The Visit to the Democratic Republic of the Congo Concludes

Asher Kaufman, at 18, set out on June 28 for a yearlong trip to help spread the Children's Rosary in Europe and Africa. He spent the months of July, August and the first two weeks in September in France. He arrived in Uganda on September 15. From Uganda he traveled by car to Rwanda on September 28. After a week in Rwanda there was once more a return for more travel in Uganda. On October 11 he arrived in Tanzania and on October 26 traveled to Kenya. A visit for three weeks to Madagascar followed on November 7 and then South Africa. He spent several weeks in Cameroon. His journey has now led him to the Democratic Republic of the Congo. 

On the Friday after my return from Kisantu, I was given a rather important meeting at the chancery of the Archdiocese of Kinshasa. I was to meet Fr. Alois Kondo, the priest in charge of pastoral affairs for the archdiocese. It was his secretary with whom I had spoken the first time I visited the chancery.

The question, however, was how to get to that part of town in time for the 10:00 a.m. meeting. Kinshasa is an immense city, and this time Fr. Apollinaire was not available to drive me. One of the young men from the formation house at which I am staying volunteered to accompany me to the offices; we would take the motorcycle taxis which are so proliferous on every street and alley. The motorcycle taxis, which I came to know as boda bodas in Uganda, are quite renowned, or perhaps I should say notorious, for their cheap prices and highly questionable safety standards. When I was in Uganda it was not at all surprising to see three or even four people riding on a boda boda. One time I recall seeing five people all crammed on one motorcycle. This is because the driver will pick someone up at a stop, set a price with them, and set off for the requested destination; then, someone else might hail them down, and if they are going in the same direction, hop on as well, and so it goes on. In general, helmets are not worn since with passengers getting on and off so frequently, it is rendered quite impossible. Nevertheless, accidents do happen. I remember being at Fr. Alex Musoke’s parish in Mutukula and seeing a young man at Mass who was paralyzed from his waist downwards after he had been hit from behind by a car while riding a boda boda. Further, I learned afterward that on the very same day I traveled to the chancery, the fourteen-year-old daughter of the cook who prepares the meals at Fr. Francois’s residence was involved in a serious accident on her way to school, and her face, arms, and legs were grievously injured with cuts and deep gashes.

However, as I say, there was no other option for getting to the chancery in a timely manner; any four wheeled vehicle would necessarily take at least twice as long due to the traffic.

Riding a taxi motorcycle is in itself a rather exhilarating experience, though the first time in Uganda I found it more terrifying than anything. This was because I had never ridden a motorcycle before. I remember saying to Br. Henry, “Where do I hold on?”

He laughed and responded, “Nowhere! You just sit there!”

At first I was incredulous and insisted on holding tightly on to the underside of the seat, probably more for psychological necessity than for any real safety benefit.

However, the moment that I think must make everyone fall for the boda boda eventually is when one comes upon a long straightaway with few cars or a slowly winding downhill slope; the driver lets the speed climb, the wind whips across your face and through your hair, and you almost feel as though you’re riding on a cloud…

Alas, these moments arrive rather seldom. Instead, most boda boda journeys involve weaving between cars, dodging around craters and bumps in the road, and occasionally getting blasted in the face by a dark cloud of black exhaust from some ancient truck just in front.

It’s advisable to bring a hairbrush and moistened cloth to rearrange one’s hair afterward and wipe off the layer of grit and dirt that accumulates on the front of one’s face (see below).

We arrived at the chancery somewhat late, but Fr. Konde still made time to see us. He was gracious and receptive to the Children’s Rosary, telling me that as soon as he has final approval for the cardinal to start groups, he would let me know but nevertheless permitting us to reach out to and visit priests in the archdiocese to tell them about the Children’s Rosary in anticipation of final approval.

A few days later, I paid a visit to the School of Mother Vincenzia Cusmano; I brought rosaries, and we had a meeting in the chapel of the school campus with interested children to pray the Rosary. It was the first meeting of the Children’s Rosary group there, which will meet weekly. We were able to officially start the group as that school was actually located in the Kisantu diocese, whose bishop had given me approbation already. The sisters were happy with the results of the meeting, and so was I, especially to have a group definitively started after having worked through so many of the preliminary necessities.

That evening, I also had an appointment with the pastor at the Parish of the Blessed Sacrament, one of the biggest and most well-known churches in Kinshasa (parish shown above). The circumstances that led to this meeting were rather curious.

Back when I was a volunteer at La Salette in July, I met a priest named Fr. Mupapat Thadee from the Society of the Blessed Sacrament; as it turned out, he was Congolese but working in France at La Mure, a town not far from La Salette (also the birthplace of St. Peter Julian Eymard, the founder of the order). He was interested in the Children’s Rosary and even came to our informational session in August.

I thought to reach out to him when I arrived in Kinshasa because he was a member of the same order that was putting me up and because he was Congolese. For a few days I received no response; then, about a week later, I received the surprising response that Fr. Thadee was himself in Kinshasa on vacation and that he was assisting in a parish, the Parish of the Blessed Sacrament, run by his order. He had already spoken to the priests there about me and the Children’s Rosary, not even knowing that I was staying at the seminary about 11 kilometers away.

This was great news, and we immediately made plans for me to visit Fr. Thadee at the parish; however, the meeting did not come off due to scheduling difficulties, and by the time I was able to come on Wednesday, Fr. Thadee had already left for France. However, he had already talked extensively to the pastor about the Children’s Rosary such that he was eager to see me and to start a group. This was an amazing development because as I say, this parish is one of the largest in the archdiocese. It has all-day adoration, and the catechism program is so large as to almost be on par with a school; 500 children participate. To start a Children’s Rosary at this parish would be a wonderful grace. We promised to stay in contact regarding when the cardinal gives approval.

The next two days, I had two more important meetings. One was at the school of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.This was the first school I had visited when I arrived in Kinshasa, and it was in the Kisantu diocese. Like we had done previously, we gathered the children (this time four classes) in the chapel and prayed the Rosary together. 

These children were younger than the first group, but I was quite impressed at how devoutly they prayed and how little disturbance they made. This school will be meeting monthly.

On Friday, I again went into downtown Kinshasa, this time to a school for deaf children and those unable to speak. I went to meet with a priest named Fr. Mavakala that a brother in Cameroon had put me in contact with. 

This priest had previously had a parish but now worked exclusively in this school. Since I had been in contact with him, I wanted to have the opportunity to meet him before I left and give him materials in person. He invited me to his office and told me we would stay in contact about the possibilities once the cardinal responds.

That evening I spent some time packing up my bags and preparing for my departure the next day. It had been really quite a remarkable visit to the Congo, though delayed by visa difficulties and logistics planning, it had been actually a spiritually rejuvenating and productive visit.

I said goodbye to Fr. Francois and Fr. Apollinaire as well as everyone at the Blessed Sacrament formation house and prepared for the next leg of my journey.

To see all of Asher's dispatches from his journey click HERE

The Journey in the Democratic Republic of the Congo Continues

Asher Kaufman, at age 18, set out on June 28 for a yearlong trip to help spread the Children's Rosary in Europe and Africa. He spent the months of July, August and the first two weeks in September in France. He arrived in Uganda on September 15. From Uganda he traveled by car to Rwanda on September 28. After a week in Rwanda there was once more a return for more travel in Uganda. On October 11 he arrived in Tanzania and on October 26 traveled to Kenya. A visit for three weeks to Madagascar followed on November 7 and then South Africa. He spent several weeks in Cameroon. His journey has now led him to the Democratic Republic of the Congo. 

"The last week here in the Congo have been quite delightful. Though there was some delay in receiving the necessary diocesan approval, that was accorded on Thursday of last week, as I will relate.

Early in the week, I passed by a young children’s school not far from here called Sacred Heart of Jesus School. It is run by a congregation of sisters that was founded in Italy but which is also now present here in the Congo.

I met Sr. Giliola(shown above), originally from Milan but in the Congo for the past 35 years, and Sr. Caroline, head of the school. I was able to visit the children and see the premises, which also include a healthcare center where Fr. François went to get new glasses.

I also visited a Primary and Secondary School run by a different community of sisters founded by Sr. Vincenzia Cusmano. 

After this visit, I went with Fr. Apollinaire to the auto body shop since the MSA car had recently begun emitting a noise that indicated a slipping belt. After some significant time went by, the gentlemen from the shop succeeded in replacing the faulty part and returning the car to us in working order, after which we returned to the MSA house for lunch.

On another occasion, I was taken to a primary and secondary school by Fr. François run by a different community of sisters. As before, I visited the students, received a tour of the whole campus, including a new school building that is still under construction, and shared information about the Children’s Rosary.

Last Saturday after some travel delays, Fr. Pierre Ateba and Fr. Leon Pascal, two provincial superiors for the Missionaries of the Holy Apostles for the Canada-Africa Province, arrived in Kinshasa for a visit to Fr. François and Fr. Apollinaire. It was good to see Fr. Ateba again, as I had seen him in Cameroon. They had rooms with the same community where I myself stay, the Society of the Most Holy Sacrament.

It has been remarked upon more than once that in the formation house of the Holy Sacrament fathers we are served typical Congolese food, whereas in that residence occupied by the Missionaries of the Holy Apostles it is rather Cameroonian fare.

As to the difference between the two, the heart of the matter lies in a substance colloquially dubbed fufu. This is a spherical, soft compound that is rather pale yellow in color and nondescript in taste. In appearance, there is much to be compared with ugali, an East African side dish unfailingly present at nearly every meal I consumed while in Tanzania and Kenya. However, fufu is a Congolese dish, and I certainly did not recall having ever eaten anything by that name in Cameroon.

Indeed, it seemed to resemble ugali to such an extent and to be so innocent and bland in appearance and generally accepted in gastronomic standing that I hardly gave it much notice and did not even know quite how it was to be described, variously calling it a “blob,” a “ball,” or perhaps most desperately, “something like rice.”

In fact, fufu is quite common throughout much of West and Central Africa, including in Cameroon (though there it is called couscous, thus explaining why I did not recall having heard of it during my stay in that country). It is made variously from plaintains, cassava, yams, cocoyam, or cornmeal, depending on the region. The exact ingredients seem to matter less than the end result, which is always a soft, easily manipulated dough that can be used for dipping into soups and meat sauces.

Well, so much for fufu; it is typically served with some stewed vegetables and fish or meat, and I include a picture below.

Certainly, at Fr. François's residence I have never eaten fufu, the role being taken by some slightly sweet, thoroughly cooked yellow plantains, that I certainly ate quite often when I was in Cameroon. Otherwise, the cuisine at the two locations is more or less the same.

A consistent characteristic of the eating habits of most of the African nations I have visited is that there exists a “staple food,” that is something served nearly every meal in traditional households and which therefore becomes indispensable to the local diet. Almost everyone knows instinctively how this food is prepared, how its constituent ingredients are grown, and how it is best consumed. When one goes to a restaurant, it is almost an unspoken understanding that at any buffet or communal repast of that nature, this dish must be present or else something is gravely missing, like a birthday cake with no candles or a Thanksgiving dinner with no turkey.

In Uganda, this dish is matooke; in Kenya and Tanzania, ugali; in Madagascar, rice; in Cameroon, plantains or manioc; and in the Democratic Republic of Congo, unquestionably fufu.

Indeed, the way in which the inherent obligation to consume these foods makes itself silently known in the minds of everyone meal after meal was something new to me.

In the course of my sojourn, I would be asked more than once, “So, what is the staple food in the United States?”

And curiously enough, I would find it nearly impossible to answer this seemingly obvious and simple question. I would typically make some weak attempt with mention of typical American food, like the burger (which is even German in origin) or pumpkin pie, but I knew these did not satisfy the definition of a “staple food,” since people don’t consume them at most or even many meals. Many Americans go for years without consuming either, or any number of oft-cited “American” foods, like fried chicken, deep dish pizza, hot dogs, or mac and cheese.

However, readily enough, the answer presented itself to me: I could not say what our staple food consisted of because it did not exist. We do not have one.

Indeed, as Americans, our whole culinary disposition seems created to resist any such staple food. I, like many of my countrymen, grew up thinking that if we had beef for dinner on Monday, we ought to have chicken or fish on Tuesday. If we had pasta for lunch on Wednesday, then naturally something else would be prepared on Thursday. Whole weeks were planned like this, with every day’s meals thought of in advance and carefully curated to be independent and distinct from the others.

What was eaten seemed to be less important than that it should not hold anything in common with what was consumed the night before.

I noticed that this same standard was applied to restaurants: if the previous night out had been Italian, then we would choose Thai or Chinese, which foods would then be crossed out until their turn came up again many months later.

In short, cut off from deep need of the agricultural society to grow its own food and live in step with what was easily grown in the local climate and soil, mesmerized by multifarious options for cuisine both from grocery stores and restaurants, we have trained ourselves to be dissatisfied and bored with man’s innate habit of eating his own food. The average American can no more say what our own staple foods are, what dishes would best correspond to our climate and growing conditions than he can say which forms of rock are most likely to be found in Yosemite.

As to whether this represents a positive development or a disheartening regression, I refrain to say. I will let the reader judge for himself. I merely make the observation.

On Wednesday, Fr. Pierre, Fr. Leon, Fr. François, and I set out for Kisantu to meet with the bishop of the diocese. As I have related in another post, the diocese in which I find myself, while within the city limits of Kinshasa, is not that of Kinshasa, but rather Kisantu, and so we directed ourselves to that city.

Perhaps, that is too neat a way of putting it; in fact, many obstacles presented themselves that day to prevent us from a timely departure. In the first place, Fr. François and Fr. Pierre set out at around 5:00 a.m. to another part of the city in order to pick up some documents. Upon leaving the building with the aforementioned documents, they were quite surprised and consternated to discover their car was not where they left it but nowhere to be seen. They quickly discovered that the police had towed it away because ostensibly it was improperly parked.

Both men were whisked down to the station, where they were told that the fine for this offense amounted to no less than $115.00. For comparison, the average ticket for a parking violation in New York comes out to about $65, this in the most expensive city in North America, and one of the most expensive in the world.

The unfortunate reality is that the police in Kinshasa have often been accused of widespread corruption, and while it is not within my ability to say whether this is on the whole true or not, what is beyond a doubt is that they are paid pitifully little, with the estimates I have heard locally not exceeding $130 per month.

After much haranguing and an hourslong process, the fine was paid and the car given back, but a stop had to be made because one of the tires was leaking air. Once that was fixed, it was late afternoon, and we were only able to get on the road once it was nearly dark.

However, the drive to Kisantu proceeded without incident, and we proceeded to the rooms Fr. François had reserved with a community of nuns not far from the Chancery.

In the morning, after attending Mass and breakfasting, we drove the short distance to the Chancery and met His Excellency, Jean-Crispin Kimbeni Ki Kanda, the Bishop of Kisantu.

The contrast between Fr. François and Mgr. Kimbeni was quite humorous even though the two of them have become, in fact, good friends.

Fr. François did the honors of presenting each of us and his reasons for the visit, reading from copious pre-prepared notes and giving luscious context and carefully cited quotes from the bishop himself which he had evidently written down himself during previous meetings. It seemed that no correspondence, no update in the relationship between the diocese and the Missionaries of the Holy Apostles had escaped Fr. François’s careful eyes.

The bishop, on the other hand, seemed eager to dispense with the formalities that accompany such a meeting and seemed to address matters in a straightforward, direct way.

I also was given the opportunity to speak to the bishop about the Children’s Rosary and seek approval for its initiation, which the bishop readily granted. He was even so good as to invite us to dine with him afterwards, really quite an extraordinary thing when one considers how busy a man such as himself is.

The more relaxed conversation at the lunch was rather enjoyable, and I particularly enjoyed his anecdote from seminary of telling a French classmate of his that the word in Lingala (the language of the western Congo) for “metaphysics” was mayebu, a word that in fact translated to “mushrooms.”

He agreed to write up a formal letter stating his approval for the movement to be present in his diocese and to inform the priest at the parish I would be visiting that weekend.

He had recommended to us that we pay a visit to the botanical gardens nearby, which we did not in the end undertake as everyone was tired and wished to return home. However we did drive through the gardens, and I wish to take a moment to mention them as they are really quite remarkable.

Upon approach, I noticed that the seemingly innocent forest and heather by the roadside was populated by trees, bushes, flowers, and all sorts of plants that were meticulously labeled with small black plaques indicating the species.

In fact, this garden has a history that dates back to about 1900, when Br. Justin Gillet, a Belgian Jesuit living and ministering in the Congo. Originally meant to provide fruit and vegetables for the missionary settlement nearby, soon Br. Gillet appears to have become fascinated with local flora, including many species from throughout the Congo and carefully documenting each one. Soon, he had a botanical garden, and through exchanges with other tropical botanical gardens around the world such as in Brazil, Java, and Sri Lanka, acquired plants altogether foreign to central Africa.

In 1927, he produced a guide to the plants found within his garden, wherein 1,775 species are enumerated.

The history of the garden continues rather serenely until 1997, when it was taken over by rebel troops and used for their headquarters; during this period, the garden fell into disrepair before being the subject of a revamping operation financed by the European Union in 2004.

That evening, we reentered Kinshasa hot and fatigued from the journey, but having achieved our mission.

As to what happened that weekend and the week following, I will leave that for another post."

To see all of Asher's dispatches from his journey click HERE

Arrival in the Democratic Republic of the Congo

It has been nearly two months since my last post on the blog, and the reader likely feels that I owe him something in the way of an explanation for this absence. Very well, he will have it. 

On January 11, arrived back in the US from Cameroon. I had not initially planned this stop back home, but it was rendered necessary because of the need to apply for a long stay Schengen visa. My plans involved a protracted period of study in Lisbon in the spring. However, the Lord had other plans, and so it was that my application came back ungranted. After some time of discernment and prayer, I felt quite certain Our Lord wished me to go to the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I had, during my stay in Yaoundé, met several Congolese brothers who encouraged me to make the trip to Kinshasa because of the great potential for Children’s Rosary groups there. Therefore, I reached out to the contacts I had been given, made arrangements, applied for a visa, and—after a few fits and starts regarding the latter, finally had the visa in hand on Friday, February 20. Within a matter of hours, the flights were scheduled, the airport pickup coordinated, the half-packed bags brought forth and filled with clothing. I would fly out the following Monday. 

However, within a few hours of the booking, it became clear that the flights would need to be delayed. A monster storm system was due to slam the East Coast on Monday, thus rendering any arrivals or departures increasingly unlikely. 

Accordingly, the flights were shifted to Tuesday, and then finally off I went. The flights themselves went off without a hitch, and at 7:15 p.m. local time on Wednesday, I got off the plane at Kinshasa N’djili International Airport. 

As the large Air France jet trundled up to the arrivals hall, I soaked in my first sights of the Congo. It was quite a warm night, not even touching below 75 degrees Fahrenheit; this was quite a strong difference for one who had just come tromping in from several inches of snow. 

The customs hall was not large, but it was thankfully only our flight that was arriving at that time. Despite the usual delays of clearing passport control, I did not encounter any problems, having received my visa already stamped in my passport. Upon collecting my baggage, I went outside where I was approached by Fr. Francois Ouamba, the priest from the Missionaries of the Holy Apostles here in Kinshasa. He had agreed to host me during my stay and pick me up at the airport. He had come with Fr. Apollinaire, another MSA priest assigned to the mission in Kinshasa. Both are Cameroonian. Br. Samuel was also present, a seminarian for the MSA community completing pastoral work between his second and third years of seminary. 

Quickly finding our way to their parked car, all four of us managed to get the bags to fit in the limited space, climbed in ourselves, and were on our way. 

It turned out that Fr. Francois could not house me at his compound but instead put me up with a religious community down the road; they were part of the Society of the Most Holy Sacrament founded by St. Peter Julian Eymard. (picture below)

I was given quite a spacious room in the guest quarters and told Mass would be the next morning at 6:00 a.m., certainly enough incentive to get showered and quickly into bed. 

The next morning after Mass, Lauds, and breakfast, I walked down with a brother named Alex to Fr. Francois’s house. This was the first time I could really get a look at Kinshasa in broad daylight. I am not quite sure what I was expecting, but what I saw was a city that looked remarkably similar to the other major metropoles of Africa that I had visited. The ground had a sandy quality to it like that of Dar es Salaam, and along the way children on their way to school or household chores nodded or smiled in greeting. 

Upon arriving at Fr. Francois’s place, I could see this was an operation that was still in the process of getting underway. The eventual goal is for the order to have a formation house on the property they currently own. However, much more money is needed for this, and they only have a part of it built. There are a couple of young men residing there and taking courses before they head off to Yaoundé for seminary. Further, Br. Samuel is there completing his pastoral year. 

After I had gone around the premises with Fr. Francois and had lunch, I came back to the SSS (Society of the most Holy Sacrament) community for evening prayers. 

The next day, Friday, I had a surprise appointment I had not been expecting at the chancery for the Archdiocese of Kinshasa. My requests for an appointment regarding the Children’s Rosary had been quickly responded to, and Fr. Apollinaire graciously volunteered to drive me downtown, which ended up being no small feat in a city like Kinshasa. The traffic jams are downright terrible here, even worse than what I experienced in Nairobi or Dar es Salaam and probably only surpassed by Kampala. 

Kinshasa is a city of 17 million people, which for comparison, is more than twice the size of New York. The road infrastructure is limited severely overstressed, with cars, taxis, taxivans, semitrucks, pedestrians, motorcyclists, vendors, and hand-pulled wagons all competing for the very limited space. In addition, the roads are often in a deteriorated state, necessitating caution to navigate around areas of missing pavement and potholes. Not only this, but many of the cars are quite dilapidated themselves, so often when a large overloaded truck breaks down in the middle of the road, this can back up the road for a long distance just itself. Finally, the driving is quite aggressive, with cars often forcing their way to the left and right of the lane of traffic and then forcing their way back into traffic flow when they meet an obstacle such as oncoming traffic or some vendors on the side of the road. Thus, what ensues is a dead-stopped lane of cars with two also dead-stopped lanes on either side composed of cars trying to force their way into the already packed center lane. The handful of traffic lights downtown cycle through their reds, yellows, and greens, while motorists hardly pay them any mind. It is almost unbelievably stressful and difficult, and our drive lasted for nearly two and a half hours until we finally pulled into the chancery offices. I was so thankful that Fr. Apollinaire had been so good as to take me. 

The meeting succeeded in getting the ball rolling on diocesan approval for the Children’s Rosary to be started in parishes and schools, and so I was very happy I had been able to go. I first met with Fr. Clet, a dryly humorous but evidently also respected and efficient man who is the diocesan chancellor. He it was with whom I had been originally put in contact, and he wished for me to meet with the priest in charge of pastoral affairs, but that cleric was not in. Therefore, I was able to speak with his deputy who promised to present the information and materials I had conveyed to his superior at the earliest opportunity. 

That afternoon, after another very long and draining drive back, I reached the formation house completely exhausted. It is amazing how the traffic jams, especially when it is hot, humid, dusty, and loud, can cause such exhaustion. 

On Sunday, I went with Fr. Francois to a parish named St. Joseph of Arimathea where he and Fr. Apollinaire often celebrate Mass(picture above). The Mass was quite nice with a noticeably skilled choir and beautiful songs. Afterwards, we had lunch back at the MSA house with a couple of gentlemen from the parish, one of whom was a Latin and French teacher who had once been a seminarian. He was very nice, and I was glad to have gotten to know him. As someone who has taken years of Latin myself, it is a bit of a niche subject, and so finding someone else with whom I can relate a bit on the topic is always a nice development. 

Yesterday, since there were no definite plans given that the archdiocese had not responded yet about approval, I went to Fr. Francois’s funeral Mass back at the St. Joseph’s. I have now been to a few funerals and wakes in Africa, and this one was not so very different. The only major difference I noticed was that when the hearse left the parking lot after the Mass, it blared a loud siren, I suppose to make way for itself and also to announce its departure. Still, the sight of the leader of this solemn funeral procession, blaring and honking his way out of the parking lot made a distinct impression on me. That afternoon, I was able to finish some work and then go to Adoration and evening prayer. The Adoration occurs most days here as it is an integral part of their charism. A picture is attached.