Identity

A breeze thick with moisture rolls over my head as I watch a wall of rain drift slowly over Lake Tanganyika. The sun is setting behind dark clouds painting an array of deep tones across the sky and waves. The lake is narrow, but extends far beyond the eyes can see. A variety of birds begin their evening flights moving from the east shore to the west. Fisherman scattered down the shoreline have finished the days work and quickly gather their catch to head home to a warm meal and family. It’s the first time all week I’ve had the opportunity to step away from the Reconciliation Gathering I was attending in Bujumbura, Burundi. It’s a moment where some sense of true peace seen only in creation is felt, untainted and attainable. The Great Lakes Initiative of the Duke Center for Reconciliation had invited close to 100 representatives from the Christian communities surrounding the Great Lakes of Africa: Rwanda, Burundi, DR Congo, Uganda, Sudan, and Kenya, were all represented. Days before I listened to stories of lament from brothers and sisters. Mothers dealing with the pain of their children abducted by the LRA in northern Uganda. The lament that still is heard from the 1994 Rwanda genocide. The hosts shared stories from the bloody conflict in Burundi. Kenyans, seemingly untouched by conflict for years exposed details of last year’s political and ethnic conflict that swept across the pride of East Africa. And the darkness and present realities that haunt DR Congo were felt strongly and met with tears. The gathering lead by leaders from the Center for Reconciliation took us through the avenues of lament, learning, and living out. The quote that would capture the distressing challenge presented was taken from the Cardinal Etchegaray of the Pontifical Council of Justice and Peace. When he visited Rwanda after the 1994 genocide he asked church leaders, “Are you saying that the blood of tribalism is deeper than the waters of baptism?” One leader openly answered, “Yes it is.” I listened closely throughout the gathering to questions, responses, and stories. Spending time specifically with representatives from Congo, but also attentive to the realities that exist in the surrounding neighbors. The hardest to swallow were the stories that expose incidents of Christians killing other Christians. A question that grew from this painful acknowledgement was, “What’s my primary identity?” Tribalism has characterized many of the continents conflicts and the issues that plague the Church in Africa. Where Christianity is seen as alive and well in this region, it has failed to meet the challenge of tribalism and the venom of corruption, poverty, oppression, and war. I’ve reflected since the gathering, trying to decipher through the emotions and faces of suffering etched in my mind from past experiences here…what has gone wrong? Is there room for me…a foreign, white American to truly understand the depth of the issues? How would I respond to the question, “what is my primary identity?” It is during these thoughts where I began to realize that the characteristics of tribalism extend farther than Africa, manifested differently in other contexts. The same divisive features are witnessed elsewhere, including the U.S. The recent presidential election succeeded to further divide the evangelical and conservative communities where separation in the Church has already prevented unity. American culture has molded the identity of the Christian and his or her community more so than the hands that created us. The Gospel no longer seems to hold a revolutionary and transforming power that it once held in its birth, let alone transcend divisive features often found in ethnicity, nationalism, politics, race, and economic status. As people may stand in horror or disbelief of the news and tragedies occurring in Africa, I find myself continuing to stand jaw dropped at the overall tragedy of a broken Church and Christian community. Any real depiction of a primary identity seems convoluted. This is not to say I’ve lost faith in the Church or Christians, but wish to merely acknowledge the thorns that remain deep inside the body. The beauty and power of the Gospel is still visible, here and elsewhere, as I witnessed at the recent gathering. The last day of the gathering we recognized initiatives and individuals raising their voices, saying “no” to the oppression and the identities that encourage it. The same women whose faces still show the pain of having a child abducted, also illuminate hope and courage through their coalition of concerned parents. I left lifted, recognizing there is a movement growing and the Gospel of Reconciliation behind it. A generation of renewal and hope is developing. The Christian community around the world needs to recognize the Church is not being the message it claims and rests on. And, that at times, it is a contributor to the fires of conflict and strife. If change does not occur, I fear cycles of oppression, suffering, segregation, and selfishness will continue to unfold before our eyes. We believe in the Gospel not for the sake of salvation alone (and that term in of itself is yet to be fully understood), but for the life it provides, the hope it brings, and the barriers it breaks. People ask me what can I do to help in Congo? Many are praying, some contributing, and for that I am deeply grateful. But, to respond with conviction, I encourage us to revisit the message and let it shape our identity…not with religiosity or for the sake of comfort and pride, but for the life and peace it brings here and now. The Gospel brings hope and transformation.  It builds, rather then destroy. Let it challenge the very grains of our existence and understanding that tell us otherwise. I plead for us to set aside whatever identities stand in our way and begin living as if we believe our primary identity rests in Christ and defines who we are not by label, but by way.

Another Wedding, another war story

Throughout my time in the U.S. this past summer, I had the privilege to witness and participate in 5 of my closest friend’s weddings.  Of course, after the 5th one, the idea of another was a bit exhausting.  However, when I returned to Beni I immediately went to see my good friend Dr. Justin.  He approached with enthusiasm upon my return and with extreme joy as he informed me his wedding would be on December 6 and extended the invitation.  So, the weddings continue…
The wedding was in Bunia, about 3 hours north of Beni.  It would be the second visit for me.  We arrived on Friday afternoon at Dr. Justin’s grandparent’s home.  The property was filled with excitement and the beginning preparation of a wedding feast, to include the slaughtering of a whole cow.  We rested, took a soda, and gave thanks for the safe trip…the conditions of the road and history have lead to special appreciation for safe travels.
Though culturally, weddings and marriage hold different customs and even a touch of different meaning, there seems to be a consistent similarity in the process, preparation, and days events…joyful chaos.  I sat back, pretending to be a wedding photographer for my friend and took in the uniqueness of the day.  The day began at 9:00am with the civil marriage ceremony, followed by the 3 hour religious ceremony, followed by 20 minutes of pictures, and lastly the reception and feast.
Outside the enjoyment of seeing my friend wed, the weekend also provided valuable time spent at Shalom University where we spent the night.  It was a reunion of sorts for the Kasalis as they reunited with friends and students from their days in Nairobi.  Shalom University has similar aspirations and vision as UCBC and it was encouraging to see the progress of the school.  We toured the campus with our friend Dr. Katho.  However, along the way was the reminder of the war that raged in Bunia in the early 2000s.  We passed two tiled cover tombs.  He explained, “These belong to the secretary of the University and her mother.  They were killed in 2003 in the room you are sleeping in.”  They were found shot, laying face down on their beds with blood running on the floor.  No one really knows or understands why…but this seems to be a common contemplation on the violence that has occurred.
After the wedding we were invited to Dr. Kathos house for another meal, despite bellies full.  As we sat in the living room discussing life, DR Congo, Dr. Katho grabbed my attention and pointed to the ceiling.  Their was a 50 cent piece size whole, “bullet,” he stated.  One day during the war with 63 members of family and students crowded into his home and gunfire controlling the airwaves, a bullet entered the house…no one was hurt.  His own life was threatened, being sought after by a militia group and at one point he thought about leaving.  But, as he went to his office to gather his things, he asked himself, “What am I doing?”  He returned to his home and decided he would stay; courage and commitment to a calling.  I am continually amazed by those committed to peace and reconciliation in this region, whatever role they may have.  The tragedies witnessed and experienced have no bearing on their fulfillment in their work, nor their commitment to the Gospel message.
On our way back to Beni we passed the road that leads to the village of Nyankunde.  Those of you who followed last year may have read my post regarding the history of the hospital that once stood there.  It was completely destroyed during the war, along with over a thousand lives.  A month before I returned to Beni, I received an email from a doctor friend in the process of rebuilding the hospital.  He informed me that a militia group again entered the village.  Thankfully, the result was only looting, and no one was killed.  I asked our host earlier that weekend how the situation was in Nyankunde.  He said he arrived in Nyandkunde just after the recent incident occurred.  He spoke with MONUC officials and asked why they cannot do anything to stop the militias.  One responded to him, “We can’t…how can one shoot at a child?” Indicating many of the militia members are no older than 17.  Dr. Katho also acknowledged the recycling problem is the loss of property.  When conflict enters the area people are already so traumatize they flee, leaving their property open to others who than seize it.  Property and livelihood lost.  The result, hopelessness to already traumatized minds.
On Sunday, as we stopped in Erengeti for a break and a visit with some family friends, Dr. Justin and his wife passed us in a packed SUV.  The day after his wedding, he was returning to the operation room at Nyankunde Hospital in Beni.

Second Nature

The insanity of the last two weeks in the U.S., engulfed in my procrastination, caused inevitable distraction from contemplation on my return to Beni, DR Congo.  I found myself dreading the long hours of travel that worsened by a battle with a cold and heavy cough.  I waited for that adrenaline rush to set in…for the comfortable unease and excitement that churns your gut before you experience something new or unusual.  It didn’t.  Instead, it was replaced by a sense of peace and yearning to return to family and friends.  I still expect a year blessed with chaos and adventure, just touched with familiarity.
Despite the headlines in the international news, Congo lifts you to a whole different place embraced in spirituality and reality.  The land itself bestows an unparallel beauty and quiet spirit that hypnotizes your eyes as you fly above.  Its no longer foreign, but keeps me in awe.  We expected to fly into Butembo, a town located south of Beni, as the commuter flight had changed its flight pattern and no longer stopped in Beni.  However, after a 30 minute flight headed south from Bunia, I immediately recognized the area our plane was descending into.  Once my eyes caught the broken and abandoned plane that sits at the end of the dirt airstrip, I knew, for whatever reason, we were landing in Beni.
As if the ground holds some sort of supernatural power, I felt the moment my feet touched the ground, I was immediately transformed or brought back to another nature usually hidden.  A nature removed of useless distractions and obsessions with understanding everything…5 year plans, politics, economic crisis, and God.  This hidden nature is concerned with the moment, the experience not drowned in questions, and thus experiencing a living God.  In my confessions, this nature is seemingly smothered or subdued in other contexts.  My prayer is that it doesn’t maintain it’s disappearing act based on circumstance as I continue to change.  Some day, I hope this nature overcomes the other, or at least, gives it balance.
The streets were as familiar as those back in Milwaukee as we drove along with stares and smiles from familiar faces.  It was a homecoming as one would expect.  I stuck my head out the window as I saw Grace, a tender spirited kid and member of the family, pedaling the opposite direction.  He immediately turned around and beat us to the gate to joyfully open the doors.  Handshakes, hugs, headbutts (form of greeting), and high pitched wordless vocals ensued, followed by the common compliment, “Justin, you’re fat!”
Beni remains calm and hopeful, holding fast to its youthful spirit.  I noticed progress in a few of the local buildings and houses.  Signs of development and progress.  Tension from the latest news out of Goma area still felt in the air, however, not heavy.  The sentiment I gathered from conversations and expressions was put frankly, “We’re tired of war, we want peace!”.  FARDC soldiers appear more frequently and mobile and I’ve been told that some have caused disturbances in town, seeking out other soldiers and ex-rebels to join the fight.  These incidences pale in comparison to the horrors and destruction of life near Goma.  Our prayers are with our friends and the Congolese people.
Life moves on, as if the news and conflict is ordinary…unfortunately, history proves it is.  Yet, though the people may be shaken, they continue to work, persevere, and hope for change.  My return to UCBC was filled with high spirit as I reconnected with the students from last year.  Then I noticed quite a few others…close to 80 more students had registered for the preparatory year.  Congo Initiative – Université Chrétienne Bilingue du Congo continues to impact lives and bring about transformation in the community.  So much has happened since I departed, all for the sake of renewal and the desire for a visible Gospel message…a second nature.

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.

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

Mouth of Semliki River

Ishango-Hanging with Hippos at 0 degrees

When people think Africa, they think “safaris”. I don’t so much. But, I have an immense admiration for wildlife, the natural environment in general. One of our student’s father works with the Virunga National Park. He joyfully encouraged us to visit a place known as Ishango, about 3 hours south of Beni. I’ve been itching for another escapade, so we arranged a van, packed some kalangiti (beans), and headed out of Beni.

The road takes us closer to the Ruwenzoris. The jagged mountain top grew as we approached. We drove through some forest areas, but mostly along grass and agriculture land. Papaya plantations lined the road along with mud-thatch dwellings and slow villages. After an hour or so on the road, we entered an area where forest followed on the right and grasslands on the left. This natural exchange provided for the gathering of countless butterflies dancing along and across the route. For miles, we drove through this butterfly haven.

We picked up a wildlife park range on the side of the road and took a two-track road through savannah lands. Antelope were seen scattered through out the tall grass. The guide raised his voice to indicate we reached the equatorial line. The sun beat down hard on the land. It was “Africa”, as perceived by most people. For me, it was another setting in Congo to appreciate, breathe in, and admire.

We came to the campsite consisting of 3 family sized tents situated under grass-roofed shelters. Old colonial buildings remained untouched for years, but a few new buildings indicated progress and a glimpse of tourist hope. It was rightfully modest, as it’s location was the catalyst of admiration. Situated on a bluff over looking Lake Edward, the mouth of the Semiliki River, vast forest, and highlands in the background, the frame to small and feeble to capture.

An appreciation of my roots was exposed on this trip. The thrill of seeing Safari-like Africa and the eco-scene it brings did not leave me in a flippant, enthusiastic, response or frame of mind. My eyes stared quietly and my mouth spoke without magnification. It was gentle appreciation, engrained in the same admiration for the natural world witnessed in my youth. Whether watching Hippos lay indolent in a DR Congo river, or embracing the change of life expressed during the fall in Northern Wisconsin, there is something constant and respectful in it’s wonder.