The Africa Posts
After our visit to the first Camp for Displaced Persons, we decided that we would eat together at an authentic Congalese restaurant with Bienve’s family. On our travels we did out best to support restaurants that provided local cuizine and allowed us a more full experience of wherever we were. After a short break at our hotel, Bienve returned for us, having already brought his family to the restaurant. That day we had been attempting to secure local currency, but our debit cards were not functioning – possibly due to US economic sanctions against DRC. Bienve covered us until he returned us to Rwanda and we were able to function again financially.
While my son was at an ATM, Bienve shared with me that he had adopted 4 children before he married Clariss …and then they had 3 biological children. He said this was common in Goma, that people would bring others into their families. At dinner, we were to meet the older adopted girls and the 3 younger ones.
Clariss and one of the older daughters turned out to have been people we had met earlier that day. They were staff members at the Remember Youth for Change office https://www.facebook.com/rememberyouthforchange They helped to cordinate and organize the growing sewing industry. The oldest girl (around 18-20) was Sarif. I liked her a great deal. The 2nd one (15) was Alexandrine. The little ones were Elena(5), Elia(3), and Ilio the little boy(2). the talk was not plentiful, but everyone was a delight, and Bienve took photos after the meal. It was a little awkward, but the next day at the Bulango Camp for Displaced Persons, I was happy to have met them and to know their names and faces. I felt that I had allies and connection to steady me in our common mission.
This was our first authentic meal in DRC, but we had experienced similar cuisine in Uganda. I’m not sure whether the quality was superior this evening, or whether I was becomming accustomed to the offerings, but the food was excellent. There were various types of potatoes, yams, squash, and cassava, white and brown rice, 2 kinds of greens – one I had not heard of before. There were various meats – goat, beef, chicken, and something called black pork – a superior pig according to Bienve. There was also a delicious peanut sauce that one could eat with potatoes, squash, rice, yams or cassava. We had experienced this peanut sauce at a home-cooked meal and in a couple of restaurants. [When I was in Uganda I had tried chicken gizzard (not bad), a strange brown congealed bread (not my favorite), and cassava (fibrous and dry; it grew on me a little by the time I left Africa). Fruit juices were also plentiful. The coffee was spiced with ginger in both Uganda and DRC, which definitely grew on me.
Fortunately, my grandson, who was the first family member to go to Africa with my son, had warned me to “always have toilet paper”. He said “sometimes a toilet is just a hole in the ground.” This was the case in, or rather just outside, this restaurant. It was a nicer hole surrounded by tile in a small tile cubicle. I appreciated the hand-washing station outside, and one inside the restaurant.
Exhaustion made it easy to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, and I must have finally adjusted to the time zone – 8 hours difference.
I did not feel disctubed that night by our visit during the day at the refugee camp, partly because I was exhausted. I had been up since 3:30 am, driven across the border, seen and experienced a great deal that day, met a lot of people, and was exposed to personal upheaval like I hadn’t seen before.
Looking back, I witnessed some level of emotional stability in the people I encountered – thanks to local people like Bienve and the staff at Remember Youth for Change, as well as the local schooteachers. These people that had been displaced had a safety net here in Goma, and they seemed to be adjusting to their surroundings. They had people around them, and they had support. What I saw in their eyes and hearts was hardship, uncertainty, and a new, unchosen, way of life.
I also saw community. I saw support and possibility and the amazing resourcefulness of humans.
I hope this doesn’t sound callous. I know my privelege and I understsood the heartbreak that these mothers, especially, had endured – being displaced, without their mates and having almost nothing familiar around them, living with the uncertainty of their future, their children’s future, and of gunfire in the distance.
Despite all of that, I felt I that the refugees were finding their place, finding their footing in this new reality they navigated.
The next day at the Bulango Camp for displaced persons felt very different to me.
Would you like to get blog posts sent directly to your email inbox? Subscribe below.
8 hummingbird way 