Why did Tshituka die?

 

A few weeks ago Kristi wrote a blog post about some friends of ours who lost two children within one month.  Tshituka, their two-year old daughter, died only weeks after Mamu Vicky gave birth to their son.  Their son died right after delivery; doctors told them that their son died due to malaria.  

But why did Tshituka die?  When a calamity happens in the Kasai of Congo, the important question is generally not “how” but “who.”  Their worldview is one of cause and affect.  In my western mindset, Tshituka probably died because her body was weak from malaria.  Being young, malnourished and already sick, her fragile body could not handle their long trek to the village.  Is my hypothesis correct?  Well, yes…according to me.

Others have different notions.  Mulami Simon’s son Victor tells us the reason Tshituka died.  He says that Mamu Vicky’s older brother caused Tshituka to die because Mulumi Simon hadn’t helped him buy a goat for the dowry he needed.  Mamu Mbuyi of Kananga 1 parish has another idea.  She says that Tshituka died because Mulami Simon took some things from the church when he stopped worshipping there.   

Who is right?  I don’t know.  What I do know is that it is easy for me to quickly pass off such notions.  In doing so, however, I miss a learning opportunity.  I miss out on understanding how relationships work here, and the tension people face when death and disease come knocking.  Please note that this cause/effect way of seeing things is not limited to Kasaians.  In the Old Testament, Job’s friends assumed that Job must have done something wrong to deserve such gross affliction.  Of course they were wrong, but his afflictions were caused by someone.  In the New Testament, Jesus’ disciples believed that a man born blind was suffering either because of his sins or the sins of his parents.  Jesus, in reply, says neither.  Jesus says the man was born blind so that “the work of God might be displayed in his life” (John 9).  In each of these cases, there is the notion of cause and affect.  Even Jesus seems to acknowledge this principle.

It is possible and probable that Tshituka died because of malnutrition and sickness exacerbated by their journey to the village.  However, I find it important to listen to the perspective of Kasaians.  In ministering to and caring for our brothers and sisters here, it is important to know what they think and how they feel.  It is important to know what they value and how they see the world around them.  Tshituka died, and that is a tragic reality.  When Mulumi Simon and Mamu Vicky return from the village we will sit with them and grieve.  Whatever reason they give for her death will be sufficient.  Our role is to love them, to stand with them, and to pray for them.  As people of faith, we believe that despite this awful tragedy, the work of God has been and can be displayed in Tshituka’s life.

 

Let’s get together…

Congolese culture is a “warm” (relationship-based) culture that thrives on relationships, interactions, and interdependence in the community. We enjoy that aspect of culture in Kasai, and we know that spending time celebrating relationships is what helps us to connect and belong in this culture. Here are a few highlights from last week, a “social whirl-wind.”

On Monday afternoon, we went to the home of an older woman to pray for her. She had stopped us after church the day before, and expressed that some of her grandchildren who live with her were sick, and that she wanted us to come. On the way home, we stopped at the home of another church member who has been in mourning from the death of her mother a few months ago. We enjoyed a good conversation with them, and expressed how much we missed receiving her gift of teaching in our weekly cell meetings. On Wednesday, we went to our neighborhood cell meeting, and were pleased to see that she came, and that others were encouraged by her presence.

On Thursday, after our Tshiluba lesson we hosted our language teacher, Mukulu (Elder) Muamba Mukengeshayi for lunch to celebrate his 75th birthday! We, along with our colleague, Ruth, enjoyed beans, plantains, and moringa leaves – no cake since he is diabetic! He brought Christmas music to listen to (“music about birth!”, he said), which made it a festive atmosphere.

Thursday afternoon, we piled into the Land Cruiser with the Christian Education curriculum committee that Bob is on, to visit one of their committee members who recently had a baby. As we enjoyed holding and celebrating baby Ndumba, we learned from his mother, Pastor Charlotte, that someone had come to tell her that the baby had appeared and spoken to him in a dream. The message was that the baby did not want his parents to stare at him or examine him closely. It is not uncommon in Kasai for a baby to “appear” and communicate a message in someone else’s dream. The traditional understanding is that sometimes a baby is a reincarnation of another person who has died. Our colleagues explained this to us somewhat sheepishly, “This is the culture of Kasai…”. Because we don’t want to dismiss some of the deep-rooted beliefs of this culture lightly, we asked our colleagues, “In a situation like this, what do you do?” “Ah, we just pray for the child,” one pastor responded. He continued “traditionally, people say that the child’s face should be marked with chalk to cleanse him/her.” At the end of our time with the family, they asked Pastor Kayembe to pray for the child. He held the child and asked God’s blessing and protection on his life. In his prayer, he declared the power and grace of God, and said that the blood that Jesus shed for us is the “chalk” that marks and cleanses this child.

Friday, was an “end of the month laity meeting” at our parish. All of the neighborhood cell groups come together for a joint meeting at someone’s house. Our “cell” was hosting this time, which meant preparing a meal for everyone. We sat outside, grateful for the evening breeze and the shade of a large tree while we enjoyed a lively time of worship and a great teaching about Jesus healing the man by the pool of Siloam.

Saturday was a big day. We were hosting our friends, Pastor Manyayi and his wife, Mamu Biabanya, along with their children, for lunch. We deliberated all week about the meal: local food, or American food? Find someone to cook the greens for us, or do it ourselves? We finally decided to make bidia, the local staple, even though I was nervous about making it for that many people. I also decided I wanted to try making the greens myself – and God answered our prayer, and both the bidia and the greens turned out well. The day felt a little like Thanksgiving to me – cooking all morning and eating all afternoon! Bob made plantain chips, and I made a mango cobbler, in celebration of the mango season we are in. Their 1-year old is named after me (Kristi), and she kept everyone on their toes while she ran around the house and explored with her curious spirit.

On Sunday, Bob preached on Reformation Sunday at a parish across town. It was our first time to worship with this parish, and they gave us a very warm welcome. We enjoyed the heart-felt worship and the spirit of the people. On Reformation Sunday, CPC collects contributions from all of the parishes for UPRECO, the Presbyterian university and seminary in Kananga. We enjoyed lunch with the pastor after the service, and talked to the student from UPRECO who had come to collect the parish’s contribution. We came home mid-afternoon, grateful but exhausted.

We reflected on our week – while it feels draining sometimes (for this pair of border-line introverts), we do feel blessed by these connections with the people around us. So much learning and growth happens in the every-day social interactions!

Congo, “The Wild West”

Several weeks ago we were preparing for a trip to East Kasai.  Part of the preparation always involves fixing and maintaining the Land Cruiser.  One day Tatu Sammy (the driver), Tatu Tshibuabua (the mechanic) and I were driving to town to have some parts repaired.  We stopped at one place but they weren’t able to help us.  On our way to the next place, driving along one of the major arteries in Kananga, a police officer waved for us to pull over next to the large market.  To my chagrin, Tatu Sammy evaded the police officer’s instruction and kept driving, egged on by Tatu Tshibuabua in the back.  In vain, I tried to convince Sammy to heed the police officer and pull over.  It was too late.  We were gone!

Less than a kilometer later, we made our second stop, not too far from the large market.  Within a few minutes, two police officers arrived on a motorcycle, both donning their large riot helmets.  As you might guess, they were not pleased with us and a heated argument ensued.  Tatu Sammy played it cool, acting as if he hadn’t done anything wrong.  Tatu Tshibuabua accused the police officer who attempted to stop us of being “a foreigner” and always stopping people for no reason.  Somehow, the welder whom we had come to see became the arbiter of our dispute, as both parties were defending themselves to him.  To complicate matters further, our vehicle was now blocking the side road.  A motorcycle with three passengers tried to squeeze by, but failed.  The motorcycle tagged the side of our car as the driver unsuccessfully tried to pass.  Thankfully all three passengers were okay, but to the driver’s misfortune, he was then harassed by the police for not having a driving license.  The police took possession of his motorcycle.  By God’s grace I was able to stay calm in the midst of what felt like growing chaos.

Eventually I got out of the Land Cruiser and sat with the others outside of the welder’s compound.  Tatu Sammy pulled me aside and asked for 5,000 francs (about $5) to appease the police.  Feeling that we were clearly in the wrong, I suggested instead that we go with them to the police station.  Tatu Sammy roundly rejected this idea, stating that going to the police station would only complicate matters.  I gave Sammy the money, but told him that he would need to pay me back.  He agreed.  Tatu Sammy went to make amends with the disgruntled police officers, but they wouldn’t comply.  They wanted $20, which we flatly rejected.  I pulled Sammy aside and asked him if he had his driving license.  He said that he left it in the vehicle of the Legal Representative, the car he normally drives.  I gently chided him, asking if that was the reason that he evaded the police.  Humbly he acknowledged that yes, that was the reason.  He also informed me that Tatu Tshibuabua had gone to see the chief of police of the entire province, a probable advocate since Tatu Tshibuabua regularly works on his vehicle.  Apparently Tshibuabua had told Sammy that we shouldn’t have to pay anything.  About ten minutes later Tatu Tshibuabua arrived on a motorcycle taxi.  With an air of unadulterated confidence, he handed a note to the two police officers.  They read it and dutifully let us go.  We were scot free. 

Driving away there was a palpable sense of victory amongst our small band.  We won our little quarrel with the police.  On the exterior I couldn’t help but bask in the victory, but inside, I knew that we were at fault. Tatu Sammy was in the wrong for not pulling over.  He acted to save face, thus getting us into more trouble.  Yet, here we were, driving away with no fine, no penalty, no consequence.  Sometimes living in Congo feels like living in the Wild West, where laws are bendable and what matters most is “who you know.”  In this case, we knew the right person and we were thus exonerated despite our guilt.  The next time I drove with Sammy, the first thing I asked him was, “Do you have your license?” 

Tatu Sammy, Lubondai (Oct 2012) -
our driver; we recently learned
that he is also a traditional chief!

Grieving

We know that Congo has one of the highest infant mortality rates in the world. We know that common sicknesses like malaria, typhoid, and measles are often the cause of death for both children and adults. But when it happens to someone that we know, and when we walk with them through this tragic process, the statistics take on a face and it weighs on our hearts.

For the last two years, we have consistently attended the neighborhood worship gathering on Wednesday evenings with our local parish. Each week, Mulami (Deacon) Simon has been our guide to show us the house that is hosting the meeting. During our first year in Congo, Simon invited us to be part of the celebration when his wife came home from the hospital with their second daughter, Tshituka. The women sing as they dance down the street to the house with the new baby, and then everyone is served beans and rice – a joyful celebration!

Mamu Vicky (right) at the celebration of the birth of Tshituka in 2010

Since then, we have enjoyed getting to know their family and have eaten beans and rice with them many times at their house and at ours. Simon has escorted us all over our local district (neighborhood) to visit people in the church, pray for people who are sick, or to support those who are mourning the death of a loved one. Simon and Vicky lived in a house next to the church, and the church gave him a small stipend for watching the church building. Simon seemed to know where everyone lived and was always our first source of information about events going on in the parish. We have been grateful for someone we can count on to help us learn the back paths and help us to connect to people in our neighborhood.

Bob with Simon and Vicky, who is holding
their daughter Tshituka

Neither Simon nor his wife has a wage-earning job. They have a field of palm trees and can sell the palm oil. Sometimes Simon uses his bicycle to go to his home village to get Cassava or other staples that can be sold for a higher price in the city. Sometimes they are able to earn an income in casual labor or other jobs – but always unpredictable and insufficient. Usually they would eat one meal per day – on good days, they would eat twice. Frequently, they would share with us that they were unable to buy medicine for a sickness, or that they were hungry. Often, we would give them some food or a contribution towards one of these needs.

Unfortunately, a few months ago Simon had a “falling-out” with the leadership of our parish. He felt ostracized and hurt, so moved to a different house at the edge of town. He has stopped attending our parish and the cell meetings, so we do not see his family as frequently.

This year, Simon’s wife Vicky was pregnant with their third child. She experienced some pain and sickness during the pregnancy, and we prayed with them often for health for her and the baby. She delivered in early September, but the baby died a few hours after it was born. She was told it was because of malaria. When we heard the news, we went to visit them early in the morning. We grieved and sat with them, grateful to see that there were other friends who had come also to sit with them in their grief. We had brought a dozen doughnuts to share, and I think their two young daughters, Ntumba and Tshituka, ate half of them, slowly but eagerly eating them in small pieces and crying for more when they were finished.

Two weeks later, we learned that they had gone to Mama Vicky’s home village because of a disturbing conflict in her family. While there, their daughter Tshituka, who had been sick, died. She had been thin and may have been malnourished or had worms… we are not sure. They have not yet returned to Kananga, so we have not seen them to hear more of what happened. But we grieve that this tragedy has overwhelmed their family – losing 2 children in the same month. Because of their recent move and the falling-out with the church, they no longer have the social support in Kananga of neighbors and friends during a time of grief like this.

Please pray that God’s shalom would continue to be known in Congo. We long to see people have healthy relationships, healthy bodies, and to know the peace and fullness of life that only Jesus can provide. Pray also that God would make us people of hope in this environment of discouragement and suffering.

Tshituka, in April of this year

Nsumuinu (Proverbs)

In the Congolese oral culture, proverbs are as plentiful as mangoes falling from mango trees.  To emphasize a point or to infer an idea, a Congolese will invariably toss out a “lusumuinu” (proverb).  For instance, Pastor Kabasele heads an organization in Kananga called CEPRES, providing vocational skills and job training.  Recently he told a group of young people seeking jobs to be patient as they waited to hear from CEPRES about the training start dates.  To buttress his point, he emphatically stated, “"Kabwa ka lubilu kakashila nyama panshi,” meaning, “the small dog who runs fast forgot the animal he left on the ground.” 

During our orientation, before coming to Congo, we were advised by missionary veterans to learn the proverbs.  We were told that the best missionaries know the local proverbs.  They know what makes people laugh, and they know what makes people cry.  One of the first proverbs we learned relates to our language learning - “Kakese kakese, nyunyu wakamana disua diandi,” meaning, “slowly by slowly the bird builds its nest.” 

Kristi, with bird’s nest and
our language teacher Mukulu Muamba (left), Tatu Sammy (right)

Recently we travelled to an old mission station called Lubondai.  It is a beautiful, tranquil setting with plenty of mango trees.  On trips, evenings are a time to relax and converse with others.  One evening in Lubondai, a group of us were sitting in the guesthouse - we moved inside because it has become a bit cold.  Staying at the guesthouse with us were a couple of young men from Kananga who recognized Kristi and I.  One young man casually mentioned that our Tshiluba was probably about as good as his English, not a very good compliment.  A colleague of ours jumped in and said, “Actually, their Tshiluba is quite good, and I’ll bet they know more proverbs than you do!”  The die had been cast, the bet had been made, and now it was up to us to try to live up to this bold statement!

For the next hour or so we traded proverbs back and forth.  We began playing a game where one side would begin a proverb, and the other would have to finish it.  Or, one group would say a proverb in its entirety, and the other group would have to explain the meaning.  According to a young man who travelled as part of our team, Kristi and I actually won the contest.  I think we all had more laughs and fun, however, than worrying about who won or lost.  Kristi and I were amazed at how many proverbs we have learned, and later that night we lamented not sharing other proverbs that we forgot in the heat of the moment.  We were also glad to learn a few more “nsumuinu” from our two new friends and others who enjoyed playing this fun little game.  

The key to a proverb is using it at the right time.  A deftly delivered proverb is like a Joe Montana pass thrown across the middle for a touchdown.  It strikes, it delivers, it makes a point, and the crowd erupts.  We are enjoying learning this art and this skill.  It is as ingrained a part of Kasai culture as is eating bidia, the local staple.  A Congolese colleague and friend recently said, “Nsumuinu ya bantu idi ileja lungenyi ludibu nalu,” meaning, “proverbs indicate the intelligence of a people.”  Well, perhaps we are growing in our social and cultural intelligence here in Congo.  I sure hope so.  We are trying our best to follow the advice we received on a cold winter day in Louisville in January 2010, a place where there are no mangoes.   
     

Children pick mangoes from the ground under large mango tree -
early morning, Lubondai, Congo (Sept 2012)