Shocks and the Electric Fence Club

When we were kids the animal pasture near our home was surrounded by an electric fence. Somehow we decided that you couldn’t be cool unless you touched the fence voluntarily, allowing yourself to get at least one shock. There were five of us at the time, and of course we all joined the club, including the youngest who was only 2.

 

I am reminded of this childhood competition by the state of our household today. Our electrical devices have been unwell. The first small refrigerator we bought stopped working within two weeks of purchasing it. We got it repaired twice, and then decided to buy a different one and sell the first one. Once we had a buyer, the fridge went a little crazy. It literally became like an electric fence. When plugged in, it would shock you at any surface you touched, inside and out.

So we gave up the hope of selling that first little fridge. Thankfully the second one we got has been working fine, and we got a stabilizer to keep it from suffering from power surges and shortages. Now we have a a good one which we use often, and a worthless fridge cluttering up the house with no place to put it.

The next appliance to go was our little one burner electrical stove. This was a good friend of mine, and Orcxance had been using it since before I came. I think some people would have called it a hot plate. Or something like that. One day it just gave up putting out heat. Orcxance attempted to repair it, as he does with most things that break, but this time no luck. 

So we bought another cheap Chinese home appliance that promises much and delivers little. This burner lasted a few weeks before it too became a shocker like the fridge. We mostly cook with metal pots so getting the pots on and off the burner, lifting the lid or stirring with a metal utensil all resulted in small electric shocks. Even pouring water into the pot from a metal cup was like touching the electric fence we used to have. 

A new burner is not in our budget for the time being, so we continue to use this appliance, using plastic utensils for stirring and thick hot pads for getting pots on and off. We unplug it whenever it’s not in use. 

I hope that nothing else in our house starts conducting electricity like these things have. My nerves might not last, but at least I can say I have gone above and beyond what most of my fellow club members ever expected of me.

Happy International Women's Day

March 8th is a very important day. It’s a special day for women! Actually the whole month of March is a time of celebration in Congo, especially here among our hospital comrades. The hospital had its opening ceremony in March, the founder’s anniversary of death is in March, and to make things extra exciting this year the president of Gabon and of Congo, along with several other presidents from various countries, are visiting Oyo this week. But of course today is the day the women are excited about the most.

International Women’s Day is interpreted in different ways, depending on who you talk to. The most common opinion I have heard voiced is that it is a day for the women to buy new clothes, dress up, go out and do things with their friends. Some people party to the extreme, others just enjoy an excuse to buy a fancy new outfit.

If you are lucky enough to be married, then your husband is supposed to cook and do all the housework that day, take care of the children and make you feel special. I guess it’s a little bit like Mother’s Day in the States. But here in Congo, everything seems to be brighter and more dramatic, louder and exaggerated, so the comparison to Mother’s Day is not the best.

For some women, March 8th is the only day in the entire year they will get a break from the daily routine of cooking and doing laundry. It might be the only day of the year where they get to feel special and valued, or the only day they get something new just for fun. 

This day reminds me of how blessed I am to be well-loved and provided for... because for me it’s not just one day a year. My husband makes me feel special every single day. He does so much for me: some days he cooks, or cleans the house, often he washes all our laundry by hand, he buys us food and keeps me secure and safe and loves me unconditionally. 

This past Saturday after working the night shift he came home and spent almost two hours washing all our laundry from the week!

For me, every day is International Women’s Day. May I never take it for granted.

The Naming Ceremony

One afternoon our WestAf neighbors had a huge party celebrating a baby boy born in the community. It is their tradition to have a naming ceremony and large gathering 7 days after the child is born. All afternoon Mama Musa’s house was swarming with other Muslim ladies and their dozens of children. Even I ended up with a baby eventually, and I wasn’t even a guest at the party. 

Completely unsuspecting I headed out of my house with a bucket to get water. To get to the faucet I walk right in front of Mama Musa’s house, stepping around whatever work is going on at the time. Usually there is a charcoal stove going, a big bin of dishes, or maybe a baby sitting in a bucket getting a bath. But today I was in for a surprise. There were about 12 or 15 colorfully clad ladies gathered around, each one working over a pot or dish of some kind. There was so much food everywhere! Some of the ladies looked at me curiously, but Mama Musa told them who I was and they went back to their work. She is always very kind to me (Orcxance made a great impression on them so he paved the way nicely for me). 

I stepped over and around things to get to the faucet. It was a special day for me too, because I got invited into Mama Musa’s home for the first time. While my bucket was filling she told me to come see the baby. It was her relative Awa’s baby who the party was for, but she is due in a month or so as well! Mama Musa promptly handed the baby over to me. I held him for a while and when I went back to my house a bunch of the kids came over. So while all the moms were busy cooking and talking, I entertained the children in my house. They speak a mixture of Lingala and other languages - mostly Bambara and French. They colored and looked at books and I gave them pieces of donuts I had made. There was a slight argument when some Congolese children appeared at the door and the WestAf kids didn’t want to let them in. But I managed to keep the peace and the Congolese neighbor kids joined in the coloring party too.

Then one of the little girls brought me another baby (slightly older) who was happy to be held. He eventually fell asleep so I laid him down on the couch until his nap was over. Meanwhile I was cooking plantains and trying to keep the large crowd of kids from tearing the house apart (I limited them to one coloring page each and they could look at one book at a time). 

Eventually I told them it was time to go, and I went out myself, to return the baby and give Mama Musa some cinnamon rolls for the party. She sent over a big container of food and some coke and fanta for me. The assortment of food she gave me was plantains, hard-boiled eggs, cabbage, green onions, peppers, eggplant, cous-cous, roasted cassava and some kind of meat. All of it was quite delicious, although the meat was a bit hard to chew.