News Flash

Life is not fair.

Unintended Compliments

Today, in passing, a girl staying on the Medair Ango base told me, "Structurally, this base is not better than ours, but there is something about it that feels more comfy, makes me like it more. Maybe its the chickens."
Well, it was something of that sentiment.

It lifted my whole day.

Our base is not that bad, all field bases considered. We have electricity from our generator, decent internet, pit latrines, some "running" water and a good community of people that makes life here liveable. Yes, I feel dirty and like I am cabin camping at all times, but it is alright. 

When people arrive in Ango, though, often they do not know what to expect and being so remote, they expect the worst. It is nice to see nervous faces at the airstrip relax as they settle into the base. It lifts my spirits that passers by through Ango can feel home here and comfortable. We try to make people feel welcome, our team here is super nice and usually socialable. I have taken to spending weekends sewing curtains, couches and organizing cupboards so we feel a bit more home than we would, say, in a depot. I have never exactly thought of myself as homemaker (shocker, I know), but I always have really appreciated making my living spaces my own -
- feeling at home in a laundry closet, a boat, a studio, an apartment, a brick and bamboo base.

So, when I heard today that she felt comfortable in our base because of some unknown vibe, it made me happy. I mean, lets be real, these two years will be the most stable living situation I have had in my adult life and I love that it can feel like home to more than only me.

Ango Awesome

Justice Served

We have about 10 chickens on the Ango base and I am particularly amused by them. I do not know why, its just how it is. This last week we had too many roosters around (or more fittingly, lets call them by their French name... cock). The trick is, when there are too many cocks around, they don't do their job - they spend too much time fighting and not enough time making me eggs for breakfast or chickens for future lunchtimes.
Cock-block anyone?
So, this week I had had enough. I sentenced them to death and they were delicious.

I got way more joy out of seeing those headless cocks in my kitchen than I think would be considered healthy. This past week, injustice was waiting for me at every corner, every step, every moment of the day and night. Funding for a health project runs out, death rate skyrockets. Local military exploiting the population they are here to protect, all remain quiet out of fear. Evaluator comes to inspect projects, takes 2 unnecessary days of stress to work with then changes it all, throwing off 3 days of planning for our current projects. Empty markets for fear of theft. Village leader drowning in the river. Armed roadblocks. Beatings unseen. Killings unresolved. Rapes normalized. Authority abused. Children sick. Mothers abandoned. Fathers workless. Dogs abused. Chicks eaten. Young men dying. Young women sold. Families torn. Cultures lost. Disease prevails. Death steals.

If I were living a "normal" life, perhaps getting such joy from eating a mean chicken would be unhealthy.
In Ango, it is just how I cope.
How I can control at least a bit of the injustice we wake up to every day and go to sleep with every night. 

What's in a Moon?

Co-worker: Does it work in English if you say someone is "in the moon" if they are forgetful?
Me: No, but that is awesome.

"Il est dans la lune."

Lost in Assumed Translation: Revisited

The next day I went to the home of the deceased to pay my respects. The old man was buried a few days prior and things seemed fairly normal, if a bit subdued in the compound of several mud huts around a mango tree.

As I sat with the family, listening as they switched between French, Lingala and Kizande I caught on to them talking about a strange occurrence the night before. Upon my enquiry in French, they went monolingual for me so I could keep up. It seems the previous night a woman "possessed by a devil" was brought from a neighbouring village for help. The man's home we were at is a very devout Christian and a member high up in the local Catholic church, so his response surprised me. He said that they took some leaves and herbs from the forest and forced them into her nose, which has an effect on the nervous system and calmed her down. I asked if anyone ever prayed for possessed people, he said it depended on what type of possession it was.

So, turns out the haunting voice echoing from the jungle was also keeping tired mourners from sleep.

That said, I stick to my statement: May I never sleep through human suffering. Let it always jar my soul.

2:07am

I am not sure if I awoke from she shrill rhythmic screams of agony or my heart beating out of its chest. Perhaps both. Once on my feet, I listened again thinking perhaps it was a hurt animal caught in a trap set by the hunters. I do not remember the moments between waking and standing out in front of the gate to our base. Staring into the jungle of the most absolute darkness, my chest pounded throughout my whole body. The open wailing of funerals here are some of the most harrowing guttural cries, buffered, thankfully, only by the circles of drums and shakers and chanters echoing back and forth exchanging rhythms through the trees.

This is now the fourth and final night of mourning for Gabriel's brother, who was nearly 80 years old in a village where life expectancy is about 47 years. The woman has calmed now, her whooping and shrieking has turned to weeping and crying out a phrase that sounds similar to the French word for 'beans'. The drums and chanting are growing louder now, in tune with the crickets and calls of the birds in the night. My heart has reached a normal waking pace.

May there never be a time I can sleep though the sounds of such raw human suffering.

Lost in Assumed Translation

While waiting at the airstrip for Avions Sans Frontiers to come, I had a shot at some small dialogue in Lingala with some local kids who did not speak any French...

Me: Mboté
Kids: Mboté
Me: Sango Nini?
Kid: *something I did not understand but assumed it was a standard answer to my question*
Me: Malamo
Kids look confused then sad.

I turned to one of our staff who was there, laughing at me. I asked him what they said...

Me: Hi
Kids: Hi
Me: How are you?
Kid: We are hungry.
Me: OK, fine.
Kids look confused then sad.

Compassion at its finest right there. You're welcome, world.