Reconciliation: 1 Year vs An Entire Lifetime

Bunia, DR Congo.  It’s 2:00 AM and I lie restlessly in bed, my feet extending off one end of my 6 foot long mattress and my pillow hanging off the other.  There is a blue bug net that hangs over my bed on the flimsy wooden members that have been daintily nailed to the four bedposts.  Across the room, despite the sweaty sheet that has become virtually useless as it now covers only one of his legs, Stephen, my roommate for the next year, is sleeping soundly in his bed.  But not me.  The short bed, uncomfortable pillow, sticky heat, and constant buzzing of mosquitos play only a small part in my tossing and turning.  The main reason for my sleepless nights is the monster that has been staring me in the face since I first stepped out of the boat, onto the dock, and into Congo.  Reconciliation, the seemingly insurmountable journey that I have felt called by God in which to engage.  Can we set the ball rolling in only one year?  Or does this task require an entire lifetime?

What we call today the Democratic Republic of Congo has had many different names, the Free State of Congo, Belgian Congo, and Zaire.  But one thing about this area of land in Central Africa that has never changed is the relentless conflict to which it has been witness.   Exploitation, corruption, and greed from foreign countries as well as it’s own political leaders, have led to the unjust deaths of millions and millions of people.  Most of this conflict and strife can be attributed to the fact that Congo is home to massive amounts of natural resources coveted by what often seems like every other nation in the world.  Even after 50 years of independence, DRC is still exploited not only by other countries, but also by its own government and countrymen.  When one thinks of reconciliation, we often think of restoring a broken relationship or bringing something back to when it was peaceful, but how does this work in a country that known nothing but conflict its entire existence.  People and organizations working toward reconciliation in an atmosphere such as this, must not only re-evaluate the definition but also re-evaluate how to make it a reality.

After a day of meetings with two of the surrounding villages, the Sports4HOPE team sits down to dinner around a dimly lit table with our host and his family.  Electricity has been out for hours, as is usual in Bunia, and our food is lit by a lonely bulb hung from the ceiling and powered by a the noisy generator out back.  As we help ourselves to another boiled banana and helping of rice, a particularly sensitive question is posed by the Sports4HOPE team.  I ask, “How can two villages whom pray before every meeting and seem to keep God in the forefront of their daily lives, be in constant hatred and war with each other?”  Our host, although having grown up in one of these villages, does not take offense to this question, but his answer reveals how deep the wounds really are.  

“Less than three years ago, before the end of ‘Africa’s World War’, while the surrounding villages were still fighting on a daily basis, preachers would often find themselves face to face with a gun, machete, or spear, and forced to denounce their faith, or speak prayers in favor of the opposing village.  In turn, later that night they would be praying the opposite, ‘Lord please allow my tribesman to kill the enemy tomorrow, bring them home safe, and protect my people.’  When these people were faced with hunger, death, and protecting their own people, their faith, while in Christ, was distorted and perverted.  Kill this man and eat, or let him live while you starve to death.  Protect your family, by murdering other innocent people, or watch them die before your eyes.”

Conversations like this are not uncommon between us and our host, but they do not get any easier.  They do however, help in our understanding of what we are facing.  

Having lived through the war, our host speaks up again to lift our spirits.  He explains that, we (the Sports4HOPE team) have come a long way, from America.  We have a particular skill set, and we have a passion/calling put into us by God.  Sport can have a huge impact on building relationships and reconciling these people.  While completely foreign to them, peace is something that people are willing to learn about.  Stick to what we know.  “Pole pole, pole pole” (pronounced polay polay ) means “slowly, slowly” in Swahlili.  This is what he says to us.  Gather the kids, start one game.  It will lead to one training session.  The kids will keep coming back.  Word will spread, interest will grow.  You can teach them the path of reconciliation and peace.  It will undoubtedly take years and years and you may not be here to see it through.  But now, you have set the ball rolling.  No one has ever run a marathon without taking that first step.

Back in my bed the next night it doesn’t seem quite so hot, the bed doesn’t seem quite as short.  I can’t hear the buzzing of mosquitos anymore, and although I haven’t fallen asleep yet, I am content just laying there.  I still face the monster of reconciliation, but I am no longer scared.  The task is just as great but I know that I am not alone,  I have Stephen, I have Selina.  I have the Sports4HOPE team back in America, as well as support from many others around the world.  I have Kalongo and the Synergie Simama team.  But more than all of these, I have God.  He has called me here and I will do all that I can, the best that I can, for as long as I can.  When the Lord tells me my work is done, I will go.  If this is a year, I will stay for a year.  If it is a lifetime, I will stay for a lifetime. 

Sense of Fear vs State of Security (First Night in Africa):

It’s quite amazing how ‘different’ is so often associated with ‘danger’.  When we are around what is known to us, we typically feel safe, however throw us into an unknown culture or area that we have never been around before and we get nervous, close up, and honestly get a bit scared.  It can happen in your own city as well as in a foreign land.  Sometimes these fears come from what we have seen on TV and in movies, what the news tells us, stories we hear, and sometimes they are simply just a fear of the unknown.  No matter what the reason, we are often mistaken, as our senses, emotions, and feelings do not always guide us in the right direction. This was my experience the first night in Africa.

Kampala, Uganda. 
It is 12:00 at night and the city is littered with huge piles of unbagged trash on the side of the the streets, residents in dirty threadbare clothes are wandering around with no apparent direction, men with semi-automatic machine guns are scattered around the city also wearing street clothes, not govt. uniforms, and homeless people are sleeping wherever they can find a dry spot on the ground.  Oh, and did I mention and there is not a street light or lamp on in the entire city.  This must be a dangerous city, right?  That is how I felt.  Especially when our taxi driver stopped at the steps of the Galaxy Guesthouse, the hotel where we had planned to stay for the night.  A line of 20 or 30 shadowy figures sleeping under tarps on the side of the road stopped 10 feet from the front door of the hotel.  l thought to myself, “Stephen, don’t make us stay here. Don’t even get out of the car.”  Our peace of mind is worth finding a nice place and spending a little more money on our first night in a country that two out of the three of us had never been to.  We did find another hotel.  We paid a bit more, but it was worth it.  I rested my head for the first time in Africa five floors above the city street that had me so uneasy and on edge that first night.  

We woke the next morning to the sounds of a torrential downpour.  Because of the climate, Kampala is a very open-air city, and therefore many windows don’t have glass and storefronts have doors that roll up opening fully to the city streets.  The rain was soothing.  We could hear the honking of car horns, and the voices of people going about their busy lives below us despite the heavy rain and muddy streets.  I walked out of our room and down the hall that opened up onto a balcony.  Protected by the overhang from the balcony above, I gazed out over the expansive city and immediately felt 100 times safer.  People scurrying around with a purpose.  Tons and tons of people buying, selling, and trading their goods and services to the locals and travelers from neighboring countries.  There weren’t any sidewalks and the people on foot took over the streets outnumbering the cars at least 35 to 1.  Amidst the cars crawling along honking for the pedestrians to get out of the way, were the weaving motorcycles, which immediately revealed themselves as the most practical way to get around in Kampala.  As I sat on the balcony eating breakfast looking out over the street,  I felt calm, at peace, and safe.  

Looking back, I learned a lot about sense of fear vs. state of security.  While I believe most people whom are unfamiliar with that culture would have been nervous, anxious, and fearful in that situation, I was later informed that Kampala is one of, if not the safest, citiy in Eastern Africa.  It sure didn’t feel like it, but it just goes to show that appearances and feelings can often be deceptive.  Our sense of fear, especially in unfamiliar places, is not always depictive of how safe or unsafe a place actually is.   We have an inherent fear of the unknown that is often unfounded.  This is a tough hurdle to get past but we should always strive to live by truth and not by sight. 

The truth of the matter is this: the whole time I was in Uganda, I was never made to feel uncomfortable or threatened by the actions of any individual, day or night, alone or with friends.

s

 Taken in Uganda