Today was an incredible gift. I was supposed to speak to a group at a Kinshasa University on business and media ethics. It was moved to today so that I could take a Kinshasa tour and see a bit of the city...of 10 million people! This is a relatively short trip with lots of speaking, sharing and training. So, tomorrow, I have two university groups and I have to go somewhere before noon and get my tickets and leave my luggage for my 10:30 p.m. flight. Yup...before noon for late at night. That is how we do it here.

And, speaking of here....a few stories from today. We stopped in the middle of a three lane highway and sat for about 5 minutes. The driver and our tour guides said nothing. Then, the guide hopped up, opened the door and told us to get out. We stepped into the middle highway lane with a ton of cars, with drivers who don't obey any obvious rules, whizzing by us. One woman from the Embassy who is severely handicapped and on crutches had some serious concerns and trouble exiting and we had a young kid on the bus who just jumped out and his mother about puked. The reason for stopping?? There was a statue of an historical perspective and the tour guide wanted us to take a picture of it. Yup...in the middle of the highway, two tour buses full of people were taking photos. Only about 20 of us...but still, a tad dangerous.

Our first stop was La Gare Central, the central train station. We were told we could only take a photo of one train car...that is the rule. We walk inside and a man in front of us was screaming because the cops had taken his camera. He wasn't with our group but walked in and saw hundreds of cool old train cars from the last 100 or so years and shot a photo. He hadn't heard the rule apparently. He was still making a fuss when we left. Lots of no taking photos in Kinshasa! These were old cars, and the trains weren't running , although there are more modern ones that do and are high speed. The country is refurbishing these and apparently don't want outsiders to see them at work.

This car is the only one we could take.

 
I loved seeing all of the men carrying huge packages on their heads. This guy must have had 40 or 50 pounds of water bags for sale atop his head.

Interestingly, as we drove around, I saw several men with a pyramid shaped box like package, filled with fresh eggs for sale. Not sure if one buys a level...top level had fewer eggs and lower had many more. Possibly, one buys a dozen and he had packaging elsewhere. The tour guide was busy and I forgot to revisit this.

At the central station there was a huge fountain which wasn't working and at each corner was a huge leopard guarding the side. Leopards here signify justice. Interestingly, the huge plaza had about 50 flagpoles and not one flag flying. There were also no Congolese in this beautiful plaza, except for our tour staff. This lack of locals was seen everywhere we went. No one local at the National Museum or at the Mausoleum of Kabila, a former president. More on the Mausoleum tomorrow!

Saw a young man on the street wearing a shirt that announced, "Sarcasm is one of the services I provide."

Last night, Lidia, a lady I met here in Kinshasa , who works with the CDC in Atlanta, joined me for dinner at our hotel here. We ate outside in the dark near the pool under this little shelter. The bugs were flying and the good news is...they thought Lidia was tastier than I!! Had a great visit and hopefully, began a new friendship. She is here working for just a week trying to help get programs going to ensure better health opportunities here for folks in the DRC.

Not sure why the photos are lining up this way and not letting me wrap text around them...but, the photo below is part of what I had for lunch today. Rather hard to see, but this is called Mbimzo in the Lingala language, which is one of their languages. Most speak French and either Lingala or Swahili.    What is this dish you might ask??? These are caterpillars cooked with sesame seed, tomatoes and eggs. Yup...caterpillars. Crunchy and delicious...I went back for seconds! Look closely...you can see their little bodies and the segments that make up this creature.

One of the guys in today's session wanted me to have a photo of myself training. He really liked how I wore my headset and held my pink microphone!! Had a great day. Yesterday was broadcast executives and producers and today, was dedicated to print journalists and media executives. We had one media owner who kept explaining to me that I didn't understand. 

One of the guys in today's session wanted me to have a photo of myself training. He really liked how I wore my headset and held my pink microphone!! Had a great day. Yesterday was broadcast executives and producers and today, was dedicated to print journalists and media executives. We had one media owner who kept explaining to me that I didn't understand. He kept trying to explain why it is OK to have a full page "article" paid for by a company. I cannot speak French but I could pick up that this article was all a one sided glorification piece. Clearly paid. The owner explained that this is journalism and I thought it more like advertising and it should be labelled as that or labelled paid content. Some of the other execs were laughing...he thought this much easier than actually selling content or selling ads. Not one of the 13 papers I flipped through had any paid advertising. So, we moved on and ahead and by the end of the day, the majority got the concept of creating sustainable business plans/revenue streams etc. Can't wait to read their evaluations. Based upon yesterday's evals, I spent more time today working on marketing, branding and sales while not ignoring Business and Journalism Ethics. Yesterday's photos of the group turned out horrid. Folks are supposed to send me some so I can post.

Here is a photo of the folks in our group today. There were three women who attended and I did not hear their voices at all until after the meeting and the group photo shots were done. I offered the microphone to each of them. Asked each questions indicating I wanted to hear their voices and their opinions...several times. At the very end, all three came up, hugged me and asked if we could take a photo together. I did..and then, all three, using our translator, explained how happy they were that I used them as examples of encouraging everyone to speak up and out. In this country...women ask for permission to shop, spend money, give advice, offer suggestions.

As we discussed diversity, equity, fairness and more..it was so easy to include women, youth, older people, folks from tribes in their planning, their decision making and execution. This is the print group and the photo is awful but so much better than yesterday's. The lighting was terrible in the room and I am hoping I will get some better photos from one of the Embassy folks. Off to dinner...more later.

The trip to Kinshasa, DRC took about 24 hours including airport layovers and minor schedule changes. It was relatively easy except for the fact that I could not sleep, despite have a reclining seat, pillow and blanket. Night one, the man in front of me snored so loudly, if I could have slept in the awkward position, the noise would have raised me and others from the dead! My new favorite airline is Air France. Without exception, the flight attendants and airport reps were superbly polite, cheerful and engaging. I had a ball watching the gentleman sitting next to me, flirt actively with the flight attendant who played along and then...cut him off with a grin and wave. He was laughing like crazy and prefers Brussels Air but thought aloud that he might have to make a change in carriers.

Today, Monday, was my first work day and I had 12 members of radio companies in attendance. We were to begin at 9 a.m. but actually started around 9:30. We worked on DRC time and, as it turned out, had plenty of time to exchange information, learn about strategic and operational planning and why business and journalistic standards are so critical to maintain and embrace. I was terrifically impressed with the participants' openness, willingness to share, and question some of the information I was sharing with them.

Because the day was a long one, I didn't have time to go out and see anything. I did take a couple of photos at the hotel. Brazzaville, the capitol of the Congo, and Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of the Congo are the two closest capitols in the world. Each is on one side of the Congo River and one can see Brazzaville and its iconic bridge from the hotel, where I am housed.

The bridge photo was taken inside of a lounge so it is difficult to see clearly...beautiful and in some ways, reminds me of the Mackinaw Bridge. The hotel is very modern and had I known where I was staying in advance, I would have brought swim and gym gear. Had a great dinner tonight with a woman from the CDC in Atlanta and I should have photos of our dinner...yup, interesting. The huge cactus is from the front garden and you can see the name of the hotel. I am at the Kempinski Hotel Fleuve Congo and it is a high rise building which one cannot see in this photo.

Please be patient....I have not been on this blog in three years and am finding that the blog template and photo uploading has been changed. So learning...again!

Jekyll Island and Darien

Vacation was a riot. My niece, Shelli and her two sons, Jaxon and Mason came to visit as a surprise to her cousins, my daughters, Kristin and Heidi. At one point, we were 15 people in the house...a bit of a hassel but so much fun. We went to the beach and enjoyed the sunshine and each other. Here are Chris, Heidi and Mason, Shelli's son.

We plunked down on the beach and ended up sitting next to this musician. The guy played music and sang for hours and we thoroughly enjoyed listening to him. Asked him if we could take his photo when we left and thanked him for adding to the ambiance! He chuckled loudly.

  .

We have the coolest huge tub in our master bedroom. It is mammoth and has jets that don't work but the soaking has been fun for all.This is Jaxon on the left...Shelli's youngest son and Layne, Kristin and Pat's daughter. They needed to take a bath...together. Quite fun.

Owen and Chase had a soak also but I don't have a photo of that...they are "big boys" now.

More Hirot

A street scene in Hirot. Kids here pretty much go to school or not when they feel like it. Education, like in Honduras is not a national priority for the government. Shoes were on display here and boots are a biggie. The flowered dresses the women wear, generally the older women, are made of velvet or velvet like material. That is the winter wear. I will take a photo of the young women. The contrast is incredible.

This is the street scene in Hirot at 2:00 on a Friday afternoon. The streets and the sidewalks were crammed full and everyone was feeling and acting very happy and festive. There apparently is a fort nearby but we were terrifically busy so I saw nothing other than normal city life.

Learning "how we do it"

I have been absent from my blog for quite awhile...there are no real excuses but I have a lengthy list, none the less. It is especially enjoyable to blog while travelling and, for some reason, despite having traveled the past couple of years with our grand kids, I didn't write and post photos. Possibly, FaceBook is the offending culprit. FB is so easy to use and quickly update but it is NOT a source of depth, meaning and memories...at least, for me. So, here I am again.

These past few years were filled with great stories and great leaps of faith. I have met the most wonderful people in our new home, Caseville, Michigan where we have had a "cottage" for ages. Now, Caseville brings new meaning to a culture shift. I have never lived in such a tiny community: a community where everyone knows everyone else, their business, who they are related to, where they eat, with whom they sleep and more!

We are a community without diversity, which bothers me to no end. We are predominately white, we all speak English, and many have very similar middle class upbringings. One does see some cultural and ethnic diversity during our yearly, 10 day August celebration called, "Cheeseburger in Paradise," named after Jimmy Buffet. Tons of music, great food, interesting vendors and much drinking and carrying on. Normally, Caseville is a relatively quiet community but this event brings tens of thousands to our tiny community. Streets are packed, bands are found in most parks, one can find 20 or 30 different types of burgers on sale and people are allowed to pack coolers full of alcoholic drinks and take them into the parks to enjoy while listening to the various bands.

Summer is an exciting, vibrant time of year for our community. Cottages are full on weekends, vacationers come to swim, boat, fish and chill in our town. Stores and restaurants are open...business is brisk and there is much to do. Come Labor Day...that all changes. Stores shut down, restaurants either close or reduce their hours, school starts, vacationers and weekenders are busy in the city...and we are practically a ghost town.

The other day, I ran into a friend in town and mentioned that I was meeting another friend at the Wooded Island, a restaurant in town, and Dave indicated I would not be going there. They are only open now Thursday through Sunday. It was Wednesday. Change of plan!

I live in this community and am trying very hard to get involved. I want to know how and why we operate the way we do. To that end, I have become involved in our food pantry, volunteering and meeting more people who live, work, volunteer and love our area and all it has to offer. I have joined our Caseville Methodist Church, and although I have attended church over the years fairly regularly, it was in a Catholic Church and I went to church to worship, not to be an active participant in the church. Now, as a member, I find I want to be involved with committees and help make our church an extension of my family. I want to worship and celebrate with an extended "family." This church feels like home to me...love it.

Growth in my community has included attending city council meetings every month when I am in town. I have always voted but, again, I never wanted to know how the city I lived in worked or why it worked the way it did. Now, I want to know the players, want to know the decision makers, and want to question why we are doing x, y or z. Hoping to join the planning commission shortly and Richard laughs and says that I will soon run for city council. HAHAHHAHAHAHA!

The story of Alex's birth....

NOTE: This is a story written by my daughter, Kristin. This story was read on Alex's birthday until the last couple of years. This first year of his not being with us on his birthday, reminded me of our traditions. And so...here is Kristin's version of Alex's birth and entry into our certifiably insane family. We laugh and love with vigor.

As we sit around the fir tree, reading the traditional, “Twas the Night Before Christmas,” I look around at my family with wonder.  All of them bring to mind special feelings. My mother, who has been through several surgeries in the past few months, is smiling and sipping a small glass of white wine. My stepfather, Richard, still fairly new to the family after a mere 11 years of marriage to my mother, is oblivious to the goings on and is watching whatever sports program happens to be on at the moment. My sister, Heidi, her red hair flying, is chasing her two children around the room, trying to get them to listen to the story. And, my brother, Alex 10 years old, just a few days earlier, is listening intently as I finish the book that has been a staple for our Christmas Eves since I was a little girl. Alex has always held a special place in my heart and as I look at him this Christmas Eve night, I am in awe at the impact he has had on my life since even before he was born.

 

If I remember correctly, my Mom told us she was going to try and have another baby on a Thursday afternoon. I had come over to visit after work and Heidi had just gotten home from school. We were sitting in the kitchen drinking a pop and she blurted it out like she had been holding this decision inside for weeks.

 

“Girls, Richard and I have been thinking a lot about this and we have decided that we are going to pursue having another child.”

 

“You are kidding, right?” I said.

 

“No, I’m not. I’ve talked to a few doctors at the University of Michigan and it is possible to have my tubes untied so we can try and conceive a baby.”

 

                “I cannot believe this,” said Heidi. “I’m probably going to end up babysitting this kid all the time.” She was 16 at the time and not too sensitive about other people’s feelings.

 

                My Mom didn’t get upset about that comment, but just continued with her explanation of how the surgery was going to work. “The doctors have to do an ultrasound first. Then, they will determine whether or not they can even reconnect my tubes. If they do the surgery, there is only a 25% chance that it will work. So, don’t get upset about anything, yet, OK?”

 

I am the worry wart in the family, so I had to ask, “Are you sure this is safe? You are 38 years old.”

“Well, it is fairly safe. You know, there’s always a risk when it comes to surgery. But, I don’t think it is going to be a very big deal. I just won’t be able to do anything really strenuous for a couple of weeks.”

My mother did end up having the surgery. She was right. She didn’t move around much for a few weeks, but she did go right back to work. She did eventually start feeling better, though. In mid-April, which, if we didn’t live in Michigan, should be about the time the trees are budding and the flowers blooming, my mother asked me to go to with her to Meijer, a huge Walmart like store. I agreed. The day didn’t seem any different than any other, but that soon changed.

 

We were walking through the Health & Beauty Aid section when my mother said, “Maybe we should pick up a test.”

 

“What kind of....oh my God!!!!” I screamed and gave my mother a hug. “I thought you were supposed to wait a few more weeks before you started trying to conceive?”

 

“I was feeling pretty good, so we tried a couple of weeks ago. And, now I need a pregnancy test, OK?”

“I can’t believe it. I thought there was a really small chance that this would work,” I said.

“It’s not positive yet,” my Mom said.

We got to the checkout lane and my mother started acting strange. “What is wrong, Mom?” “Could you buy the test? No one will believe it is for me anyway?”

 

I bought the test and we went to my mother’s house in Laingsburg. She took the test and it was positive. I joked, “Fertile Myrtle can only get pregnant one month out of the entire year!!! And you did it three times!!” My sister and I were January babies and it was apparent,  by our calculations, this baby would be born in January also.

 

My mother’s pregnancy went fairly smooth until her fourth or fifth month. She did have some strange cravings, though. I don’t think I had ever seen my mother eat peanut butter in my entire 19 years, but when she was pregnant, she couldn’t get enough of the stuff. My stepfather started shopping at Sam’s Wholesale Club because he couldn’t keep enough peanut butter in the house. Upon reaching the beginning of her second trimester, she started having trouble. She had amniocentesis since she was over 35 and had a whole bunch of other tests to determine if the baby was healthy or not. I was at work when my mother called me into her office (she was my boss at The Lansing State Journal) to let me know the results of her testing. My mother was being very calm and it scared me.

 

“Mom? What’s wrong? Is something wrong with the baby?”

 

She said, “The doctors think the baby has ‘water on the brain.’”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

 

“That means the baby could have brain damage. Things started going wrong when I had the amnio. The puncture hole that the doctor made with the needle never closed up; so, amniotic fluid has been leaking for the past few weeks.”

 

“Is the baby going to die?” I asked as tears were flowing down my face.

 

“They don’t know yet. They are going to do more tests and we should know something by the end of the week. But, honey, there is something else you need to know.”

“Oh, no...what?”

 

“We are having a boy.”

 

At that point, we both burst into tears. No one in the family had ever wanted a baby boy. Girls are so much cuter and prettier and you can dress them up in frilly little dresses. We cried for about ten minutes and as we were holding each other, we started laughing. Little giggles at first. Followed by some tittering and, then, out loud laughs punctured by guffaws. We couldn’t stop. We went from one extreme of emotions to another in 30 seconds flat. At that moment, we both knew that everything would be OK, even if the baby did turn out to be a boy.

 

Everything did end up being OK. My mother was prescribed complete bed rest by her doctor for the remaining four months. This was unbelievably difficult for my mother because she is a workaholic and a perfectionist rolled into one mere mortal. She became more domestic than I had ever seen before. She baked, did crafts, prepared the baby’s room and did a multitude of other things that were not typical of her personality. Oh, she still went to work every day!!

 

I had just received a promotion at work and was starting my first day on my new job. As I was walking into the building from the extremely icy parking lot, my previous supervisor stopped me and told me that my mother had gone into labor. This was quite a shock considering that she was not due for another month yet. I felt like pending fatherhood was upon me. I became a babbling, klutzy, frantic person that neither I nor my co-workers recognized.

 

“What do you mean she is in labor?” I exclaimed.

 

“Calm down, Kristin. Your Mom called and all she said was that we needed to let you know that her water had broke and for you to go to work and she would call when anything more happened.” What mom hadn’t told anyone was that her water broke at work and her boss was crazy worried. 

 

“Krstin, I told you all that she told me, “said my colleague. “You know your mother. She will let you know what is going on when it suits her needs.”

 

Knowing exactly what my co-worker meant, I decided I had better go to work, considering it is not a good practice to call in sick on your first day. I told my boss that I may have to leave, depending on what was happening at home. They understood, which I was very grateful for, because my mother had been working at her current job for the past seven years and everyone knew her.

 

I called my sister, Heidi, at approximately noon to find out what the status on the baby’s arrival was currently. “Hi, Heidi. How is mom?”

 

“She is fine. She is at Meijer right now. Why?”

 

“Why?!  Because she is in labor, that is why!!”

 

Heidi then told me the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard. “That’s not even the worst of it, Kristin. This morning at 7 a.m. she called Richard and told him that her water had broken. Richard started freaking out and wanted to call the doctor. She told him she had some things to do because Christmas wasn’t going to not come just because she was having a kid.”

 

“What did she mean by that?” I asked.

 

“She meant that she needed to get some last minute Christmas gifts and then, she needed to finish the grocery shopping for Christmas dinner.”

 

“She IS nuts, isn’t she?”

 

“That’s not even the worst of it,” said Heidi. “I asked her how she thought she was going to get around with having contractions and all, and she said, “No problem, you’re going to help me.’ Kristin, Mom made me help her get ready and drive her to the mall.”

 

I started laughing hysterically. “You mean, Mom was walking around the mall having contractions?!”

 

“Stop laughing at me!! She was so embarrassing. We would walk about 20 feet and then, she would have to stop so she could ‘do her breathing.’ People kept coming up to us and asking if there was anything they could do to help. I was mortified!”

 

“I feel so bad for you, Heidi. How long were you at the mall?”

 

“Thank God, we were only there for about an hour and a half. Then, she wanted to go to Meijer, but I told her she better have Richard go with her. Richard came to the mall to pick her up and he found her sitting inside the doors, on the floor, breathing deeply.”

 

“Well, I have to go back to work, but let me know if anything happens.”

 

I ended up working a full day. No one ever called me to tell me how my mom was doing. At 5:30 p.m., as I was getting home, the phone began ringing. I grabbed the phone and it was my mother, acting very calm, almost too calm.

 

“Hi, honey. How was your first day at work?”

 

“Fine.  Why aren’t you at the hospital yet?” I yelled.

 

My mother very calmly said, “I’ve had two other kids and this one is not going to mess up my Christmas schedule any more than he already has. I had shopping to do and now, it is done. I was calling to let you know I am on my way to the hospital right now.”

 

My mother and stepfather arrived at the hospital around 6 p.m. My best friend, Amy and I arrived shortly thereafter. My mom acted as if she was there for some allergy shots. This was not a big deal to her…just another birth, kind of at an inconvenient time and day.

 

We waited, talked and visited with my mom for about three and a half hours. Then, Amy and I decided to go to the cafeteria to get some food. As we were walking down the starkly lit hallway in the basement, a wonderful location for a cafeteria, we were discussing the wonder of my mother at 39 giving birth. We were giggling about all the things I could buy for him and do with him, when all of a sudden, a huge figure jumped out in front of us. It was my stepfather, Richard, all out of breath and looking extremely frantic.

 

“Your mother....wants....you to come...upstairs....right now.”

 

“Why? Is something wrong?”

 

“No. You know how we had decided that it would just be us in the delivery room? Well, your mother has decided just now that it would be a wonderful experience for you to see your brother’s birth.”

 

“Wow! OK, let’s go!”

 

Amy said she would wait in the waiting room, but Richard, who is not a very outgoing fellow, told her to come along also. He said one more person in the room at this point wasn’t going to make much of a difference and besides, Amy was planning to be a nurse.

 

We all followed Richard into the delivery room, where, just as we walked in, I saw my brother’s head emerging from my mother’s body. I gasped.

 

“Oh my God! Oh my God! OH!”

 

“Shut up, Kristin, I’m trying to concentrate,” came my mother’s response to my wonder and awe.

 

My mother pushed for about 10 minutes and at 10:08 p.m. my baby brother, weighing 4 lbs. 15 oz., was born on December 22, 1989. He was very little. In fact, he was too little to take home.

 

My mother came home on the 23^rd in the late afternoon. It was kind of weird talking about Alex and not having him there to hold or coo over. We had a surprise on Christmas Eve, though. Mom had gone to the hospital to see Alex and the doctor said he had gained enough ground to go home. Imagine our surprise when my mom walked into the house carrying Alex in her arms. We all started crying and hugging and thanking God for letting us all be together on this special holiday.

 

So, as I sit here looking around at my whole family, I have to thank my brother. Before Alex, we were a family, but we didn’t have cohesion. My mom, sister and I were a family and Richard was an addition that Heidi and I could have done without.  After Alex, however, is a whole different story. He has allowed our family to become a unit. He is my half brother biologically, but emotionally, he is my whole brother: heart and soul.  Although he is only 10 as I write this and my little brother, he is also my friend, confidante and spiritual advisor. I don’t even think he knows how pivotal he has been to our family.  Maybe someone should tell him.