How do you describe flying over mile after mile of jungle and thick bush dotted here and there with the occasional thatched roof to land in a clearing that just kind of appears in the middle of all the foliage below? How do you describe the need, and the little you have to meet that need? How do you describe the pleas for assistance? How do you make sense of the world’s silence in the face of a disaster far greater than the 9/11 attacks, hurricane Katrina or the Tsunami of several years ago? Where will the strength come from to face the tasks at hand?
As I began this project several months ago I was reminded over and over again of Psalm 43. “When you pass through the waters I will be with you…” It has been a comfort for me as I have continued on with a project that has met many obstacles along the way. After seven weeks of waiting for government paperwork and clearance to distribute the relief supplies, the first few flights to deliver supplies began a week and a half ago. Since then we have delivered over 20 tons of supplies by air and an additional 20 tons by road. In each place we visit the need is far greater than the supplies we have but the people are thankful nonetheless. God has been faithful in protecting us and opening the way for the distribution of supplies to take place. We have passed, and continue to pass, through the waters.
As the end of this project is nearing my heart is rejoicing at what has been accomplished but is heavier than when I started because we have only put a band-aide on a bleeding heart. Daily I get requests for food assistance or medicines and almost just as often I hear reports of children snatched from their homes and marched through the bush. The silence in the press and lack of attention being given to this crisis weighs heavily on me as it is my friends, my families, that have faced the atrocities of the LRA and now risk starvation in the coming months. The need is so great.
We do not live in a fare world, I have come to accept that, but when several thousand Congolese are murdered and people don’t notice, it is time to stand up and shout. If you have had the time to read this, I encourage you to take the time to write your congressperson, write your local newspaper, write anyone you can think of that might care and tell them, “The LRA are reeking havoc in CONGO. They aren’t in Uganda anymore. There are as many if not more displaced and murdered people in northeastern Congo as there are in Darfur. What can we do to stop this?” Dear friends, please do not just read this and go back to the schedule you had planned for your day. Pray, give, call, write, do something.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Photos of distributions in Congo
A chief in Dingila telling us about the LRA.
Loading up a truck from the plane at Faradje.
The Church Office Dingila.
Loading up a truck.
Loading Blankets.
Loading up the Caravan with tarps.
Items ready for distribution.
Distribution Ingbokolo.
Distribution Ingbokolo
Perhaps quite the place to stay back in the day.
The Church in Dingila
Displaced Persons House Faradje
Displaced Persons House Faradje
He wanted to know how much my camera cost.
The LRA burned down this house belonging to a friend of our family at Faradje.
The DC3 being unloaded at Faradje.
DC3 at Faradje
Women cooking at Faradje.
The relocated Banda Bible School building in Dingila.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Your Cow Ate My Chicken
Six weeks ago I arrived back in Congo knowing that I was likely to face some obstacles on my way to delivering the relief supplies we have procured. I never imagined that six weeks later I would still be waiting for paperwork to exempt my relief supplies (read that: “free stuff given to needy people”) from custom’s taxes. Working in Congo has never been easy, mostly because of the ludicrous demands of the various government departments that happen to be in whichever location you end up. For example, in 1998 when my family made a short trip to Congo, my dad was required to buy Congolese insurance for our vehicle a kilometer from leaving the country. In essence, every government official is looking for some way to fill his/her pocket.
This kind of free-for-all by government officials originated after independence when Africa’s quintessential dictatorial “big-man”, Mobutu, declared, “Motu na motu abungisa”, which literally means, “Each person should build” or, “Each person should work to fix”. While I believe this phrase was meant to be more like JFK’s famous, “Ask not what your country can do for you” speech, it was taken more along the lines of, “The government isn’t going to do anything for you, so take what you can while you can.” It has been more than ten years since Mobutu was removed from power but this mindset is more prevalent in Congo today than ever before.
While my situation at the border has been discouraging in many ways for me, it is the Congolese who face these obstacles each and every day and lose the most from the corrupt governance that surrounds them. A common sentiment among Congolese I work with is, “Inshi yetu hawezi simama” or, “Our country will never stand up”. It is mind boggling to my friends why their own government would make delivering aid to its people so difficult.
There are too many stories of corruption and extortion to tell them all, but one of the most comical and my favorite so far is the “your cow ate my chicken” story I heard several weeks ago. My friends and I were driving along a dusty, rutted out road when we came to a bridge that had a military contingent to “guard” it. As we crossed the bridge one of the people in the car asked if it was the “ngombe yako alikula kuku yangu (your cow ate my chicken)” bridge. This question of course sparked my interest so I asked why the bridge would be given such a name. My friends explained that one of the soldiers at the bridge had several chickens and one day one of them went missing. The soldier was quite upset about his missing chicken and when a cow herder came by the soldier stopped him and demanded that he pay for the missing chicken. The herder was taken back by this demand and said he knew nothing about the missing chicken and didn’t know why he should pay for someone else’s chicken. The soldier then demanded that the herder pay because, “your cow ate my chicken”. I never heard if the cow herder ended up paying or not but the story struck me as both comical and sad because in all likelihood the herder did pay; afterall, he wasn’t the one with a gun.
I have been told that my paperwork is on its way and that I should be able to begin my distributions soon. In faith, I have arranged for an airplane to arrive this next week to begin the work. Please intercede on my behalf and on the behalf of those suffering from this conflict, that this paperwork will, in fact, arrive quickly. Ask also that the enemy’s plans and frustrations would be thwarted and that we would be instruments of hope and peace where fear and despair are so commonplace.
This kind of free-for-all by government officials originated after independence when Africa’s quintessential dictatorial “big-man”, Mobutu, declared, “Motu na motu abungisa”, which literally means, “Each person should build” or, “Each person should work to fix”. While I believe this phrase was meant to be more like JFK’s famous, “Ask not what your country can do for you” speech, it was taken more along the lines of, “The government isn’t going to do anything for you, so take what you can while you can.” It has been more than ten years since Mobutu was removed from power but this mindset is more prevalent in Congo today than ever before.
While my situation at the border has been discouraging in many ways for me, it is the Congolese who face these obstacles each and every day and lose the most from the corrupt governance that surrounds them. A common sentiment among Congolese I work with is, “Inshi yetu hawezi simama” or, “Our country will never stand up”. It is mind boggling to my friends why their own government would make delivering aid to its people so difficult.
There are too many stories of corruption and extortion to tell them all, but one of the most comical and my favorite so far is the “your cow ate my chicken” story I heard several weeks ago. My friends and I were driving along a dusty, rutted out road when we came to a bridge that had a military contingent to “guard” it. As we crossed the bridge one of the people in the car asked if it was the “ngombe yako alikula kuku yangu (your cow ate my chicken)” bridge. This question of course sparked my interest so I asked why the bridge would be given such a name. My friends explained that one of the soldiers at the bridge had several chickens and one day one of them went missing. The soldier was quite upset about his missing chicken and when a cow herder came by the soldier stopped him and demanded that he pay for the missing chicken. The herder was taken back by this demand and said he knew nothing about the missing chicken and didn’t know why he should pay for someone else’s chicken. The soldier then demanded that the herder pay because, “your cow ate my chicken”. I never heard if the cow herder ended up paying or not but the story struck me as both comical and sad because in all likelihood the herder did pay; afterall, he wasn’t the one with a gun.
I have been told that my paperwork is on its way and that I should be able to begin my distributions soon. In faith, I have arranged for an airplane to arrive this next week to begin the work. Please intercede on my behalf and on the behalf of those suffering from this conflict, that this paperwork will, in fact, arrive quickly. Ask also that the enemy’s plans and frustrations would be thwarted and that we would be instruments of hope and peace where fear and despair are so commonplace.
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