These are the stories that I think about in English. They're mostly about our Congo days, but other stories may be included as our lives spread across three continents.
Kinshasa is nicely tucked away from hurricane areas, so I could safely enjoy yesterday's storm. It started around 9 am and only lasted an hour or so. It was magnificent.
People living close to the river do suffer from seasonal flooding and people living close to eroded areas are in grave risk of landslides. I think these risks are mostly of human origin, though. The areas surrounding Kinshasa are heavily deforested. I know nothing about geology but someone explained to me that the "hills" around Kin are basically sand dunes, that is why they erode so easily.
Kinois are lucky because they're out of hurricane and earthquake zones. Coming from Guate, I have great appreciation for this relative safety. It makes a big difference to see the gaps in the outer walls of the staircase and know that they were caused by gunfire* and not by an earthquake (Kinshasa is so far from the ongoing conflict in the east, that it feels like a different country all together) . I also feel better about loving the rain and the storms so much knowing that there is no threat of a hurricane. I am fully aware that I can say this because I live in a solid building (even if there are multiple leaks in the water system and electric connections work simply out of luck) in a flat area above river level.
*In two and a half years I have only experienced two "situations" that involved gunfire and fighting. Demobilization is still too recent to see it's effects in terms of available weapons on the streets. Petty criminals in Kinshasa normally do not have fire arms, nor do most police.
How I love it when grown-ups remember important stuff like rock flipping. Today I read in Sheep days about this important initiative. This led me to Via Negativa where I learned more about it.
I started and stopped writing various posts today, including one about Che Guevara in the Congo, another one about carbon sinks and environmental credits, and other subjects that somehow don't work for a Friday evening at the office, waiting to leave for a beer and then dinner with the usual suspects. While these extremely serious subjects didn't pan out, thinking and writing about rock flipping did, so I decided to join in the announcement of Sept 2, rock flipping day.
Picking rocks is an old hobby of mine. Looking for the "perfect" rock I have stumbled upon interesting and sometimes scary animals. When I was five or six I picked up a fairly large rock and found what I thought was a "giant worm" and turned out to be a poisonous snake. The memory is still fresh, and I can hear my father saying "Mija, ¡eso es un cantil!"
That's the sexiest rock flipping story I could remember.
The picture above is from Mvudi, a recreational place outside Kinshasa where I spent a few hours last year picking and flipping rocks with friends' kids.
I was told, yet once more, that I don't look Guatemalan. I used to find the remark amusing and "collected" nationalities as people guessed where I was from. It stopped being funny when I realized that while some people were simply ignorant of the different faces of Guatemala, others' comments were attached to questions that went beyond appearance. What do you answer to someone who says you're not a "real" Guatemalan?
For a while I made a point to offer people who brought this up a crash course in Guatemalan political history. I realized most weren't interested. They simply wanted to make me fit into one of their racial slots, I didn't fit, and that bugged them. I appreciate when people simply accept my answer because, after all, I know what I am. I don't appreciate people who feel entitled to ask my "pedigree" as if I were a fine horse or a competition dog.
This last incident happened when I was in the company of friends from three other countries. The commenter was a Latino. The people I was with weren't told they didn't look like nationals of their countries. Yet, I didn't look Guatemalan. One of my friends shook his head regretting the commenter's insistence. This friend ha lived overseas and has been to Latin America so he knew this fellow should have known better. He asked the pedigree question and for the first time ever (I think) I managed to feel less bugged by his questions and more...let's say, "compassionate" of his ignorance. I didn't fall into the genealogy discussion, but told him I was Guatemalan and that maybe he should learn more about my country before commenting on the subject.
This isn't something that makes me lose sleep, but being interested in issues of race and identity myself I do use these encounters to reflect upon what I think makes me Guatemalan. What makes people feel Guatemalan, Belgian, American, Congolese or Timorese? You can be born in a certain country and not feel from that country. You can identify with a country where you have never lived. I've met Belgians whose families have been in the Congo for 5 generations and they still consider themselves Belgians above all, and I've met people who are the first in their families to be born in a country and yet their attachment to the place and their alliances are strong. In my case I know that the insistence of people who feel they know what I am better than I do feels a bit like a threat because I know that feeling Guatemalan defines much of who I am, what I do, and how I see the world. Without my Guatemalanness I'm left in a sort of identity limbo. I never asked myself whether I looked Guatemalan or not until I was told I didn't. I never thought, and still don't think, that appearance should precede the other elements that make a person Guatemalan, Belgian, American, etc.
I've written a bit about identity on my blog in Spanish, where there is also a post written by Brett on adoption and identity and a link to Esme's great post on her experiences fostering in Guate. While thinking about these issues I remembered a great film I saw almost two years ago that touched upon many of these subjects. Sandrine recommended it first and I loved the movie. It's title in French is Va, vis et deviens ("Live and Become") and it is a beautiful story that touches upon identity, race, religion, adoption, history and love from one child's perspective.
One of my first memories of Kinshasa includes the "Bebe Rico" commercials. The guest house where we stayed the first weeks in the Congo didn't have cable, so every evening we watched Congolese TV. Sometimes there were kids at the dining hall when the commercial came up. Invariably everyone would sing along.
Yes, it is that Ally Mc something woman TV show dancing baby. I love the Congolese commercials because they are a wonderful example of interpretation and adaptation of the media.
During my first field trip here in the DRC, we stopped at a tiny village/military post on the Ubangi for a couple of days. I became friends with some of the local children, including little D. who was gracious enough to share with me, and now with you, her interpretation of "Bebe Rico."
I realize I have been writing a lot more in my Spanish blog. I don't want to force stories to come out in English, though. Rather than waiting for a long, coherent story to pop up in my head, I am going to include today some miscellaneous and random notes from the past few days.
---- Failing French: so far, little luck breaking the writing in French barrier. I had been forcing myself to think and write in French, instead of taking notes in Spanish, writing in English, and then translating to French. No luck. I was getting nowhere with a report for the garden until I gave up in French and wrote it in English. Phew. Done now. A friend lend me his translator and now I will revise and correct the obvious and give it back to my secret helper to make sure it's properly written.
---- Bad culinary choices: Last Saturday was a bad day food-wise. First, I made the mistake of eating salad in the sun. The salad dressing had some lemon and now I like I'm beginning to grow a mustache. Later the same day we went for pastries at the one place where they prepare cake filling like my childhood's bakery. I got greedy so instead of asking for the tried and true cake, I went for a different one that looked fatter. I was hoping to get the maximum cream filling for my bucks. Big mistake. The filling was whipped cream and not the egg and sugar thing I was hoping for. A friend ended up eating it.
---- What a trivial post. Better put add some anthropology.
---- I got word from the university and all's fine and well, KUL folks are the nicest most helpful people. Now I need to start working on the 20 pages I need to present in less than 3 months............................aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!
---- SfAA 2008, Memphis I hope all the anthros are still on board for Memphis. Registration is open, BTW. If you want to organize a session, like we discussed some weeks ago, let's get started.
---- My Belgian sister and beautiful sobrinita are a few days away from their trip to Guate. I cannot wait for them to see my country. I'm sorry I won't be there to share the fun, but I'm sure it won't be the last time :)
---- The last Harry fan: I have a feeling I will be the last Harry fan to get to read book 7. I am extremely grateful to Françoise, who will buy it for me and then drive to Bruno's town close to Brussels to drop it off. Bruno will kindly bring Harry along my KUL paperwork. I plan to buy a dozen or more bags of bugles (nacho flavor), diet coke, and the other basic foods to fully enjoy Deathly Hallows.
---- A couple of weeks ago we attended a concert at Halle de la Gombe (same place we go for Friday Chicken). It was a wonderful concert organized by some very dedicated folks here in Kin. I took several mini-clips. Here is one of them. Claudia, can you figure out what they're saying?
My favorite singer was the girl with the bell. She looked so happy!
---- Random information I can certainly help you with...like the country code for Panamá. Being Latina I should know these things, right? 507. I love those random questions about things all Latinos should know. the only comment I do not like very much is when people tell me that I don't look Guatemalan. Fortunately here in the Congo most people do not know much about Guatemala, so I don't get that very often.
