summer’s days spent near Lake Michigan. Some argue the sound is the cure-all for sleepless nights, as would a variety of drug companies that produce those sound imitating clocks. I commend the attempts of reincarnation, but lets be honest, no manufactured noisemaker captures such soothing melodies.
The sound waves that were gently rocking me to sleep were unique to themselves. They were heard at 3470m and were accompanied by an orange florescent glow. Their movement and collision with the air produced a warm steam that hovered over us. They were distant, yet my ears fell into the confusion that the shore was only 10 meters away. For those following and aware of the geographical location of DR Congo, you’re probably trying to decipher whether I hitched a ride to one of the oceans for a sunset or at least was resting next to one of the Great Lakes of Africa on a windy night; neither an ocean, nor a great lake; not even a river, but Nyiragongo, the infamous volcano that stands tall in the natural Goma skyline.
Thanks to a few mishaps I was able to spend a couple extra days in Goma where I was taking some R&R and visiting friends from the organization Heal Africa (see below). Though I was anxious to get back to Beni, the planned volcano trip was a very appealing and once in a lifetime opportunity…a unique one. Just a month earlier the volcano was closed due to the conflict that continues to plague the Goma region. It had just reopened a week or two earlier. We began our trek on a late Saturday morning…5km hike, 2km vertical, as indicated by our guide. We were 10, a variety of people from local conservation workers to a traveling journalist to a MONUC civilian employee. A fun and intriguing crew accompanied by porters for water, gear, and a ridiculous feast prepared by a Congolese friend.
The hike itself was worth the day spent. Nyiragongo provides a variety of terrain, including dense forest, volcanic rock slopes, distinctive highland vegetation, and lastly a steep 100-200 meter climb to the crater’s edge. The forest was mystical as a fog gently rolled in and sulfuric steam rose from underground volcanic doors. The only real danger besides slipping and taking a tumble, were the vicious colonies of red ants that would occasionally gather on the forest path…stomp high and fast, if they get you, better strip!
We reached the top just after 5:00PM through a thick, low level cloud. It was a brutal, but beautiful hike, tainted a bit by a group of UN peacekeepers that were also seeking the wonder of the volcano or “out on patrol” as they would proclaim. They didn’t seem to understand what it meant to take your garbage with you, even after a couple polite requests and a few scoldings. Nonetheless, we all arrived safely and to the noise of the volcanic lake situated some 250 meters deep in the crater. The lake itself could not be seen, but the lava reflected an orange glow off of its nebulous vapors. We set camp quickly as the temperature dropped and a light rain began. We had just enough space to situate our tents comfortably between the crater’s edge and the steep slope. Since the view was limited we all nestled in one of the bigger tents for warming drinks, chapatti, chicken, and beef; not to forget entertaining conversation.
No one wanted to miss the opportunity to see the rare lake itself. So, a couple people stayed up late and would periodically check throughout the night. Two times I awoke to the yelling, “You can see it, everyone come!” And indeed you could. Fierce, scorching waves of lava would boil up or crash against the blackened shore. The sounds that helped me fall asleep bounced off the towering crater walls. The early morning hours brought with it a different look. The light from the early sun seemed to battle the intensity of the lava’s blaze, bestowing a purple haze. And, as hours passed by, the daylight eventually took control and cleared out any low level clouds providing a vivid view of the smoldering sea and the forgotten land that encircled us. We stood entranced by this spectacle and those with cameras found it quite difficult to put them away.
The descent was equally rewarding as the day before, perhaps a little harsh on the already fatigued legs. Still, I found time to admire the surroundings both near and far. Unfortunately, even high up on Nyriagongo you can’t escape the realities that lie in the valleys below. As we surpassed the halfway point, my eyes were captured not only by beauty of the terrain, but also the cluster of UN tagged roof tarps that covered hundreds of temporary homes. An IDP camp was visible in the distance. The same camp I believe I had visited a few days earlier and where children rushed to grab our hands and pet my “fur”. I asked a few of them where they came from…Masisi…where war continues to rage and people flee their homes from death, destruction, and the weapon of sexual violence. When you allow your mind to reencounter the reasons such a massive number of people are gathered together, their experiences, your stomach tightens for a brief moment, and disbelief, no matter how long you lived near such suffering, is revisited.
As our group descended the volcano, five of us pushed ahead and ended up resting at a midway point. We waited for the others to catch up, even grew concerned after awhile. When they arrived and we realized everything was ok, one of my companions asked what took so long. They responded, “We were having discussion on how to solve the problems that plague DR Congo.” My friend Cristina asked, “What did you come up with?” Their response, “Leadership.” This comment has echoed in my head since and gives me further encouragement, assurance, and understanding that the work and vision initiated through CI-UCBC is not only unique, but a highly-needed initiative to provide peace, reconciliation, healing, and development to DR Congo.
During my time in Goma I toured the different projects of Heal Africa. A solid and well respected organization that provides a holistic approach to healing the results of war, specifically sexual violence. We visited transition homes where healing victims learned to sew, bake bread, and prepare soap for micro-enterprises; Mawi Hai (Living Stones) agriculture production area, the hospital, and Healing Arts Center. The organization makes a significant and crucial impact in healing the wounds that have been caused from the ravaging war. Please visit www.healafrica.org.
When I first arrived in Goma, we headed over to Yole!Africa to watch a sort of “battle of the bands” featuring young, local hip hop artists and musicians. Through my time in Goma, I had the opportunity to spend time with the artists and the founders of Yole!Africa. The organization promotes expression through the arts (photography, film, and music) for the purpose of healing, advocacy, and culture. It is unique to the city of Goma and an incredible outlet for the youth and street children. You can read more about the group at www.baobabconnections.org.
The sound waves that were gently rocking me to sleep were unique to themselves. They were heard at 3470m and were accompanied by an orange florescent glow. Their movement and collision with the air produced a warm steam that hovered over us. They were distant, yet my ears fell into the confusion that the shore was only 10 meters away. For those following and aware of the geographical location of DR Congo, you’re probably trying to decipher whether I hitched a ride to one of the oceans for a sunset or at least was resting next to one of the Great Lakes of Africa on a windy night; neither an ocean, nor a great lake; not even a river, but Nyiragongo, the infamous volcano that stands tall in the natural Goma skyline.
Thanks to a few mishaps I was able to spend a couple extra days in Goma where I was taking some R&R and visiting friends from the organization Heal Africa (see below). Though I was anxious to get back to Beni, the planned volcano trip was a very appealing and once in a lifetime opportunity…a unique one. Just a month earlier the volcano was closed due to the conflict that continues to plague the Goma region. It had just reopened a week or two earlier. We began our trek on a late Saturday morning…5km hike, 2km vertical, as indicated by our guide. We were 10, a variety of people from local conservation workers to a traveling journalist to a MONUC civilian employee. A fun and intriguing crew accompanied by porters for water, gear, and a ridiculous feast prepared by a Congolese friend.
The hike itself was worth the day spent. Nyiragongo provides a variety of terrain, including dense forest, volcanic rock slopes, distinctive highland vegetation, and lastly a steep 100-200 meter climb to the crater’s edge. The forest was mystical as a fog gently rolled in and sulfuric steam rose from underground volcanic doors. The only real danger besides slipping and taking a tumble, were the vicious colonies of red ants that would occasionally gather on the forest path…stomp high and fast, if they get you, better strip!
We reached the top just after 5:00PM through a thick, low level cloud. It was a brutal, but beautiful hike, tainted a bit by a group of UN peacekeepers that were also seeking the wonder of the volcano or “out on patrol” as they would proclaim. They didn’t seem to understand what it meant to take your garbage with you, even after a couple polite requests and a few scoldings. Nonetheless, we all arrived safely and to the noise of the volcanic lake situated some 250 meters deep in the crater. The lake itself could not be seen, but the lava reflected an orange glow off of its nebulous vapors. We set camp quickly as the temperature dropped and a light rain began. We had just enough space to situate our tents comfortably between the crater’s edge and the steep slope. Since the view was limited we all nestled in one of the bigger tents for warming drinks, chapatti, chicken, and beef; not to forget entertaining conversation.
No one wanted to miss the opportunity to see the rare lake itself. So, a couple people stayed up late and would periodically check throughout the night. Two times I awoke to the yelling, “You can see it, everyone come!” And indeed you could. Fierce, scorching waves of lava would boil up or crash against the blackened shore. The sounds that helped me fall asleep bounced off the towering crater walls. The early morning hours brought with it a different look. The light from the early sun seemed to battle the intensity of the lava’s blaze, bestowing a purple haze. And, as hours passed by, the daylight eventually took control and cleared out any low level clouds providing a vivid view of the smoldering sea and the forgotten land that encircled us. We stood entranced by this spectacle and those with cameras found it quite difficult to put them away.
The descent was equally rewarding as the day before, perhaps a little harsh on the already fatigued legs. Still, I found time to admire the surroundings both near and far. Unfortunately, even high up on Nyriagongo you can’t escape the realities that lie in the valleys below. As we surpassed the halfway point, my eyes were captured not only by beauty of the terrain, but also the cluster of UN tagged roof tarps that covered hundreds of temporary homes. An IDP camp was visible in the distance. The same camp I believe I had visited a few days earlier and where children rushed to grab our hands and pet my “fur”. I asked a few of them where they came from…Masisi…where war continues to rage and people flee their homes from death, destruction, and the weapon of sexual violence. When you allow your mind to reencounter the reasons such a massive number of people are gathered together, their experiences, your stomach tightens for a brief moment, and disbelief, no matter how long you lived near such suffering, is revisited.
As our group descended the volcano, five of us pushed ahead and ended up resting at a midway point. We waited for the others to catch up, even grew concerned after awhile. When they arrived and we realized everything was ok, one of my companions asked what took so long. They responded, “We were having discussion on how to solve the problems that plague DR Congo.” My friend Cristina asked, “What did you come up with?” Their response, “Leadership.” This comment has echoed in my head since and gives me further encouragement, assurance, and understanding that the work and vision initiated through CI-UCBC is not only unique, but a highly-needed initiative to provide peace, reconciliation, healing, and development to DR Congo.
During my time in Goma I toured the different projects of Heal Africa. A solid and well respected organization that provides a holistic approach to healing the results of war, specifically sexual violence. We visited transition homes where healing victims learned to sew, bake bread, and prepare soap for micro-enterprises; Mawi Hai (Living Stones) agriculture production area, the hospital, and Healing Arts Center. The organization makes a significant and crucial impact in healing the wounds that have been caused from the ravaging war. Please visit www.healafrica.org.
When I first arrived in Goma, we headed over to Yole!Africa to watch a sort of “battle of the bands” featuring young, local hip hop artists and musicians. Through my time in Goma, I had the opportunity to spend time with the artists and the founders of Yole!Africa. The organization promotes expression through the arts (photography, film, and music) for the purpose of healing, advocacy, and culture. It is unique to the city of Goma and an incredible outlet for the youth and street children. You can read more about the group at www.baobabconnections.org.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Disjointed Thoughts from an Operation Room
Her arm handled as a fragile piece of art, infectious flesh waiting to be removed, pieces missing. I slowly let go of her hand with her nod of approval as the doctors proceed. Curtain sheets close and dangle loosely on a string. I wait on a stool in the center of a dim operation room. Her screams pierce more than my eardrums. Her mother sits outside shaken, far from the scene. Her father was laid to rest a few years ago after discovering all his businesses were looted during the war. His heartbeat stopped due to the flood of anxiety and stress that followed. I periodically glance at the door, but remain, as if my responsibility has become father-like or my lonely presence means something…
Challenges arise fueling frustrations. Suffering. Pain. News displays war, Iraq, Afghanistan, food crisis, economic slowdowns, protests, and political upheaval. Oppression. Conflicts based on pride, power, selfishness, and vengeful traditions spurge on. Congo’s vast resources raped again. News forgets to display other significant events because George W Bush made some jokes. Southern televangelist with her perfected faux hair, dress neatly pressed, painted face, diamond jewelry makes distorted and empty promises in exchange for seeking hearts and money. Gospel of wealth battles Gospel of truth…no? Am I wrong to be disturbed? Close friend loses his father back home. Will she be alright, is she alright? Malaria round 2. Home…seems foreign and distant. Realization that I’ll be a foreigner in a land I’m supposed to know. In the same moment of thought, I take a deep breath, and try to swallow the tough texture of my own bitterness, my own pride, and my own ignorance.
Is my presence on this stool, in this room, in this town, in this country, on this continent of significance? Is this about me, or Him? Self-righteousness or the true righteousness I wish to seek? Am I contained in a moment that repetitiously sleeps and awakes in the incomprehensible plan we hear and believe. Is this moment to be questioned by me or someone other than me. No…
Congolese grandmother, a saint in these eyes, enters the room to pray for the ill American who finds it easy to “curse his whiteness” and culture. Students surround their injured classmate in community. Visit their teachers. They are courageous, trusting, combating a century old mentality. Conversations focus on how THEY can be transformed and thus bring change to their country. A respected and beloved leader travels far from where his heart is to share an indescribable account and divine work. Doctor friend remains in his country to serve, treating the worse of tragedies in unparallel conditions. Another returns to the hospital in which he witnessed ruthless bloodshed and destruction. Constantly balancing responsibilities, he returns to his home and family, embracing his daughters as loving fathers should. “Fundamentally good” Academic dean, talented beyond belief, humbly pours himself into others. Local UN battalion reaches out. Reconciliation and transformation exists.
Laughing, writing songs about everyday beans and Tangawizi with Congolese family. Telling jokes about the guard that always sleeps. Seeing a University grow, people change, myself change. Football (soccer).on uneven fields. Ruwenzori Mountains catch my attention every time the clouds generously allow their brilliance. Congo skies, creation, reflect something bigger and unseen. Glimpses of a church visible without it’s walls. The Gospel not religion or fundamentalism, but life. Prayers felt halfway around the world. Never ending joyful greetings from children. An appreciation for language, culture respected and held. Home, not found in a building or location. An initiative acts as a vessel of change. That which is good, hearts that hope, eyes that love, and faith that exhales; rise above challenges and darkness.
Anywhere else, I would be bound in plastic, but sturdy chains. I’d be a chameleon to pop-culture (however defined) and those I erroneously revere. I would not be free to explore the invisible character of faith, nor learn to seek God. I would not see truth in clarity. I would not appreciate life or enjoy its adventure. It would not make sense. It would be too complicated to move. I would not understand grace or perceive the humility that comes before wisdom (Prb). I’d remain searching while trapped in my own intricate web of shame. I would feel far from home, and continue to crawl to belief, instead of embracing it.
Screams subside…the Cross recognized.
"curse my whiteness"-taken from lyrics of Brett Dennen
Challenges arise fueling frustrations. Suffering. Pain. News displays war, Iraq, Afghanistan, food crisis, economic slowdowns, protests, and political upheaval. Oppression. Conflicts based on pride, power, selfishness, and vengeful traditions spurge on. Congo’s vast resources raped again. News forgets to display other significant events because George W Bush made some jokes. Southern televangelist with her perfected faux hair, dress neatly pressed, painted face, diamond jewelry makes distorted and empty promises in exchange for seeking hearts and money. Gospel of wealth battles Gospel of truth…no? Am I wrong to be disturbed? Close friend loses his father back home. Will she be alright, is she alright? Malaria round 2. Home…seems foreign and distant. Realization that I’ll be a foreigner in a land I’m supposed to know. In the same moment of thought, I take a deep breath, and try to swallow the tough texture of my own bitterness, my own pride, and my own ignorance.
Is my presence on this stool, in this room, in this town, in this country, on this continent of significance? Is this about me, or Him? Self-righteousness or the true righteousness I wish to seek? Am I contained in a moment that repetitiously sleeps and awakes in the incomprehensible plan we hear and believe. Is this moment to be questioned by me or someone other than me. No…
Congolese grandmother, a saint in these eyes, enters the room to pray for the ill American who finds it easy to “curse his whiteness” and culture. Students surround their injured classmate in community. Visit their teachers. They are courageous, trusting, combating a century old mentality. Conversations focus on how THEY can be transformed and thus bring change to their country. A respected and beloved leader travels far from where his heart is to share an indescribable account and divine work. Doctor friend remains in his country to serve, treating the worse of tragedies in unparallel conditions. Another returns to the hospital in which he witnessed ruthless bloodshed and destruction. Constantly balancing responsibilities, he returns to his home and family, embracing his daughters as loving fathers should. “Fundamentally good” Academic dean, talented beyond belief, humbly pours himself into others. Local UN battalion reaches out. Reconciliation and transformation exists.
Laughing, writing songs about everyday beans and Tangawizi with Congolese family. Telling jokes about the guard that always sleeps. Seeing a University grow, people change, myself change. Football (soccer).on uneven fields. Ruwenzori Mountains catch my attention every time the clouds generously allow their brilliance. Congo skies, creation, reflect something bigger and unseen. Glimpses of a church visible without it’s walls. The Gospel not religion or fundamentalism, but life. Prayers felt halfway around the world. Never ending joyful greetings from children. An appreciation for language, culture respected and held. Home, not found in a building or location. An initiative acts as a vessel of change. That which is good, hearts that hope, eyes that love, and faith that exhales; rise above challenges and darkness.
Anywhere else, I would be bound in plastic, but sturdy chains. I’d be a chameleon to pop-culture (however defined) and those I erroneously revere. I would not be free to explore the invisible character of faith, nor learn to seek God. I would not see truth in clarity. I would not appreciate life or enjoy its adventure. It would not make sense. It would be too complicated to move. I would not understand grace or perceive the humility that comes before wisdom (Prb). I’d remain searching while trapped in my own intricate web of shame. I would feel far from home, and continue to crawl to belief, instead of embracing it.
Screams subside…the Cross recognized.
"curse my whiteness"-taken from lyrics of Brett Dennen
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
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