13 Novembre 2006

I am sitting in my office listening to the rain topple down on the roof above my head, as on my computer I listen to the words of Ben Harper's album The Will to Live. Might sound juvenile, but album carry's a great deal of meaning for me right now.

In less than 10 days, we will know who the new president is here in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Fighting has already broken out in the capital, security here is tensing up slightly here but I think things will run-off safely here in Isiro, we are in the middle of fighting what we believe is a plague epidemic but we are now being told the disease might have started as the plague but is believed to have fused with tuberculosis at this point making it something else, and there are two outbreaks outside of town--- one of meningitis and one of rabies. As I was telling two of my best friends this yesterday, my parents, on our weekly to 10-day phone call, my dad sighed and asked if I could have picked a worse area of the world to live in right now. While I am not a parent, I can see their concern. But as I told them, for everything they hear as horrific, unstable, disease-stricken and slightly frightening, I could not be happier and more thankful to be where I am right now.

Three weeks ago my housemate Marie went to Kampala for her one week of r&r (rest and recuperation). While I was asked if I would be more comfortable in Bunia with the other international staff, I insisted that I would be fine staying with our national team in Isiro. Within 72-hrs of being alone I fell sick to a mess of parasites; malaria in my blood and two intestinal parasites running rampant through my intestinal track. They found me Monday morning on the concrete floor of my bedroom (because my skin had that prickly heat radiating from it and the concrete was cooler than my bed) with fever, chills, and a bucket next to my head ready to catch whatever my body dispersed next through my mouth. As they asked me what was wrong, I tried to utter the words in French as to what had been going on all night. They simply listened and told me it would be fine, to relax and rest. I never once doubted them.

While my illness was harsh, it sounds worse than it probably was. But what continues to amaze me was the care I received.

Here I had been in this place for just over a month, yet I cannot fluently speak any of their languages. To top things off, I am a woman who has walked into their team and immediately holds a little authority, let alone being one of the youngest on our team here. In a patriarchal society where village-elders are held with reverence, respect, and are many times never questioned, I marvel at my team. One minute I am their boss, the next they are taking care of me completely and absolutely in a rather vulnerable state because they know I have a disease that, while quite common here, still carries the ratio of killing someone every 30 seconds in our world.

I spend a good portion of my time here just marveling at my co-workers for the lives they live, what they have been through, and the smiles that continue to beam across their faces; easily puts things into perspective for me. I was someone they have only known for a month, someone from a foreign land who will leave them in 12-15 months, but yet they helped me stand when I was too weak to do so on my own two feet. They woke me and sat with me when it was time to eat and watched me take my meds. They checked on me hourly, they prayed for me in a large group, and yet when I asked a few of them if they had been sick with malaria before, each of them replied with a "yes, as few times".

Their strength and will to live astound me. They live in this country day-in and day-out, they have dealt with what is known as a "forgotten war" for the past 12 plus years. They have lost children, sisters and brothers, friends, and parents, have been widowed, and some have even been persecuted themselves. In the lyrics of his song Jah work Ben Harper says:

Tell me do you really know your brother man,
'cause a heart speaks louder than color can,
And why would you even shake a man's hand,
If you're not going to help him stand?

I cannot help but be in awe of these words when looking into the eyes of my fellow teammates here, because while most might think that I am here to help them, they are the ones helping me stand everyday here.