I did not fall through the bathroom floor. But it was very, very close.
Pounga during the daytime was lovely. I woke up early enough to see the mist rolling over the hills, one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen in my life.
We had heard of a most delicious way to get ready for the day. Everyone here does it. If everyone in an African village does something, well then, that settles it. We girls decided to take our morning showers… in the river!
The girl’s part of the river had the clearest water ever. Every underwater pebble and swimming minnow was unveiled before my adoring eyes. Even knowing that the boys’ part of the river was upstream did not quell my enthusiasm for bathing in this most pristine of environments. And then I got in. And I have never been colder in my life! Who would have guessed that water from a high mountain stream would be so freezing?! (Ok, so apparently everyone else EXCEPT me knew that. But that’s why learning from experience is so important. And, I like freezing my head off. Really.)
While we screamed and shouted about how much we enjoyed trying to wash our hair while turning into human icicles, (or…not) my father was having an adventure of his own.
Dad and my adopted Congolese big brother, Viclaire, had found a lovely hut to stay in, at the foot of the cliff that we girls were condemned to climb every day. They even enjoyed a local wake-up service, complements of the rooster who lived in the coop right next door. Or rather, they would have been woken up by the rooster, if it hadn’t just been harassed by a snake…
Dad and Viclaire heard some commotion outside and emerged to find everyone gathered in a large circle around the offending snake, throwing stones and hoping it would strike true and kill the poor thing. They were too afraid to get close enough to chop its head off with a machete (which is the humane way of killing a snake, did you know that?) so instead they were bludgeoning it with pebbles. So my dad, being the no-nonsense American missionary that he is, just walked right up to that snake and humanely ended its egg-stealing life. Everyone was mightily impressed by his bravery, because everyone knows that snakes are the epitome of all things scary and evil, more so even than a rabid baboon or a hungry panther. I have a picture of him holding up his prize, which is longer than he is tall. I’ll try to find that…
This particular snake is unidentifiable, according to me. I’ve never heard of a snake that does this: Dad described it during its death throes (he picked it up right after his head got chopped off, and I unfortunately cannot explain why in the world Dad would do something like that, but the only reasonable conclusion I’ve come to is that he’s a boy. They are incomprehensible) so the snake wraps its body around and around dad’s arm, and tries to poke him with this sharp pointy barb on the end of its tail. So, does anyone know of a snake that lives in the Congo that has a poison dart in its tail? Yeah, didn’t think so. Dad has discovered a new species!
So, I was never able to personally see the snake whole, because it all happened while I was bathing, but when all the fun was over, some village mamas (ladies) came and took away the snake, and then we ate it for dinner. And it was delicious! Lots of little bones though. That got annoying, but still, delicious.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The Village Pounga
The African rainforest. The Mayombe Mountain range. Home of chimpanzees, gorillas, and all manner of secret and rarely seen wild animals. Some local peoples tell tales of a forest elephant, smaller than the ones seen on the plains and savannas of Kenya and Tanzania. Other legends speak of an enormous, ancient creature, with a long neck and tail that dwells, rarely seen, in the deepest and darkest corners of the rainforest. Whether or not any of these tales are true, this is where we ventured to spread the good news of the Gospel.
We spent 16 hours on the road, climbing higher and higher in our little 4x4 towards our goal: the village of Pounga. Our eyes widened as we saw towering trees perched on green, growing hills of grass and thorns and vines. Fruit trees with no name stood beside banana plants without number. Deep in the mountains were ancient, thick, muscled, twisted trees with long, hanging vines. I imagined grabbing them like Tarzan and swinging for miles. The red dust stirred up by our passage came in sharp contrast to the lush greens on either side.
Our voyage continued well into the evening and night, until we finally arrived in Pounga. All was dark and mysterious, but not silent. The sounds of the night were swallowed up by the sounds of families talking and laughing around the campfires outside of their houses. Contrary to what I expected, the pounding base line of music coming from the local bar/nightclub almost made me forget that we were as remote as we could get.
As we stumbled out of our vehicle, inky darkness surrounded us. I could barely see my hand in front of my face, and even the light from the moon and stars was hidden by thick clouds. Someone grabbed my hands and gave me a kiss on both cheeks to welcome me into their home. Chairs were set out for the weary female travelers to rest upon, while the brave, manly men set out to search for an acceptable place for us to sleep.
Amazingly, they found a place! There is an old, 100-yr Catholic mission stationed at the top of a steep hill/mountain they made us climb up (in the dark), on a slippery steep path about as wide as your foot, surrounded by tall, whispering grass that bent in the breeze and scared me half to death when it trailed across the back of my neck. The second half of my remaining life was almost removed when a goat jumped across the path right in front of me. By the time I reached the top, both my legs and my lungs were burning.
We spent the night in one of the guesthouse rooms. It was a termite-ridden affair held up by stilts over the edge of the small cliff we had just scaled. The boards on the floor of the girl’s room creaked and threatened to snap, protesting the years of feeding colonies of said termites. The little critters had even bored into the walls and left peepholes to the outside. I didn’t mind so much, because my mind was otherwise occupied figuring out how to set up our mosquito nets so that we didn’t all die of malaria (I try to avoid dying of anything whenever possible. Also, it gives visitors a bad impression…)
However, my paranoia of collapsing supports came back to the forefront of my mind when I visited our luxury, INDOOR bathroom, which included a real ceramic toilet seat! It was only missing the cover seat. And toilet paper. And plumbing. (Our fancy toiled was bolted down, but its primary way of flushing involved pouring a bucket of water into the bowl, and hearing certain things splash to the ground under the floor). But the relief I felt at not having to ‘do my business’ outside under a tree in the dark, where my friend the attack-goat might make a reappearance at any inopportune moment, quickly faded as I realized that the termites had also found their way to the bathroom. I could literally SEE THROUGH THE FLOOR to the ground. Every step caused the room to shake and shift, which did not make me feel confident that I would not end up falling through the floor and resting my mortal body among years of other people’s waste, while my eternal soul was turned away from the pearly gates as the stench, (which would surely permeate not only my newly-dead body, but also my spirit, for the rest of the existence of time) would cause even benevolent St Peter to turn me away. Did purgatory include showers and soap? I certainly hoped so.
We spent 16 hours on the road, climbing higher and higher in our little 4x4 towards our goal: the village of Pounga. Our eyes widened as we saw towering trees perched on green, growing hills of grass and thorns and vines. Fruit trees with no name stood beside banana plants without number. Deep in the mountains were ancient, thick, muscled, twisted trees with long, hanging vines. I imagined grabbing them like Tarzan and swinging for miles. The red dust stirred up by our passage came in sharp contrast to the lush greens on either side.
Our voyage continued well into the evening and night, until we finally arrived in Pounga. All was dark and mysterious, but not silent. The sounds of the night were swallowed up by the sounds of families talking and laughing around the campfires outside of their houses. Contrary to what I expected, the pounding base line of music coming from the local bar/nightclub almost made me forget that we were as remote as we could get.
As we stumbled out of our vehicle, inky darkness surrounded us. I could barely see my hand in front of my face, and even the light from the moon and stars was hidden by thick clouds. Someone grabbed my hands and gave me a kiss on both cheeks to welcome me into their home. Chairs were set out for the weary female travelers to rest upon, while the brave, manly men set out to search for an acceptable place for us to sleep.
Amazingly, they found a place! There is an old, 100-yr Catholic mission stationed at the top of a steep hill/mountain they made us climb up (in the dark), on a slippery steep path about as wide as your foot, surrounded by tall, whispering grass that bent in the breeze and scared me half to death when it trailed across the back of my neck. The second half of my remaining life was almost removed when a goat jumped across the path right in front of me. By the time I reached the top, both my legs and my lungs were burning.
We spent the night in one of the guesthouse rooms. It was a termite-ridden affair held up by stilts over the edge of the small cliff we had just scaled. The boards on the floor of the girl’s room creaked and threatened to snap, protesting the years of feeding colonies of said termites. The little critters had even bored into the walls and left peepholes to the outside. I didn’t mind so much, because my mind was otherwise occupied figuring out how to set up our mosquito nets so that we didn’t all die of malaria (I try to avoid dying of anything whenever possible. Also, it gives visitors a bad impression…)
However, my paranoia of collapsing supports came back to the forefront of my mind when I visited our luxury, INDOOR bathroom, which included a real ceramic toilet seat! It was only missing the cover seat. And toilet paper. And plumbing. (Our fancy toiled was bolted down, but its primary way of flushing involved pouring a bucket of water into the bowl, and hearing certain things splash to the ground under the floor). But the relief I felt at not having to ‘do my business’ outside under a tree in the dark, where my friend the attack-goat might make a reappearance at any inopportune moment, quickly faded as I realized that the termites had also found their way to the bathroom. I could literally SEE THROUGH THE FLOOR to the ground. Every step caused the room to shake and shift, which did not make me feel confident that I would not end up falling through the floor and resting my mortal body among years of other people’s waste, while my eternal soul was turned away from the pearly gates as the stench, (which would surely permeate not only my newly-dead body, but also my spirit, for the rest of the existence of time) would cause even benevolent St Peter to turn me away. Did purgatory include showers and soap? I certainly hoped so.
Friday, August 8, 2008
My arrival in Pointe-Noire (August 1, 2008)
I’m home! I arrived in Pointe-Noire, Republic of Congo on June 3rd, exhausted but in one piece. I was thrilled to see both my parents waiting for me at the airport, as well as my adopted Yaya (older brother) Viclaire.
After resting from the two 9-hour flights to get here, reality set it. This Is Africa (TIA). Nothing is ever what you plan, the timing is always off, and you must be flexible or you will be broken. I was reminded of this when I found out that, surprise! I would be translating for a team of young Americans during their 3-week stay in Congo! I panicked, not feeling prepared for this overwhelming responsibility. I haven’t even spoken French in over 4 years!
…Perhaps I should first explain my relationship with Congo, Central Africa. I grew up here, and Pointe-Noire is my hometown. Because French is the official trade language, I naturally grew up speaking it fluently for the 14 years that I spent here as a child. I also went to a French grade school and later attended an American boarding school in Kenya, East Africa. For me, home is on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean and a few hours from the tropical African rainforest. My family came here to work as missionaries, and no childhood could have been better than mine. When I graduated high school I decided to go to college in the United States. I wanted to do something that would help my beloved country, and that was how That Congo Thing was born. And now, after an absence of 4 years, I’m finally home.
As much as I can complain about power outages, water shortages, hot humid weather and giant bugs, I honestly love it here. My panic over my new job as a translator quickly subsided as I reminded myself that my reason for coming was very simple: to help. If my parents needed me to do something, not matter how hard or easy, great or seemingly insignificant, I would do it gladly knowing it would help them out.
The team of 5 college students from Texas turned out to be very nice people, and a delight to work with and talk to. With this experience, not only did my French improve, but the young people on the team have turned out to be wonderful friends, and I have really learned a lot from them. They came to encourage the youth groups in the local churches and so we had a service almost every evening! My voice tired quickly from translating and I felt like my French was not up to par, but I could tell that their presence was appreciated. Thank you Josh, Dara, Jackie, Bridget, and Stephanie for answering God’s call and spending part of your summer with us in Congo!
After resting from the two 9-hour flights to get here, reality set it. This Is Africa (TIA). Nothing is ever what you plan, the timing is always off, and you must be flexible or you will be broken. I was reminded of this when I found out that, surprise! I would be translating for a team of young Americans during their 3-week stay in Congo! I panicked, not feeling prepared for this overwhelming responsibility. I haven’t even spoken French in over 4 years!
…Perhaps I should first explain my relationship with Congo, Central Africa. I grew up here, and Pointe-Noire is my hometown. Because French is the official trade language, I naturally grew up speaking it fluently for the 14 years that I spent here as a child. I also went to a French grade school and later attended an American boarding school in Kenya, East Africa. For me, home is on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean and a few hours from the tropical African rainforest. My family came here to work as missionaries, and no childhood could have been better than mine. When I graduated high school I decided to go to college in the United States. I wanted to do something that would help my beloved country, and that was how That Congo Thing was born. And now, after an absence of 4 years, I’m finally home.
As much as I can complain about power outages, water shortages, hot humid weather and giant bugs, I honestly love it here. My panic over my new job as a translator quickly subsided as I reminded myself that my reason for coming was very simple: to help. If my parents needed me to do something, not matter how hard or easy, great or seemingly insignificant, I would do it gladly knowing it would help them out.
The team of 5 college students from Texas turned out to be very nice people, and a delight to work with and talk to. With this experience, not only did my French improve, but the young people on the team have turned out to be wonderful friends, and I have really learned a lot from them. They came to encourage the youth groups in the local churches and so we had a service almost every evening! My voice tired quickly from translating and I felt like my French was not up to par, but I could tell that their presence was appreciated. Thank you Josh, Dara, Jackie, Bridget, and Stephanie for answering God’s call and spending part of your summer with us in Congo!
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