Ahhh, Congo...
"I don't think we're in Kansas any more Toto!"
Goma, Eastern Congo.
The ever-present AK47s.
And U.N. and NGO vehicles outnumber everything except moto taxis!
The sheer volume of foreign aid workers spending donor and tax money here in Goma has made the cost of everything soar.
Western prices rule at the few hotels and restaurants.
And yet no real sign that anything is happening to better the lives of the locals.
Show me the money!
A sharp contrast to Rwanda.
Haiti all over again.
Cold beer on our hotel balcony, and the fisherman coming in with their catch as the sun sets gives us a peaceful, easy feeling.
"I don't think we're in Kansas any more Toto!"
Goma, Eastern Congo.
The ever-present AK47s.
And U.N. and NGO vehicles outnumber everything except moto taxis!
The sheer volume of foreign aid workers spending donor and tax money here in Goma has made the cost of everything soar.
Western prices rule at the few hotels and restaurants.
And yet no real sign that anything is happening to better the lives of the locals.
Show me the money!
A sharp contrast to Rwanda.
Haiti all over again.
Cold beer on our hotel balcony, and the fisherman coming in with their catch as the sun sets gives us a peaceful, easy feeling.
Another overnight in Goma, epicenter of U.N and NGO activity, and except for the lake, a drab and dusty border city.
Ex-pat employees and high-ranking officials are tucked away behind high walls and oodles of barbed wire in homes that rent for prices higher than those we would pay at home.
And the presence of so many NGOs and UN employees, spending donor and tax dollars, has created quite a thriving prostitution industry as well!
Pasty-faced, middle-aged western men with local women young enough to be theirs daughters or even, most sadly, in some cases their grand-daughters.
UGH!
A beer on the terrace of the Ihusi Hotel can easily, and did, present many an opportunity to talk to the directors of government, NGO and private enterprises that would otherwise take a chain of emails and introductions.
Meetings, both planned and chance, are making connections, and helping to illuminate the complexities of all that is Congo.
The more we learn, the more we know that we know nothing!
And, as always, with every cooperative we've encountered since we began The Shit Starts Here, we are meeting hard-working, (and I mean toiling!) people, who manage to be joyful in the face of so much adversity.
No room for depression here!
As we continually hear, "it accomplishes nothing!"
We in the West could learn from this.
I'm avoiding "poverty porn" pictures as many here call it...you know, close-ups of raggedly dressed, barefoot children and the simple homes they live in, with their struggling parents nearby.
But trust me, it's here, in numbers and degrees!
Ex-pat employees and high-ranking officials are tucked away behind high walls and oodles of barbed wire in homes that rent for prices higher than those we would pay at home.
And the presence of so many NGOs and UN employees, spending donor and tax dollars, has created quite a thriving prostitution industry as well!
Pasty-faced, middle-aged western men with local women young enough to be theirs daughters or even, most sadly, in some cases their grand-daughters.
UGH!
A beer on the terrace of the Ihusi Hotel can easily, and did, present many an opportunity to talk to the directors of government, NGO and private enterprises that would otherwise take a chain of emails and introductions.
Meetings, both planned and chance, are making connections, and helping to illuminate the complexities of all that is Congo.
The more we learn, the more we know that we know nothing!
And, as always, with every cooperative we've encountered since we began The Shit Starts Here, we are meeting hard-working, (and I mean toiling!) people, who manage to be joyful in the face of so much adversity.
No room for depression here!
As we continually hear, "it accomplishes nothing!"
We in the West could learn from this.
I'm avoiding "poverty porn" pictures as many here call it...you know, close-ups of raggedly dressed, barefoot children and the simple homes they live in, with their struggling parents nearby.
But trust me, it's here, in numbers and degrees!
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