Guest Post: I'll Read To You on the Stars

Matt is what sucks about the Congo.  

Not Matt himself, but the fact that you meet people like Matt (and Erin - see Tuesday's post) and then they leave.  It's almost inevitable.  For most folks floating around in expat-land, it's a predictable 2 to 3 year cycle.  Either you leave or they do.  To prove my point about how awful and wonderful these friendships are, I give you this essay about my child, written by Matt:

When I was asked to do a guest spot for Mama Congo I was flattered, a little sweaty, and mildly excited.  Also a tad bit apprehensive as I have no direct Mama experience.  I have seen movies with mothers in them before, and I have used the words “Hot Mama” on at least seven occasions, twice without being slapped, but I haven’t really had much experience with parenting, or little kiddos, beyond that.  I am aware of the existence of children, however, in the same way that I know somewhere out there is someone reading my second book (no big deal-cheap guest post plug!)

Until I moved to Kinshasa, of course, and had the privilege of spending oodles of time with the four young folk whose tales are so lovingly told in the pages of Mama Congo.  I do not know what sort of lasting impression I have had on the lives of these kids- I mean, how much stuff does one remember before the age of four, or five, or nine, or however old these guys are?  I do know that they’ve had an impact on me, at least in terms of good times and discussions about space, vampires, puppets, and evolutionary theory.  

Discussing evolutionary theory or making Matt into a princess.

I think that I could make a pretty good papa, at least for 45 minutes a day.  Which is better than a lot of parents I know, so I’m in good shape there.

In addition, two weeks ago, in a conversation with LouLou, she said something to me that will go down in history as one of the best rom com lines ever.  Let me set the stage:

We were at a colleague’s BBQ two weeks ago, one of those rare occasions where a bunch of us can get off campus together in a non-evacuation scenario.  It was a great time.  We had beer on tap, sausages that tasted like meat and not lies, cookies with crumbly bits on them, and I learned how to play Corn Toss.

Mostly, though, I hung out with LouLou whilst her intrepid parents mingled with the Kinshasian cognoscenti.  As they were discussing recent political events, economic theories, and where to get really good Pili Pili, LouLou and I gamboled around together, looking for monsters in the dark. 

After about fifty minutes of this she grabbed a book from her pile of stuff that all kids seem to have everywhere and said she wanted to read to me.  We went to sit down under the outside light but after a few minutes she realized it was too dark to see.

Or that she didn’t know how to read.

I’m not sure which it really was, but she went with the first option- I normally do the same.

So we moved on to another spot, under a more promising light, but alas, still not good enough.

We started walking up the little gravel pathway.  I was holding her right hand and she stopped, tugged on my arm, and pointed upwards with her left, book still firmly clenched in her nubby kid fingers (as an aside- isn’t Nubby Kid Fingers a great name for a puppet?  Just saying).

“Look, Matt.”

The stars had come out and were twinkling in the (remarkably for Congo) cloudless night.

“Stars.”

“I know- pretty sweet.”

She looked back at the dim circle of light on the recently vacated chair.

“It’s too dark to read here.”  She pointed up at the sky again.  “Let’s go up there, and I’ll read to you on the stars.”

I’m telling you right now, any romantic comedy starring Drew Barrymore where her character utters that sentence in the previews will make 100 million dollars opening weekend.

You’re welcome, Hollywood.

Want to read more?  Matt just published his second book.  You can order it on Amazon.  Johan (accidentally) took the author's picture that appears both on this book jacket AND on Amazon.  I'm still bitter.  I'm supposed to be the photographer in our family.  But, man, is it a good photo.  

That photo...

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Guest Post: Finish Strong

In this guest post, our friend Erin writes about her time in Congo coming to a close. Runner or not, we think everyone can appreciate the sentiment to "finish strong."

By 10am on a Saturday morning in Kinshasa the sun has laid its claim to the sky, shoving the cooler morning air to make way for its scorching heat. Even the shade is forbidden from carrying the memory of cooler temperatures. It is during this time, when the humidity clings to you like a spider web and causes your sunscreen and bug spray to run down your face like some cruel twist of a snowball that I am running.

As I run my body is awakened with an awareness of itself that is measured in aches and pains. As I begin the tightness in my thighs from yesterday’s Jillian workout pulls against my momentum. My first stretch of running highlights the frailty of my ankles and I know by the end I will have reawakened the new hot-spots on the inner arches of on my feet. My lungs push against my chest, desperate in their search for relief. With three minutes left of my last run I abandon my usual workout mantra of “skinny jeans; tank tops; summer dresses,”- a chant that has pulled me through the workouts my friends and I force upon one another in our classrooms after school. Instead I draw from my mental well the simple phrase “Finish strong.” I imagine pouring it over myself like a bucket of cool water.

By my senior year of college I knew I wanted to teach. My problem though was florescent lighting. Florescent lighting and corduroy jumpers represented a conventionality, a monotonous rhythm that my newly minted 21 year old self just couldn’t handle. In my effort to teach without conventions, intrigued by the idea of experiential education, I signed myself up for a semester with the National Outdoor Leadership School, NOLS, learning how to be an outdoor educator. 

Image from here.

Several months later I found myself strapped to a pack half my weight, trudging through the canyons of Utah and wondering, “What in the eff –star-star-star did I get myself into this time?!” I had never been on a backpacking trip before. My prior experience with the “wilderness” included day hikes up paved hills and working at a summer camp. While everyone else in my group had been practicing these skills their entire life, I was stuck relying on a positive attitude and little else. And let me tell you, after a burned breakfast, packing and repacking your bag several times to get it right, and then hiking eight hours in the blaring sun, that positive attitude was growing smaller with each step. 

On our first day in the canyons everyone struggled. Our bags were heavier than normal from carrying extra gear and our bodies strained against the dry heat pounding upon the sometimes rocky sometimes sandy terrain. About a mile out from our intended campground our bodies summoned up the last of our reserves and we began to double-time it. It didn’t matter that we were panting and swaying heavily from our packs and pains in our legs, the end was in sight. It was at this very moment of momentum that our instructor ordered us to stop and take off our packs.

“Why are you running?” she said. The group responded with frustrated variations of “We’re almost there!”

“You need to remember that hiking isn’t about the finish, it’s about the journey. When you race to the end in a frazzled and jumbled state- packs swaying, breath heaving in and out of your bodies, mind only focused at the end point- you disrespect the journey. You need to take a second and remember why you are here. You need to collect yourself so can walk into camp with pride and dignity, so you can finish strong.”

This past October I hit one of those bumps that life likes to throw your way. Sick, broken-hearted, and professionally exhausted, I wished for a time when I was not in Congo. I had abandoned my journey for the promise of a finish and in doing so I had abandoned myself. Who was this woman who sat pole-axed by life, staring out into palm fronds and wishing someone else would make things better? This was not me.

 
So instead of turning away from my pain I sat with it in the quiet, examined it, and found it to be fleeting. What has endured is the community I have found in this strange new world. I have met people who supported me as I shared my goals and dreams, who laugh with me, cry with me, are honest with me, and in the case of my workout-buddies, sweat with me. In my community a brunch is planned by simply walking over to a neighbor’s house with a bottle of champagne. A simple text-message about the pool turns into an opportunity for a water-front picnic where some people bring food, some drinks, some babies, some a combination of all, and everyone has a good time. I will probably never live in another place where those I love are only a few steps away from me.

In the next few weeks I plan to cross several finish lines- graduate school finals, the Kima Mbangu, and the end of the school year and my time here in Congo. I’m down to the last three minutes of my run. I know that I will experience a desire to plow through the last few months just like I wanted to run the last of my hike many years ago. But I refuse to let my time here be more than scenery. I am thankful for the opportunity to regain who I was and grow into something better because of the good people around me. It is because of this place that I know when I do cross that finish line it will be with dignity and my head held high. I will finish strong. 

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Friday List!

Jill's List:

First off, the only flight attendants banned from decking themselves out in pink lipstick, fancy nails, and platinum blond hair.  Well, at least we won't risk suffering from "impaired visual integrity" on our flight to Istanbul next month.

Image from Into the Gloss.

Ugh.  In other airport news this week: decapitation while strolling along the tarmac  at N'Djili.

Image from here.

A visit with a midwife in Uganda.  (By Jennifer from World Mom's Blog.)

That set up looks familiar!  Image from Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.

Such incredible, eerie photos.  There are so many abandoned houses, boarded up in Virginia.  I always wondered what was inside...

Image by photographer Niki Feijen, as seen in the Daily Mail.

Damn it.  Congo makes the top (bottom?) of the "toughest place to be a mother" list.  Again.

In DR Congo, one in 30 women die from pregnancy-related causes, whereas in Finland it is one in 12,200

Image by J. Humphrey.  From this post.

And, in a completely different universe: a new-to-me-known-forever-to-everyone-else beauty/style blog.  I've known and adored her boyfriend's street style for ages, but Garance Doré's collection of illustrations, flashed-out photography, and product reviews is superb.  Even better, if I'm feeling particularly classy and/or motivated, I can switch to the French version for a little practice (ha.)  However, after reading this post, I may have asked Johan, "So, what would you think if I ordered a $150 face oil?"  Hmmm.

Image from  Garance Doré.

Best juice ever.  Fresh squeezed + local ingredients = a super rare find around here despite the crazy fruit selection.  I've only found it at La Patisserie Nouvelle and Eric Kayser.  Can you buy it elsewhere, Kin folk?

Image from here.

Sarah's List:

When I saw this article, I gasped. Here is my ridiculously awesome extended family in the New York Times(!) Caught in Methodism's Split Over Same Sex Marriage. I could not be prouder/angrier. The last time I saw Tommy Ogletree he was dancing his head off at one of his children's same-sex weddings mentioned here. Just as any father/theologian should do. Best quote of the week:

 “Sometimes, when what is officially the law is wrong, you try to get the law changed,” 

Dr. Ogletree, a native of Birmingham, Ala., said in a courtly Southern drawl over a recent lunch at Yale, where he remains an emeritus professor of theological ethics. 

“But if you can’t, you break it.” 

Christopher Capozziello for The New York Times

“I actually wasn’t thinking of this as an act of civil disobedience or church disobedience. I was thinking of it as a response to my son,” said the Rev. Dr. Thomas W. Ogletree of officiating his son’s marriage to another man.

Here's a list of 12 Countries Where the Government Regulates What You Can Name Your Child. Okay, before we all freak out about China restricting names to ones with characters computer scanners can read, the USA told us Annaïs was not allowed her special character on her passport or birth certificate because, "We don't have that button." Fair enough. Even I still don't know how to make a trema on a PC. I usually go into Word, add the special character, and then paste it in. Seriously. Ah, a mother's love is never-ending. (Wait, just looked it up. Alt+139, really?)

Did you see this study that says having three children is the most stressful number? Maybe makes you want to reconsider this post. Note in the photo below how excluded that poor "third child" is. (Also of note, look at those babies! My, how they've grown.)

Photo from Jill's post, The Third Kid.

I've often wondered about this. How on earth are babies supposed to learn to walk while wearing those bulky diapers? Especially cloth diapers. I've always thought that the hindrance of the bulk of cloth diapers, also worked the other way to cushion the fall when learning to walk. But it turns out it's true that "once freed from the albatross of that bag of pee, babies walk less like babies." Go figure. I wonder if diaperless Congolese babies walk sooner? For sure they do! But maybe it's just because they've been expected to help fetch water and balance things on their heads at the same age my kids are just learning to crawl.

You'd have trouble walking in one of those, too.
Photo by iStockphoto/Thinkstock

And finally we're making this dessert for a dinner party this weekend. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to secure graham crackers, cream cheese and a can of cherry pie filling in Congo. All at the same time. Here's how: 

1- Fight for the graham crackers brought by the embassy worker at the Christmas gift exchange.
2- Bring the cream cheese back frozen from the States. 
3- Happen upon a random can of imported cherry pie filling in the bowels of the Indian grocery store. 

A dessert one year in the making.

Paula Deen's Cherry Cream Cheese Pie

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That Light

There is the particular and unreal light that hits on some evenings - at around 6:10, right before sunset.  All photographers know the Golden Hour. It's when everyone and everything looks soft and gorgeous - like they all stepped out of some beautiful novel. Imperfections disappear and all is perfect.

For example, at least 3 out of our 4 children were crying during the seconds between each of these shots. But, thanks to the Golden Hour, I don't really remember the nasty mood I was in after wrangling those sticky little bodies, bribing for acceptable smiles, and repeatedly wiping the Congo-shine from my face. Instead, as I look at these images, I recall a blissful evening in my jungle backyard with my darling children and good friends.

So, basically, the golden hour is to memories like oxytocin is to labor - wiping your memory clean of the nasty bits and convincing you to do it all again.

I swear this magic time must be at its most persuasive here in the Congo.

All photos by some combination of J. Humphrey, J. Grimsrud, A. Sensamaust, S. Sensamaust.

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Guest Post: A Congo Mama Retrospective

During our first week in Congo, my new neighbor, Marilyn Gorenflo stopped by to bring the most delicious "Welcome to the Neighborhood" chocolate chip cookies I've ever had. I'm sure they were excellent cookies in their own right, but after just touching down in Congo for the first time, nothing could have tasted better. Four years later, after Marilyn and her family left Congo, Jill moved into Marilyn's house. It's a small Congo Mama world!

Here Marilyn shares her perspective on living a "good enough"/great life. And raising great third culture kids. 
 
In a recent Friday List, Sarah mentioned that she was struck by the article, “Why Women Should Embrace a ‘Good-Enough’ Life” by Elsa Walsh. She then asked for perspective from those of us who were closer to the end of raising our children. I find it hard to believe that I fit into that category, but with three daughters in high school, it’s hard to deny.

Christiana, Sarah and Rachel. 2002

Every woman’s situation is unique. Our decisions about career, marriage, and children are influenced by the opinions of our parents, the financial and emotional support of our husbands, and the careers we choose. With that in mind, I can only reflect on what my life has been and cannot presume to make decisions for other women.

Let’s start with the fact that I never had aspirations to be the CEO of a major corporation. In fact, my dreams involved teaching, living overseas…and being a wife and mother.

At a time when women are encouraged to “lean in,” to focus on our careers, and put work before family, I recognize that I have consistently put family before work. For that, I have no regrets. My career has included a patchwork of part-time teaching jobs since our girls were born. I realize a bit wistfully that I will never achieve a doctorate and become the university professor I had sometimes dreamed of being. Nevertheless, I have enjoyed each job I’ve had and have felt that I was making a difference in people’s lives through my teaching. What a blessing!

If I had “leaned in” and kept my career on track for the last twenty years, working full time, pushing hard to get my doctorate and become a tenured professor, would we have had the freedom to pick up and move to England, then Quebec, then the Congo? Perhaps not. That would have been a huge regret! I treasure our years overseas, and the girls consider themselves world citizens, very grateful for their chance to live outside the USA, to travel, and to have friends from dozens of countries.

Do I have regrets about the path I’ve chosen? No, I don’t. Because of my choices, I am better able to be the anchor that keeps our family together, particularly important with a husband who travels frequently. Once again, I had choices that many women do not have. If I had had to work to provide for my family, my decisions would have been forcibly different.

All grown up.

For me, I look back on my twenty-four years of marriage and eighteen years of motherhood with no regrets. My favorite career so far is ending, though, and I will so miss these little girls who have grown up to be great friends.

We heard from several other moms who are "just ahead" of us in this raising children thing. We want to hear your perspective too! Email us at our fancy new address: blogmamacongo@gmail.com.

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Friday List!

Sarah's List:

Check out The New York Times haiku generator. Ever wish you could turn those headlines into haiku? Well, here ya go. Everyday the NYT uses an algorithm to find poetry on the front page.

I'm willing to risk

the weird tilapia they

put in a taco.

May 1, 2013 from Making Lunch with Michael Pollan and Michael Moss.

This list of the World's 50 Best Restaurants was released this week. Been to any of them? The closest we're going to get is via this obsession of ours. Seriously, best 70 hours (or entire year of television) ever. 

Finally a map to go with the sweet, sweet smell of this part of the world. And when I say sweet, I mean smokey. But I secretly love it because it means we're here.

Image from NASA, found here.

Egypt's Birthrate Rises as Population Control Policies Vanish. Looks like Mr. Mubarak had a very good reason why birth control was so uncontrolled when we lived in Egypt. Oh the aches and pains of building "democracy." 

Tara Todras-Whitehill for The New York Times from here.

Just came across this new travel blog. Which highlights Devil's Pool at Victoria Falls. What a ridiculous place! Little known fact: Guess who owns the record for pregnant-est mama to swim there? That would be me.  

Unborn baby Charlotte on the edge of the world.

And this...

From here.

Jill's List:

I've sent Sarah about 20 new headers today.  She keeps saying, "Yeah, that's nice" and then finally said, "Why don't we just do a rotating header thing like Google?"  Thanks for all of your thoughts on our design process.  Here are our current favorites:

Do you ever think about dropping of the face of the internet?  This guy actually did.  And he didn't exactly experience the revolution of culture and calm he was expecting...

Image from The Verge.

12 hrs in the Belgian fashion capital?  Yes, please.

Image from 12hrs.net

I really believe in Salt Water Sandals.  LouLou wears them everyday.  Here's an ode in their honor.

Beautiful image from Hither & Thither.

The non-power of the slactivist.  Go UNICEF.  Say it like it is.

Image from The Atlantic.

I'm searching for an artist.  Last year, at the TASOK Rummage Sale, I bought an incredible screenprint from an artist who told me that he was the arts plastiques teacher at Lycée Français René Descartes (better known as "the French school") here in Kinshasa.  Now, I want more of his work, but I can't find him! Can anyone help me out?  Here's the print I bought:

However, found this artist while searching for the mystery artist online today. I wrote him an email because his work (or oeuvre - I love that word) is really amazing.  Fingers crossed he doesn't mind my bad-ish French.

Image from Hippolyte Blog

As I write this on the porch, the thunder is cracking and the lightening is flashing.  Which makes me remember the good ol' lightening strike map.  Just look at Congo...

Image from NASA..

Sarah's product list this week made me remember how much I love foreign product lists.  Like this one.  And this one.  And this one.

Image from Into the Gloss.

Happy Weekend!

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