The Courage to Hope

I have been thinking a lot about “the courage to hope” in recent weeks and I want to explore what this means to me. I first started thinking about this phrase in preparing for our return to Kagaba, a community where we were unable to continue our work since leaving in September due to insecurity caused by militia and rebel groups. We were left with the decision of whether or not we would go back to Kagaba and face the unknown, namely, how safe we would be?  In this climate of fear, understanding the connection between courage and hope was something of a necessity for me.

In thinking about the courage to hope I am reminded of a trip Scott, Selina, and I took to the Ituri Jungle. If ever visiting Congo a trip to the Ituri jungle should be a priority. The feeling of being completely surrounded by trees and not having a clue as to how to make it out without the help of a guide is truly a humbling experience. During our trip we organized a hike in the jungle with two national park rangers and a Pygmy guide. As we lost ourselves in the deep, dark, and deafening sounds of the Ituri I thought of how vulnerable we were. We were at the complete mercy of our environment and had no real control over anything. Throughout our hike we periodically heard an obnoxiously loud and high-pitched scream, which I assumed was coming from a larger animal due to the loudness of the noise. As we continued our trek I asked the park rangers if they could show us what was making that noise. After a number of failed attempts to show us the animal our Pygmy guide found an opportunity and quietly showed us the culprit. We didn’t know what we were looking at or how dangerous it would be. All we knew was that we wanted to see the animal making the big noise. As we looked up into the trees we could barely make out where the animal was hiding due to the smallness of what turned out to be a grasshopper-sized insect leaping from tree to tree. All that noise coming from such a small insect!

Having the courage to hope is a bit like my experience in the jungle. Despite being surrounded by the perceived insecurity of the Ituri Jungle I was fixated on a task during which thoughts of my insecure environment were replaced with trying to catch a glimpse of the noisy creature. When faced with the unknown, insecure environments, and seemingly daunting tasks in life, having the courage to hope allows for the transformation of these situations into possibilities and opportunities. The courage to hope for me is about seeing the possible in impossible, seeing the ability in disability, and seeing the hope in hopeless. 

Understanding Difference

In my previous blog I talked about the small and minor difference in the utilization of American and Congolese currencies here in Congo. The standards are clearly different and while I am left wondering why, I also think to myself what is the importance? Could this difference be a good thing and what, perhaps, could it be trying to tell me?

I am reminded of a conversation, which took place this past week, between Kalongo, Scott, Selina, and myself. We were talking about the differences in the way things are done here in Congo compared with how things are done in the US. This came up as we were discussing the development of an adapted volleyball court for persons with disabilities in Bogoro, one of the communities where we are working. We were discussing whether to buy a volleyball net from Kampala, Uganda or to try and have one made locally. Kalongo frequently makes trips to Kampala and so anytime we need an item that can’t be bought here locally he can pick it up in Kampala while there. The idea behind trying to get the net made locally is that it seems like a more sustainable solution to the problem, it could be a way for the community in Bogoro to contribute to the development of the volleyball court, and perhaps this would cost less than buying a net in Kampala. We were then hit with the realities that we don’t actually know how to make a volleyball net ourselves, that the time and effort it would take to try and get this net made locally would be better spent elsewhere, and that the quality of the net would most likely be lower if we tried to make it locally. Kalongo then spoke up, asking us the question, “why do you want to do things differently here than you would in the US?” The answer seems to be an obvious one, we are not in the US and things here in Congo are different from how they are where we call home. However, why do we have a tendency to drop our standard? I took this as a challenge from Kalongo to not cheapen the quality of our work, instead, to bring as much of the advantages we live with in the US to the people in the communities where we are working…a people who need so much.

Just as the American dollar bill is held to a different standard, so to are we and the work that we are doing. This is the reality of living and working as a ‘Muzungu’ or white person in modern-day Congo. We are given all the attention in the world because people expect a difference from us. The American dollar bill with the slightest blemish is not accepted because it is expected to be better than the Congolese Franc with all its rips and tears. What a challenge!

The Tattered Congolese Franc

There seems to be a significant and important difference between tolerating and accepting differences we encounter in life. When traveling to and discovering a different country we are confronted with so many differences that it can be overwhelming. Differences in language, in the way people talk, in the way people act, in the way people view the world, in the way people dress, even in the way that people eat. Each culture has its own different way of doing things. When traveling most people have a tendency to be respectful of another culture and are for the most part tolerant towards their hosts. Making sure that the “t’s” are crossed and the “i’s” are dotted, the visitor will go to great lengths to make sure that they do not offend the foreign culture in which they find themselves.

The differences between life in the Ituri Region and life in all the other countries I have lived in (USA, Canada, UK, France, and Switzerland) are stark and abundant. One of the more interesting differences for me occurred when I was here in Bunia in 2009. In Congo you can use two different currencies: the American dollar and the Congolese franc. Most people visiting the Congo will just rely on the American dollar as it is easier to get from banks and is a much stronger currency. I was coming to the end of my trip in Bunia and was quickly running out of cash. I looked at the money in my wallet and calculated that I had just enough to take care of my traveling expenses for my journey back home. I gave the amount of money needed to buy my ticket to Kalongo, my local contact, and he said that one of the $50 bills was no good. I thought that this was a bit strange as I was sure that all my bills came from the same bank and that all the bills I had used during that trip so far had been accepted. I asked Kalongo what the problem was with the $50 bill I gave him and he showed me that there was a tiny rip on one of the edges of the otherwise flawless bill. I thought that he must have been joking because it would easily be accepted in the USA without any questions. Kalongo very kindly said to me, “This isn’t the USA Bwana Steve.” 

I have often thought back to this situation as an example of how difficult it is to accept differences. I was recently reminded of this difference when I received a Congolese franc that was being held together by some scotch tape and resembled a piece of trash that had been picked out of a garbage can. I thought to myself, this doesn’t seem right. If one of my American bills has the tiniest rip or mark on it the value of the bill is lost and yet this seemingly hundred-year-old, tattered Congolese franc holds its value! I remind myself of what Kalongo said to me in 2009, “this isn’t the USA Bwana Steve.” What does it mean to not only tolerate this difference, but to actually accept it? To accept the fact that things are run differently here in Congo than in the USA, to accept that what we see as being ‘right’ in the USA is often times not ‘right’ for the Congolese, to accept that my skin color and clothing style represents something I don’t understand, to accept that my mere presence is a source of hope for the people I am working with, and to accept that I have a responsibility to these people.     

Robert from Kagaba

In 2009, I came out to the Itrui Region to meet with communities who had lived through a brutal intertribal massacre in 2003. The goal of this trip was to pitch the idea of Sports4Hope and to hear from the communities themselves; to hear what they thought of the idea of a sports and peace education program aimed at reconciliation and to develop a plan of how to turn this vision into a reality. This was my second journey to the Ituri Region as I visited the area with my Uncle David McAllister in 2008. During one of the community meetings held in Bogoro a young man stood up in the back of a dense crowd of community members just as the meeting was coming to a close. He spoke very clearly and directly to me. He said that I was not the first person who had come to the area talking about a project aimed at peace. Cutting to the chase, he added that many people come and collect data but none of them come back to share with the communities the fruits of their labor. He then said to me, “Stephen, why are we to believe that you are any different from the rest of these people!”

 What a challenge! I left Congo in 2009 with this message seared in my memory. Over the following two years that it took me to get back to the Ituri Region, this encounter in Bogoro often left me asking the question: why should these people who have lived through such pain and suffering have hope in the future? I later found out through Kalongo Rwabikanga, my good friend and Sports4Hope’s local partner in the Ituri Region, that this man was not from Bogoro and that he had actually traveled from another community called Kagaba in order to participate in our discussion. Weeks after I left in 2009 Kalongo received a letter from the chief of Kagaba saying that he wanted the Sports4Hope project in Kagaba as one of his own community members was present the day I was in Bogoro. Kalongo and I both felt that this was a clear message and that we should include Kagaba in our project, which meant that we were now targeting three communities: Bogoro, Vilo, and Kagaba.

This week we had our first community meeting in Kagaba to talk about Sports4Hope and to begin setting up a project committee as we have already done in Bogoro and Vilo. This meeting was a great time of sharing and encouragement to all who participated. As our meeting was coming to a close a young man stood up towards the back of a crowded classroom filled with community members. He talked about how happy he was to hear about the Sports4Hope project and excited to see it’s development. He then looked directly at me and said, “Stephen you are not like those other people who come to collect data and never come back. You have come back.” His name is Robert and we have started what I hope will be a great friendship.

Crossing Lake Albert

Welcome to my personal account of my journey in Eastern Congo! I have chosen to call my blog “The Road to Reconciliation” because I feel like not only am I here in Eastern Congo to work on a project aimed at the reconciliation of three communities involved in a massacre, but I also feel like I am on a personal journey towards reconciliation. Learning what reconciliation means for my life and experiencing the ups and downs along the way are what I am expecting from this adventure.

Part of our journey into Congo from Uganda had us crossing a lake by boat. For most people this lake may not be of any significance, however, for me this journey was a very emotional one. This otherwise normal lake is the very lake my grandparents crossed in the 1950’s as they were making their own journey as missionaries into then Belgian Congo. As we were making our crossing I was struck by the meaning of what just seemed like a normal and necessary part of our traveling into Congo. I immediately started to think about all the differences between my grandparent’s journey into Congo and our own. We were in a small single-engine motorboat while my grandparents would have come over on a large colonial-time steam ship, we were crossing as a group of three friends and colleagues whereas my grandparents made this journey as husband and wife, our trip only took us 2 hours compared to their several hour journey, we came with only enough supplies for a year while they would have come in with supplies to last a number of years, we were met by Congolese officials whereas my grandparents were met by Belgian officials. Much has changed since the days of my grandparent’s journey into Congo; however, one thing seems to be the same. Around 60 years ago my grandparents crossed this lake, Lake Albert, not having any idea of what was waiting for them, only believing that God had called them to bring hope to the people of Congo. This same calling and journey is what has brought my friends and I to Congo and we are excited about the things we believe we will be able to accomplish and learn during our time here.

Crossing Lake Albert by boat not only gives me a sense that I am part of a long and rich story that started years before my mom was even born, but it also gives me the feeling that I am being reconciled with my past, with my history, with my story.