Return to the Riot Site

The Immigration officer was glad to see me at the Congolese border again yesterday. I call him Papa Yves because he is the one who made the joke about my name being incorrect—that I should be St. Yvette. I also recall him telling me he was Papa Yves—parents here are named after their first born. He recalled the exact date when I had entered and then departed DRC, accompanied by the Pastor Mkoko to ensure my safe passage back to Burundi. He was none too happy to see me leaving that day, embarrassed, I suspect, by this visitor having a bad image of his country. He could hardly look at me that day. Yesterday though, I peeked into his office and flashed him a smile which he returned. I was willing to give his country another try (keeping in mind that I had as a personal goal, no bullets, no rocket launchers). As I left today, he asked if things had gone well and when I responded affirmatively, he grinned. He hoped that I would return one day, as I explained I was returning to Kenya soon and then on to Canada. Everyone from my first visit remembered me and was so happy to have me return and enjoy my stay. We stayed at the same hotel and I slept well—no rioting. I wondered if it was like a communal “saving face” experience for all of us, myself included.
I gave a grief presentation and received the best feedback from the participants thus far. One elderly widow who had also lost some children and other relatives thanked me profusely for helping her to realize that her experience was normal and told me how she appreciated me even discussing widows. Another man expressed his gratitude for helping me see how the death of each of his parents had affected him differently.
In the midst of it all, I also had to say goodbye to people who I would not see again. One woman who I liked immediately upon meeting, teaches in a literacy and peace program. She gave me a big hug at the end and said clearly in English, (we have been communicating in French), “I love you.” She told me that she believes that women have the power to change poverty by beginning to contribute to society. Literacy helps them to do this. She and her partners have a vision of making 1,500 people in the area, targeting women especially, literate enough to vote in the 2011 election in DRC. I found out tonight that she has been raped at least 3 times in her life unrelated to the war, the first as a young girl. She has such joy and confidence that I have an ever greater respect for her, having now heard that story. She is inspiring.
Another YOUNG man (I am old enough to be his mother) insisted that I marry him—that the age difference did not matter. I really had to try hard to get out of that one gently, but I figured when he asked if I had any younger sisters, that I had not hurt him too badly. Ramona??????????
The Deaf woman and I had several encounters this visit. I had brought her a care package of food as a gift and she told me today that her mother sent her appreciation as well. I wished I had met her mother as I understand that she speaks Swahili, French and English so I could have verified what I had understood since the signs are different. The Deaf woman related the story of how she and her mother fled from Bujumbura during the war in 1993 and settled in DRC. At one point, heavy arms exploded all around them and they needed to flee up in the hills to hide. She prayed to God for safety and for food as she was hungry. God provided. As she came down the hill later, she indicated by gazing with her eyes to either side of her, the numerous bodies strewn around her of the people who had not escaped unscathed. For those of you who understand signed languages, you will fully comprehend when I say that her facial expression almost made me cry, and then she turned to me and simply signed, “Sorry.” She did not have to use many words to express how sorrowful she was to see the aftermath of the attack.
I do feel I have made a difference in the lives of these people somehow, and they certainly have impacted me deeply. As I prepare to leave, I am grateful that I did return to the scene of my trauma and that I had a chance to complete my work in the area. This has been one of the life-changing moments that I will need to integrate into my graced history, as we Ignatian people say. It has been gift, rocket launchers and all.

With Gratitude,

Suzanne