Goma

Okay, now my heart is really broken. I've been to Goma and back, and I'm going to have to be careful what I write, because I'm not going to be able to describe what it was really like. It would take a better writer than me. And I'm not sure I want to try anyway. Or that anyone reading this would want me to either.

I spent a "dark night of the soul" last night after having spent the day going from one place to another all throughout the city with my host, visiting in people's "homes" and driving on its lava rock streets. I was depressed, angry, heartbroken. I didn't have internet access so I didn't blog, but I did write in my journal, so I'm just going to quote some parts of that here tonight. I've cleaned it up for all of you (expletives deleted). Here goes.

I came back to my room at the Bird Hotel after a very long day of visiting rhoughout the city -- and wept. I don't know how it is that places like this can exist on this planet. I'm tempted to feel that even God has abandoned these people. Hell was thrown up from Nyirangongo and spewed across Goma [this is a reference to the volcano that erupted here in 2002 -- you might remember a soundbite about it on CNN] -- and now these people are scratching out a living on top of hell's vomit.

I guess I knew that Goma would be difficult, but I had no idea.

Don't get me wrong. I met some very sweet people today. All the worse that such sweet people would have to live like this. The only people I can think of who would deserve to live like this are those who have stolen Congo's wealth. They deserve Goma. [Congo is one of the richest countries on earth when it comes to its natural resources. Unfortunately those riches have been stolen by colonialists and their successors.]

Martin wanted me to go to Zion Temple and to meet the pastor, Innocent Mundjiya. Innocent is doing some wonderful things in his care of widows and orphans in the city. Members of his church have taken in about 40 orphans -- and Innocent helps them, often out of his own pocket from the sound of it. He earns money by doing translation work for various NGOs. [His English is quite good. It's a good thing, because I don't speak French, Swahili or Lingala -- the three languages that almost everyone here speaks.]...

Charcoal everywhere in this city -- burning in the streets, being sold in small chunks by old women. Smoke in the air. Absolutely Dickensian -- but worse. There is nothing soft about this place.

Is anybody talking about family planning??? Babies and young children are everywhere. And the women are pregnant again. Six children in a home is normal -- in a home where no one has a job.

Seeing neighborhoods rising on the lava fields was more than I could handle. Miles and miles of people coming and going. Carrying water to places that have none.

Haven't even mentioned the IDPs yet [that's internally displaced persons -- refugees in their own country]. Went to a camp, just at dusk. Police officer was angry with Innocent. I thought I would at least have my camera confiscated -- thought I had insulted people by wanting to show their misery to the world. Innocent and others in our group were taken apart from me to get a lecture from the officer. Turns out he was reprimanding them for bringing me here, because it was not safe for me -- Mzungu (my new name -- "the foreign white guy"). Said I could be robbed, etc... Nice to be cared for by a Goma cop. We turned around and went back into Goma city, where we spent the next 2-3 hours after dark doing more driving, occasional stops to visit, etc. I was ready to be somewhere else.

I feel so much anger, at all the things that are wrong with this place. People aren't meant to live on top of lava!!! They can't grow things. There is no water. Cars are SO out of place here -- bumping over lava boulders everywhere.

On our way back into town we paid a visit to Apostle Petros' church (the World Harvest Mission Center, I believe) to borrow a PA system for Zion Temple tomorrow (as if they actually needed one -- they wanted it to be special for me, I think.) We went in (after dark and I'm beginning to feel uneasy in Goma) while a group of young people were singing in preparation for tomorrow's service. Arms were raised to heaven, sweet music coming from their mouths and their hearts. It was the one moment all day when I felt anything like the "presence of God" in this city. There really was peace in that place, and I was glad it was there. Apostle Petros and his wife were lovely people. He spoke good English and was very welcoming to me.

Ended up the evening at the home of Dominique, a very sweet man who is widowed with five children (one of them an orphan he took in). He fed Innocent and me a home cooked meal. Rice, beans, and a green salad and rabbit meat (both of which I passed on, as did Innocent). His hospitality and generosity were genuine. Lovely man, and his kids were as sweet as they could be.

"Mzungu" was cute at first. But I have to say, I'm getting really tired of it. I have heard it hundreds of times today. I'm very conspicuous in this place. I hear it from children and adults, too... The only other mzungu are UN people flying overhead in all the cargo planes that land at the airport.

I will go to worship with my hosts tomorrow at Zion Temple. I will carry many conflicted emotions with me as I go.

[end of quote]

I did go. Loud music, dancing, and very exhuberant preaching. Three hours' worth all together -- 9 am till noon. He asked me to speak to the people for a few minutes (I had declined to preach when he asked me yesterday, telling him I really preferred to experience their worship as it normally happens). I brought greetings from their brothers and sisters in Christ back home, and spoke of my deep gratitude for their hospitality. I assured them I would carry them in my heart always.

God has a really strange way of waking me up sometimes. After my "dark night of the soul" last night, I got up early for my morning prayers, after having slept about 4 hours. The first Psalm was 146:

Hallelujah!Praise the LORD, O my soul! * I will praise the LORD as long as I live; I will sing praises to my God while I have my being.

Put not your trust in rulers, nor in any child of earth, * for there is no help in them.

When they breathe their last, they return to earth, * and in that day their thoughts perish.

Happy are they who have the God of Jacob for their help! * whose hope is in the LORD their God;

Who made heaven and earth, the seas, and all that is in them; * who keeps his promise for ever;

Who gives justice to those who are oppressed, * and food to those who hunger.

The LORD sets the prisoners free;the LORD opens the eyes of the blind; * the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down;

The LORD loves the righteous;the LORD cares for the stranger; * he sustains the orphan and widow, but frustrates the way of the wicked.

The LORD shall reign for ever, * your God, O Zion, throughout all generations. Hallelujah!

And then, the first reading was Job 38:1-11, 42:1-5. Read it. It knocked my socks off, as it always does. It was there for me, just in case I might have imagined I understood or had a right to feel righteous in the face of the mysteries of this world and of creation.

Funny how the versicles and responses sound different from here, too:

V. Show us your mercy, O Lord;
R. And grant us your salvation.
V. Clothe your ministers with righteousness;
R. Let your people sing with joy.
V. Give peace, O Lord, in all the world;
R. For only in you can we live in safety.
V. Lord, keep this nation under your care;
R. And guide us in the way of justice and truth.
V. Let your way be known upon earth;
R. Your saving health among all nations.
V. Let not the needy, O Lord, be forgotten;
R. Nor the hope of the poor be taken away.
V. Create in us clean hearts, O God;
R. And sustain us with your Holy Spirit.

I don't understand Goma or very much of what I experienced there. I do know that in spite of my lack of understanding, and my horror that people must live as they do there, I did experience some measure of grace in the people who themselves found reason to look beyond themselves, to help those even more desperate than they themselves. I have a lot to learn from them, which is probably why I was supposed to go there.

I was glad to leave Goma, and step back across the border into Rwanda. I got on the mutatu (24 passenger bus) headed for Kigali. After a short distance we stopped in the middle of Gisenyi to pick up additional passengers. A controversy broke out on the bus, and voices began to be raised. I'm not sure what it was all about. There were two of us on the bus (a woman from Uganda and I) who didn't speak the local language and so missed the fun part. To make a long story short, the bus never left. I made attempts to get on two other buses, and finally made it onto one when someone realized there was no one seated up front beside the driver. So I got to ride shotgun for the three hour drive to Kigali. It was a beautiful drive, and I was VERY happy to get back into the city, where I got a cab out to the hotel where I will now be for the next 8 days at the Amohoro-Africa conference. Had a great meal when I got here, and I'm meeting really neat people from all over Africa. I really am looking forward to what's in store here.