Uganda, Denmark, Scotland, Canada, Mexico & Many States Confirmed for Sisters Solidarity Gatherings – Please Join Them!
Join those in Uganda, Denmark, Scotland, Canada, Mexico, Arkansas, Texas, Hawaii, Idaho, Washington, Florida, N&S Carolina, Colorado, Illinois, Arizona, Maryland, NY & other states who are wrapping Congo in love with Sister Solidarity Gatherings by Feb 28!
Be a part of this beautiful expression of love and solidarity for the women of DR Congo! This is an easy way to make a joyous and immediate difference in our world!
You don’t need to be a huge group. The power of 1 or 3 or 5 is huge when your whole heart is in it. Your spirit is what matters as we literally wrap Congo in love from all around the world.
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Asked about adopting Congolese children? A guest blog- Jilma Meneses, Our Family Adoptions
While I am traveling, I asked a few friends to pitch in with their stories of Congo. I hope you enjoy hearing them as much as I have. – Lisa
Our Family Adoptions: Jilma Meneses
An Unbroken Spirit:
I never set out to accomplish this. My first love is family and my second is education. I spent my time pursuing those goals. My life was full and so was my heart. But in 2001, I suffered a personal loss that made me look at my life in a new way. I questioned what I knew and trusted, and needed to re-assess. I was offered a mission trip to Latin America, but had already been there and knew it was not the right fit. A few weeks later I was offered an opportunity to go to Congo, to help build an orphanage in the city of Lubumbashi.
When I researched DRC, I was amazed to learn about the turmoil, war, and suffering the people of Congo had been enduring. At that point, little was reported in western media about the war and human rights abuses. The spilling of Rwandan genocidaires into Eastern Congo was poorly known. Rebel leader Laurent Kabila had captured the presidency from the fleeing Mobutu, but Kabila had just been assassinated by one of his own bodyguards.
When I arrived in Congo I was overwhelmed. The infrastructure was broken. It was as if time had stopped in the early 1960s. And in some sense it had. Since the Belgian colonial government pulled out of the country, there had been little advance in architecture or technology. The intersections had streetlights, but there was no electricity to power them. Lush street trees in the once-elegant city were being chopped down for cooking firewood.
I arrived at the site of the orphanage and it was a simply a cement foundation with a huge pile of bricks. At first I waited for the men to carry bricks, but when none did, I began to carry them myself. After a while, I was joined by a group of Congolese mamas dressed in bright colors, and together we carried bricks in the hot sun. We sang songs and laughed and spoke in the broken French I remembered from college. I was surprised to realize that each brick I carried lightened my load.
I laughed with the orphan girls. We played games together and sang more songs. One evening I spoke with Mama Francine, the orphanage director, and asked her, “Where will these girls go? This facility you are building is safe and wonderful, but you need to find homes for the girls. Where will they go when they cannot live here any longer?”
Mama Francine looked at me and simply replied, “Why don’t you adopt one?”
What could I do? My husband and daughter were at home in the US and didn’t know what I was experiencing. I stayed awake all night because I couldn’t sleep. Could we adopt? What would that be like? How would a young Congolese girl fare when transplanted into America?
I could write of the waiting, pondering, questions and worry I had. But the answer is this: my husband and daughter were as excited and eager to adopt as I. The logistics were complex, and we had to organize many details because we did our own adoption. There were no adoption agencies working in DRC at that time, so there was no roadmap to follow. But in 2003, our Congolese daughter joined us in America, and we became a family of four. My life was full – I focused on family and education. I returned to my career.
But my heart was not full.
I remembered all those other faces. All those other girls at the orphanage. Those lost boys on the street with distant eyes.
I spoke of my experiences in Congo to friends and family. I told them what I had learned and what the Congolese people were enduring. After a while, we had friends come to us and ask if it really was possible: “Do you think we could adopt from DRC, too?”
I helped them adopt their daughters. The word spread. I helped other families adopt their daughters. I helped a family adopt a son.
Despite my fulltime career, my children and husband, I took on a second job. Well, it would be a job if I got paid for it. But I don’t. And I wouldn’t want to. My attorney’s license allows me to represent families in their adoption proceedings. I built trustworthy relationships with DRC attorneys. I organized assistance programs for the orphanages. Now I assist adoptive families who are able to commit to a lifetime relationship with DRC – who know their adoption promise extends to all of Congo, not just their adopted children.
To date, we have helped 20 children of Congo find families. We have seventeen more adoptions in process for 2010 alone.
I never set out to accomplish this. I think of all those children who need food, who need love, who need a family. There are 5 million orphans in DRC. That is an overwhelming number. But I hear my daughter laugh, and she has an unbroken spirit. She is American, but she is Congolese. The songs of the mamas working in the hot sun that day still echo in my ears. And every brick I carry lightens my load.
Sisters Solidarity Gatherings – Msgs of Support & Report Outs Here!
With Sisters Solidarity Gatherings happening all around the US and the world over the next two weeks, they need a place to post their messages of love and support to the women who will be running in our inaugural Run for Congo Women-Congo.
So post your Gathering messages here as a comment! Post a short statement before Feb. 25th to be translated and shared before the Bukavu run start. Let our sisters know you are with them at every step of their courageous journey as they rebuild their lives! Then also share about your gathering after you have it, including the date, place, how many women, men & children attended, any donation total for your group, where you walked or ran. Help us to see and feel like we were there with you!
And thank you for being a part of this!
For anyone still wanting to join us in making this immediate and joyful difference in our world, just email email hidden; JavaScript is required. You will receive all the materials and support you need to have a great gathering!
Dungu Vignette
Too Much to Remember:
Met with Koko’s Uncle Alexander again today. He continued his epic story of the LRA attack where four of his sons and one grandson were killed, four grandchildren abducted …
He and his elderly wife were badly beaten, spent 5 days walking to safety along LRA laden roads lined with burnt huts and the dead. Five days with no food, no sleep.
It Left me with many questions. Do I push too hard? Is it worth making them relive these stories? What questions to ask and which to leave alone? I’m no journalist.
As he described the story of his grandson’s murder, he broke down crying. It’s too much to remember. Too many losses in 1 day. Then he got up and left.
A Congolese Dad
Another young man turned up at Koko’s family compound today. After greeting everyone and playing with the kids, I noticed him sitting quietly, watching us. We had failed to shake his hand, the standard greeting even for four year olds.
As Koko’s bother introduced us, he pushed up his sleeve to reveal a bandage around his upper arm. It was the father who was shot in the arm while holding his three year old daughter in the LRA attack on January 14th.
We retreated inside to talk.
He had just returned from Gilima, where he had spent the week comforting his in-laws after his brother-in-law was killed by the LRA. While he was away, some members of his church stopped by and left several prayers and bible study notes for him. So he settled into a chair in his yard to review the notes. While he prayed, his daughters Monique (1 year old) and Mercy Sarah (3 years old), played nearby while mom cooked in the kitchen. She called Monique to join her and little Mado (4 years old) to help her in the kitchen.
That’s when they heard the screaming and saw neighbors running, “They are on the hill! LRA!”
He saw five LRA, wearing dreadlocks and long coats. He called to his wife to take the two girls and run, while he scooped up Mercy Sarah and ran inside to quickly grab the one possession he couldn’t stand to have stolen: the family bible. He grabbed it and ran.
His neighbor, Antoinette ran behind him. He heard shots, and turned to see her fall and hit the ground, still holding her infant son. Just then, a bullet hit his arm, and passed through Mercy’s stomach. (He gave a graphic description of what happened to her tummy, but I have seen photos of her in the hospital, so I know exactly what it looked like. I’ll spare you the gory details.) He dropped the bible so he could catch her with his good arm. Just then, his brother emerged from the bushes and took the girl, while they ran away, bleeding to get to the hospital.
Little Mercy Sarah underwent three surgeries over a week and a half. She died the day after the third surgery. His devastated expression said it all, as he tried to show us his limited use of his right hand. He was drowning in grief and couldn’t hide it.
“I’m going to ask you a stupid, maybe insulting, question.” I warned him. Though in a way, I was coaxing him to remind himself he did everything he could to protect his family. “I heard about another dad who just pushed his child back to his mom, while he hopped on his bike and rode to safety. Why did you pick up little Mercy Sarah and run with her, rather than just saving yourself?”
“I loved her. I’ve loved my children since before they were born.”
One other question nagged at me. By a twist in timing, he had gone back for his bible, so he was behind his wife, and the bullet hit and killed his daughter. “You were obviously a religious man. Has the incident changed your faith or sense of God?”
“I thought about it. But no. What happened is God’s will.”
“So no change in your faith at all?”
“None.”
Lisa Jackson, director of The Greatest Silence: Rape in Congo, writes about A Thousand Sisters…
“A Thousand Sisters brings to unforgettable life dozens of the women and girls caught in the crosshairs of the worst, and most underreported, humanitarian catastrophe of our time. It takes us into a literal heart of darkness on a personal journey that is by turns enchanting and chilling, always achingly honest, and never less than beautifully reported and wrenchingly true. Lisa Shannon’s brave book helps teach us how to care, and why.” ~ Lisa F. Jackson, producer/director, “The Greatest Silence: Rape in the Congo”
Lisa has been a wonderful friend and mentor to me since the very first New York Run for Congo Women. Love her and can’t thank her enough!!!
Lisa’s Identity Crisis: No Function
I have a problem. Every time I cross an international border, check into a hotel, or sign in with security in a guarded compound, they just have to ask: Who are you with? (Me!) What is your function? (Uh oh.)
It’s weird enough in the US, answering endless questions about how I support myself as a volunteer, explaining my role in the movement, the “independent” nature of my work… but over here, I’m met with blank stares and pure confusion at best. Total blow off at worst. It’s exacerbated by the simple fact I’m not sure I know, even secretly, what exactly my “function” is.
Identity crisis time!
Koko now shares my pain. As we fill out these entry forms that seem to mock us, she always looks at me, puzzled, “Who are we with? What is my function?”
We’ve tried humanitarian… Women for Women… volunteer… visiting family… writer… activist…. None of it seems to fit! Especially since touting credentials here can cause big problems [wrote a book = rich (haha!) = give me money].
None of our pat answers work here. Women for Women doesn’t operate anywhere close to Dungu. With only about 5 NGO’s in town, “humanitarian” is too generic. I have no simple answer. As we crash NGO meetings, and everyone does their rounds of introductions, Koko is flat out stressed, whispering nervously to me as the intros approach us, “What do we say?”
Our new favorite answer, sending us into endless rounds of laughter: No function!
Don’t even get me started on the angst induced when I have to fill out a field marked “Home Address”.
Marital status is a fun one, too. I have to check the only box that applies. Celibataire
Make a Joyous Difference – Host a Sisters Solidarity Gathering!
Show the amazing women who will be running with Lisa Shannon in Bukavu, DRCongo on February 28th that our hearts are with them! Many of you have wanted to jump in but haven’t known how — here is your chance to do it now!
The Idea:
Multiply the ranks of those who stand in solidarity with all the women of Congo and our sisters who will be running to in Bukavu to help other women there.
How:
- Enlist friends and family around the country/globe to host gatherings on or before Saturday, February 27th (28th in the Congo).
- We recommend calling them, but we’ll send you a flier to send which has links to Run for Congo Women’s website and gives tips on hosting an event.
- Gatherings include watching two short videos to inform and inspire and then doing an optional one mile neighborhood run or walk. Groups meeting in Portland can join together in a group walk/run starting at 4:30 on the 27th at Laurelhurst Park at the west end of the duck pond.
- Each group posts to Lisa’s FaceBook so she can share your messages of support before the Bukavu run (e.g., Boise, 6 supporters here, raised $50 + send our love). Please post photos and videos to FaceBook as well!
Why:
Donations are welcome, but our main goals are to:
- Raise awareness of Congo crisis
- Show Congolese women we care
- Have fun and experience the joy of making an immediate difference
- Inspire participation in an upcoming Run for Congo Women or spark interest in starting new RFCW races in other cities.
75 women will be running in the DRC. Let’s get 75 groups to gather to support them! (75 posts for Lisa to share)
To tell us about your event & receive event materials, email:
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Aunt Harriet
I went to see Antoinette’s baby boy again today. When we entered the dingy hospital ward, his bed was empty. On the floor between two metal beds, we found him sprawled on a UNHCR mat, covered in biscuit crumbs, alone. A minute later staff called his aunt to come back. She had left him alone while she went to take a bath, and didn’t want him to roll off the bed.
I picked him up and just held him, this adorable, soul-crushed little guy. He rested his head on my shoulder. His aunt asked me to watch him so she could have a break. Koko wanted to check on another relative, so I took him outside for some fresh air. No filming, no pictures, just some long quiet time with him in my lap, playing with his toes, engaging his limp interest in heart stickers that I stuck on his feet and arms, and a flower postcard he seemed to like.
Finally his dad showed up, auntie returned, and Koko offered to hold him. He put up his little arms in welcome, the boldest action I’d seen him take.
Yesterday, on a short walk to the funeral of Koko’s baby cousin (who we met last week on our first hospital visit to meet Antoinette’s baby), an elderly woman sitting under the shade of a tree, called to Koko. Since it seems like half of Dungu is family or old friends of Koko, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. But this lady’s slow turn to face us, the sober look about her, clued me in. She turned to reveal the bullet-wound-size bandage on her chest.
This is Koko’s Aunt Harriet, shot in the chest during the LRA attack a few weeks ago. Antoinette was visiting Auntie Harriet when she died.
She was in pain and hungry. So after the funeral, we packed up a picnic lunch in the family’s sky blue plastic mesh picnic basket and visited with her. We went back today to deliver the only painkiller I have – some over the counter ibuprofen. We talked at length about that day.
Auntie loved to host young children in her Bamokandi compound, so Antoinette was a frequent guest, with kids in tow. She lived right across the way with her husband, though she was a more frequent guest these days, seeking Auntie’s advice in sorting out her marital problems. Her husband was trying to kick her and the kids out. At the moment, though, one of Antoinette’s children was visiting his dad at their hut across the way.
Auntie Harriet had just come back to her hut with a bucket of water. When she set it down, she heard screaming, a gunshot, and saw men in camouflage with guns. A neighbor screamed, “LRA! We’re dead!”
Chaos. Everyone started to run. Antoinette’s husband pushed his four-year-old son, telling him to run back to Auntie’s house – towards the LRA – while he jumped on his bike and rode away alone to safety.
I’ve interviewed so many people in Congo, and heard so many heroic stories of Congolese fathers who died trying to protect their children, even neighbors. I’ve never heard of any parent pushing his own child toward a militia in the middle of an attack. Stunned, I asked her, “What did you think of that?”
“What can I say?” Auntie Harriet shrugged dryly, “He’s not getting those kids.”
The LRA kicked Auntie Harriet’s daughter in the stomach, knocking her down, while another LRA cocked his gun, preparing to murder her. The daughter collapsed in resignation, knowing what must come next. Harriet ran towards the LRA, screaming, “Oh God, please, don’t kill my child! Kill me instead!”
The LRA swung his gun around to face Harriet, pointed squarely at her chest, and fired the bullet meant for her daughter.
While Harriet collapsed on the ground, they stomped on her daughter. Believing they were both dead, moved on.
Harriet called out to one of the children nearby and, to her shock, her daughter answered. They both managed to get up and walk with the children to safety. As they made their way up the road, they heard a gunshot and Antoinette scream.
Once they reached a bicycle, Auntie Harriet collapsed and was taken to the hospital.
“You’re a hero!” I said to Harriet. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t even crack a shy smile.
There we sat inside the little grass hut, looking at Harriet’s little bandage on broad display. I thought of Antoinette’s husband. In dramatic writing they say choices under pressure are the only true measure of character.
Then I asked her, “Where will the children go to live?”
“When I feel better,” she replied, “I’d like to have them.”
Sit. Sit. Sleep. Sleep. Don’t be afraid of Death.
Just completed 1st part of interview with eye witness to massacre in Sept, when 39 people were killed, including 4 of Koko’s cousins. They told Bernard to “Sit. Sit. Sleep. Sleep. Don’t be afraid of death.” Then shot him in the chest. Chilling story.
When I look in the eyes of an LRA attack survivor, I think of the policy wonk who said, “if you see the LRA, you’re dead.” …I have the strongest urge to embrace them. They seem like walking miracles; just by laying eyes on LRA, they had a near death experience.
