I was pretty upset yesterday.  I’m not scared being here, or even worried — I’m just frustrated at the slow pace of bureaucracy and how things work in the Congo.  I just don’t understand how it’s so hard for people to just do their jobs — especially the ones whose salaries are paid with my tax dollars (yes, I’m becoming THAT person.  By the time I leave this country, I’ll be talking about American exceptionalism and ranting about big government.  Or not.).

Today, thank goodness, was a welcome break.  It wasn’t without its snags, of course — no day in the Congo would be complete without something going wrong! — but I spent most of it playing with Andrew instead of sitting in a hard chair, fuming.  I called Bashaka this morning to check on the status of the Swahili letter.  He told me that he was on his way to the DHL office and he’d come get me to go to the Embassy afterwards (he really can’t go by himself — not being American, it involves waiting in a long, long line outside and he still may not get in).  This was at 11:30, and since I had lunch plans with J, I called to cancel and made dinner plans instead.  2:00 comes, and no word from Bashaka.  I tried calling, but his phone was off — and then I hear a knock on the door.  It’s Bashaka and his Congolese friend.  Apparently, the DHL plane decided not to take off from Goma, because it’s the Congo and package delivery planes that guarantee same-day service do stuff like that.  I was strangely kind of relieved — I really didn’t want to go to the Embassy.  So I bid them farewell and got Andrew ready to take him to Kin Mart (the other grocery store in Kinshasa — this one doesn’t appear to have a religious affiliation…).  As I left, I saw K getting out of her driver John’s car — perfect timing!!  John offered to take me to the store (hooray!  No dusty, dirty walk!) and K decided to go with us.

Andrew seriously loves cars.  And grocery carts.  They’re both entirely new to him — and he makes VROOM VROOM noises the entire time he’s in both.  Adorable.  Anyway, as we got into John’s SUV, he said to me, “They tell me that men on the street all shout at you and talk to you.  This not nice.  These Congolese men are rude.”  I told him that it was OK, I had gotten used to it.  He told me that it’s because I’m beautiful.  I thanked him, and he insisted again that this was the reason — and then told me that the guard at the U.S. Embassy told him that he wants to marry me.  If he wants to marry me for a visa, I’d suggest he look elsewhere.  I’m not having the best of luck with those!  Otherwise, maybe I will marry him if he can get ME a visa for Andrew!  Surely, the security guard has some pull…

Off to Kin Mart we went.  Bribing the police to park?  Check.  Wade through crowds of people wanting to sell me everything from socks to pillows to SIM cards to papayas?  Check.  We made it inside, and surprisingly, Andrew consented to John pushing the cart — and even more surprisingly, loved being in the cart so much (he likes John, too!) that I was able to walk several aisles away to grab stuff.  He never even noticed — a break-through!

Kin Mart is supposed to have the best prices in town.  I don’t know about that, since I paid $67 for two bags of groceries.  John picked up a dump truck that he thought Andrew would like and said I should get it for him.  I looked at the sheet of paper to find out how much it was…..67,900 Congolese Francs.  $75 for a toy that would probably cost no more than $15 in the U.S.  Insanity.    The store was packed — likely due to the low price reputation and its location on the Boulevard.  It’s a nightmare to navigate it, especially when you’re stopped every few feet for people to attempt to talk to you.  But it was nice, knowing that I could get what I wanted/needed and not have to worry about carrying it home along with the baby and everything else.  Of course, my luck being what it is, the store was entirely out of Coca Cola Light, which was my main reason for coming!  I’ve cut down on my Diet Coke consumption by about 95%, given the whole carrying from the store thing and the fact that Coca Cola Light doesn’t hold a candle to plain old Diet Coke (it’s like the Europeans don’t want to put poison in their sodas!).  But I was out of soda, and this was quite the dilemma.  So, Canadian Cola Light, here I come.  I haven’t tried it yet, but it really can’t be worse than anything else, right?

On the way out of the store, the security guard stopped John to talk to him in rapid-fire Lingala (which is a local language only spoken in Kinshasa, I believe).  I was really curious, because the security guard seemed so serious..  When we got back to the car — fighting through the vendors and some guy who kept insisting on something about me and the moon — I asked John what he said.  Apparently,  the guard asked John to bring us back tomorrow and he would give us free juice.  Why free juice, I have no idea.  I’d actually settle for a free toy dump truck (juice is only like $7). It sounds like the type of proposition that could end with me lying in a ditch somewhere, so I think I’ll pass.

Once we were back at the hotel, K, Andrew and I hopped into the elevator.  I think I’ve described the elevators before, but I’ll do it again.  They’re basically tiny, tiny, tiny little rooms that happen to move up and down — old style European elevators.  There isn’t a door that slides shut — there’s a regular door on each floor, and when the elevator moves, you see each door and the walls between each floor as you go — there’s nothing between you and the building.  So, K and I crowd in with all of our packages, the elevator starts….and we’re stuck.  Seriously.  A power outage while I’m in the tiniest elevator known to man.  It rapidly because unbearably hot, and I had to stop myself from thinking that I was going to suffocate in that death trap.  K got out her phone and I located the help button on the elevator, which thankfully worked.  About 5 minutes (and 20 ringing of the bells later), we heard a man working above us.  He somehow opened the door, and we had air!  I wasn’t going to die!  Of course, we were about 4 feet below the next floor, and I had a baby and groceries (and was wearing a dress), so the getting out took some manuvering, but I was still excited to be free.  And to take the stairs.  Between the sickness and the power outages, I’m going to lose some serious weight on this trip (also from being too grossed out by the bugs and dirt to eat!).  I don’t think I told you, but Bashaka and I got stuck in an elevator at the hospital last week, too.  So now I have a dilemma:  do I take the chance of a slow death by heat stroke or suffocation in a Congolese elevator, or do I walk up the stairs each and every time?  It’s seriously a coin toss to me at this point.

After a nap for the baby, K and I headed out to the Green Garden, a restaurant down the road with a good reputation.  K’s son, S — a sweet boy with a megawatt smile —  had a bit of a meltdown when K told him he had to leave his new toy at the hotel.  He put his head against the wall and just shut down — wouldn’t look at us, wouldn’t talk, nothing. Poor guy — it isn’t easy when he can’t understand what we’re saying!  And I can’t imagine how it must feel to never have anything of your own, let alone a toy, and not understand why you can’t take it everywhere with you.  I finally coaxed him out of the room by showing him Angry Birds on my iPhone.  He absolutely loved it — he’s already American!!  When we got to the street, I took the phone from him for two reasons — first, because iPhones are very rare in the DRC, and I didn’t particularly want a 7 year old to be mugged for it.  Second, because the sidewalks are non-existent on our street, and I didn’t want S to get hit by a car that would probably be driving on the wrong side of the street like a maniac.  You know what he did?  He turned around and started walking back to the hotel.  He is not playing around, that kid!!  I have a lot of empathy for K — it’s not easy to figure out a solution when you don’t even speak the same language!  So I gave it back and off we went!

The restaurant turned out to be run by an Indian family, and I can now say that there is FAR better Indian food in the Congo than in Alaska.  S was hilarious — he is totally working it.  He ordered two separate meals plus ice cream from the waitress in Lingala — and we had no idea until all of the food came (this happened last week while at breakfast, he ordered more food to be sent up to the room).  Thank goodness Andrew can’t do that — my little championship eater would drive me to bankruptcy! Of course, S is no slouch in the eating department, either — luckily, his mama fully understands that he needs to feel secure about food and lets him order away. For Andrew, I ordered a separate entree, chicken biriyani, and he ate over half of it (also, he’s clearly Irish like his grandmother, since the potatoes were his absolute favorite).  He was a total angel the entire meal — even when I refused him my palak paneer (too spicy!).  The owner came over to tell me how adorable he is, and then she got a little weird, telling me how I’m an angel for taking him away from here.  Apparently, there is a Congolese mentality that is “BAD” and I will give him the American mentality, which is “GOOD.”  She said Congolese mentality is to “take, take, take,” and told me again and again that the Congolese are bad people.  She did say that Andrew is really cute and wouldn’t be bad like the other Congolese because I have saved him.  It was quite an uncomfortable conversation, and one that I’m glad that Andrew couldn’t understand.  It also makes me wonder how bad things are in India that she chooses to live here, among all of the supposedly “bad” Congolese!

In Andrew news, he continues to be adorable.  He was a total ham with his grandparents on Skype today, and he’s eating everything in sight.  He loves to pretend to wash his hair (which he’s seen me do in the bath), and he also sits on the bed and watches himself in the mirror while he pretends to be in the tub — popping bubbles, splashing, and of course, washing his hair.  I bought him a toothbrush today at the store — he soundly rejected the infant one I brought, so I stepped it up to toddler size.  His new favorite game is to brush Mama’s teeth — he won’t let me brush anything but his tongue (we’ll get there!  Maybe I’ll put peanut butter on the toothbrush!!). He’s working really hard on standing up on his own, and I think he’s gaining enough weight and muscle to do it soon.  He also does the “so big!” now — and of course, claps for himself when he’s done.

That wraps things up for our day in lovely Kinshasa….relatively dull, comparatively!!  Embassy tomorrow, and hopefully a visa soon!

Love, Erin & Andrew