The wedding nail polish and bug bite scars are almost gone, but I’m not finished yet! My Congo adventures didn’t end with the wedding. My relatives were leaving the next day, but I had a flight out a few days later.
When we were reserving the tickets, I wanted to fly AirFrance because there would just be one stop, in Paris. Flying with another airline would mean having a long layover, possibly overnight, or simply changing planes 3-4 times. I decided that I would rather spend a few extra nights in Kinshasa than spend the night somewhere in Europe by myself.
Now that the wedding was over, however, and my parents were leaving, and my tonsils were becoming more inflamed with every hour, I wasn’t so eager to be stuck in Africa. However, maybe I would have been too sick to fly that first day and it was actually a blessing in disguise.
After my parents had been picked up for their evening flight and I had had dinner with my uncle (leaving the next morning), I tried to boil some water to gargle with. Unfortunately, the tea kettle was the wrong voltage, and I melted the power strip. This meant that I wouldn’t be able to plug in the laptop that my brother had left for me, so I only had 4-5 hours of battery life to work with.
I got on the Internet and reconnected with some people, so that made me feel better. Then my brother called to say that Hortense had to go to her university the next day, so he was free to hang out.
After spending a few hours on the Internet catching up with things, I took a hot bath in the luxurious tub (I had been switched to another hotel closer to downtown), and then got in bed. I made the pleasant discovery that the air conditioner had a remote control, so I would be able to adjust the temperature without getting up. However, I couldn’t figure out if I was hot or cold. I think that I probably had a fever at this point. I turned the air conditioner off. No, I was hot. Turned it on. No, I was cold. Back and forth, all night.
In the morning, after my uncle left, I checked out of the hotel and was picked up to go hang out at my brother’s office. They showed me a desk where I could use the Internet. After a few hours, my brother came to pick me up and we got milkshakes before he took me to the home of some missionaries, where I would spend my last night.
The missionaries lived on a school compound. There were kids who lived in the dormitory and also other neighbors constantly dropping by. I finally got to boil some water to gargle with. I slept a little better that night.
In the morning, I got ready to go to the airport for early check-in. Before I left, my hostess asked if I needed anything. “I think I need to see a doctor,” I said. She got on the phone with a doctor and described my symptoms, and he prescribed an antibiotic. They recommended starting the course immediately, even without an examination, because it could get worse on the plane and the antibiotics would mean I wouldn’t be contagious. Normally I wouldn’t take antibiotics “just in case,” but I just wanted to get back to Russia alive.
My airport man came to pick me up, and it was the same Seraphin with the gold glasses. I wondered what check-in involved that I needed a guard. Seraphin had also been told that I needed to stop at the drugstore for antibiotics. Check-in was interesting. In the first few steps everything was hand-written, which made me nervous. Seraphin had told me he would wait outside because he wasn’t allowed to go in. While I was waiting in line, his friend (who had also been in the car with us) walked by. Then Seraphin himself squeezed past and into the check-in area. I wondered if he was doing anything related to my case or if he was just staking out the area in general. Then he walked by me again, towards the exit. “It’s okay,” he said, flashing a smile. Why wouldn’t it be?
Everything seemed fine until I got up to the registration desk. They put a label on my bag, but didn’t give me a boarding pass. And they only spoke French. I was not leaving without a boarding pass! “Ou est le boarding-pass?” I asked several times. And they answered me in French. Finally I figured out that the printers weren’t working and I would have to get the boarding pass later that evening, at the airport. The check-in place is in a different location from the airport. So I had to say goodbye to my suitcase and just hope that everything would work out. When I got outside, I told Seraphin what had happened and he confirmed that I would get the boarding pass at the airport later.
After stopping at the drugstore to pick up antibiotics, Seraphin and his driver took me back to the missionaries’ house. I still had several hours until my flight, so I had lunch, took various medications, and konked out on the couch.
Eventually I got up and joined my hosts and some guests at the table, where people were snacking. Valerie Shepard and her youngest daughter were among the guests. It turned out that the Shepard's were on my flight that evening. They were finished with their assignment in Congo. My introduction to the Congo had been their farewell.
It felt surreal to be sitting across the table from Valerie Shepard. Just weeks earlier, I had been rereading "The Savage My Kinsman," which includes photos of Valerie as a little girl, with her missionary mother in the Ecuadorian jungle. And here she was in Africa, serving with her husband and three of her children, passing on the missions legacy.
Their car came earlier than mine, and they said teary goodbyes to everyone and left. Then the other missionaries remained around the table, thoughtfully reflecting on how the Shepard's had helped revive the International Church and been an example to others in the missions community.
Then it was my turn to leave. But for me it wasn't so teary. Of course something in the Congo had touched my heart, but it was time to go back to Russia.
I got into the car and there were not one, not two, but four Congolese men accompanying me. I had my own special army of "angels!" It made me wonder how complicated things were going to be in the airport if we needed so many people.
We let one guy out along the way to the airport, apparently he wasn't going with us. Seraphin and henchman #1 came into the airport with me, while the driver stayed with the car. First was some kind of check-in and getting boarding passes. Seraphin instructed me to give my passport to the first agent. Then I had to move down a line while my passport got passed along to the different agents. It made me a bit nervous not knowing who was actually holding my passport at a given moment.
Finally, I had my boarding passes, and henchman #1 filled out my departure card. Then we headed into the control area. There were lines going straight through to an inspector and other lines where you had to stop at a booth and answer questions. Seraphin put me in the express line. Then he wrote down his phone number for me to call him in case something happened, as he couldn't pass beyond a certain point. I took the number, not telling him that I had no phone with which to call him.
When I reached the inspector, he said "You have no stamp!" and told me to go back to the beginning and this time go through the slow line, getting the stamp from the guy in the booth. Suddenly Seraphin showed up and hurried me along, saying, "No, there are too many people!" And he took off back through the airport, with henchman #1 and me following. This twist suddenly made me wonder if I would make my flight. I decided not to look at the clock.
Seraphin led us outside and into the parking lot, and then we entered another passport control area. This one was VIP. Henchman #2 took my documents, said something to the officer, and then they told me to go and wait in the lounge. I didn't really want to leave my documents, but I had no choice. Right outside the lounge was the tarmac. Seraphin came into the lounge and said everything was "okay" and then disappeared again. My flight was leaving soon and I had neither passport nor boarding pass. Nor telephone.
Finally henchman #2 came out and handed me my passport and boarding pass, both of which had been stamped. I wondered how they had handled the negotiations. Then Seraphin came out one more time. He told me to be very attentive about the boarding calls (which are practically non-existent). The key was to listen for AirFrance and not Brussels. So I hurried over to the door as soon as I heard something related to AirFrance.
Before we got on the plane there was a security check out on the tarmac. They were checking bags and then frisking people with wands. The bags got placed on the ground behind the tables, and you couldn't retrieve them until you got frisked. But the frisking took longer than the bag-checking, so your bag lay abandoned on the ground until you got there.
I got on the plane and was reunited with the Shepard's, who were sitting across from me. The flight wasn't as empty as I had hoped.
My flight from Paris to St.Petersburg was late, and as soon as I got off the plane in St.Petersburg, my ride called to see where I was. I told him I had just gotten off the plane and still needed to go through passport control and collect my baggage. "How long will that take? 20 minutes?" he asked. "Umm, sure," I said, trying to sound optimistic and pushing thoughts of a 2-hr passport control-line out of my head. But as it turned out, a miracle happened and I was already outside in 30 minutes, baggage and all.
Then I headed out into the bright sunshine of a June evening in St.Petersburg.
The end.
Showing posts with label Africa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Africa. Show all posts
Monday, June 30, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Kinshasa- Church ceremony
On the morning of my brother's wedding, I woke up and decided to check out my sore throat in the mirror. Since developing a chronic sore throat last summer, I had become familiar with what my throat generally looked like. Before that, I wouldn’t have known where my tonsils were or what color they were supposed to be.
Yikes, my tonsils had gotten huge! Problem! I medicated throughout the day by taking aspirin and gargling. There wasn't much else I could do at that point.
We got to the hotel in the afternoon where the bride and her mother were getting ready. I thought it would be a bunch of chattering women, but it was just the bride getting her hair done and her mother hanging out nearby.
We left a little late, but not too bad. There weren’t enough seats in the other car, so I ended up in the front seat of the bridal car. My mom, the bride, and the mother of the bride were in back. We were all a bit nervous, and I suggested that we sing a song to try to calm down. So we sang something silly, in English and then French, and then we were already pulling into the church parking lot.
When the car pulled up, there was this dilemma because everyone was waiting for the bride to get out, but I had to get out too. And we had pulled up right onto the red carpet. So the best man helped the bride get out first. Then I got out, although I felt like I ruined the shot.
At the end of aisle, we took our places and turned to watch the bride process with her father. He took her hand and put it in my brother's hand.
After the greeting, we sat down and everyone began to sing a hymn, I Surrender All. I liked being in the wedding party and getting a front-row view of everything going on. The photographers were pretty aggressive and got in the way, but I could still see most of it.
The pastor who officiated was Walt Shepard, married to Valerie Shepard, daughter of Elisabeth Elliot. They had been serving in Kinshasa for a few years, helping run this church, which has an outreach to missionaries and other ex-pats, as well as local Christians. I'd heard a lot about Valerie and it was interesting that her husband had gotten to know my brother and counseled him through the courtship and wedding preparations.
Helping Walt and translating into French was "Uncle" Martin, a doctor and devoted believer who also mentored my brother. He had been the one to speak for Nate at the family negotiations.
The service was long with the translating, but it wasn't boring.
After the vows and rings, some soloists began to sing, "We come rejoicing." I could feel tears starting to well up, which was embarrassing since I was standing very close to the bride and groom. I didn't want anyone to see me crying during the most joyful moment!
The customary photo session followed...
At the reception, it turned out that my sister and I weren't done with our bridesmaids "duties," although we didn't know what was supposed to happen. When the newlyweds were ready to make their appearance, we were suddenly summoned to the gate where the car was waiting. Then people told us in French to line up once more facing the groomsmen. A song started and being the first bridesmaid, I was told to "advance." But I didn't know where to advance to! So I started walking forward slowly in time to this song that I didn't know, with floodlights and cameras pointed at me. It turned out that I totally messed it up, but hopefully we can just edit that part out of the wedding video!
Then the newlyweds were already there, also walking in time to the music, and everyone was cheering. The bridesmaid behind me was yelling at me in French to keep up with groomsmen, who were opposite us. Then there was more cheering, clapping, and photography. Finally I escaped to my seat.
Later, there was dinner, special dances with our two families, general dancing, and a present "assembly line" involving my sister and me and some other members of the wedding party. There were also speeches made by friends of the bride and groom.
The reception was our farewell to these people since my family was leaving the next day and I would be transferred to another hotel for a few days.
I went over and kissed Maman and Papan Mpunga as I left. We were family now, as they had said.
Yikes, my tonsils had gotten huge! Problem! I medicated throughout the day by taking aspirin and gargling. There wasn't much else I could do at that point.
We got to the hotel in the afternoon where the bride and her mother were getting ready. I thought it would be a bunch of chattering women, but it was just the bride getting her hair done and her mother hanging out nearby.
On the floor there were three baskets with flower petals. Who were those for? One was for the flower girl. Two were for the first two bridesmaids. Which meant-me. Ummm, we didn't practice that. I had absolutely no flower-scattering experience, and when practicing the "march" certainly hadn't factored in the weight of a basket into holding my balance. Panic!
The flower girl got dropped off. She was a teeny little tyke with a perfect outfit and hairdo and no hint of a smile. She sat totally expressionless and likely petrified, engrossed in the tv.
Soon after, the other bridesmaids arrived. They had had costume problems, and my mom stitched them up.
We left a little late, but not too bad. There weren’t enough seats in the other car, so I ended up in the front seat of the bridal car. My mom, the bride, and the mother of the bride were in back. We were all a bit nervous, and I suggested that we sing a song to try to calm down. So we sang something silly, in English and then French, and then we were already pulling into the church parking lot.
When the car pulled up, there was this dilemma because everyone was waiting for the bride to get out, but I had to get out too. And we had pulled up right onto the red carpet. So the best man helped the bride get out first. Then I got out, although I felt like I ruined the shot.
Meanwhile, the rings had been left at the hotel and Hortense's mom had to go back for them. Luckily, the hotel wasn't that far away.
When all the wedding party was there, we lined up and got ready to process.
After the moms were seated, the music changed and it was my turn. I was the first of four bridesmaids. The coordinator said, “take a minute to find your step and then go.” I think I was looking for “my step” halfway up the aisle! The song was very slow in the beginning, with no beat. I had mastered the step, but the petal-disbursing completely threw me off balance!
After a few minutes, the other bridesmaids followed and then the bride. I knew because I could hear the cheering (an African wedding is not a silent affair). Then I relaxed because I knew the attention wasn't on me.At the end of aisle, we took our places and turned to watch the bride process with her father. He took her hand and put it in my brother's hand.
After the greeting, we sat down and everyone began to sing a hymn, I Surrender All. I liked being in the wedding party and getting a front-row view of everything going on. The photographers were pretty aggressive and got in the way, but I could still see most of it.
The pastor who officiated was Walt Shepard, married to Valerie Shepard, daughter of Elisabeth Elliot. They had been serving in Kinshasa for a few years, helping run this church, which has an outreach to missionaries and other ex-pats, as well as local Christians. I'd heard a lot about Valerie and it was interesting that her husband had gotten to know my brother and counseled him through the courtship and wedding preparations.
Helping Walt and translating into French was "Uncle" Martin, a doctor and devoted believer who also mentored my brother. He had been the one to speak for Nate at the family negotiations.
The service was long with the translating, but it wasn't boring.
After the vows and rings, some soloists began to sing, "We come rejoicing." I could feel tears starting to well up, which was embarrassing since I was standing very close to the bride and groom. I didn't want anyone to see me crying during the most joyful moment!
The customary photo session followed...
At the reception, it turned out that my sister and I weren't done with our bridesmaids "duties," although we didn't know what was supposed to happen. When the newlyweds were ready to make their appearance, we were suddenly summoned to the gate where the car was waiting. Then people told us in French to line up once more facing the groomsmen. A song started and being the first bridesmaid, I was told to "advance." But I didn't know where to advance to! So I started walking forward slowly in time to this song that I didn't know, with floodlights and cameras pointed at me. It turned out that I totally messed it up, but hopefully we can just edit that part out of the wedding video!
Then the newlyweds were already there, also walking in time to the music, and everyone was cheering. The bridesmaid behind me was yelling at me in French to keep up with groomsmen, who were opposite us. Then there was more cheering, clapping, and photography. Finally I escaped to my seat.
Later, there was dinner, special dances with our two families, general dancing, and a present "assembly line" involving my sister and me and some other members of the wedding party. There were also speeches made by friends of the bride and groom.
The reception was our farewell to these people since my family was leaving the next day and I would be transferred to another hotel for a few days.
I went over and kissed Maman and Papan Mpunga as I left. We were family now, as they had said.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Civil Ceremony
The civil ceremony wasn’t that unusual for me since they have them in Russia too, but I hadn’t actually witnessed one, so it was interesting to see the mystery solved.
When we got to city hall, we waited around outside for the bride to get there and for my brother to do some negotiations. I found it extremely frustrating that after ordering some kind of service and being promised something, there was still negotiating to be done. My brother had to bring a chair to round out their office furniture and a bottle of wine. As in the airport confusion, it all seemed like a game: collect certain points, pay certain fees, go backwards and forwards...
Photography was part of the game. I really wanted to start taking photos of the scenery and the family members gathered, but there were policemen about and I didn’t want to cause trouble…not until after the wedding, anyway! But Hortense’s brother and cousin started filming, so I joined in.
When we got to city hall, we waited around outside for the bride to get there and for my brother to do some negotiations. I found it extremely frustrating that after ordering some kind of service and being promised something, there was still negotiating to be done. My brother had to bring a chair to round out their office furniture and a bottle of wine. As in the airport confusion, it all seemed like a game: collect certain points, pay certain fees, go backwards and forwards...
Photography was part of the game. I really wanted to start taking photos of the scenery and the family members gathered, but there were policemen about and I didn’t want to cause trouble…not until after the wedding, anyway! But Hortense’s brother and cousin started filming, so I joined in.
Finally we were all called to go into the room where the ceremony would be held. At the last minute we were told to line up by two’s. My sister and I lined up together, but it turned out we were supposed to be boy-girl, so we had to switch.
We were led into a room where three stern-looking women were officiating. The ceremony was in French and I could understand the obvious parts like the vows and the exchanging of the rings. Then the lady in the center asked how many children they wanted, and started reading some long articles about marriage. I’m not sure what that was about.
After the bride and groom and the witnesses had signed the papers and the ceremony had concluded, there were the congratulations and the photos of different combinations of people. As we were leaving, the bride and groom took their rings off and put them back in the box….there was still one ceremony left!
To be continued...
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Kinshasa-the work
I can’t write about Congo without mentioning my brother’s work there in micro-finance. I'm not an expert in this, so bear with me if my explanation is less than adequate!
We went with Nate one day to witness a loan distribution. The people receiving loans are trained in groups. There were probably about 30-40 people on this particular day. Some of them had already received a loan, paid it back, and were approved again for a loan. Others were receiving a loan for the first time.
In this picture you can see only women, but there was a group of men off to the side:
At first I felt a little too much like an American tourist being in that room. There we were in our Western clothing with our cameras, watching everything going on. We were introduced as guests of honor, being Nate’s relatives. I didn't particularly feel like I deserved any kind of attention or honor. But I realized that it actually was special for them that we had come a long way to see them, and I also think that they appreciated the fact that we cared about Nate enough to come visit him in Africa.
My brother had my dad give out the first loan. Elders such as fathers and uncles are highly respected there, so this was significant to be handed a loan by my father, not just because he was an American guest, but because he was the head of a family.
Here's an older picture of a client putting her loan to use. This sewing machine will make her work more productive!
We were told that most of the Congolese live in the more village-type conditions that we saw at the loan distribution that day, not in the modern city facilities. It was pretty hard for me to get a sense of what the lifestyle is like. It felt like when I was in a Missions trip in Mexico and we lived on a base and drove into the slums each day. It doesn’t take a genius to see that the living conditions are rough, but you still can’t really get the full picture as a visitor. You can’t even really do a lot to help because without experiencing the conditions, it's difficult to understand what the needs actually are.
It wasn’t the loan distribution itself that was amazing but the amount of work and coordination that had gone into making it happen. It was different from just making a donation. First they find clients and build relationships with them, design and run training programs, manage staff who take care of all these clients, deal with all the money that's coming in and out, distribute the loans, etc. And this is all based on a Biblical business ethics model. Though the DRC is primarily Christian, there is a lot of corruption, and people are often forced to comply by paying bribes. So the goal here is to help people earn an honest living! The prayers and hymns of thanksgiving at the loan distributions are a testimony to the efforts of keeping the work Christ-centered.
Still more events to come...
We went with Nate one day to witness a loan distribution. The people receiving loans are trained in groups. There were probably about 30-40 people on this particular day. Some of them had already received a loan, paid it back, and were approved again for a loan. Others were receiving a loan for the first time.
In this picture you can see only women, but there was a group of men off to the side:
At first I felt a little too much like an American tourist being in that room. There we were in our Western clothing with our cameras, watching everything going on. We were introduced as guests of honor, being Nate’s relatives. I didn't particularly feel like I deserved any kind of attention or honor. But I realized that it actually was special for them that we had come a long way to see them, and I also think that they appreciated the fact that we cared about Nate enough to come visit him in Africa.
My brother had my dad give out the first loan. Elders such as fathers and uncles are highly respected there, so this was significant to be handed a loan by my father, not just because he was an American guest, but because he was the head of a family.
Here's an older picture of a client putting her loan to use. This sewing machine will make her work more productive!
We were told that most of the Congolese live in the more village-type conditions that we saw at the loan distribution that day, not in the modern city facilities. It was pretty hard for me to get a sense of what the lifestyle is like. It felt like when I was in a Missions trip in Mexico and we lived on a base and drove into the slums each day. It doesn’t take a genius to see that the living conditions are rough, but you still can’t really get the full picture as a visitor. You can’t even really do a lot to help because without experiencing the conditions, it's difficult to understand what the needs actually are.
It wasn’t the loan distribution itself that was amazing but the amount of work and coordination that had gone into making it happen. It was different from just making a donation. First they find clients and build relationships with them, design and run training programs, manage staff who take care of all these clients, deal with all the money that's coming in and out, distribute the loans, etc. And this is all based on a Biblical business ethics model. Though the DRC is primarily Christian, there is a lot of corruption, and people are often forced to comply by paying bribes. So the goal here is to help people earn an honest living! The prayers and hymns of thanksgiving at the loan distributions are a testimony to the efforts of keeping the work Christ-centered.
Still more events to come...
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Kinshasa-People
My Africa posts are getting rather drawn-out, so I am going to cover a lot in this one.
When we weren't doing wedding-related activities, we were becoming acquainted with various aspects of Nate's life in Kinshasa, as well as the people that are special to him.
Since my mom is interested in children and art, and had left some art supplies there from a previous trip, we hosted a little art class for the children of some of Nate's co-workers.
Once again it reminded me of my short-term trips to Russia, where we had also done art with children. At the beginning we didn't even have an interpreter, so my mom was using her French and I was using mine. I could basically say the names of the colors and ask the kids which paper or ink they wanted.
In the beginning, the kids were shy and hesitant to begin making something. By the end they were enthusiastic and creating chaos! Many different personalities had emerged: some kids were mass-producing small works of art; others were slow and meticulous. Some children had stopped printing and resorted to simply coloring, including drawing portraits for us to keep. Some were eager to please; others were testing the boundaries! Some were proud of their work; others pouted and threw tantrums.
There was one little girl in the beginning who didn't seem interested at all. For about 3/4 of the lesson she stood in the corner. As all the other kids got started, she continued to stand there, expressionless. Then she went over the pattern table and began to cut. Most kids had cut out one shape, but she had a huge pile of small intricate shapes, which she brought over to me to be printed. As I went over to get something, she followed me and extended a little hand to brush my arm, not wanting to be left alone. Then I realized that she wasn't disinterested at all, just shy! And I felt the love for her that I do for all children, sooner or later.
By the end we were tired, but it was sad to see them go. They were a fun bunch!
These children hadn't been orphans, but we knew there were orphans in Kinshasa. We met a well-known Congolese artist later in the week who gave a demonstration of his work and expressed his desire for wanting to do art with orphaned children. We were able to leave our extra supplies with him.
Then we went to visit the shop where some of his work was sold. The store was set up by missionaries so that the artists could sell their work in a fair-trade environment.
We also met some co-workers of Nate's, at the various wedding events and also throughout the week. One day a few ladies came to meet us in the hotel. They had met my mom during her previous trip and were excited to meet the rest of us. They had made clothes for all of us. I gave them each matrioshka dolls and it was fun watching them open them and shriek over the progressively smaller dolls inside.
We spent some more time with Hortense's family as well. By now it was more relaxed. My mom presented Hortense and Nate with a hand-made guest book for the wedding reception. She had made a box for the book which included photos of both hometowns, each of them in childhood, and finally photos of them together. Hortense's family was touched and enjoyed looking at it.
To be continued...
When we weren't doing wedding-related activities, we were becoming acquainted with various aspects of Nate's life in Kinshasa, as well as the people that are special to him.
Since my mom is interested in children and art, and had left some art supplies there from a previous trip, we hosted a little art class for the children of some of Nate's co-workers.
Once again it reminded me of my short-term trips to Russia, where we had also done art with children. At the beginning we didn't even have an interpreter, so my mom was using her French and I was using mine. I could basically say the names of the colors and ask the kids which paper or ink they wanted.
In the beginning, the kids were shy and hesitant to begin making something. By the end they were enthusiastic and creating chaos! Many different personalities had emerged: some kids were mass-producing small works of art; others were slow and meticulous. Some children had stopped printing and resorted to simply coloring, including drawing portraits for us to keep. Some were eager to please; others were testing the boundaries! Some were proud of their work; others pouted and threw tantrums.
There was one little girl in the beginning who didn't seem interested at all. For about 3/4 of the lesson she stood in the corner. As all the other kids got started, she continued to stand there, expressionless. Then she went over the pattern table and began to cut. Most kids had cut out one shape, but she had a huge pile of small intricate shapes, which she brought over to me to be printed. As I went over to get something, she followed me and extended a little hand to brush my arm, not wanting to be left alone. Then I realized that she wasn't disinterested at all, just shy! And I felt the love for her that I do for all children, sooner or later.
By the end we were tired, but it was sad to see them go. They were a fun bunch!
These children hadn't been orphans, but we knew there were orphans in Kinshasa. We met a well-known Congolese artist later in the week who gave a demonstration of his work and expressed his desire for wanting to do art with orphaned children. We were able to leave our extra supplies with him.
Then we went to visit the shop where some of his work was sold. The store was set up by missionaries so that the artists could sell their work in a fair-trade environment.
We also met some co-workers of Nate's, at the various wedding events and also throughout the week. One day a few ladies came to meet us in the hotel. They had met my mom during her previous trip and were excited to meet the rest of us. They had made clothes for all of us. I gave them each matrioshka dolls and it was fun watching them open them and shriek over the progressively smaller dolls inside.
We spent some more time with Hortense's family as well. By now it was more relaxed. My mom presented Hortense and Nate with a hand-made guest book for the wedding reception. She had made a box for the book which included photos of both hometowns, each of them in childhood, and finally photos of them together. Hortense's family was touched and enjoyed looking at it.
To be continued...
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Kinshasa-Wedding #1
On our first weekend in the Congo, we attended the first of three ceremonies that made up my brother's wedding.
We used to wonder which sibling would get married first and what it would be like for us to be all grown-up, and what our behavior would be like at the wedding. We certainly didn't expect the first wedding to take place in Africa!
When Nate first invited us to travel to Congo for the event, he described this cultural ceremony as my younger brothers carrying in the goats that would be part of the bride-price. That sounded pretty interesting and was not something that I wanted to miss.
I felt fairly calm and relaxed before the cultural ceremony. I knew that the preparations had taken a lot of work, but the hard parts were over. My brother had gotten to know his future in-laws and had made his intentions clear. He had followed their traditions as closely as possible, including going through the engagement ceremony which had consisted of long speeches by representatives of both sides negotiating the couple's future. The bride's parents are Christians and asked for a reasonable bride-price, their goal not being to ask more than Nate could afford, which sometimes happens to young Congolese men.
I think my sister would agree with me that one of the more complicated parts for us as guests was our clothing! We had all had outfits made from matching material, as is the custom, and this was definitely unusual for us!
Since this was the final step, it was up to the bride's family to receive all the guests (200+), check the payment for the bride to see if it was all there, reveal the bride to her groom, and then feed everyone.
All we had to do was sit back and "do as we were told" (in my dad's words).
So we watched as my brother processed to his place, accompanied by the bride's friends who laid down some clothes for him like a red carpet.
Then we were invited into the house and had the final "face-off" with the bride's family, while Nate's representative, Uncle Martin, revealed the items that were being presented. Part of the price was a certain amount of cash, which was counted and then given to the bride once she had entered the room.
The bride then walked across the room and gave the envelope to her father. I was told that this meant everything was in order and the price was paid, and also that she respected her father in giving him control of the gifts.
Once the envelope was delivered, they were now considered married according to the local tradition. It seemed a bit lacking in terms of vows and all (neither the bride nor groom had to speak during the ceremony), but then you have to remember that there had been plenty of words spoken during the courtship and engagement, which had been taken fairly seriously.
Check out my sister's blog for more details.
To be continued...
We used to wonder which sibling would get married first and what it would be like for us to be all grown-up, and what our behavior would be like at the wedding. We certainly didn't expect the first wedding to take place in Africa!
When Nate first invited us to travel to Congo for the event, he described this cultural ceremony as my younger brothers carrying in the goats that would be part of the bride-price. That sounded pretty interesting and was not something that I wanted to miss.
I felt fairly calm and relaxed before the cultural ceremony. I knew that the preparations had taken a lot of work, but the hard parts were over. My brother had gotten to know his future in-laws and had made his intentions clear. He had followed their traditions as closely as possible, including going through the engagement ceremony which had consisted of long speeches by representatives of both sides negotiating the couple's future. The bride's parents are Christians and asked for a reasonable bride-price, their goal not being to ask more than Nate could afford, which sometimes happens to young Congolese men.
I think my sister would agree with me that one of the more complicated parts for us as guests was our clothing! We had all had outfits made from matching material, as is the custom, and this was definitely unusual for us!
Since this was the final step, it was up to the bride's family to receive all the guests (200+), check the payment for the bride to see if it was all there, reveal the bride to her groom, and then feed everyone.
All we had to do was sit back and "do as we were told" (in my dad's words).
So we watched as my brother processed to his place, accompanied by the bride's friends who laid down some clothes for him like a red carpet.
Then we were invited into the house and had the final "face-off" with the bride's family, while Nate's representative, Uncle Martin, revealed the items that were being presented. Part of the price was a certain amount of cash, which was counted and then given to the bride once she had entered the room.
The bride then walked across the room and gave the envelope to her father. I was told that this meant everything was in order and the price was paid, and also that she respected her father in giving him control of the gifts.
Once the envelope was delivered, they were now considered married according to the local tradition. It seemed a bit lacking in terms of vows and all (neither the bride nor groom had to speak during the ceremony), but then you have to remember that there had been plenty of words spoken during the courtship and engagement, which had been taken fairly seriously.
Check out my sister's blog for more details.
To be continued...
Monday, June 9, 2008
Kinshasa-First Impressions
My first impressions of Kinshasa were similar to my first impressions of Russia in 1996. I felt at a similar level of cluelessness regarding language, history, and culture. In an “ignorance is bliss,” sort of way, I had nothing to lose-yet I also had no way in which I could be particularly helpful.
Simple factors like different hours of daylight, hearing a European language being spoken in Africa, and being one of few white people around were pretty disorienting. The trip was short enough that there wasn’t enough time to absorb the local ways in order to “do as in Rome.” Beyond basic greetings and reading some road signs in French, I couldn’t do anything on my own and was dependent on my brother and the mercy of English-speaking locals to help me out.
I compared Kinshasa both to St.Petersburg and to my hometown in the U.S. Some of the aspects that were surprising to other Americans didn’t affect me as much: the noise and air pollution, the crazy driving, the military presence. Many of the stores were small and run-down and reminded me of ones you would find in a village in Russia, or a few years ago in St. Petersburg. However, I found products in the grocery store like cake mix and other Western imports, which are harder to find in St. Petersburg. As in Russia, the imports give an appearance of affluence, but the prices on them are too high for the average person to indulge on a regular basis.
My sister and I were going to be bridesmaids in the church ceremony, so we were picked up our first morning to get measured to have dresses made. We bumped along into town, and finally got out of the car. There were people selling things everywhere: inside stores, in front of stores, along the streets, at your car window…As we walked to the building, a lady called out to me. Thinking she was selling something, I ignored her as I would in Russia. After all, why pay attention if you’re not planning to buy anything? Then Hortense realized what the woman was saying, and when I looked back, my sweater had fallen on the ground and they were just letting me know. After that, I looked at people differently. In Russia people don’t generally like to interact with strangers, but in Kinshasa it’s okay to say “Hello,” or “Have a nice day,” or if someone is selling something, you can say “No thanks, I’m not interested.”
We were led up to a rooftop where the seamstress had set up a mattress and a sewing machine where she could work. Then she began to take our measurements. Everyone in the neighboring shops could see, and began to shout out commentaries. She was special because she had American clients, and the others wanted a visit as well. When Hortense handed over some money for the dresses, they shouted their opinion about that too. So there I was in Africa, standing on a rooftop and getting measured for the whole world to see. As an introvert, I ignored the attention and thought about how I would describe it in writing later.
That day, we also met Hortense’s family. The road to her house is unpaved and full of ditches, but inside they have quite a pleasant home, which they have been remodeling gradually over several years. We were shown into the sitting room and introduced to her parents. Her father, Hubert, gave a speech about us being “one family now.” He kept reiterating what an honor it was that we had come. The mother and younger brother quietly got us drinks.
As we were waiting for the rest of the family to get there, I asked Hubert how many children he had. He told me about his daughter and three younger sons and also about the older son who had died a few years earlier. Their first-born was older than Hortense and had created beautiful works of art, some of which were hanging on the wall, which Hubert showed to us.
When everyone got there, we sat at the table to have tea and snacks. It was obvious that we were all nervous about table manners. I tried to wait and see how the Mpunga’s used their silverware so that I could do it correctly, but they seemed to have the same idea, waiting for us. I also didn’t know if I should eat a lot to please the hostess or if that was considered greedy. I settled on eating the foods that were closest to me, so I wouldn’t have to make a request across the table.
The Mpunga’s were our first exposure to all the cheek-kissing(x3) and other customs, such as the men bumping each other’s foreheads and the sort of lingering handshake that confuses an American who tries to pull his/her hand away immediately.
When we left, we all said “See you tomorrow” in various languages. The next day was to be the cultural wedding ceremony.
That evening, we ate dinner at my brother’s. In a shed outside, the goats for the bride-price were being kept in preparation for the big day. And we were ready for the big moment, too.
To be continued…
Simple factors like different hours of daylight, hearing a European language being spoken in Africa, and being one of few white people around were pretty disorienting. The trip was short enough that there wasn’t enough time to absorb the local ways in order to “do as in Rome.” Beyond basic greetings and reading some road signs in French, I couldn’t do anything on my own and was dependent on my brother and the mercy of English-speaking locals to help me out.
I compared Kinshasa both to St.Petersburg and to my hometown in the U.S. Some of the aspects that were surprising to other Americans didn’t affect me as much: the noise and air pollution, the crazy driving, the military presence. Many of the stores were small and run-down and reminded me of ones you would find in a village in Russia, or a few years ago in St. Petersburg. However, I found products in the grocery store like cake mix and other Western imports, which are harder to find in St. Petersburg. As in Russia, the imports give an appearance of affluence, but the prices on them are too high for the average person to indulge on a regular basis.
My sister and I were going to be bridesmaids in the church ceremony, so we were picked up our first morning to get measured to have dresses made. We bumped along into town, and finally got out of the car. There were people selling things everywhere: inside stores, in front of stores, along the streets, at your car window…As we walked to the building, a lady called out to me. Thinking she was selling something, I ignored her as I would in Russia. After all, why pay attention if you’re not planning to buy anything? Then Hortense realized what the woman was saying, and when I looked back, my sweater had fallen on the ground and they were just letting me know. After that, I looked at people differently. In Russia people don’t generally like to interact with strangers, but in Kinshasa it’s okay to say “Hello,” or “Have a nice day,” or if someone is selling something, you can say “No thanks, I’m not interested.”
We were led up to a rooftop where the seamstress had set up a mattress and a sewing machine where she could work. Then she began to take our measurements. Everyone in the neighboring shops could see, and began to shout out commentaries. She was special because she had American clients, and the others wanted a visit as well. When Hortense handed over some money for the dresses, they shouted their opinion about that too. So there I was in Africa, standing on a rooftop and getting measured for the whole world to see. As an introvert, I ignored the attention and thought about how I would describe it in writing later.
That day, we also met Hortense’s family. The road to her house is unpaved and full of ditches, but inside they have quite a pleasant home, which they have been remodeling gradually over several years. We were shown into the sitting room and introduced to her parents. Her father, Hubert, gave a speech about us being “one family now.” He kept reiterating what an honor it was that we had come. The mother and younger brother quietly got us drinks.
As we were waiting for the rest of the family to get there, I asked Hubert how many children he had. He told me about his daughter and three younger sons and also about the older son who had died a few years earlier. Their first-born was older than Hortense and had created beautiful works of art, some of which were hanging on the wall, which Hubert showed to us.
When everyone got there, we sat at the table to have tea and snacks. It was obvious that we were all nervous about table manners. I tried to wait and see how the Mpunga’s used their silverware so that I could do it correctly, but they seemed to have the same idea, waiting for us. I also didn’t know if I should eat a lot to please the hostess or if that was considered greedy. I settled on eating the foods that were closest to me, so I wouldn’t have to make a request across the table.
The Mpunga’s were our first exposure to all the cheek-kissing(x3) and other customs, such as the men bumping each other’s foreheads and the sort of lingering handshake that confuses an American who tries to pull his/her hand away immediately.
When we left, we all said “See you tomorrow” in various languages. The next day was to be the cultural wedding ceremony.
That evening, we ate dinner at my brother’s. In a shed outside, the goats for the bride-price were being kept in preparation for the big day. And we were ready for the big moment, too.
To be continued…
Hymn #9, 10
While I'm on the topic of my older brother's wedding, I'll include a few songs that were played at the church ceremony.
The bridal procession walked to "Mercy said no" by Cece Winans. There's a clip below that I found on YouTube. I hadn't heard this song before, but I guess it's an older song that was redone recently by Cece Winans.
I thought "Mercy said no" was an unusual choice for a wedding. I first heard it at the rehearsal, and several of us were moved to tears. It was strange hearing "I'm not going to let you go" as the bride walked with her father! However, it's a beautiful description of a person's walk with the Lord. He will not let us go; He will hold onto us until the very end, when we become His bride!
I was just a child, when I felt the Savior leading
I was drawn to what I could not understand
And for the cause of Christ, I have spent my days believing
That what He'd have me be, is who I am
As I've come to see the weaker side of me
I realize His grace is what I'll need
When sin demanded justice for my soul
Mercy said no
I'm not going to let you go
I'm not going to let you slip away
You don't have to be afraid
Mercy said no
Sin will never take control
Life and death stood face to face
Darkness tried to steal my heart away
Thank You Jesus, Mercy said no
For God so loved the world, that He sent His son to save us
From the cross He built a bridge to set us free
Oh, but deep within our hearts, there is still a war that rages
And makes a sacrifice so hard to see
As midnight fell upon the crucifixion day
The light of hope seemed oh so far away
As evil tried to stop redemption's flow
And now when heaven looks at me
It's through the blood of Jesus
Reminding me of one day long ago
Mercy said no...
After everyone had entered, we began to sing "I Surrender All" in French, English, and Lingala. This too was a poignant choice of a song, which gave the sense of giving all to God, not just dedicating this one event. It was one moment in the service when all three languages were utilized, and each person in the room was able to understand and think about the meaning of the words.
In English:
All to Jesus, I surrender;
All to Him I freely give;
I will ever love and trust Him,
In His presence daily live.
Refrain
I surrender all,
I surrender all,
All to Thee, my blessèd Savior,
I surrender all.
All to Jesus I surrender;
Humbly at His feet I bow,
Worldly pleasures all forsaken;
Take me, Jesus, take me now.
All to Jesus, I surrender;
Make me, Savior, wholly Thine;
Let me feel the Holy Spirit,
Truly know that Thou art mine.
All to Jesus, I surrender;
Lord, I give myself to Thee;
Fill me with Thy love and power;
Let Thy blessing fall on me.
All to Jesus I surrender;
Now I feel the sacred flame.
O the joy of full salvation!
Glory, glory, to His Name!
Here's an interesting note about the lyrics from the author, Judson W. Van DeVenter, in 1896:
"The song was written while I was conducting a meeting at East Palestine, Ohio, in the home of George Sebring (founder of the Sebring Campmeeting Bible Conference in Sebring, Ohio, and later developer of the town of Sebring, Florida). For some time, I had struggled between developing my talents in the field of art and going into full-time evangelistic work. At last the pivotal hour of my life came, and I surrendered all. A new day was ushered into my life. I became an evangelist and discovered down deep in my soul a talent hitherto unknown to me. God had hidden a song in my heart, and touching a tender chord, He caused me to sing." (source: cyberhymnal.org)
The bridal procession walked to "Mercy said no" by Cece Winans. There's a clip below that I found on YouTube. I hadn't heard this song before, but I guess it's an older song that was redone recently by Cece Winans.
I thought "Mercy said no" was an unusual choice for a wedding. I first heard it at the rehearsal, and several of us were moved to tears. It was strange hearing "I'm not going to let you go" as the bride walked with her father! However, it's a beautiful description of a person's walk with the Lord. He will not let us go; He will hold onto us until the very end, when we become His bride!
I was just a child, when I felt the Savior leading
I was drawn to what I could not understand
And for the cause of Christ, I have spent my days believing
That what He'd have me be, is who I am
As I've come to see the weaker side of me
I realize His grace is what I'll need
When sin demanded justice for my soul
Mercy said no
I'm not going to let you go
I'm not going to let you slip away
You don't have to be afraid
Mercy said no
Sin will never take control
Life and death stood face to face
Darkness tried to steal my heart away
Thank You Jesus, Mercy said no
For God so loved the world, that He sent His son to save us
From the cross He built a bridge to set us free
Oh, but deep within our hearts, there is still a war that rages
And makes a sacrifice so hard to see
As midnight fell upon the crucifixion day
The light of hope seemed oh so far away
As evil tried to stop redemption's flow
And now when heaven looks at me
It's through the blood of Jesus
Reminding me of one day long ago
Mercy said no...
After everyone had entered, we began to sing "I Surrender All" in French, English, and Lingala. This too was a poignant choice of a song, which gave the sense of giving all to God, not just dedicating this one event. It was one moment in the service when all three languages were utilized, and each person in the room was able to understand and think about the meaning of the words.
In English:
All to Jesus, I surrender;
All to Him I freely give;
I will ever love and trust Him,
In His presence daily live.
Refrain
I surrender all,
I surrender all,
All to Thee, my blessèd Savior,
I surrender all.
All to Jesus I surrender;
Humbly at His feet I bow,
Worldly pleasures all forsaken;
Take me, Jesus, take me now.
All to Jesus, I surrender;
Make me, Savior, wholly Thine;
Let me feel the Holy Spirit,
Truly know that Thou art mine.
All to Jesus, I surrender;
Lord, I give myself to Thee;
Fill me with Thy love and power;
Let Thy blessing fall on me.
All to Jesus I surrender;
Now I feel the sacred flame.
O the joy of full salvation!
Glory, glory, to His Name!
Here's an interesting note about the lyrics from the author, Judson W. Van DeVenter, in 1896:
"The song was written while I was conducting a meeting at East Palestine, Ohio, in the home of George Sebring (founder of the Sebring Campmeeting Bible Conference in Sebring, Ohio, and later developer of the town of Sebring, Florida). For some time, I had struggled between developing my talents in the field of art and going into full-time evangelistic work. At last the pivotal hour of my life came, and I surrendered all. A new day was ushered into my life. I became an evangelist and discovered down deep in my soul a talent hitherto unknown to me. God had hidden a song in my heart, and touching a tender chord, He caused me to sing." (source: cyberhymnal.org)
Friday, June 6, 2008
Kinshasa: Arrival
I never thought that the Pulkovo airport would seem like a breath of fresh air, or that I would want to hug the inspector at passport control. But after the airport situation in Kinshasa, my feelings changed!
My arrival in Kinshasa was an event in itself and deserves an individual post.
Here are the instructions that I received before leaving:
"[The Protocol] is being paid to get you through the formalities of entering DRC. There are really 6 steps to the formalities:
1. Get off the plane and cross the tarmac (on foot);
2. Enter the building (often a passport control is done by uniformed officials);
3. Pass through immigration (there are several lines including one for expatriates);
4. Vaccination card control;
5. Entry into baggage claim and collection of baggage (aka, chaos);
6. Customs.
BECAUSE I AM PAYING SERAPHIN, YOU SHOULD NOT NEED TO WORRY ABOUT THE STEPS ABOVE. Seraphin just told me he'll be meeting you out on the tarmac. He will not have a uniform and others without uniforms may ask you for your passport. Make sure he has a sign with "H_____" on it before giving up your passports. He should take everyone's passport and then he'll take you immediately into a VIP lounge where you can purchase drinks, etc in dollars while you wait. It could take a little while, but don't get nervous! It's all a big game and we're paying to win. You'll wait anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour or so, and then Seraphin will come get you. Your bags will already be collected.
If you get to the building from the plane and no one has greeted you with a sign with "H______" on it, just follow the steps above. I don't see any way that this could happen, but i wanted you to know the process just in case. You also shouldn't have to do anything regarding customs. But if someone asks, you're tourists and everything you're carrying is personal items (effets personnels in French). "
Here’s what REALLY happened:
After two non-eventful flights, I got off the plane looking for my guy with the gold glasses. I tried to walk slowly so he wouldn’t miss me. There were a lot of people waiting along the tarmac: some in uniform, some not. I got to the entrance to the building, and no one had approached me. I backtracked a little and tried to attract attention to myself without attracting attention to myself, if you know what I mean. No one came over. So I employed Plan B and got in the passport line, hoping that it wouldn’t go too fast and Seraphin would find me before I got too deeply involved in the process.
Then I heard someone saying my name softly with a French accent. I looked to my right and a man was calling me. He asked if I was American and showed me a sheet of paper with my first and last names handwritten on it. Well, that sort of matched the instructions, except that he hadn’t been on the tarmac and he wasn’t the same man who was supposed to meet me. I was ready to hand him my passport and let him take over, but he told me to take my place in line. Why? I thought the point of him meeting me was to not wait in line.
After the officer checked my passport, the guy (Mika) took the passport and introduced me to another guy. They tried speaking to me in French and then English and I couldn’t really understand either coming from them, but they took my passport and told me to wait. So I waited while the other people went through the lines, and Mika and his friend came over periodically to check on me. At one point Mika said “we have a leetle problem, but I’m just going to tell them that you’re here for a wedding.” Well, that WAS why I was there. I had a valid visa, so I didn’t see where they had come up with a “problem.” But they were being paid to fix that sort of thing. I still didn’t understand why I was out there and not in the VIP room.
Finally I got my passport back and was told to stand in the immigration line. The officer asked me for an address in Kinshasa, and other contact information, which I produced. Then I got my yellow fever card checked, and they seemed to stall on that too, as if they were trying to think of a reason to not let me by. One of the men met me on the other side and ushered me out an exit into the baggage claim. Once there, a man stepped forward and introduced himself as Seraphin. He didn’t have gold glasses, but said that he knew my brother. I had no choice but to trust him. I couldn’t really do anything myself.
I gave Seraphin my baggage tag and he took me outside, then inside to a lounge-perhaps, the lounge where I should have been all along. On the way there, Seraphin called my brother and had me talk to him for confirmation. Then he brought my brother into the lounge so that we could sit together while he went back for my luggage and the rest of my family, whose flight was due to arrive.
My brother was accompanied by Hortense, his bride-to-be. Meeting her was the easiest part of the whole trip! She spoke more English than I spoke French, which was good. My brother laughed at me for wearing a scarf. It was my only way to decorate my wrinkled travel outfit, but it was a little hot for scarves. I wasn't in Russia anymore.
Meanwhile, the rest of my family members were having adventures. Seraphin hadn’t been able to get out to meet them either (apparently he couldn’t get past the guards, but had friends on the other side), so they had to go through immigration as well. They had all arrived together, but somehow ended up divided into different rooms for questioning. They didn’t pay any bribes, though. Eventually, they all ended up out in the parking lot, where I met up with them. It was already dark out and we stood around discussing the confusion of who had been in what room and what had been said. I heard others rumors of a nose-bleed (before arrival in Africa), a lost money-belt, and a lost suitcase.
Some boys hovered around the car, asking for money or trying to sell us things. Finally we divided up among the cars and drove off. It was pitch-black, though it was only 8 pm, whereas in St.Petersburg the White Nights were already beginning. The electricity was out along the main road, so the lights of candles were flickering and illuminating the shops and the people who were emerging from every direction.
Later we reached the hotel where we would be staying during our trip.
To be continued...
My arrival in Kinshasa was an event in itself and deserves an individual post.
Here are the instructions that I received before leaving:
"[The Protocol] is being paid to get you through the formalities of entering DRC. There are really 6 steps to the formalities:
1. Get off the plane and cross the tarmac (on foot);
2. Enter the building (often a passport control is done by uniformed officials);
3. Pass through immigration (there are several lines including one for expatriates);
4. Vaccination card control;
5. Entry into baggage claim and collection of baggage (aka, chaos);
6. Customs.
BECAUSE I AM PAYING SERAPHIN, YOU SHOULD NOT NEED TO WORRY ABOUT THE STEPS ABOVE. Seraphin just told me he'll be meeting you out on the tarmac. He will not have a uniform and others without uniforms may ask you for your passport. Make sure he has a sign with "H_____" on it before giving up your passports. He should take everyone's passport and then he'll take you immediately into a VIP lounge where you can purchase drinks, etc in dollars while you wait. It could take a little while, but don't get nervous! It's all a big game and we're paying to win. You'll wait anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour or so, and then Seraphin will come get you. Your bags will already be collected.
If you get to the building from the plane and no one has greeted you with a sign with "H______" on it, just follow the steps above. I don't see any way that this could happen, but i wanted you to know the process just in case. You also shouldn't have to do anything regarding customs. But if someone asks, you're tourists and everything you're carrying is personal items (effets personnels in French). "
Here’s what REALLY happened:
After two non-eventful flights, I got off the plane looking for my guy with the gold glasses. I tried to walk slowly so he wouldn’t miss me. There were a lot of people waiting along the tarmac: some in uniform, some not. I got to the entrance to the building, and no one had approached me. I backtracked a little and tried to attract attention to myself without attracting attention to myself, if you know what I mean. No one came over. So I employed Plan B and got in the passport line, hoping that it wouldn’t go too fast and Seraphin would find me before I got too deeply involved in the process.
Then I heard someone saying my name softly with a French accent. I looked to my right and a man was calling me. He asked if I was American and showed me a sheet of paper with my first and last names handwritten on it. Well, that sort of matched the instructions, except that he hadn’t been on the tarmac and he wasn’t the same man who was supposed to meet me. I was ready to hand him my passport and let him take over, but he told me to take my place in line. Why? I thought the point of him meeting me was to not wait in line.
After the officer checked my passport, the guy (Mika) took the passport and introduced me to another guy. They tried speaking to me in French and then English and I couldn’t really understand either coming from them, but they took my passport and told me to wait. So I waited while the other people went through the lines, and Mika and his friend came over periodically to check on me. At one point Mika said “we have a leetle problem, but I’m just going to tell them that you’re here for a wedding.” Well, that WAS why I was there. I had a valid visa, so I didn’t see where they had come up with a “problem.” But they were being paid to fix that sort of thing. I still didn’t understand why I was out there and not in the VIP room.
Finally I got my passport back and was told to stand in the immigration line. The officer asked me for an address in Kinshasa, and other contact information, which I produced. Then I got my yellow fever card checked, and they seemed to stall on that too, as if they were trying to think of a reason to not let me by. One of the men met me on the other side and ushered me out an exit into the baggage claim. Once there, a man stepped forward and introduced himself as Seraphin. He didn’t have gold glasses, but said that he knew my brother. I had no choice but to trust him. I couldn’t really do anything myself.
I gave Seraphin my baggage tag and he took me outside, then inside to a lounge-perhaps, the lounge where I should have been all along. On the way there, Seraphin called my brother and had me talk to him for confirmation. Then he brought my brother into the lounge so that we could sit together while he went back for my luggage and the rest of my family, whose flight was due to arrive.
My brother was accompanied by Hortense, his bride-to-be. Meeting her was the easiest part of the whole trip! She spoke more English than I spoke French, which was good. My brother laughed at me for wearing a scarf. It was my only way to decorate my wrinkled travel outfit, but it was a little hot for scarves. I wasn't in Russia anymore.
Meanwhile, the rest of my family members were having adventures. Seraphin hadn’t been able to get out to meet them either (apparently he couldn’t get past the guards, but had friends on the other side), so they had to go through immigration as well. They had all arrived together, but somehow ended up divided into different rooms for questioning. They didn’t pay any bribes, though. Eventually, they all ended up out in the parking lot, where I met up with them. It was already dark out and we stood around discussing the confusion of who had been in what room and what had been said. I heard others rumors of a nose-bleed (before arrival in Africa), a lost money-belt, and a lost suitcase.
Some boys hovered around the car, asking for money or trying to sell us things. Finally we divided up among the cars and drove off. It was pitch-black, though it was only 8 pm, whereas in St.Petersburg the White Nights were already beginning. The electricity was out along the main road, so the lights of candles were flickering and illuminating the shops and the people who were emerging from every direction.
Later we reached the hotel where we would be staying during our trip.
To be continued...
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