So, what draws me to Africa or the Congo in particular, a question that has been asked of me over the past several days?

Firstly, it is the people. It is the warm welcome I receive here, especially when they realise that I speak their language; not many whites remain who do so. It is their faith that is so evident in all aspects of their lives. Some so sincere as in Denni Mahuma who begins each conversation with me in prayer, to others whose motives may be more questioned, as the taxi driver who has prayers posted on his dashboard as he careens dangerously down the street. It is the laughter and joy I see among the people, especially the ladies as they spend all day sitting beside the street with their wares for a couple bucks to take home in the evening if they are lucky.

Secondly, it is the way of life. Even for a month, I escape my enslavement to time. When Ivette says we are leaving now for the market, it means that first she has to fetch water, bathe, do her makeup and organize the evening meal, all which may take an hour or two. I do however accept my reliance and the usefulness of timeliness.

Thirdly, there are reasons that take a certain honesty often unspoken, but I will attempt to speak. During the colonial days, whites dominated, arrogantly and often cruelly. The Congo has a terrible history of Belgian colonization. After independence, the native population took over much of the industry, eventually the church run schools and hospitals. Over time the colonial days were forgotten and now the memories are of failed economies, medical facilities and education. Whites are now regarded as people who could make things work, pay wages regularly and are honest. This was driven home the other day when Denni bought me a coke at a restaurant in his neighbourhood. Normally, the empty bottle isn't allowed to leave the premises because of its value. The owner commented that we could take the bottle and return it because Denni was regarded as 'white' in the neighborhood. A wonderful, yet sad endorsement of the respect Denni has built up over the years.

So what does this mean? It means that as I walk down the street, I am not only different by my colour, but also assumed different by character. I am always presented the best chair no matter where I go. I can walk to the front of any line I choose, or by extention, Ivette can when I'm with her. In short, at home, I'm just another person; here I'm special. I hope it is never that which brings me here, but it is a reality that I face.

In any case, I am returning to my true home, to the family and community I love accepting that I will again be simply a white face among a host of other white faces. (at this point, all whites look the same to me).