Sylvia's Journal

My last few days in Kinshasa flew by – being a single facilitator of a process that usually takes two, kept me busy and on my toes. My colleagues stayed with the process till the end and produced their learning plan – an accomplishment that surprised them. Once again I am amazed how little of the facilitation techniques and methods that I use to get people to talk in groups about things that are important to them, gets out to the various corners of the world, whether Mongolia or the DRC.

In the closing session people indicated that they will incorporate some of the things they experienced and learned in their own sessions with people out in the health zones. I wish I could be a fly on the wall.

After Mongolia where I could not understand the language, nor read its (essentially Cyrillic) script it was wonderful and easy to be able to both read, understand and communicate with my colleagues without the interposition of an interpreter. But being alone I did not probe and question enough, I realized, as I was putting together the various sections of the plan they produced. Some entries now puzzle me. I suspect there will be several rounds of review and revision. The Afghanistan plan, after all, took about 6 months to finalize.

My exit from DRC showed me some of the chaos and ‘pagaille’ that I had been spared living in a luxury hotel and being driven to and from the office each day. The travel agent hired to get us in and out of the country, the one who didn’t show up on time when I arrived, took me through all the phases of the exit process, which was a good thing as little is obvious for a newbie like me. One can be denied boarding at the very last moment, when one is already checked out of the country by the Congolese officials, if proof of a particular tax cannot be produced. Luckily all my papers were in order and I got my seat in a jumbo that was filled to capacity with families, crying babies, missionaries, and God knows who else.

I had a short wait in Paris, enough for a shower, a more substantive breakfast than the one given on the plane and time to review a consultant’s report from Nigeria. That too showed that we have a long way to go from telling people what to do to having them draw on their own wisdom and wishes. They do this when we are not around but then we come in. We shake our heads about everything that is not up to our standards. And then we tell them what to do.

The last leg, although long, was easy with a coveted economy comfort seat and an open middle seat and a series of good movies. Watching three movies in a row makes a 7 hour flight easy.

So far nothing has changed my positive impression of the DRC. I spent most of Saturday and Sunday preparing for the next event, taking a few naps and on Sunday afternoon a break at the pool. There was a soft breeze and the temperature was perfect. As soon as I sat down a waiter appeared with some snacks without hassling me about what I wanted to drink. I volunteered a local beer which came in an enormous bottle (Primus), plus more snacks. Of course nothing is free and I pay a premium for everything I consume in this posh hotel. A nine dollar beer and a 60 dollar tab for my evening meal that includes a buffet and a glass of South African wine is the going rate.

On Monday morning the driver from the office, Ali, picked me up and addressed me in perfect English. Unlike Cote d’Ivoire where there is great reluctance (and inability) to speak English, here many of the people I have met so far speak English. Ali’s English came from educational escapades all over the region. I asked how he got himself in, for example, the business school of Makerere University in Kampala. “I just managed,” he said. So this is the famous système ‘D’ ( for débrouillard) that I had heard so much about. When one lives in a situation of constant turbulence, and one where at one point (when I set foot across the border from Goma into what was then Zaire, 23 years ago) a few millions of the local currency bought nothing more than a small tube of toothpaste, one learns ‘to manage’ as Ali had done. He was used to be kicked out of one country and try his luck in another. He has degrees in business administration and mechanics – yet here he is our driver. I found similar underemployment in the assistant who has been assigned to help me – she has a degree in international law but is an office assistant.

Everyone is very eager to learn which omens well for the Learning Organization workshop. A group of professional staff took advantage of my presence and called an impromptu meeting to pick my brain about writing papers and proposals for conference presentations. I know how intimidating this kind of writing can be as I have been there myself. I suggested to start small and write for each other small pieces and then use Louise Dunlap’s process for providing feedback, the most positive and encouraging way I know of to help people get comfortable writing. Axel used her materials extensively in Kabul at SOLA while working with high school students on their essays.

Our office is in a very nice 5 story building where everything seems to work and the workspaces are clean and airy. Again, I had expected something not quite as together and am constantly surprised in a positive way. I am welcomed warmly by everyone and found everything ready for the workshop which starts today. I am glad this trip didn’t get canceled.

It doesn’t happen very often that I arrive in a new place, but this trip had two of them. My mind is swirling with first impressions. I wondered about my father’s experience some 60 years ago when he first arrived here as part of a 3 months Africa-breweries trip in 1954. I got his diary and postcards from that journey. The pictures are of a different time and place, colonial Léopoldville with its wide empty streets, clean colonial buildings, a few quaint looking buses and the occasional private car.

The company supposed to pick me up was not waiting for me as I had been told. After all that luck I could have expected some things not quite going according to plan. The Congolese were very solicitous of me, seeing that I had no one waiting fore me. I don’t think I have ever been to an airport were people were so friendly, concerned and where security was loose enough that people could act like people rather than officials assuming the worst in everyone. There was much laughing and joking. I took an instant liking this place.

Eventually my handler showed up after a friendly airport worker named Coco called his company on his cellphone. The driver had some lame and incomprehensible excuse about the delay having to do with problems with the MSH logo for the sign with my name on it. By that time traffic had picked up and the 30 kilometer ride to the hotel took another hour, adding two very long hours to my already 30 hour journey. I got my first taste of infamous Kinshasa traffic.

The first few miles after the airport is a smooth ride on a four lane highway with every 10 meters someone sweeping the sand and dirt off the road. A posted sign indicated that this was part of the Clean Kinshasa campaign. But as we got closer to the city center the roads narrowed, and the task of these cleaners got more and more overwhelming. No longer sweeping up light dust from the road, a few workers in their yellow reflective jackets had gotten the more daunting assignment to clean up an enormous pile of garbage heaped on an unpaved sidewalk with thick black sludge next to it. I think the clean-up campaign will take a while and will only make a difference is it includes educating the people so that everyone is responsible.

All along the road are the usual giant billboards of cellphone company enticing potential customers with promises of easy access to all of Africa as if it was free. In between are smaller ones from various companies competing for a dominance of the market of skin lightening products, targeting African women who believe black is not beautiful.

My hotel is quite posh, belonging to the Kempinski chain. It is situated on the banks of the wide Congo River, next to the President’s compound. I am on the 10th floor and have a nice view on this lush and green ambassadorial part of the city. The hotel was built by the Chinese. There are many Chinese business men in the restaurant making me forget for a moment I just traveled 1000s of miles from where they hail from. I could be in Ulaanbataar. Many signs are in English, French and Chinese. The gas masks in my room are exactly the same as in my Ramada room. I have never had a gas mask within reach and I wonder why now. There are no metal detectors or any other form of obvious security in this hotel (or for that matter in Ulaanbataar).

I checked in and then had breakfast, having missed all meals on the night flight as I was too busy sleeping. I wolfed down a large plate of greens, my body acting autonomously in piling salad greens on my breakfast plate rather than eggs and the more traditional breakfast fare. It is clear that I have been missing some important nutrients the last 2 weeks.