Women's Day for political and NGO types in Kinshasa

On March 18 I attended an "invitation only" women's event here in Kinshasa:  my friend Charlotte Djimbo works for the Ministry of Gender, Women and Family and gave invitations to me and my colleague Béatrice (receptionist at MCC office).  It was the start of a three-day extravaganza of speeches, performances, schmoozing, promotion of NGO and UN programs for women, workshops, wheeling and dealing, etc. etc.  

There were hundreds of women in gorgeous clothes, many of them made from the cloth designed for this year's theme:  "Parity between Men and Women for a more developed nation."  I was the only white face among the "ordinary" people in the huge meeting hall at the fairgrounds on the outskirts of Kinshasa.  (The setting reminded me of the St. Joseph Co. fairgrounds, on a more shaggy and crumbly scale.)  The only other white people were diplomats and their body guards (Béatrice and I joked that I was her bodyguard), United Nations organization people, European Union soldiers/police, and journalists who all floated around the edges and left as soon as was seemly.

After hours of speeches, a delightful theatrical presentation explaining what "parity" means, music by a Kimbanguist band and the band of a Ghanaian UN division, Béatrice and I headed out of the building before the press conference could begin.  

Outside we discovered that a huge fair had been set up all around the building:  hundreds of women's groups, including some Mennonite groups, had set up stands to show what they do and to sell the products they make.  There were groups singing and dancing, wearing matching colorful dresses and the stands were decorated with gorgeous cloth.  One group showed off their agricultural products by wearing peanuts on their heads and draping other vegetables here and there on their bodies.  Fruits, vegetables, soap, perfume, cleaning supplies, clothing, purses of every size-shape-color and material, natural medicines, a pig, cooking implements, on and on.  A fantastic market, alive with color and loud talk and laughter.  I saw how shikwang, the sour manioc gunk wrapped in banana leaves for long-term storage, is made.   We bought a few things, chatted here and there, and then headed for home as the hot sun blazed down on the event, which will last all weekend.  

Women of Faith and Women's Day in Bukavu

March 7, 2010

Daughters, Sisters, Friends,

Some of you may have seen this postcard (below) from Mennonite Women USA already, but, in case you haven’t, I thought you might like to see it as International Women’s Day approaches.  I can now update this card to tell you that the protestant women in Bukavu have decided to have an alternative event on March 13, when they will wear black and walk quietly through the streets of Bukavu.  This coming Monday, the official Int. Women’s Day, they will join in the usual festivities, or not, as they feel led.  

 A bit of background:  The mayor of Bukavu is a woman, as are two of the three burgomasters (elected leaders of different sections of the city).  After the recent murders (see below) of several women,  Mme. Basombana Antoinette, the leader of the protestant women’s group (I worked with her on a relief project for women in 2008 and we became good friends), met with the political authorities to tell them that the protestant women did not feel they could rejoice and buy new clothes this year because of the continuing war-related deaths of so many women, but would rather walk quietly in the parade wearing black.  She was told in no uncertain terms that no alternative to the usual festivities would be permitted, and that anyone who tried to create a somber atmosphere might even be arrested.    She continued to talk with both the women who wanted to show their grief and the political leaders, and they came to the compromise of a separate event on March 13.  When I last talked to her, Antoinette seemed relieved.  It’s not exactly what she wanted, but she also doesn’t want to create more conflicts with political leaders than there are already.

An interesting twist to the story:  when I was running/walking in the Run for Congo Women event on Sunday I met a woman I had grown to know quite well when I lived at the guest house here in Kinshasa in 2006.  She is now one of those Bukavu burgomasters who was so scandalized by Antoinette’s suggestion for a change of approach to Women’s Day!  She invited me over to her house and we had a great visit and meal together.  I brought this issue up with her in a rather casual (I thought) way, but she answered with a very sharp remark or two and a little sermon to me about how such ideas cause conflict and some women are just trying to get attention, and on and on.  So I just tried a few remarks about different ways of expressing sorrow, of how sometimes our consciences just call us to express our strong feelings in a particular way . . .   She changed the subject about then and of course her phone rang about every five minutes so it was difficult to have even a basic ordinary conversation.    Later I asked Antoinette if I had done a dumb thing by bringing it up.  She said, “No! That’s good.  We all need to hear different ideas.”   She also said, after the decision to have an alternative date was made, “I was really afraid that something bad would happen to me, so this is a relief.”

 Tomorrow there will be a special service at the church I usually attend, the Kintambo Missionary Parish (Mennonite Brethren), in honor of women’s day.  I will make a little report about this story.  I am trying to get in touch with Antoinette or someone else out there who can tell me how the women taken to the hospital are getting along, but don’t yet have any news.

 I have a special new candle for women here and there and everywhere, and will speak each of your names when it is lit tomorrow morning.

 Much love, Suzanne

A Postcard and a Prayer A Prayer Request from the Congo Mennonite Women USA Special Edition, March 2010 Pray for Peace in the Congo on International Women's Day March 8, 2010   From Suzanne Lind (pictured right), MCC representative to Congo.  On February 11, eight women were attacked, tortured, and raped by soldiers near the town of Mwenga in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC).  Five of the eight women were murdered and three escaped. The three escaped women and their families were taken by women from the National Council of Churches to Panzi Hospital in Bukavu, the capital of South Kivu Province.  This hospital  specializes in treatment of rape victims. A group of Protestant women in Bukavu has decided to wear black on March 8, International Women's Day, as a prayer of mourning and a call to peace, in response to this grievous act of violence.   Suzanne Lind, currently on an administrative visit to Bukavu, stated that March 8 is usually a day of  celebration for women in DRC. They wear bright and festive clothing to celebrate International Women's Day. Thus, the decision to wear black is discerned differently by various groups, and some believe that wearing black will undermine the message of solidarity among women in DRC.   As sisters in Christ, Mennonite women in the U.S. are being asked to pray that the women of Bukavu will be strengthened to be faithful in discerning how to speak against crimes of violence as they participate through their choice of clothing and activities on International Women's Day this year.    **********   As we pray for peace in Congo, I encourage each of us to prayerfully discern how to dress on March 8. Whether we wear black or bright colors, let our clothing, our thoughts, and our meditations be a prayer for our sisters who must walk carefully every day along paths of violence.   - Rhoda Keener

March 11. 2010

 A Postcard and a Prayer

Mennonite Women US March 2010
In This Issue Update from Congo request for prayer Monica Parada survives Chile earthquake In timbrel Register for Women in Conversation 2010 Audit on women in leadership Teaching children peace Honoring and Remembering Give to Mennonite Women USA A Prayer for the Journey	Responses to request for prayer for women in the Congo "Thank you for this information of women in Congo. I will pray for them for safety and God's protection and blessings over them." ·         "Thank you for forwarding this postcard and prayer.  I'll join in prayer for these sisters in Christ in the Congo." ·         "Thank you for keeping us informed." A number of women reported wearing black on International Women's Day.
Update from Congo request for prayer   Update on Congo request for prayer from Suzanne Lind, MCC representative to Congo (pictured left with Marie-Jose, a sub-mayor of Bakavu):  The three women who survived the February attack are recovering slowly.    International Women's Day was celebrated as individual women discerned; some wore beautiful bright clothing and others, black, a sign of mourning for all the women who continue to suffer because of conflict and exploitation.   The protestant women in Bukavu, located in eastern Congo on the border of Rwanda, have decided to have an event on March 13, when they will wear black and walk quietly through the streets of Bukavu.They will end at the main cathedral for an inter-faith worship service (Protestant, Catholic, Muslim, Kimbanguist, Independent churches).    Mennonite Women USA invites you again to wear black on Saturday, March 13, and, if you feel led, to walk through the streets of your towns and cities praying for peace, in solidarity with your sisters in Congo. Suzanne writes:   "The march organizers are quite overwhelmed that American women are so aware of and participating with them.  Thank you!"

 March 20, 2010

The women of faith in Bukavu did in fact have a march on March 13, wearing black and ending with an interfaith worship service.  Mama Antoinette reported that, "Yes, we had our march!  It was wonderful.  We danced and prayed, danced and prayed."  Hopefully she will send me some photos and more details. 

My sister Judy wrote that  "this week for Thursday's Bluffton University  (Bluffton, Ohio) chapel service, Laurel Neufeld-Weaver  is working with some of the African university women  on a chapel theme concerning women and violence.  They are doing vignettes of specific situations, interspersed with appropriate scripture passages, and are planning to project some of your Run For Congo Women pictures, with commentary and scripture passages.     A Zimbabwean student, Sandra Vimbiso, is very committed to bringing violence against African women to the attention of the university community,  and she and others are working on this chapel service as one of a number of events highlighting women's issues at the university during the month of March."

Judy also reports that a singing group in Bluffton decided to highlight this theme at a concert that same week.They wore black, but with green highlights since the event was a Celtic music evening for St. Patrick's Day, and for the English and Irish settlers of Bluffton (or Shannon as it was originally called).   The group made a very nice and factually accurate statement about eastern Congo and the plight of women there by way of explaining why the group was wearing black instead of purple, as they would normally do for International Women's Day.

I always assume that everyone knows about the suffering of the women in eastern Congo, but it is far away and unreal to most. The response to this prayer request reminds me that although everyone has lots and lots of prayer issues and concerns, there is a depth of love and anguish for this particular situation that is immediately expressed when an opportunity arises.  I am grateful for that, yet sad that I seem to be able to do so little, even though I am closer in distance. In most ways I am still worlds away from what is happening in that beautiful, battered region.

In late February I was in Bukavu, in South Kivu province on the far eastern border of Congo.  Bukavu is a crumbling-and-growing little city at the south end of Lake Kivu and just across the border from Rwanda.  It is a suffering city in a gorgeous setting, with an almost temperate climate and abounding in both war and flowers.

I had a very special experience on Sunday, Feb 27, when I was able to participate in the first Run for Congo Women fundraising event held in Congo.  You can learn about Run for Congo Women at http://www.runforcongowomen.org/  I read about it because I like Nicholas Kristof's articles and editorials in the New York Times very much and he mentioned the young woman who started this project, Lisa Sullivan.  When I realized I would be in Bukavu at the time of the run I decided I just had to be part of it and, after a lot of emailing and even getting back on Facebook (!) I got in touch with Lisa and learned the details.

 

Sunday dawned chilly and rainy, but I sallied forth and got a motorcycle taxi to take me about 3 kilometers out of town to the site where the women were meeting.  Yes, I wore a huge helmet that I had to hold on to my head, and I had a shawl around me for warmth, but as we took off the rain started in earnest, and soon we were slipping and sliding along the hilly, rocky, muddy streets and I was drenched to the skin.  After what seemed like a long, cold (but exciting!) ride, we found a group of women huddled in the rain and decided this was the Run for Congo Women.  My very kind driver took off and left me in the mud.  After I got my bearings I joined the bedraggled crowd and listened to Lisa and her interpreter give a pep talk before the run took off.  She was surrounded by her "sisters," women  --  many of them Pygmy women  --  who had been raped and injured by soldiers and who are now in training programs run by Women for Women International.  

 One group took off seriously running and were soon out of sight.  I went back and forth, sometimes jogging with those out front, sometimes dancing along with the RFCW group, sometimes just walking and enjoying the beauty of the lake and the songs the women sang constantly.

 

  We set off in the rain but soon the sun came out and we were soon dry and warm again.  Most of the women from the Women for Women group stayed in a group, behind their banner, singing and dancing.  Lisa walked ahead with her special friend Generose, whose leg was cut off when soldiers tortured her.  Both of them had so much mud on their shoes that they took them off and walked barefoot. 

   

 

At the end of the run we gathered at a nice spot along the lake for speeches, dancing and a snack.  I talked for a while with a group of police women, who at the beginning of the race were deliberately solemn and distant, and by the end of snack time were dancing and chatting with everyone.  There were a couple men police officers, but the mayor had ordered that only women officers should accompany the run.  Lisa read out all the messages of good will sent from sponsors in the US and in a bunch of other countries. I also hooked up with my friend Thérèse Mayoto, a Mennonite woman from the little Mennonite church in Bukavu.  She works for Women for Women International and is one of the skills trainers for women that come through their programs.

 

 

As I was walking along, someone called out, "I know you!" and there was my old friend Marie-José and her daughter Pearl!  between)  Marie-José and I both lived at the guest house in Kinshasa for a time in 2006 and got to be good friends.  Her son goes to TASOK and knows Rose from the years she was here, and her daughter Pearl was just a tiny girl the last time I saw her.  Now M-J is a sub-mayor of Bukavu and responsible for a large area of the city! 

 

After the run was over, she invited me to come home with her and Pearl.  On the way we took a tour of the area she is responsible for, all over the steep sides of one of the huge hills over-looking the lake.  She showed me the big ribbon she has to wear for official events and to marry people (she does a lot of that).  Also showed me the prison and said she tries to keep from having to put people there because it is so unpleasant and makes her too sad.  We had a great visit, remembering some of the funny things that happened when we were together.  Then her boyfriend showed up and we went out to a fancy restaurant on the lake for supper. Her friend runs one of the boat companies that take people back and forth across the lake between Goma and Bukavu (a trip I thoroughly enjoy), so I didn't feel badly letting them buy me a delicious meal of fish fresh from the lake.  My clothes and shoes were really dirty from the run so M-j and Pearl cleaned me up, put fancy shoes and a clean shirt on me, and off we went, me wobbling on really dumb, but theoretically pretty, dressy shoes.  One of her five dogs also tried to bite me and ripped a hole in my slacks, but that we had to just ignore.

 

You can read Lisa's account of this day on her blog:  http://athousandsisters.com/blog/  Scroll down to "Barefeet and pink pearls: Our Run in Congo! Part 1"

 

Side note:  if you scroll down further in that blog you will see an entry by Jilma Meneses, who started and runs Our Family Adoptions, the agency David and Kendra worked with to adopt Amari and Desmond.  She writes about how she adopted a child herself here in Congo and then developed the adoption service to help others do the same:  "Asked about adopting Congolese children? A guest blog- Jilma Meneses, Our Family Adoptions"

Editorial comment

In the following blog entry about the trip to Uvira, I thought I had interspersed the photos throughout, and I thought I would be able to edit before posting, but those things did not happen, so you can figure out who is who in the photos, and please excuse the errors. Maybe I should view the tutorial video . . .

Quick Trip to Uvira

On Saturday 27 February I took a day from an administrative visit to Bukavu, in South Kivu Province on the far eastern border of DRC to make a very special personal trip to Uvira.  Uvira is a town  about 100 kilometers south of Bukavu, right on the top edge of Lake Tanganyika.  I wanted to go there to meet Dina, fiancée of our friend Jimmy Mulanda Juma, whom we first met in South Africa in 1999, when he was a poor and lonely Congolese refugee in Durban.  Now he is well educated, very experienced in peace and reconciliation work, and is getting his PhD in Italy.  In June he will marry Dina, who lives in Bujumbura, Burundi, across the lake from Uvira.  Since I can't go to the wedding, I wanted to take this opportunity to meet Dina, as well as members of Jimmy's family in Uvira.  Above is a picture of Jimmy getting acquainted with our new granddaughter, Amari Kitoko, when he visited our home in Kinshasa in January.

Here are my journal notes from my quick trip to Uvira:

Walked from the guest house to the bus stop  --  Alpha Car Express  --   at 8:00 for the supposed 8:30 departure.  For a while I was the only one there, and I waited while the crowd, mostly men, grew.   The ramshackle van arrived and people started hopping in, then out, then in again; lots of arguing.  Finally the agent made everyone get out and called the roll, telling each one where to sit.  I was squished between two young me, one small and polite, the other large and loud.  They spent almost the entire trip passing their fancy cell phones back and forth across me, exchanging music.  Very interesting to learn how that is done.  There were several pastors in the group; one of them was sitting forward on the seat behind me and sang hymns more and more loudly as the young men played their music more and more loudly.  Three Rastafarians sat in the back.  There were two other women and several more young men.  We were very squished but i kept my back against the seat and my elbows firmly projected outward, and with the window open I was quite comfortable.

The best road to Uvira goes partly through Rwanda, so on the edge of Bukavu we got out for immigration/border formalities.  The other people in the van gave their voter registration cards to the driver, who got them all processed, but I had to go to the window, present my passport, fill out a form, get a stamp in my passport.  since we went in and out of Rwanda and DRC  four times, with two border controls each time, I got to do this eight times and filled a page of my passport.  Each time I walked across a bridge between the two countries, pondering the strange history represented by those bridges.

Back in the bus, and up the winding mountain roads of Rwanda.  So cool and beautiful, with pine and eucalyptus trees on the steep slopes.  Hairpin turns, up and up, cool breeze coming in the window.  After about an hour in Rwanda we were back in DRC.  Now we were on a plain, going through villages, and it was getting hot.  People were getting off and on more frequently.  The Rastafarians were met by a colorful, happy crowd at one crossroads, all wearing the characteristic red-yell-green knitted hats, scarves and "One Love" shirts.  Telephone music blared, old pastor sang hymns, one lady threw up and had to get off, and we stopped at various spots where women were waiting to sell oranges or yoghurt in bottles or curds in bowls  --  they dumped the milky, curdy mixture into plastic bags and stuck them through the windows.  People put the bag on the floor at their feet and off we went.  

Jimmy's mother and brother-in-law met me at the bus stop and I got a joyful embrace from his mom.  Her face is full of kindness.  Soon Jimmy's sister arrived  --  what fun to meet her! -- and we got into a rented van with several other relatives and drove along the main street, which runs down a narrow strip of land with the lake on one side and a steep mountain side on the other.  We turned up the mountain side and drove as far as the van could go, then went on by foot.  I wanted to stop and look at everything, but the bus was leaving in an hour an a half so we didn't have much time.  We walked on narrow, intricate parths and steps between houses till we got to Jimmy's sister and brother-in-law's house.  His father, tall and stately, met us as we came up the path.

We went into a tidy, carefully prepared living room.  Soon they brought in a huge meal which I was supposed to eat all alone.  I begged for someone to eat with me, so the parents did.  Incredibly delicious fish, chicken, rice, beans, potatoes, sauce, plaintains.  The sister's children came in:  lovely, friendly young women and shy little boys and girls.  Everyone was very dressed up.  It was a lot of people to sort out and get to know while also needing to eat appreciatively.

As we were eating Dina and Jimmy's oldest brother came in.  They were late because of problems at the Burundi-DRC border; they had come across the lake by boat.  I had about 20 minutes to get acquainted with Dina, but it wasn't hard to relate.  We had a short, happy, fun time together.  Dina is young, lovely, polite, obviously intelligent and is being well-educated.  She is easy to talk to.  I had brought gifts and we had fun passing them out.  

Then, sadly, it was time to go.  The whole crowd tromped down the hill, climbed into the van, and hustled to the bus stop.  Lots of affectionate goodbyes and then they all took off, except Jimmy's brother, who stayed till I left.  I also managed to "comfort myself," as they say here:  the station manager led me around the back of the building to a house where he informed the people that I was going to use the bathroom, which I did and it wasn't too bad, and we all nodded and smiled as walked back through their outdoor kitchen area.   

Then off we went again.  this time I got a window seat; very lucky.  A very skinny, boney, bossy mama sat beside me, insisted I buy oranges (they come in a nice handmade rafia bag), and made me give her money when she didn't have enough to get one of the wobbly bags of curds.  This time it was a very noisy crowd, who talked and argued and laughed all the way home.  I couldn't understand much of the Swahili but sometimes there was enough French for me to get the drift, as when they discussed for at least 45 minutes, with heated shouting and gesticulating, whether drinking alcohol is a sin.  One guy asked me what I thought and I said, "It depends on the context," which he didn't even bother to translate to the rest of the discussion group.  I knew they all thought i was a Catholic sister by the way the treated me, so had the fun of telling them how many children and grandchildren I have when they finally asked me.  But they still called me "Ma Soeur." Everyone does.  It's easy to say, and I do look like one.

As we barreled along through the intense greenness, the dusty brownness, the clear open blue skyness, I found myself thinking that I couldn't think of anything I'd rather be doing, anywhere I'd rather be at that moment.   Then I remembered that the "corridor" between Bukavu and Uvira is an area that has been torn apart by the conflicts over access to mines, over old feuds revived by the influx of arms into the region, by the traipsing back and forth of armed military groups who pillage for food and then hurt the people in reprisals for "giving" food to another group which had previously stolen food, crops, animals and children.  

When I finally walked back into DRC on the edge of Bukavu, I didn't get back in the bus, just kept walking toward the guest house till I got tired, then got on a motorcycle taxi for the last section.  He waited while I ran into the guest house to get money, then dropped me off at the market.  It was almost dark, but he showed me where to go in to get the plug adaptor I so badly needed in order to charge my camera.  He said, "It was nice to drive you today." and drove off.  I took a deep breath and moved into the dark but still crowded market.  Could barely see, but kept asking where the electrical stuff was till someone led me there.  The guy used a flashlight to look through his pile of stuff and we finally found the right thing.  I "felt" my way out, bought avocado, bananas, jam and water for my supper, and trudged up the hilly rocky street under a beautiful moon to the guest house.  There was hot water!   Ah!  What a great quick trip to Uvira.