Raise Your Hand/Voice

Wednesday and Thursday, I taught my first two groups of twenty-five medical students. These students are on par with freshmen in college in the states, but on a medical school track. The entire class of 200 is broken up into sections so no one seemed to know where to go for these first few days. Throughout the first hour of my class, students entered the room, assuming they were registered for my class. If they weren't, I had to ask them to leave, which was not easy, not only because I had to tell them in French.
The classroom itself is made up of block construction with open windows around the top of three walls. Students mill around all sides of this room and make plenty of extraneous noise. In order to be heard, I need to raise my voice. I should have used that as an example of a present tense verb, "raise my voice" which was part of my first lesson for what are mostly beginner English students. A few of them know quite a lot of English. Figuring out how difficult to make the lesson is challenging. I have 15 weeks, one day each week, to teach these kids as much English as I can. The books have not arrived yet. Perhaps I'm optimistic in thinking they will get here in time to use them? So I use a black chalk board that has a few cracks running through it. The erasure is well used, leaving a streak of white behind it. Four ceiling fans hum above us, contributing to the noise pollution, but do make a difference in ventilation. The art of teaching is a learning process!

Last night, the Public Affairs Officer (PAO) invited me and 21 others over to celebrate Thanksgiving in grand style. After watching American football (the armed forces network) on a flat screen TV, sipping one of the best margaritas I've ever had and munching potato pancakes, she presented four perfectly roasted turkeys, mashed potatoes, succotash, dressing, gravy, a fabulous pear/candied walnut salad, and even Brussel sprouts (Belgian Congo, remember?). The best part, as is back home, was the dessert selection: Pumpkin and apple pies, mincemeat tarts with plenty of whipped cream. Everything was homemade with a little help from Willy, the chef, and his crew. As wonderful as it was, I still couldn't help having a little lump in my throat thinking about all my friends and family that I'm missing. I'm terribly thankful for you all.

More Transportation Stories

The President of the English Club here is a young Congolese man, probably around 21, who faithfully leads the Saturday afternoon meetings. He takes the role seriously, starting on time and monitoring the comments so no one speaks more than the allotted time or gets out of control. We've addressed some pretty heavy topics such as "The Moral Dilemma of Abortion," "The Relationship Between Science and Religion," and "The Consequences of High Technology." Next week's topic is "War in Africa." Yesterday, before English Club, Andrew arrived at my UPC office as usual. I could tell he wasn't himself. He slowly closed the door and announced that he had been in a serious accident the night before while riding in one of the Kinshasa taxis. He was in the back of the bus when another car tried to cut the taxi off at a turn. Instead of missing the taxi, they were "T-boned" and the bus spun out of control and turned over twice. Andrew's leg and face were badly bruised, but so far, nothing seems broken or needs surgical repair. He was shaken emotionally and had a difficult time telling the story to us without losing control. He verbalized God's mercy in sparing his life, realizing full-well he should not have survived this accident.

After hearing Andrew's story, my troubles about the Pajero seem fairly insignificant. However, let me just extract a little more sympathy from you by adding that the saga with the gasoline/diesel issue continued through this past Thursday when, in the pouring rain, of course, the car refused to go faster than 15 miles an hour. It rumbled and shook with every turn of the wheel and died numerous times in our 6 mile commute to UPC. We had no choice but to negotiate with a mechanic who was willing to perform a "house call." Another $240.00 (cash) later, the job was complete and I'm happy to report that I have had three glorious days of a well-running car.

Today Abbey and I drove said car to our first Protestant worship service in English in Kinshasa. Just roughly guessing, 50% were Congolese and the other half were Caucasion--from all over the world. I was pleased to see many people that I knew already from several venues: TASOK, my neighborhood, UPC, CALI, the Embassy. I share with you the words of the following song:
"Hold me close,
Let your love surround me.
Bring me near, draw me to your side.
And as I wait,
I'll rise up like the eagle,
And I will soar with You,
Your Spirit leads me on
In the power of your love."
AMEN!