Author: 8hummingbirdway

I'm Annie Breglia and I'm on a mission to help heal the planet one soul at a time. The ancient way. The way of the shaman.

Visiting homes and walking in the refugee camp

by 8hummingbirdway

The Africa Posts

We drove deep into the camp, perhaps another half mile, parked, got out, and started to walk around the “homes.”

“UNHCR, the UN Refugee Agency, provides emergency protection and assistance to keep them safe, including shelter, access to clean water, food, medical care and help to reunite families.” Based on my limited experience, the refugees you will see in the photos of this website have had showers, new clothing and more food than the people I met. https://www.unrefugees.org/refugee-facts/?gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQiAoeGuBhCBARIsAGfKY7xSF1MSr_Vv3dR7Hap0A6stsKZcbOWj-jw958SWNJdWD0zMDGeL5H8aAnmwEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds

I am glad to hear about the clean water, food and medical care – and the reuniting of families. I didn’t see any of that, although I did use the sanitary facilities, visited some individual shelters and one larger structure designated as a church.

The tiny homes, about 5′ X 5′, were the main substance of the camp. We entered 3 families’ homes on this day. Although the website shows homes with thatched roofs, these homes were all wrapped in white plastic (like Tyvek) – sides and ceiling – with a door cut out, and the same plastic covered the home. There were white plastic room dividers inside, separating the sleeping area, with one or two mats, from the empty rest of the shelter. That’s it. There were no clothes in evidence aside from what the people are wearing. In one home I saw a small bowl of stems with leaves, but most of these shelters were completely empty aside from the sleeping mats in the sleeping room, 1-2″ high. Some of these mats had frames of some sort, and some seemed to be a pile of fabric.

We walked through the maze of these small cube homes. They stretched on and on. The ground in much of Goma, and in this refugee camp, was made of lava from a volcanic eruption in May 2021. The rocks and dust from the residue of that eruption was not easy to walk on. As an older person, I had to watch every step. The ground was hard and uneven; I could perceive the flow from 3 years ago.

Bienve, director of Remember Youth For Change https://www.facebook.com/rememberyouthforchange guided us left and right; he had secured permission for us to enter 3 homes. The first 2 were simple 2 room units and one had the bowl of stems + leaves I mentioned. The third home was the same size as all the others, but had been divided into 3 rooms. The residents here were a very pregnant very slim woman and her 4 or 5 small children. It was noted that there would soon be an additional resident. I tried to talk to the woman, but she was not responsive. (My French is not great and I don’t know her familiarity with French.) She seemed overwhelmed. I slipped my simple wooden beaded bracelet from my left arm onto her right one and there was an instant of silence. It wasn’t something I thought out, just an “instinctual” act, although I have thought of it many times since. I hope there were trades she could make using my simple gift. Perhaps this is unrealistic. I have no idea of the culture of the camp. What has value (each bead?).

After the visits, we continued on. At one point my son, a soccer player, came across a few boys with an almost unrecognizable brown soccer ball. He gestured to engage with them/challenge them, and the group of 4 or 5 moved in an animated way across the rough lava ground for several minutes.

As for me, I have always been a lover of children. And there was no shortage of children – everywhere! I offered my smile. And the children responded. They recognized my genuine smile and allowed themselves to be drawn to me. Smiles, laughter, openheartedness. There was talk – mostly me saying “Je ne comprends pas,” (I don’t understand) but sometimes I would come up with a word “hand,” “foot,” “friend,” “amour.” I wish I had thought of “song.” I would have loved a song, just from the children. I did say my name occasionally and asked theirs which I didn’t retain at all. After a few more minutes of walking along, I had a large group of children around me touching me, 2-3 holding each hand/arm. For me, this was a delight beyond all others. They read my heart, returned my smile, and I laughed with them and was even more careful with my steps on the uneven ground.

My son and Bienve were maybe 30 ft ahead and they stopped every few minutes. I would do my best to catch up. A couple times I lost sight of them, but then I saw a flash of my son’s shirt down the row between some shelters, and turned that way.

Most of the women we passed smiled at me now, where there faces had been empty when we drove into the camp. I became more comfortable and said a timid and warm “Bonjour” to each woman we passed.

This was the highest joy of my experience in Africa. Children surrounding me with open hearts. The open warm smiles of mothers in loss. A meeting and connection of humanity, of laughter and smiles – and simple joy and fullness for me.

These are the connections one can make: a soccer challenge, smiles, the gift of a bracelet. (It was perhaps a help that we wouldn’t have been able to communicate with language.) These gifts come from an openness on both sides to engage as humans. There is giving and receiving on both sides and true connection results, even if only for an instant.

When I say this was “the trip of a lifetime,” – it is these moments I return to.

My son had said he came on the journey this year with a specific hope to reconnect to his inspiration. The nonprofit work for him had lost something. I felt it was the human connection. He was very involved in the assessment of the funded work, the local organization and local leaders who had secured help and funding, as well as discussion future plans. On this day – having engaged with a soccer ball and several youths, he decided that he would purchase 2 soccer balls that evening and bring them to our outing the next day at the larger refugee camp outside of Goma. (His first connection to Africa was through bringing soccer to a remote village in Uganda.)

Just before we left, Bienve brought a woman over to the vehicle who, he said, would give away some of my gifts, more to the pregnant mother, and some to others. I had a pair of glasses (I had more at home) some scarves, a turquiose stone, some earrings, a feather, some hair clips, I can’t recall what else – and he allowed me to give them to her and save the rest for tomorrow’s refugee camp.

Deep thanks to my friend who said, when she heard I was going to Africa, “What gifts will you bring?”

One last thought. Although I did not feel a personal connection with the pregnant woman, I have thought of her often. I hope that the child was planted in her womb by her mate, who she is without, at least for now. Perhaps forever.

I know there will be additional burden with the coming of this child. I hope there is some blessing for her as well.

My son says there is nothing I can do for her specifically, that I can donate to Remember Youth for Change https://www.facebook.com/rememberyouthforchange or to his (my son’s) organization that helps so many.

But I am more of a one to one person. I keep thinking of a personal sponsoring for this woman and for one other person I met in Congo.

My son would say that I would risk unwise use of any funds provided, and I know this is true.

There is more to tell of this visit.

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First Refugee Camp – School Visit

by 8hummingbirdway

The Africa Posts

Our host, Bienve, and staff from the nonprofit organization Remember Youth for Change https://www.facebook.com/rememberyouthforchange drove us to the refugee camp.

Our first stop was at the school. This school is a community school, and the staff found a way to expand and meet the needs of the displaced children as well as those who already attended. The teachers teach the local children in the mornings and then teach displaced children from the camp in the afternoons.

The afternoon class is large from the camp, and the students only go to school if their parents approve their attendance. There are many many children in the camp – and about 30 lined up for new shirts. There may be more who attend. I’m not sure how large the entire afternoon class is, but we only had about 20 shirts to hand out.

Most displaced parents do not want their children to attend school. From what I know, formal education is not part of a tribal lifestyle.

I’m glad for the rule about school being a parental decision; when we schooled the native children in our country, the parents did not get to approve the decision. After forcing Native Americans from their tribal lands, our forefathers then took their children from the broken tribes – and “schooled” them (often in boarding schools) to conform to European/American religion and culture. The children were not allowed to use their given names or speak their native languages. [Read The Education of Little Tree if you want to know more about this.

Here of course, the story is different. An external military unit forced these people from their tribal lands, and transformed them into refugees. The schooling is a generosity, from what I can tell. The people still sing their songs, keep their names, sustain their tribal identities, and go home to their mothers* and siblings.

I know that Bienve respects the tribal ways.

Regardless of intention, the tribal ways and the tribal closeness to and alliance with Mother Earth has been shattered, along with the connection to ancestors.

And these children are going to have to navigate the dominant culture in DRC (Congo).

Last Thursday we stood on the porch of the schoolhouse, and my son and I were handed the new bright white shirts with their nice collars that give pride and a semblance of having a uniform to these students in this land where school children wear uniforms if they can afford them. The children were happy to get them. although there weren’t enough for everyone. I knew the sewing machines were at work to provide new shirts for all.

I was uncomfortable giving out the shirts, as if I had had a part in providing them. My son had been part of providing funding, but he was uncomfortable too ,he later said. It felt like a “photo opportunity” for us to be honored and photographed in this formal way. I made the most of it by being present for each child in the best way I could.

I believe that they thought we would want to be honored in this way. “Look at us and the good we are doing!” In truth, my son came to know the conditions, how the funding was benefitting others, and how to best move forward to help in the best way possible. As for me, I came to connect with and support my son, and my further purpose unfolded in Goma.

As we progressed down the line, I realized that these shirts were replacements, that the gray/brown shirts the children had on were the very same shirts. They had been worn daily for some time, were in a state of disrepair, and dirty.

Here is a photo of 2 students in their white shirts.

Our next move was to drive deeper into the camp, walk around, and visit some of the individual homes.

*Mothers and children make up the camp, aside from a very small number of older men. I do not know where the fathers are. I fear they are lost, that there are no men for the women and no male role models for the children. My guess is that they died attempting to defend their villages. I have many unanswered questions that I wish I had thought to ask. For this I apologize. I was so overwhelmed, and we moved so fast during this week, that many questions did not surface until I was on my way home.

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Personally

by 8hummingbirdway

I wondered how I would cope with this journey being over. But it’s not over. My heart and my soul have been deeply impacted and there is more to do. Telling the story of my journey is part of it. Right now I’m not sure how to even be myself.

I walked into my home Monday morning and saw my husband and the tears started. They live close to the surface now – for which I am grateful.

Tears should always be close to the surface, I think. So that we can release the experiences and challenges we no longer need to hold on to. Mine were shut off for many many years, and I had been holding onto much.

There has been a slow resurfacing more recently, and now, after this jounrey, I feel I live with them (tears) right here with me, ready to flow if need be. It feels like the right way to live.

I would also like to live with laughter close to the surface. Perhaps other things as well.

As well as a the desire to tell about what I’ve seen and experienced, I would like to learn how to walk with a load on my head, as so many of the people in Africa do. I saw it over and over and I’ve always loved that image, and the simplicity of carrying a load in that way. We shall see whether I have the balance and strength to do it. Or whether one must learn this ability at a younger age. Or whether I will even sustain this intention. It’s going to have to wait for warmer weather!

I am physically challenged from the journey. It was all I could do to drive home 3+1/2 hours yesterday on the morning after my 3rd plane landed (Sunday at 2pm). I am listless, short-tempered at times, hot and cold, my feet are falling asleep often, I’m sleeping an awful lot, a small cut is not healing, I’m not eating much, and have to make myself drink. (My son was in the hospital for dehydration last night. I feel for him. He had to put off an important job interview from Monday until Tuesday, and then realized he could not think. Thank God he was able to recognize that he needed help.) I have not lifted a finger in the past 3 days to cook anything. After looking at my calendar about 8 times, I prepared to leave for an acupuncture appointment Tuesday, then realized it’s not until Wednesday when I saw the date on my check. I’m nervous about taking a shower, and I clearly need one (I did take one Sunday night).

I am very fortunate to have a tolerant and supportive husband. He just put on some lovely music tonight that has me teary, so the shower will have to wait.

I know people are waiting to know more about my journey, but there are many aspects to what has occurred. I will continue with my trip to the first refugee camp tomorrow.

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In Goma

by 8hummingbirdway

The Africa Posts

I write from home now, I am not the same self that left …and I will talk about that another time.

I will continue to label these writings “The Africa Posts”

I have not shared everything about Uganda yet, but I must report on Goma now. I do not want to endanger the missions there, and I need permission to tell some things, but there is much I can share, and it is best I feel for me to share events as they happened, in sequence.

When I said I love Congo and her people, it’s because so many of the people of Congo are actually in Goma. I did not travel more than a few miles from there, but Goma is a place where many people seek refuge.

I have recieved permission to use the name of our host, Bienvenu Kamwendo and provide a link to his organization, Remember Youth for Change. https://www.facebook.com/rememberyouthforchange

When we crossed the border from Rwanda, Bienve brought my son and I to the hotel he reserved for us. We paid, left our luggage, had a quick breakfast, and went on to visit his office near the church. There we were formally introduced to the staff of Remember Youth for Change. https://www.facebook.com/rememberyouthforchange, a small but impactful group with several missions at work. Bienve is the founder. We met local members/employees of the organization (one is his wife and one his daughter we later learned), and several former child soldiers.

After the formalities, we were shown a room with a sewing machine and some patterns and some beautiful African fabrics. We saw a box of shirts that we would deliver to children attending school at a refugee camp (whether to attend school is a parental choice). We were also shown a box of reusable menstrual pads that have been a big success in the local community.

The box of shirts went to the car with us.

Next we were driven to another building where 6 sewing machines were set up with 6 workers in a rented space on a second floor. There were 4 or 5 older women by a table of supplies. (By the way, I don’t think I met another caucasian person during my time in Goma. These are Africans, teaching and helping other Africans.) The older women were there as teachers. They looked at us with closed faces and uncertainty. All of them were dressed in beautiful clothes they had made themselves with beautiful fabrics. They softened a bit when I asked about and praised their clothes. There were 3 former child soldiers and 3 young women at the machines.

As Bienve spoke with my son about the operation, I decided this would be a good time to disperse some of the gifts I had brought. I pulled out a scarf, a pair of glasses, a few other items. I thought I had found some wise and generous women who would know who needed what. And I had …but Bienve stopped me and explained that these women were not associated with the refugee camp, that we would find a way to give away my treasures there. Embarrassed, I took the items back and put them back in my backpack. The women, however, understood. They had seen the intentions of my heart and they smiled at me warmly. As we left them, I touched my hand to my heart and to each of theirs, going down the row, down the stairs and back to the car.

We drove through Goma toward the camp.

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Smiling from the Heart

by 8hummingbirdway

The Africa Posts

I have left the DRC (Congo). I have left Africa. I am grateful to be heading home. My last day of travel to the airport in Rwanda was overshadowed by a mild case of food poisoning which sapped my strength. Better now as I write from my last layover.

My last 2 days in Congo were more impactful than I can express with words. However, I need to finish telling my story to the best of my ability.

I cannot say I am happy to leave Africa. I have fallen for the Congolese people. And for the refugees who now live in Goma.

What I offered to Uganda and Congo was my love. My son brought wisely placed funding, but all I had was love. On drives people were surprised to see our faces. I smiled at them with all my heart. Often people who looked hard at first – gave in to my sustained smile and returned it. It was a delight each time I broke through. In Uganda it was about 75%, but in Congo more like 30%. At first I thought it was because they had not seen whites before, but my son explained this was not the case. They have encountered whites significantly more often in Congo.

They are more wary.

Children are much quicker to meet me in my smile, but in Congo, there were some tough ones. One girl I specifically remember who would not give in comes to mind. I was standing by the van we arrived in at the first refugee camp, waiting for my son. He and Bienve had climbed a hill and looked over some gardens. This girl, maybe 9 or 10, lingered after the other children I was talking to were dispersed by a man who, it turned out, wanted to ask me for money.

As I waited for my son, leaning against the van with the photographer and 2 protectors (who were once taken as child soldiers), I smiled occasionally at the girl. She barely met my eyes, sustaining a sullen look of something like belligerence. Finally Bienve and my son returned, and as I walked around the van, I smiled again at the girl and saw for an instant the flash of a smile.

These smiles I have received are my richest souvenirs. Though I cannot display them, they live within me.

Deep thanks to Julie, who created this website for me. She posted these posts about my journey while I was away. See info about Julie in the footer at the bottom of the page.

Journey to Goma

by 8hummingbirdway

The Africa Posts

After the 3-4 hour drive from Kigali, Rwanda we arrived in Goma. We had no trouble, experienced no danger. All was calm at border crossing. No fear, bribery, military stops.

I have a great deal more to say about our impactful first day. But service is bad. I will have to report after we leave. Powers that want the valuable minerals here want to keep others at bay and weaken the tourist industry (safaries) and other industry here, especially in Goma.

I love Congo and her people.

I call for prayers for DRC (Congo).

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Being the ‘Momma’ in Africa

by 8hummingbirdway

The Africa Posts

While in Africa on this journey with my son, as he attends to his missions (the non-profit groups he founded and co-founded), I have the status of “the Momma.” Sometimes I hear “Hello Mommy” in a restaurant, a park, or informal gathering mostly from a woman. But in formal groups where my son has provided support and funding, I am clearly recognized in an official capacity as my son’s mama (or “Momma”, as I hear it).

This status of Momma is definitely an honor, especially when I am recognized as the mother of my respected son. I am 2nd in order of respect in any of these groups, including head teachers and others of status. I am introduced after him and given substantial credit for the man he is and his good work. They want me to say a few words to the captive audience. And I do. In educational groups where Literate Earth Project is the group represented I say how important books were in our family, how I read to my son from early on. That’s about it, I’m no orator. It was uncomfortable the first time, but I appreciate the recognition that his background and mother are an aspect of who he is, what he does. And I get to express warmth to a group in just a couple of sentences, where I may have only had a chance to speak personally with 2 people.

In DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) there has been less call to talk. When I did speak, I said a few words about love – and especially honoring all children – in my broken French.

Interested in learning more about Remember Youth for Change, the local nonprofit group in Goma, DRC? https://www.facebook.com/rememberyouthforchange

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Off to Goma

by 8hummingbirdway

The Africa Posts

And so I am on my way to Goma. We left at 4 am on the 3-4 hour drive across the border and into the city. There is much to do today. I don’t remember all of what I was told last night when I met the organizer from Goma. I was fighting sleep. We had been 2 days without a bed, flight issues on our way to Rwanda.

I spent less than 24 hours in Rwanda, which does not have my heart the way Uganda does. We were there as tourists, going on a gorilla trek – which was very expensive, and good exercise. I had the experience of looking into the eyes of some gorillas, of seeing them eat, interact and nurse. I realize how fortunate I am.

However, connecting with the gorillas does not carry the value to me that the blessing of human connection does. My daughters would certainly disagree. As would many others, including the passionate ranger who guided us, and who I was grateful to have met.

But humans are my species. I love them. To know them, to be helpful to them is my mission here in this lifetime. It is the same for my son, who is next to me in the car, typing up an annual report for this nonprofit organization that provides funding to these Africans (and globally), on our way to Goma.

This organization that he co-founded is helping so many. I met some of it’s beneficiaries on Monday with an outstanding man in Jinja. He teaches school children who attend schools without electricity to use laptops so they have a chance to succeed in higher grades and to attend college and bring forward movement to their own country rather than holding a vision of emigrating to America.

I had the privilege of witnessing and assisting with an introductory session for 70 students age 11-13 in Jinja, Uganda at a remote school in Jinja district. It is uncertain whether the school will support the rest of the curriculum (5 more sessions). Challenges abound.

Last night in my exhausted state, I missed a lot of what B said about today’s (and tomorrow’s) plans. This is partly due to his “broken” English (far superior to my French). French is the national language in DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo).

I do know that we will go to a church which supports and provides a base and a home for some of the work B is doing with child soldiers ages 12-17. These soldiers, stolen from their homes (often villages burned to capture them), then abused and raped into submission, become outcasts when they escape from the army or are injured. Because of their outcast status, hospitals in the Goma area who find themselves with a minor who has sustained gunshot wounds or other war injuries now call B, (who is a lawyer in the community). The patient is released to him after treatment.

This would not be allowed, due to child soldier status, but the injured minors are integrated into his organization and supported there, along with other refugees of war. This tactic hides their past as a child soldier from the dominant culture. Then B’s organization helps them continue their education, helps find work for them. This provides community, as well as avenues for healing and rejoining their world.

I will also meet some of the beneficiaries of B’s efforts, the child soldiers themselves, and possibly other refugees. I know the day will be full + there will be meals and various people to meet. Much will be in French. I wish I had worked harder, started sooner in my French refresher course.

All prayers and good wishes are welcomed.

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Whether or not to go to DRC (Congo)

by 8hummingbirdway

The Africa Posts

If you are one who follows the news, you will know that there are reports of a rebel army approaching the city of Goma in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Reports also tell us that food supply lines to Goma are threatened.

My son and I are to spend the final 2 days of this journey in and near Goma.

Over time I have come to feel that some of the stories told by news organizations are just that- stories. Their purpose is to manipulate and create outcomes I do not claim to understand. I am now in a position to make a personal decision based on what I believe.

My son arranged months ago for a resident of Congo to pick us up in Rwanda and drive us across the border. He will be with us at each event and time of transport for our time there, dropping us off at our hotel at the end of the day and picking us up again in the morning. He will also drive us back to Rwanda.

Our hotel has armed guards; this is not a new development.

This man has been an associate of my son’s for 3 years. He works with child soldiers to help stabilize their lives once released (or escaped), and he works to support more than one refugee camps. He is also an attorney. My son trusts him.

My husband is understandably concerned about me going to Congo at all, and specifically to Goma. He has asked me not to. But this journey with my son is important to my relationship with him, and is one in which I decided to trust. I have always planned to accompany my son for the full 8 days. I do not feel fearful.

I decided that I would personally reach out to our host in a text. My son forwarded this message from me:

Hello Bienve –

I have seen your face, I have read about your work with the children, and my son trusts you. My husband is very worried. I want to hear directly from you that there is no cause for concern if we come to your country as planned. No danger to a traveler from the US? No threat of not having food? I am a 68 year old woman who is strong in spirit and well in body. I intend to continue with my plan to accompany my son on this leg of our journey if you tell me there is no cause for concern.

Many blessings.

Annie Breglia

I received this reply:

Hi Annie,

Nice to hear from you. Goma is very safe, people have destroyed the image of Goma because of their own international Mafia. I can’t talk a lot about Goma as you are very closer you will see by your own all things have been well planned and children are prepared well for welcoming you on the field. Can’t wait to meet you, I know you will have a good memory once back home safely. (smiling emoji) Lastly in Goma we have all international organizations working locally and they are safe. Welcome once more and be blessed have a good memory once back home safely. (smiling emoji)

Bienve

And so I am going to complete this trip with my son as planned.

I have no fear or trepidation and plan to continue walking in love.

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Libraries and a Special Person

by 8hummingbirdway

The Africa Posts

Yesterday we visited 3 Literate Earth Project (LEP) libraries. I very much enjoyed engaging with the children who were 6 – 8. Some of the teachers were also a delight.

My son founded this nonprofit organization when he was in college. He funded it almost completely by himself for several years as libraries were built. Today the organization is on solid financial ground, there are 17 libraries, and he is not longer the CEO. My son is the founder and sits on the advisory board.

People of all ages seem impacted by our whiteness. They may have seen a few Caucasians, but to talk to us and connect with us seems really…somehow moving. As it is with us to truly connect with Africans. I guess we are all realizing and experiencing our “sameness” and connection.

Most people are open and warm. When I sustain a smile even as we pass on the street, they have to, want to, give in and smile too. Not always, but predominantly. It’s lovely.

I also met a man named Kuol Kuol from South Sudan today. He was abducted from his home as a child to fill the ranks of child soldiers. I wanted to know at what age, but he changed the subject.

Being a child soldier is a subject of great shame. It’s surprising that he even disclosed it.

Kuol comes from a tribe where the men take the same name as their grandfather, the great-great-grandfather, and so on, skipping a generation in between. Kuol’s great-grandfather, his father and his first son also share a double (repeated) name. (I can’t recall the name.) There is strength in this, he told me.

Kuol identifies as a Christian, “but,” he says, he receives “pictures” and messages from his ancestors. This feels so aligned with my work as a shamanic practitioner.

Kuol is passionate about teaching at a refugee camp in Northern Uganda. He is engaged with a large LEP library there, and he joined us on this day to learn more about how he could best help the refugee children at the library. He also has ideas about improving fishing and farming undertakings for the war refugees. He hopes to implement them, and my son hopes to play a role in this.

I am blown away by this young man, in his early 20s. He’s been through so much, and applies himself to the needs of others in a way that is remarkably selfless. He seems to be an outstanding human. He appears to be kindness personified; I saw him engage with children at the libraries today, and with the toddler at dinner at the LEP director’s home. They all, We all, love him.

Somehow the work Kuol does for others must heal his wounds. That’s my sense.

Remarkably, he has also met and been impacted by the Dalai Llama. And really, this makes complete sense to me. Two gentle spirits. Both displaced from their homes, both helping others.

As we parted ways, I told him about my work in the way of the ancient tribal healer, and let him know that if people cannot pay, there is no charge for the help. I know that he knows many who are deeply wounded. It would be a blessing if I had the opportunity to help.

Interested in learning more about or donating to the Literate Earth Project? https://www.theliterateearthproject.org

Private sessions are offered in person and remotely by phone or video conference. Contact Annie to book a session, host a workshop, for sliding scale rates or to discuss barter arrangements.