what do you want to be when you grow up?

This is a question most of us are used to hearing. We have been asked this question since we are little - our answers represent our dreams, our aspirations, our hopes for our own future. The question also suggests that we have a choice - fireman, doctor, rock star, etc. Anything is possible.

Poverty can be defined as the absence of choice. Injustice can be defined as the removal of choice, one from another. Without choice there is no hope. Without hope there are no dreams or aspirations.

I wouldn't have thought to ask most of the people I met when I have traveled in Africa what they wanted to be when they grew up - such a question would have been absurd and insensitive to their circumstance. Prior to being asked the question there needed to be some way to restore hope - to provide options, to provide choice. 660 high school kids, sleeping in vastly overcrowded dorms, two to a bed, are working on just that -creating choice for themselves. As are the women who walk 100's of kilometres with their hungry and sick children - to seek food and medical attention so that their kids may just have some options. A young man, inticed into the army or rebel forces with the promise of a uniform and a gun - tools of choice for the desparate.

When I ask my boys what they want to be when they grow up, what I really want to hear is the limitlessness of their possibilities - I want to hear their visions, their dreams, the confidence they feel that they can be and do anything.

If I want that for my own kids, then what difference is there for those others, my neighbours. What must I do first, so that I can ask them that question. Imagine sitting with a 13 year old girl in Goma, Congo, who has had the chance to go to secondary school. Who wasn't distracted from her studies by hunger, sickness, or the threat of attack. What would her answer be?

Or the boy, who for his known life has moved from place to place avoiding the conflicts that threatened his family. Now, back in his native country, he is pleased to see his mother gaining strength as the medicines attack the TB she has been afflicted with. He also smiles as he puts on his school uniform and runs his hand over the excercise book that he has been given. What is his answer to the question now?

We in the west need to see our role in the absence of choice for millions around the world. The Governments we vote for and support, the products and services we buy, how we spend our time and resources - all have an impact on whether or not it will ever make sense to ask kids in the poorest places on earth what they want to be when they grow up.

step off the curb

A rainfall in Bukavu, Congo is like a snow day in Vancouver.  The roads, such as they are, become a quagmire of thick mud making the slightest incline virtually impossible to gain - especially for the bald tired, overcrowded mini-vans.  So, it was into one such day that we chose to drive out towards the edge of town to visit a hospital.  On our return we arrived at the junction of three roads, all on a slight uphill.  It was chaos.  Not only were the mini-vans stuck, but truck drivers, believing that foot to the floor would somehow - magically - cause traction - instead the rear of their vehicles would swing out into oncoming traffic.  However none of this dissuaded other drivers of all manner of cars to inch forward, or slip in beside others - basically filling in all the gaps and insure nobody was going anywhere.

Thus we sat, on the verge of completely abandoning the Toyota in favour of walking.  Then, from the side of the road came a guy, a bystander.  He took charge.  If space became available, he made sure it wasn't simply filled by another car, he looked for ways to decrease the gridlock.  He had a stern expression and shouted if need be.  But, not after too long, the cars began to move.  We had our turn and were soon leaving the hill behind us - with a last wave to our new best friend - but he was too busy with other cars to notice.

I've been thinking about that guy, and the metaphor of his actions.  For two weeks we visited villages, schools, hospitals. We went from Presidential Palaces to UN tarped refugee camps.  What sticks with me most though, are those people who are giving of themselves for others.  The 'ex-pats' who have left behind career and comfort to be there to provide hope.  The Rwandans, or Burundians, or Congolese that are selflessly giving of themselves for their countrymen.  Like our friend who stepped out into the middle of the road, in the mud, and took charge - with no gain for himself - and helped us get on our way - these people I met have stepped out into the middle of these villages, schools, hospitals.

If I resolve anything from this trip, its to not remain on the curb and watch the gridlock - but instead step off the curb, into traffic, and work with whatever I can to bring hope.

Thanks for reading.

dancing in the back with Jo

Early this morning we gathered with the staff and many of the patients from Heal Africa for morning prayers. I took my spot at the back of the church along with Jo Lusi, head surgeon from Heal Africa, and my good friend. Much of the service was either in Swahili, or bad english. I was happy to be out of the fray. Then a group of women, a choir made up of women who are either waiting for or recovering from fistula surgery, rose to sing. Their song, a beautifully harmonized Swahili tune, was about that eternal life was all about dancing - no preaching, no God sitting on his throne - he would be up dancing. The song was pure joy, from a group of women who have experienced anything but.

Next we all stood and, those who could, sang another amazing African tune in swahili. Soon Jo was dancing, and with little encouragement I joined him. We danced, Jo showing me a move, then me making him laugh with mine. It was a moment in time that I won't forget. It was a moment in time where this present eternity makes perfect sense.

This is the contrast of being in Africa. There are times when one is witness to the unspeakable horrors of violence and poverty. Then there are others when you get to dance and sing. Both of these make up the character of the places we have been over the past ten days. It often doesn't make sense. However, I am becoming better and better at living with those questions - not avoiding them, not distracting myself from them, but also realizing, answers to them are elusive.

As we left the church this morning, my hand in Jo's, I told him I really enjoyed the dancing. He responded with a bit of instruction " when you dance, moving your hips side to side is ok, but we say no to forward and back"........

its not making sense

At dinner this evening we experienced an earthquake - it was short but violent. not enough to cause damage, but enough to rattle nerves. Last February an earthquake toppled buildings and took lives. In 2002 a volcano erupted north of Goma and lava flowed burying half the city - including the Heal Africa hospital.

Earlier we visited Panzi Hospital. Much like Heal Africa Panzi works with women who are victims of sexual violence. We met two young 15 year old girls who were waiting for fistula surgery, one of them for the third time.

Nothing makes much sense here. There is no equity even in the misery this area suffers - they have far more than their fair share. I can somehow rationalize the 'man made' issues like violence - its the fault of someone - but add to that 'Acts of God' and it falls apart for me.

On days like today I need to re-read what I wrote yesterday...

We have just two more days in the field before beginning our travels home. There is certainly the sense of being 'full' - but I am glad to be heading to Goma to familiar people and places.

hope

I am sitting at the FHI house in Bukavu, DR Congo. with my friend Kristee Watson from North Vancouver. Kristee works here as the Grants Finance Manager for FHI. We have just come from 'The Rendezvous' a new ( in fact it opened today) coffee shop in town. Its run by Renee, an American who has grown up in Bukavu with 2nd generation Missionary parents. The shop is staffed by students and widows. The intent is to provide these folks the means to go to school. Behind the glass cabinet are donuts, cookies, cinnamon buns, etc. our Cappuccinos are made on a "Mr. Coffee" expresso machine, with heated up milk that has been shaken around to make froth. both the coffee and cookies taste great.

I was in Bukavu 4 years ago. Back then I wasn't able to walk the streets or spend anytime in town. Military or rebel militia roadblocks would appear overnight. We were searched at gun point. I was woken by machine gun fire. Now I am hanging out in a cafe with young and hopeful congolese.

Its easy to lose hope in these countries. If its not the government, its the lack of rain, its the price of grain, its the rebels, its the disease, its the 98% unemployment, its international apathy. But, then you see small signs, things we take for granted - flowers planted in school yards, a freshly painted front door, or a small coffee shop in the middle of what was, and what might be again, a war ravaged town. Behind each of these signs are people who refuse to give up and/or give in - they see beyond the circumstance, they seem to know there is more than this, and they can be part of that more.

As we sat over our coffees people were coming in, by themselves or in groups. I had the sense that everyone who arrived felt like they belonged. Even the seller of extension cords and twine or the guy who brought flowers for the tables. This in a place where Kristee carries a radio at all times and knows the protocol in case of attack or if an evacuation is necessary. A place where one doesn't dare walk any distance after dark - and the threat of armed bandits robbing homes is an ever present danger.

The FHI office in Bukavu is the largest project by scope of any of the FHI fields worldwide - slowly moving from food security, keeping people fed, to helping them help themselves through fish farms, work-for-food employment building roads, water and sanitation projects ( there's currently a cholera epidemic in Goma), and seed distributions.

Its easy, when looking from 50,000 feet, to lose any sense of hope that Congo can find stability or have a positive, long term future. But, then again, you can't see flowers, or for that matter people coming and going in a community coffee shop, from up that high.

knowing

why come all the way to Africa? - why come back to places I have already been? I found the best answer to that question on the wall of the Kigali Genocide Memorial yesterday - "If you knew me, and really knew yourself, you would not have killed me". Absolutely profound in its simplicity. In 1994, 1,000,000 people were killed in 100 days, another million were killed in the subsequent 3 months. I had no idea at the time. I didn't know Rwanda. Subsaharan Africa has the distinction of having the poorest of the poor on the face of the earth. Most live on less than a dollar a day. Before I came here I had no idea.

In the faces of the people, in my interactions with them there is a strong sense of joy and resilience, in the face of crippling conditions. If I was in their position would I smile? Had I been a Hutu in 1994, would I have risked myself, and possibly my family, to not only abstain from killing, but actively work to protect those who were being attacked? I know the answers I want to have, but I hesitate, because I am not completely confident in myself - I still have work to do in knowing myself.

Being here, dancing with kids, visiting with those who are working for justice, hearing the stories of those being chased from country to country for decades and now settling with nothing - I am confronted with the challenge of knowing myself as I get to know these others. That is truly the answer as to why I am back in Africa.

We leave Rwanda tomorrow morning and head to Bukavu in the DR Congo. Congo is hungry and angry - we will be spending the next five days with those who are feeding and seeking justice.

a day of stark contrast

so I got a call at 11pm last night that today's plan had changed and we were to be up, packed and ready to go by 7am. dutifully I was.... We got picked up promptly at 9:15am and headed for the meeting with the President. The meeting happened with little to report - very much pomp and ceremony. We left his office and I took off my tie and rolled up my sleeves - now we got to go out to the rural areas and get on with my favorite part of being in Africa. There was just one little issue, there was no diesel in town to fill the vehicles we needed for our drive. We had to wait until some materialized - evidently it would work in our favour that we had just spent time with the President. While we waited we decided lunch was in order and found that Jean - who works for Food for the Hungry in Burundi, his wife runs a great Chinese restaurant - go figure, and in fact his wife is chinese - go figure. It seems our Burundian friend Jean had studied in Russia and China, and there met his wife. So, once at the restaurant my fellow traveler John Weston was able to use his Mandarin to order lunch - this just after he was conversing with our driver in french - unbelievable.

Lunch was great, and once over we left to discover that our drivers were successful and the diesel delay only set us back a couple of hours. So finally, bags loaded, people loaded, we were off on our two hour drive to our destination of a small village on the border of Rwanda and Burundi. About 45 minutes into the drive our rear tire exploded, fortunately without incident. A bunch of muzungu ( foreigner in Swahili) changing a tire on the side of a road draws a crowd. that accomplished, we were off again. and after about 2 hours we arrived and Rubura - a rural community - where we were to have a look at the Health clinic and attached hospital that serves over 250,000 people in the area. The big issue is malaria - 170 new cases a week - no nets in the community or in the hospital itself. Once through the hospital, and after being inundated by all the kids - we headed off for our final visit - a small refugee community of 23 families who had returned from Tanzania. They had fled Burundi in 1972 for Rwanda during the beginning of the civil strife in Burundi. Then in 1994 at the outset of the genocide in Rwanda they fled to Tanzania. Finally in 2005 the Tanzanian Army chased them out of Tanzania and back to Burundi. They have nothing. The Gov't has given them housing on a remote hillside. Very little land to to grow food. Water is a good distance down in the valley. They are very hungry. They have planted a little soybean, but the dry season is coming and its doubtful they will harvest much of a crop. We stood and listened to their stories as the sun went down. I met a grandmother Veronique who is raising her four grandchildren as their parents had died of Aids.

Finally, it was time to go. We left them in the dark with their problems and hunger. There are plans to help them through food aid, and through othe programs, but all those are still in the works. Arriving at these places is my favourite part of these trips, leaving them is the worst part. I can feel like a voyeur on their misery. I can feel helpless. I certainly feel foolish. All that said, I know why I am here, and glad of it. How else would the story of these people, of Veronique, ever be heard if someone didn't come and listen. How else could the staff here raise the needed funds unless people come and 'get it'.

We are now staying overnight with a wonderful British couple who work with Food for the Hungry. they are working on agricultural projects - specifically coffee - helpful for building economic opportunity for the people here.

Sorry for the long post, but the contrast between our morning visit with the President and the late afternoon visit with refugees seemed worth noting. Tomorrow we head to Musemma, a community I visited last time. I look forward to seeing familiar sites and maybe even a few faces.

thanks for reading.