Ill Post photos tomorrow I'm to tired to wait for the upload

I rotate the handle. I look up and wait anxiously. Sometimes it comes most times it does not. When it doesn’t I curse this place, this country and those who run it. I lay in my bed, fan inches from my body and accept that there will be little sleep without water to wash off the days grime. When the water does come from the shower head I dance I sing and write this blog. The water here is cold, but I will never forget how much I appreciate running water. Running water is the most basic and most underappreciated luxury of the first world. I could go on about it but give it some thought and thank God you got it.

The days have started to blend together. That’s not to say there is a routine or schedule that makes one day seem like the one before. In fact nothing could be more to the contrary than a Congo routine. Everyday is different from the one before. That’s the unifying characteristic, so much inconsistency. Some days are productive others are not. Some days we nearly end up in prison, others we fly right through checkpoints undetected. Some mornings the truck starts, most mornings it needs a push start. Some days people are agreeable others they want to fight and argue over the most ridiculous of details$$. Like the water you learn to expect nothing, accept, and then over come. I had a hard time adjusting to this style, coming from America where schedules, timeliness and maintenance are of the utmost importance. But as I begin to accept the reality of this place it becomes easier and easier to deal with it. The reality is that everything you do is to feed and roof yourself and those whom you are responsible for. Its simple and it’s beautiful. There is no stress. Well Father Gabriel stresses a bit, but that’s cause he has an agenda. Everyone else just goes with the flow. People wait for hours to meet with someone. Others will wait for hours to catch a ride. People spend hours eating and talking. Everyone here is capable of work they just are not driven like we are in the United States. I said driven, but as I think I feel pushed is more the reality. Whatever, there is no doubt in my mind the people here have nothing and are just as happy as we are in the United States.

Enough of how I feel let me update you about the happenings since my last post. I celebrated my birthday here in the Congo. We had one hell of a celebration at the orphanage; the children sang song after song. They dedicated a mass for me and then some dancers from Bandundu plaid drums and delivered the most incredible performance I have ever seen(well It rivaled the cirus de ole Love Show-Beatles in Vegas). No microphones, no stage, no special affects or illusions. Just masks stilts and tribal apparel. The energy produced by the rhythm of a drum and the shaking of bead filled gourds is enough to power a city. I got the performance on video and will be sharing it with you when I return to the states. The mass gave us an opportunity to try out the new Personal Amplification system donated by the Emmaus group in Lakeland. The band is very talented, but they all need to figure out how to maintain their equipment. The children and I are growing very close. I am trying to speak French, but it is near impossible to pick up. They speak with a native dialect that makes everything sound like gibberish to me. We don’t need words to communicate. Character speaks louder than any amplification system could ever create. These children have character. They are each unique but each the same. Starved for attention and thrilled to receive the smallest bit. And I am happy to be the one to give it. I have so much fun with the children. We chase lizards, catch chickens play football and work together on various projects around the campus. They are so interested in the tools and techniques I have brought over from the first world. The power drill is the main attraction. As soon as I fire up the new generator the children watch anxiously to see if I head to the room where I keep my tool bag. When I do they come running. I have been tapping into the concrete walls to manicure some of the existing electrical wiring. The kids gather around me faces pushed up against the electric motors fan as I slice through the soft concrete. They all want to try the drill but I didn’t bring enough bits for that. I am going to leave it behind along with the remaining hardware. I hope but I don’t think its going to last long. I am trying to stress the importance of maintenance and upkeep, especially regarding the new generator we purchased. People here don’t change oil, they don’t change spark plugs, they hardwire rather than use plugs, and they use plastic bags rather than wire nuts or splices. It’s hard to take their idea of electrical engineering seriously, but it works for them. Or it works until their screw-up makes the whole block lose power. One problem with maintenance is the cost, these people are poor and cannot afford to change oil every 4,000 miles, let alone 15,000 (you should see the oil in our Toyota). Also most everything technical like the generator is sold with an English manual rather than French or Lingala. I am working on em, hopefully I can make a difference. Two other things are bugging me about the culture at the orphanage. They don’t clean up trash, they don’t even collect it they just throw it on the ground. The next is safety like the plastic bag splicing, many things at orphanage are poorly rigged and downright dangerous. If you know me you know I have very little concern for danger or safety, but this is a real concern. I have a large cut on my arm where a piece of rebar cut me as I pushed children on the swing set. I saw a young girl cut her foot wide open walking around barefoot. She didn’t know where or what did it. It could have been a number of things, glass, aluminum, rebar, rocks or the numerous food cans used for previous meals. It needs to change, and this trip will be a successes if I can.

As I was saying earlier the kids really get a kick out of technology. The other night I brought my computer to the orphanage. They were very impressed by it but not near as impressed as when I played Madagascar on it and blasted it against a bed sheet using the digital projector father brought. I assure you, you have never seen so many children so excited. I had to secure the table with the technology and shoo the children away as they tried to grasp the light passing through the dusty air. The movie was in English with French subtitles that they could not keep up with, but once again I assure you they enjoyed the movie more than any American ever has. The movie plays that awesome song “ I like to move it, move it” during the film and credits. The children have been singing it nonstop now for the last 4 days and beg me to play the movie again. I am anxious to, I need to hear a new verse. After the movie I blasted some Bob Marley and cycled through the pictures I have taken of the children. They are so excited to see photos of themselves. Then to top that off I played them the videos I have taken of them and they went off like a cherry bomb. Thank God I didn’t give them any candy that night we would have had to round them up like scattered cattle (A Land Remembered). That was the night that father finally let me sleep at the orphanage. The room I stayed in was very nice, but had been stinky and bat invested prior to cleaning by the staff. Something big crawled across my legs in the middle of the night and freaked me pretty good, but I managed to get a good night’s sleep.

Both the soccer goals are up and as I just posted on Facebook I had three teams come into the orphanage and challenge the home team. Have not put a team together yet, been to busy, but will as soon as I get the volleyball court completed. The soccer field is impressive, it aint level and it doesn’t have any grass on it, but it is a giant rectangular clearing in the middle of thick vegetation. Each rain flattens the surface a little more but it could use a few more. We are so spoiled to have grass fields in America, another thing I took for granted till I came here. But dirt makes for a more eventful sport. You don’t dare slide tackle on dirt, I tried and regret. Thanks Mom for the sandals. The children that got them love them. The children that didn’t receive a pair are anxiously waiting the consolation. We had a serious run in with the law a couple days ago. I walked into the water along the River Congo and took some video of the surroundings. Before I could make it to shore there were military and customs actively pursuing me. I took off but my efforts were futile. Then men approached me aggressively and I just about put one on the ground. I remember thanking God I hadn’t once the situation was resolved. Turned out I was in another one of their damn strategic zones. I think when you are white everywhere you go is a strategic zone, a strategy to get you to let go of some of your money. Father came and defended me and the others. The men were mean and put a good scare in me but once they believed that we were actually missionaries working at an orphanage they pulled a 180 and wanted to be pals. The most aggressive, the officer, actually asked us to help him get his kid to America. This all occurs in French so I hear it all from father once we walk away. The men said “see you tomorrow” so I assumed there would be an upcoming court date but that’s just the only goodbye fraise they knew in English. This is the case with most people here.

I had two interesting conversations this week. One was about safety. I told the rector of the convent how my family, friends and media had made this place seem so dangerous and perilous. He argued and said no America is far more dangerous. “In America you must worry about terrorism, child molestation, child abduction, suicide, murder and many other perils. Here people are too worried about feeding themselves to bother doing you or your loved ones any harm, and there is no since in terrorism, the only thing the people of Congo fear is not eating.” He’s right to; there is a giant misconception about the Congo. The story is the same in the east, I haven’t been there but everyone I talk to who has recently traveled there says its as safe as the west, just a lot more beautiful. Who’s feeding us all this bullshit? The second conversation was with father Gabriel. Can’t remember the specifics but the general idea was that this place is as much an adventure as any forest, river, desert or mountain expedition. You could never ready yourself for the events that may unfold in a day. It’s a concrete jungle. You control your fate but you don’t steer the wheel. Weather it’s driving down the road or shopping in the market every task is sure to surprise you with a little curve ball action. It’s a lot like I imagine America was 100 years ago, minus ten million cubic tons of trash.

Well I could write page after page about experiences I have had and the thoughts I am developing, but I’ll leave you now. I am climbing a large mountain tomorrow, probably around 5,000 feet. Ill take some good photos.

Keep Rocking In the Free World