September 03, 2007
During my visit to the Congo and Burundi a few months ago I had the privilege of sharing art and stories with a group of orphans at the Don Bosco Youth Center in the North Kivu town of Goma. The only person who could speak English in the group (including the teacher) was a young nineteen-year-old Congolese girl who worked as an aide at the center. I believe her name was Gracia. She had a wonderful sense of humor and made it very easy for me to share a laugh with the kids in the classroom.
At the end of the day I waited at the buckled, corrugated-tin gate of the dusty center for my ride. Apparently there had been a spot of trouble in town with a roadblock and the driver who was supposed to come and fetch me did not arrive.
I sat on the box at the gate and was a little worried about how I was going to get back to the UN compound, which was some seven miles away. As I waited, I watched the sun setting over the poverty stricken and desolate landscape. A forlorn place which was devastated by a volcano six years ago and ravaged by four decades of civil war which ended only last year. The sun looked like a big red ball as it slowly rolled through the dust-covered sky and over the edge of the horizon.
I decided to stand on the box and peer over the fence to see if I could spot the white UN vehicle that was supposed to come and get me.
Suddenly I heard a voice behind me. It was Gracia the young lady who translated for me during the day.
I got off the box to greet her.
“Jambo,” I said. “Hello.” (The only word I learned in Swahili.)
“Jambo Mr. Trevis, sir. I came to tell you that you shouldn’t do that,” she said.
“Do what?” I replied.
“Put all of your good ideas in the big danger like that.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.
“Well. I know from working with you today that there is many of good ideas in your head.”
“Yes, there is lots of stuff in my head,” I chuckled. “I don’t know how much of it is any good though.”
“You see if you stand on the box and put your head over the fence like that, then somebody is going to shoot your head. And if they shoot good there will be a hole in your head and all the ideas will fall out. That is not good.”
“No it isn’t,” I said, laughing at her great sense of humor and thanking her for pointing out my mistake. (Which is something I should have paid more attention to since I had passed the United Nations Security in the field course which mentions that one should not put ones face into places that might draw attention -or stray bullets - from drunken ex-rebels and warlords looking for target practice.)
The driver (who was delayed by a roadblock) arrived almost two hours later and Gracia refused to let me sit alone while I waited.
“You cannot sit alone,” she said. “It is our custom to look after our guests.”
Gracia and I sat together for those two hours and had an amazing conversation about life in the Congo. She told me that three of her younger siblings and her father had been killed in the war and that bad things had happened to her. She also told me that she was hoping to go to school one day to be a nurse, but she was now the family breadwinner and it was a struggle to save money for college.
The driver finally arrived and I hugged Gracia and thanked her for the great conversation. I wanted to give her something as a token of my appreciation and the only thing I had on me was a twenty-dollar bill. (Which is at least two months salary for the average earner in the Congo.)
I handed her the money and said, “This is for you.”
She looked at me and smiled. “Thank you but my father always told me I must ‘earn’ my money,” she said. “If I get money because people feel sorry for me, then the devil inside my head will trick me into trying to look for more money that same way and then I will forget how to work for my dreams.”
“I totally understand,” I said, shocked at her deep insight and the wisdom beyond her years.
My chat with Gracia was worth more than money can buy. What an honor to have been lucky enough to share time with such an inspiring and wonderful person.
I fingered the twenty-dollar bill in my pocket as we drove away from the orphanage and I thought, “How many times do I have to be reminded that it’s not about the money.”
Posted by trevor at September 3, 2007 12:36 PM