Life's a beach.
I mean, really – everything's pretty, it's usually sunny (here, anyway), sometimes you get burned, and white people think some things (like sunscreen) only apply to them.
Or maybe because it's kind of messy and uncomfortable, but there was a moment with the waves and the sun where you felt so small that your heart would burst with it... and when you go home at the end of the day, your skin is still warm from its brush with the universe.
What I really mean is that you can choose what to call your adventure – either it's messy and beautiful, or it's an epithet. And while most people know that it's not the latter, there's a temptation to label some events, some moments, some places a waste or a failure when they are precious in their own right.
And don't get me wrong – I'm not just advocating for a saccharine vocabulary change. It's not a growing opportunity or learning curve; there was a choice involved, and it may have been stupid, and it probably hurt. But it had beauty and worth too and to throw that out is the real waste.
Here, the idea is that if you're not using it, it's mine – and you can't use more than one at a time. This hampers bulk buys and planning, and supports community and sharing. When our two cultures collide, this means that many Congolese think they have a right to all the 'extra' that Westerners have. And Westerners, from guilt, accept that they must share. By this, I mean that they are told – through books, through training, through the accumulated guilt of centuries of oppression – that they must give and stop taking.
Do you see the problem? That the stupidity of something has become an excuse to throw it away, to scrub it out of existence instead of mining the worth from it? That you cannot give completely, just as you cannot take completely – aside from not being a sustainable model, it's not even possible. (I think this one guy succeeded – but he was totally crucified for it.)
Once, very early in the Seed program, I came home and looked for my slippers to... nothing, really – probably relax and write a blogpost – but couldn't find them. After hunting for an eternity (a minute at most because I have a floor plan of items and disappearance means the involvement of an unauthorized agent), I found them on the feet of a friend.
“Those are mine.”
“Oh, do you need them?”
This was a major communication error. I decided to be magnanimous because she was clearly suffering some sort of mental deficit.
“THOSE are MINE!”
“Right, do you need them?”
What does that have anything to do with anything, you blithering gerbil? I probably blacked out then; I'd have remembered if I'd ripped out her weave.
More recently, Butters was accosted on his way upstairs by Mrs. Second Floor, who saw his pack of toilet paper and demanded some. He handed over a roll.
Each of the above situations contains one person acting oddly, and one person being reasonable. If you'll look carefully, you'll notice that the African in the first situation and the Westerner in the second have a more wholesome approach to life. I take this to mean that neither the problem nor the solution lie with a specific country, culture, or personality, but that each needs a bit of give and take.
I was recently 'helped' across the street by a quiet young girl who proceeded to follow me for a few steps before deciding that we were close enough that she could petition me for money for her ailing mother and, by the way, did she mention that she was an orphan?
A man came into my office the other day from one of our offices up north. After customary greetings, he decided to go for the prize.
“So when will you give me a dictionary?”
I blinked at him. When hell freezes over was definitely a contender, but the thought of having to explain it to him took all the fun out of it.
Nearly everyone asks us for... anything. The most normal request is for money for everything from a trip home to phone credits to food to medicine. I don't doubt that the need is real, but the fact that many Westerners are generous (usually from guilt – even subconsciously) creates a desperation to get 'what we're not using' and the drive to get it from us before we leave. Some smart Congolese in higher positions use the double-edged sword of friendship and culture to squeeze out these resources. Others don't and thus don't benefit as much as their parasitic brothers and sisters. This is unfortunate, but how are foreigners to 'reward' a sense of pride and independence without again resorting to material resources and paralysing the desire of good people to good for their own sake? Personally, I feel that this should be through negative punishment – removing a positive stimulus (money / contacts / publicity) in order to decrease the probability of a certain behaviour (fraud / manipulation / nepotism) – which is obviously easier said than done. But we need to find a way to support and strengthen those who want to break free of the system of corruption instead of continuing to feed into it. I don't accept that we have no other choice – this implies that cheating is the norm and that integrity is abnormal.
No.
If my short trip to an IDP camp taught me anything, it's that the fight for resources has begun a trade in manipulation. While it's not up to Westerners to 'solve' anything now, it is our responsibility to live incarnationally, share what we have, and ask for what we don't. Negative punishment applies to ex-pats too: If you need to be paid handsomely to be here, don't come. How can you expect to 'help' anyone without love for them? Expertise without heart is a cold machine – at least the Tin Man knew he was incomplete. No wonder many locals are resentful of Westerners; if foreigners are rewarded for the misery and fear of living here for a few months, then how much more should citizens gain for having been born here, for living in close quarters in large families, for sharing meals made on a charcoal fire with water lugged in 2L oil cans by preschoolers, for alternating between being refugees and dealing with refugees in the grip of national and foreign armed militants?
Remove the monetary incentive and you may actually find people who want to be here because they love it. Because they care for the locals and this country. Because they are excited about the work they do, want to succeed, and know that that will take a lot of work and a lot of help. And in that environment, I imagine, smart, powerful Congolese may seek after the good of this country rather than a piece of the pie and a one-way ticket out of this 'failed' state. There is beauty here, there is value here; I hope these are drawn out from the system of mutual exploitation that also exists.
Speaking of beautiful messes, I'm getting a close-up view of newly-wedded bliss - Congo style. So far, it seems to involve the wife cooking and mopping at daybreak, working a full day job (janitor / receptionist), going grocery shopping every day, cooking again at home for her Prince Charmant and all the guests who will flood in to congratulate them for the first month, then running a personal laundry and pressing service on Saturdays, and living at church on Sundays. Now, if that's not the very image of love involving (female) sacrifice, I don't know what is.
Another example of beauty has been seeing Butters with his family. Their kindness in inviting Timbit and me over for dinner has showed me that they are close and loving and have some sort of thing involving frozen pig fetuses; it's all very sweet.
My favourite part was Butters' mom, a classy woman, looking back on their mission experience in Egypt with fondness but explaining that Egyptian men were touchy-feely. “There is a lot of bun-grabbing,” she enunciated, her small hands helpfully shaping the invisible baked goods in question.
Because no matter where you go... life's a beach.
I mean, really – everything's pretty, it's usually sunny (here, anyway), sometimes you get burned, and white people think some things (like sunscreen) only apply to them.
Or maybe because it's kind of messy and uncomfortable, but there was a moment with the waves and the sun where you felt so small that your heart would burst with it... and when you go home at the end of the day, your skin is still warm from its brush with the universe.
What I really mean is that you can choose what to call your adventure – either it's messy and beautiful, or it's an epithet. And while most people know that it's not the latter, there's a temptation to label some events, some moments, some places a waste or a failure when they are precious in their own right.
And don't get me wrong – I'm not just advocating for a saccharine vocabulary change. It's not a growing opportunity or learning curve; there was a choice involved, and it may have been stupid, and it probably hurt. But it had beauty and worth too and to throw that out is the real waste.
Here, the idea is that if you're not using it, it's mine – and you can't use more than one at a time. This hampers bulk buys and planning, and supports community and sharing. When our two cultures collide, this means that many Congolese think they have a right to all the 'extra' that Westerners have. And Westerners, from guilt, accept that they must share. By this, I mean that they are told – through books, through training, through the accumulated guilt of centuries of oppression – that they must give and stop taking.
Do you see the problem? That the stupidity of something has become an excuse to throw it away, to scrub it out of existence instead of mining the worth from it? That you cannot give completely, just as you cannot take completely – aside from not being a sustainable model, it's not even possible. (I think this one guy succeeded – but he was totally crucified for it.)
Once, very early in the Seed program, I came home and looked for my slippers to... nothing, really – probably relax and write a blogpost – but couldn't find them. After hunting for an eternity (a minute at most because I have a floor plan of items and disappearance means the involvement of an unauthorized agent), I found them on the feet of a friend.
“Those are mine.”
“Oh, do you need them?”
This was a major communication error. I decided to be magnanimous because she was clearly suffering some sort of mental deficit.
“THOSE are MINE!”
“Right, do you need them?”
What does that have anything to do with anything, you blithering gerbil? I probably blacked out then; I'd have remembered if I'd ripped out her weave.
More recently, Butters was accosted on his way upstairs by Mrs. Second Floor, who saw his pack of toilet paper and demanded some. He handed over a roll.
Each of the above situations contains one person acting oddly, and one person being reasonable. If you'll look carefully, you'll notice that the African in the first situation and the Westerner in the second have a more wholesome approach to life. I take this to mean that neither the problem nor the solution lie with a specific country, culture, or personality, but that each needs a bit of give and take.
I was recently 'helped' across the street by a quiet young girl who proceeded to follow me for a few steps before deciding that we were close enough that she could petition me for money for her ailing mother and, by the way, did she mention that she was an orphan?
A man came into my office the other day from one of our offices up north. After customary greetings, he decided to go for the prize.
“So when will you give me a dictionary?”
I blinked at him. When hell freezes over was definitely a contender, but the thought of having to explain it to him took all the fun out of it.
Nearly everyone asks us for... anything. The most normal request is for money for everything from a trip home to phone credits to food to medicine. I don't doubt that the need is real, but the fact that many Westerners are generous (usually from guilt – even subconsciously) creates a desperation to get 'what we're not using' and the drive to get it from us before we leave. Some smart Congolese in higher positions use the double-edged sword of friendship and culture to squeeze out these resources. Others don't and thus don't benefit as much as their parasitic brothers and sisters. This is unfortunate, but how are foreigners to 'reward' a sense of pride and independence without again resorting to material resources and paralysing the desire of good people to good for their own sake? Personally, I feel that this should be through negative punishment – removing a positive stimulus (money / contacts / publicity) in order to decrease the probability of a certain behaviour (fraud / manipulation / nepotism) – which is obviously easier said than done. But we need to find a way to support and strengthen those who want to break free of the system of corruption instead of continuing to feed into it. I don't accept that we have no other choice – this implies that cheating is the norm and that integrity is abnormal.
No.
If my short trip to an IDP camp taught me anything, it's that the fight for resources has begun a trade in manipulation. While it's not up to Westerners to 'solve' anything now, it is our responsibility to live incarnationally, share what we have, and ask for what we don't. Negative punishment applies to ex-pats too: If you need to be paid handsomely to be here, don't come. How can you expect to 'help' anyone without love for them? Expertise without heart is a cold machine – at least the Tin Man knew he was incomplete. No wonder many locals are resentful of Westerners; if foreigners are rewarded for the misery and fear of living here for a few months, then how much more should citizens gain for having been born here, for living in close quarters in large families, for sharing meals made on a charcoal fire with water lugged in 2L oil cans by preschoolers, for alternating between being refugees and dealing with refugees in the grip of national and foreign armed militants?
Remove the monetary incentive and you may actually find people who want to be here because they love it. Because they care for the locals and this country. Because they are excited about the work they do, want to succeed, and know that that will take a lot of work and a lot of help. And in that environment, I imagine, smart, powerful Congolese may seek after the good of this country rather than a piece of the pie and a one-way ticket out of this 'failed' state. There is beauty here, there is value here; I hope these are drawn out from the system of mutual exploitation that also exists.
Speaking of beautiful messes, I'm getting a close-up view of newly-wedded bliss - Congo style. So far, it seems to involve the wife cooking and mopping at daybreak, working a full day job (janitor / receptionist), going grocery shopping every day, cooking again at home for her Prince Charmant and all the guests who will flood in to congratulate them for the first month, then running a personal laundry and pressing service on Saturdays, and living at church on Sundays. Now, if that's not the very image of love involving (female) sacrifice, I don't know what is.
Another example of beauty has been seeing Butters with his family. Their kindness in inviting Timbit and me over for dinner has showed me that they are close and loving and have some sort of thing involving frozen pig fetuses; it's all very sweet.
My favourite part was Butters' mom, a classy woman, looking back on their mission experience in Egypt with fondness but explaining that Egyptian men were touchy-feely. “There is a lot of bun-grabbing,” she enunciated, her small hands helpfully shaping the invisible baked goods in question.
Because no matter where you go... life's a beach.
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