Death - The Sad Entry

I was a little frustrated at having picked such a slow bus until I saw another bus that pulled up to Kapiri Mposhi right after my bus did. You have to understand African bus stops to understand this story. There are buses of all sizes and taxis everywhere parked in all different direction with no seeming order if they are passing through. If they are waiting to fill up each place has a section. There are a few stands set up where venders are selling things. But most of all there are dozens maybe even a hundred people with baskets full of items to sell and they rush up to every incoming bus and desperately try to sell anything they can to people on the bus before it takes off. When this other bus pulled up a seller who was by my bus quickly ran over to the other bus hoping to be the first one over to sell. The buses are huge and it’s hard to see. The situation is completely chaotic and anyway the general philosophy in Africa is people watch out for cars not the other way around. The other bus ran over that man. We tried to see over the crowd but couldn’t. The general consensus was the man must have died because we never saw him or heard him and no one tried to find a hospital or doctor. I am so thankful I was not riding the bus that killed someone. God was looking out for me.

It was not the first time I watched someone die. Scarcely has a week gone by without at least hearing of a death. On the trip I read a book called When a Crocodile Eats the Sun by Peter Godwin. Godwin, born a white African, had this to say about it “In Africa you do not view death from the auditorium of life, as a spectator, but from the edge of the stage, waiting for your cue. You feel perishable, temporary, transient. You feel mortal. Maybe that is why you seem to live more vividly in Africa. The drama of life there is amplified but its constant proximity to death.” The book is about Zimbabwe’s recent collapse seen through his eyes and experiences. I witnessed the country go from the bread basket of Africa to a horrible place myself. I thought it was interesting that in the middle of the book I stayed at a guest house run by a wonderful white Zimbabwean. One who managed to get out unlike so many others.

When I arrived back in Congo I was greeted by all kinds of stories. Some students had graduated since I left. There was so much that happened in the half a year I had been gone. People had had babies or become pregnant. But the news that sticks with me the strongest is that Fidele, a wonderful Deacon at the church I attend, had lost his daughter Orneli. He was really the best person you could ever hope to meet. Studying to be a pastor, super friendly, and always serving everyone in any capacity he could. His daughter Orneli was about 2 and super outgoing just like her papa. I remember telling him that I thought Orneli would be a public performer some how because she just had the personality for it. Apparently she was fine on Sunday, dancing and singing in church as always, but Monday night she got sick and had a bad fever so they took her to the hospital where the doctors had no idea what was wrong with her so they sent her home. The fever didn’t go away so Fidel carried her to a better hospital farther away and just as they reach it she died in his arms. What a tragedy.

This is my sad entry, but there is more to come of joyous occasions filled with God’s goodness. Please keep Fidele and his wife and other 3 children in your prayers. The world needs our prayers and our help desperately. In this world we have so many troubles but take heart because Jesus has overcome the world. Some people believe things will continue to go from bad to worse, but I can’t accept that. I believe and cry out for things to get better and better. I thank God that for the first time in a really long time Eastern Congo has had peace from Congolese armies. God hears us and he answers.