Congolese Rumba Worship | Life in a War Zone

I loved worship yesterday! I've been tired of lugging my backpack around with all my photo and audio accessories, and could've kicked myself for leaving the digital audio recorder at the guesthouse. Worship was AMAZING!


The Congolese have a unique rhythm which they call Rumba. There was a drummer (hand drum) and a guitar player who picked the most fascinating rhythms. And all through church there were hand percussion instruments. Sometimes, the guitar would be playing and all through the congregation, young and old would sit and play along on their own shaker, made of a USA AID oil drum. I took some pictures, but really, it doesn't do it justice. And when they sang, everyone harmonized.

No electric keyboards.

No hymns.

No English songs.

Just Swahili songs with Congolese rhythms.


After the service, people came forward for prayer. We were sitting in the front row, so as a child was waiting to be prayed for, I reached out and prayed for him. And when I opened my eyes, possibly all 20 or so kids who were in church waited for me to pray for them. As I lay my hands on their course hair, I could but smile and thank God for the privilege of praying for these little ones. Witchcraft is still prominent around here. As is the threat of war. North of here, in North Kivu (we're in South Kivu), war has once again been declared, and we're told that thousands of troops have been moved to the area. No-one here seems bothered. It's just a way of life.



They've gotten used to soldiers in their streets and UN helicopters overhead. In fact, during a meeting at school this morning, things were momentarily interrupted as a UN helicopter took off nearby. No-one seemed to notice except for the fact that they had to sing louder for a moment.



But as I was once again interviewing some of the children, the scars of war were more prominent. More stories surfaced of parents and families being killed by soldiers, of young ones staying with people who are using them as household slaves. "I have to work for my food," one girl explained to me today. "My parents are dead. I live with my uncle. I get up at 4:30 to start my chores..."

When I asked her about her favorite game or passtime, she answered without hesitation, "To worship God. To study His Word."

An escape from reality? Perhaps it's more of an escape to reality, into the presence of the God who cares about her, about her suffering.


How does one comfort a young girl like that? By laying your hands on her shoulders and praying that in the midst of life, she'll see Jesus, that He'll get her through this, that she'll hold on to Him as He holds on to her. And by giving her a safe hug, praying that she'll sense God's touch through my caring.

I wish I could do more, though.

Congolese Wedding | Getting to Know the ELI Kids

Last night, I attended a Congolese wedding. You needed to show your invitation at the door to be allowed in, and I didn't have one. Nevertheless, I had a prime spot at the wedding. The reason? It was held on the porch of the Biosadec, the guesthouse where we're staying. If I wanted, I could reach my hand through my bedroom window and shake hands with the other guests...

We were told not to worry, the event would be over by 8 pm. When we left for breakfast at 8 am, some guests were still lingering. Needless to say, I got very little sleep. At first, I thought it's not a big deal. After all, what can one do? But by 3:30, when someone was pounding on my door, I no longer thought it was funny. Fortunately, I've traveled enough never to leave home without ear plugs and my iPod. I had an earplug in one ear, and my iPod in the other, at top volume till it ran out of batteries at 5:30.

But now I can say I've been to a Congolese wedding. I only briefly saw the bride and groom. But I feel like I know the guests. :)

This morning, Davis did a teacher training session. Jen, the girls and I hiked down into the valley, to Bukavu's slum, where "ELI Christian Academy" is located. There, I took photos of all the kids who showed up for today's photo session. I wish I could upload the pictures so you could see them! I may try to do some tomorrow on Mudekereza's computer. I love how they turned out.

After taking their pictures, I interviewed the children to get updated profiles for sponsors. One girl's story especially touched my heart.

The girl's bright smile and spunky hair could never have prepared me for what she told me. I started with the usual, "What's your name? Age? Which grade are you in?" and then progressed to ask how many children are at your house.

"Nine," she answered in French.

"How many of them go to school?"

"About four of us."

Why I asked this, I don't know. I hadn't asked anyone before her. "Do you live with your parents?"

As a Congolese assistant (Reagan) translated the question, she looked down. Her eyes immediately teared up. "No. It's not my parents."

"Are you living with family?"

"No." She gave a long explanation in French, and Reagan simply stated, "She doesn't really know the people. They found her. They are not family."

"Where are your parents?"

With Reagan's help, the 11-year-old explained that when she was six, their house was burned down by Interahamwe rebels. Her parents and siblings burned to death. She managed to escape.

My heart ached for the girl. "Now, you are living with this family?"

"Yes. I work for food."

"What do you do?"

"Everything."

Others had explained to me what their chores before or after school included. Many had to fetch water every morning, or sweep the house, or wash the dishes, or help with the other children. This little girl did all of this and more. Cook. Make fire. Clean. Everything, she said emphatically.

"Do the other children help you?"

"The mother has forbidden them to help. It is my work."

"At school, what's your favorite game to play with your friends," I asked, expecting her to say jump rope, or throw ball, like most of the other girls.

"I don't play," she said, looking down.

It is one of the dreams of ELI Congo to get a place where girls like her can come and live, where they'd have a chance to be children once again.

"Many, many of our 600 children are slaves," Mudekereza explained later. "Slaves! Really."

As others slipped into the seat to be interviewed, I looked out for her shy smile. She had slipped out, most likely because she had work to do and would be in trouble for staying away too long. School only starts on Monday. She won't really have an excuse for not being away from home.

As we headed back up the hill, leaving the shacks and dusty streets behind, I couldn't get her face out of my mind. As other children came running, wanting me to take their picture, I wondered which of them might be living in similar conditions.

I asked Mudekereza if it would be possible to visit the homes of one or two of the kids. "No problem!" he assured me. "They would love that." I look forward to seeing where these children live.

Tomorrow, I will help with some computer issues at the office and hope to get to go back into the valley to take pictures. I've been able to take photos without any problems. In fact, I was able to steal a photo of a "mobile gas station" today when Jen and the girls stopped at a corner to take a drink of water. One-liter water bottles were lined up, some plugged with corn husks, filled with gasoline. Can't wait to upload those so you can see them, too!

For now, I'm heading upstairs to have dinner with Mudekereza's family. Last night, we had chicken with rice. I jokingly asked if it's the chicken that was running around the apartment at breakfast time. "It is," Davis answered. "I asked."

There was no chickens in the house during breakfast or lunch today, so I know we're not having kuku. Whatever we have, I know it will be good.

Dinner's ready.

Congo Craziness

In Bukavu, we have found, you can buy anything on the side of the road. Pull over at one street corner, and a "mobile forex agent" comes to your window, ready to exchange dollars for Congolese Francs. Mudekereza, our Congolese director, exchanged 10 dollars, and got a wad of Francs in exchange. It's about 5,000 Francs, but I doubt you can get any bills larger than 200, so you end up with lots and lots of small bills, all thoroughly worn out.

On the opposite corner, you can buy gasoline by the bottle! It's around 5 dollars a gallon, but no one seems to buy that much gas. You just buy a quart or so, and you get to bargain for a better price...

Elsewhere, I've seen vendors selling eggs, Kleenex, bread, fish... You name it; they've got it. I guess this would make Bukavu paradise for entrepeneurs.

As for things at the guest house where we're staying: Things aren't quite the way they may seem at first glance. For example, though there is a light switch, it does not mean that the light can actually turn off. And though there is an outlet, it doesn't mean that you can charge anything. There is in fact no power to the phantom outlet. And though there's a shower complete with taps, it doesn't mean there is any water supply. Not to the tap, at least. I'm fortunate that there is a water supply to my toilet. The Davis' room doesn't have that luxury. But they have lights that can turn on and off. And their outlet works. I guess they should put it on the room request: Choose which type of room you prefer, one with water, or working electricity. (Choose only one.)

The manager seemed perplexed that I didn't like the idea that my light wouldn't turn off, but promptly came up with the solution: He'll take out the light bulb. So I requested a candle. Which got me the "Boy, you foreigners are sure demanding" look.

This look is a little different from the "Relax! We Congolese don't care if people drive on the wrong side of a divided road: Can't you see that there are pore potholes on the side where I'm supposed to drive?" look.

We've been spending the morning looking at some properties around the city and meeting with our in-country director to plan the activities for the week. I'll get to start taking pictures of the children at our school in the slums tomorrow, and collecting new information for their sponsors. I also hope to record some songs by them in the next week.

Bukavu really is beautiful. It is on the shore of Lake Kivu, a large freshwater lake. But there are thermal gasses on this side of the lake, so it's unsafe to be in the water. I'm told that the water is beautiful at Goma, a farely short ferry ride from here, but things are unstable there in terms of safety. No need for us to venture in that direction.

Speaking of safety: We have felt completely safe here. (Other than when we're driving against traffic!) I have even been told that it is OK for me to take pictures, as long as I don't take any of the many military vehicles around. Or of the soldiers. So I've been trying to avoid that, which is challenging when you're trying to take pictures of land for ELI and soldiers are squatting on the property. (Squatting as in living illegally, not the other type of squatting.)

Right now, there are children and adults lining up outside the Internet cafe where I am, trying to get my attention and asking for money... I had gone out to talk to the ladies, but they won't take no for an answer. It is hard to know what to do sometimes. I rarely simply give money. But here, I don't know where to go to buy them some bread or fruit.

Back to observations of life in Bukavu: Many of the large homes have paint cans threaded over their electric lines. We're told it's to deter thieves from stealing the wires. If someone would cut the wire to steal it, the paint cans will fall and make a commotion.

My ride is here. Got to go. Till another time,

Au revoir!

Land of a Thousand Hills ... and a Million Deaths

First, if I have terrible typos in this post, it is due to the fact that this is a French keyboard, and a bunch of the letters are in different places than what I am used to.

I am indeed in Bukavu, DRC.

Perhaps the keyboard is symbolic of everything else so far. It is just . . . different. But it is also exciting.

I really do feel safe so far. I have been told that it is even OK to take photos in the city; just not near or of soldiers. And there are plenty. I will try to write about Bukavu tomorrow if possible. For now, some thoughts about Rwanda:

If you have seen Hotel Rwanda, the Hotel Des Mille Collines might ring a bell. It is the hotel in the movie where several hundred people were hidden. Mille Collines means a thousand hills, and the country certainly has thousands of hills. It is evident from the moment you land and see way into the valleys below right from the runway...

Rwanda felt surreal. The city was destroyed 13 years ago, but you would hardly tell. The roads are amazing. Everything seems super orderly compared to other cities in East or Central Africa, but there just isn't a lot of globalization from the look of things. No big supermarkets or shops. No international gas stations even. But there seems to be an atmosphere of hope all around.

I will write in detail about the genocide when I am at a normal keyboard; it is hard enough to put into words without having to look for the right letters...

We drove from Kigali to Bukavu today. It was a beautiful drive, and the girls did well. Some of the sights we saw en route:

• homes look very different in rural Rwanda than in rural Kenya! Most homes have tile roofs - even little mud huts and outhouses would be decked out with tile roofs
• most homes have walled-in courtyards, and it seemed like cows and goats were often kept in these courtyards
• more people seemed to be walking than we typically see in rural Kenya, while few or none were begging for rides
• roads had almost NO potholes, except for a stretch through a national park
• women carried baskets on their heads filled with everything from tea leaves to bananas, guavas, chives, tomatoes, avocados, cassava roots or cabbages to enormous jackfruit
• we passed several graveyards with unmarked graves and often one sign reading, GENOCIDE, NEVER AGAIN
• we also passed a number of outdoor community court meetings called gacacas - pronounced gha'chachas - where communities are finally, after 13 years, having the chance to try neighbors who murdered their loved ones. It truly felt surreal passing these meetings and seeing women standing before what seemed like a panel of judges... I do pray that the process of telling the stories and being given a chance to forgive the perpetrators will bring healing
• there were several police on the road, but unlike in Kenya, we were never pulled over and asked for a bribe
• we saw more armed guards in the national park than anywhere else. I believe this is because this is one of just a few places in the world where you can find gorillas in the wild. It costs 500 dollars US to go see the gorillas, so they are obviously trying to keep people out that try to go and find them on their own. It could also be to protect the primates themselves since guerrilla soldiers are known to kill some every so often
• we crossed the continental divide - a first for me. A little sign showed that rainfall on one side runs to the Nile River and rainfall on the other side runs to the River Congo
• after leaving the park, we passed through mile after mile of tea plantations, and then, in the valleys up ahead, Lake Kivu appeared... We filled out the necessary exit documents to leave Rwanda, crossed a dinky bridge, and then did the necessary paperwork to enter the DRC. Just like that, and we were in the Congo
• roads on this side of the bridge are in much worse state than in Rwanda
• Bukavu seems to be a bustling city on the most beautiful lake. However, the lake has thermal gasses, so it is dangerous to swim in it. Our guest house has a view of the lake. It seems idyllic, but from the look of things, the rooms are really dirty. In fact, I will be asking for clean sheets before getting into bed tonight. I think the room assigned to me is usually used by staff and the sheets haven't been changed. TIA.

My ride is here. Got to go. Will write more when I can.

Hope: Rwanda

This evening, I was watching a Joyce Meyer podcast. It looks at Rwanda and the atrocities that happened in that small African countries. You can download the programs from this site. Scroll down to February 5 and 6 and download the podcasts, then watch them on your computer using QuickTime.

This year, my hope is to spend time at ELI's base in Bukavu, in the D.R. Congo, where many Rwandan refugees have found a new home. I am praying that God will prepare my heart for what is lying ahead, that I will be able to share the Hope that we have in Christ.