The Life Saving Card.

On the streets it’s known as the booze and comes in various forms such as beer, wine, and liquor. Alcohol is found in all cultures of human race. Locally or internationally brewed, it is consumed for various reasons and during various occasions.
 

In Kenya, changaa, the locally brewed liquor, that was once illicit, has just made its way to the legal bars and restaurants. While majority of its funs celebrate this ‘constitutional achievement’, many are still fighting to stop the habit of abusing the booze.
 

Introduced to the bottle by fellow boys in the estate during his teenage, Mr. Robert Owingo, 32, confesses having lived half of his life with the bottle by his side. He had tried three times to put an end to his craving to alcohol but failed. Almost giving up the battle, he found the fourth and final option out!
 

“What else didn’t we do as young men getting into real life? Life of freedom!” recalls Owingo. That was the driving spirit at the time. Nothing else than experimenting! “Each one was to be perfect in one area…so we ended up looking for prowess in what we could do best. Mine was simple; drink and prove to others that I was the best, and so, I could drink extra…” His prowess in the bottle went beyond the estate boundaries into the high school and college years and even at work.
 

Asked to describe his drinking habit, he thus responded; “I could never drink enough!” This was hazardous level. For him enough wasn’t enough until a red light flashed from his health.
 

His health deteriorated with paining joints and at a particular point the appetite for food was replaced by the booze.
 

‘It didn’t mean a lot for me to miss my meals for which I could afford from my good job; rather, I went for happiness, period.’
 

The last alarm was when he realized some lumps from his legs. It was not until Monday 24th August 2009 that he was diagnosed of cirrhosis, a chronic scarring infection of the liver leaving it unable to carry out its functions and responsible for 27,000 deaths annually.
 

In ancient Chinese culture, the liver was viewed as ‘the centre of the body’. Indeed, borrowing this sagacity, the liver, the largest gland in the body, has a vital role. Amongst its multidimensional functions, it makes proteins, eliminate waste materials, stores and releases glucose energy, synthesizes cholesterols, metabolizes many drugs used in medicine, releases hormones, produces bile juice that flows through the bile ducts into the intestines helping the digestion of food. Unlike most of the internal organs, it is capable of self-regeneration if infected.
 

A failure of the liver to function properly as required by its nature results to numerous infections of various body parts. Like Mr. Owingo’s case, the swelling on his legs were a sign that the liver never supplied enough proteins in his body. This resulted in the accumulation of body fluids in the leg region, an infection called Edema. It arises when the liver fails to produce enough albumin, a protein that helps the blood vessels to hold fluids.
 

“When the level of albumen falls, body fluids seeps out of the tissues into either the abdomen or the legs”, confirms Doctor Maruka Douglas. He added on that “when the fluid seeps into the abdomen, the situation worsens, for the victim has to undergo an abdominal surgery to repair the situation especially if it results into leaving holes in the abdominal linings and also to remove the waste fluid”.
 

Faced with this medical challenge, the victim always has two fundamental options. Seek liver transplantation (if in the end-stage cirrhosis) or / and permanently quit drinking alcoholic beverages. Since Owingo noted the signs of cirrhosis too early, his liver wasn’t badly scarred, giving him the chance to correct the situation by eternally quitting the booze. This sounds an easy way, but wait.
 

Luckily, with some uninfected cells in his liver, which, with time, will multiply and function properly, Owingo had to combat the urge and stop taking alcohol. The rescue plan designed by both him and his doctor saw him plunge into both physical and mental agony.
 

“For me it’s like Christ, in the movie of Jesus of Nazareth, carrying his cross to Calvary! Only that Jesus’ was public, mine is private. At times I enter my room and weep out the urge… I just cry”.
 

He had to undergo both mental and physical therapy like those offered at the Alcohol Anonymous rehabilitation centers where self-proclaimed alcoholics seek help. His doctor, who kept an eagle eye on him, did all to help him regain the strength and never to be an alcohol dependent again. All these were done in the secrecy of the doctor, Owingo and his wife, whom he counts to have helped him a lot.
 

The fight between the choices made for a particular objective and the bodily desire continued. Owingo realized that alcohol like sex has the attracting energies.
 

“Alcohol pulls the body towards it. We are used to saying sexual desire and energy… There is also strong alcohol desire and energy”. In the earlier attempts, “just a yawn, an advert on the TV, seeing a bar by the roadside, taking a friend out and many more would signal for a heavy thirst that alcohol alone could quench!” This was the most difficult moment in his life since with his eyes wide open, he cannot avoid seeing the adverts and bars around.
 

“It was moments like this that I would let go and plunge back into my old drinking habit.”
 

Providentially, his wife ensures, if he forgets, to carry with him wherever he goes the tag given him by his doctor. This to him is a magical card that has done wonders in his life. It has physically and morally boosted him. It reads; ‘alcohol kills!’ it has the powers to remind him and stop him from going back to the past that might earlier see him off to his grave and rather, keep the fight. If he had a car, which is now on the way, it would definitely be hanging as the key holder. He reminds all people never to exaggerate with the booze.

 

(this article was published in the magazine called: Echoes of Mercy, a review of the students of theology, Allamano House, Nairobi)

It happened to me in the beginning.

Well, a painting by Samuel Ajak depicting St. Paul on mission in an African context hangs on my wall. 

In this portrait, St. Paul hurriedly passing through the villages at dawn in sandals, a blue robe and a blanket over his shoulders, probably for covering himself wherever the night will find him, and holding in his left hand a staff and the right a scroll, is determined to reach his destiny and deliver the Good News. 

And that is exactly what the missionaries do.

“He must be thinking of his intended destiny and even formulated his sermon… and why not, even seeing himself delivering it to a multitude of listeners,” I thought within myself. And that is why he was on the move. It was the Mission Month that I wrote down this piece.

I thought I would forget about this portrait with the end of the year of St. Paul, rather not at all. This is because of two facts; first, the destination of both my missionary experience and theological studies, and secondly, a card I received from an esteemed friend on the occasion of my first religious profession in mid July 2009.

The card is a bit unique. It has the portrait of St. Paul that I have been talking about and additional text that goes, ‘God bless you on your mission’.

This card is my inspirational impetus here in DR Congo, my mission destiny.

Like St. Paul in it, am on a mission and still at its dawn, not knowing what the mission has for me. A distant mission from home in deed; but unlike him, am neither alone nor the first, for many have trailed this path and so why not me this time round? It is a God-given chance to witness to the Good News. Yet the beginning has a lot than meets the eye.

The rise and fall of various expectations…

The first impressions are always intertwined with numerous excitements, prejudices and comparisons from the previous life encounters. Unfortunately, this at times is uncritical.

For instance, Mr. Bill Clinton’s first night in the White House as the Chief Executive to-be some years ago was ironically not spent in bed resting after heavy campaign-sleepless nights. He did not fall asleep courtesy of much excitement. In fact, even past 2 am he was still seen looking and admiring the magnificent architectural and artistic works around the White House.

It happens to all, I not exempted. Lost in the sky due to too much excitement, some of my earlier imaginations of DR Congo, the Lingala land as known to many, met a blow hence trampling and falling with a heavy thud, while some triumphantly transcended sharply. This was my greatest challenge amidst a legion of them which got reshaped by the end of each day either in affirming or refuting the first impressions.

Many countries have a particular spectacle event, object or culture that makes them famous in the world’s eye. On the mention of Uganda, one immediately thinks of bananas, matoke, or Brazil and Kenya for its football and athletes geniuses, respectively. While others like Nigeria hit the faces of the world by spectacle humorous African movies.

Republique Democratique du Congo is not left asunder in this country-attachment affair. As popularly known to many, especially from my place of origin, DR Congo procreate and nurtures dancers and musicians, period.

Talking and thinking of DR Congo from Kenyan perspective makes one, Kenyan especially, hurriedly rushes to the Lingala tunes and musicians, the likes of Koffi Olomide, Papa Wemba, Bozi Boziana, Bilia Bel, Franco, Madilu, Ferre Gola, Fally Ipupa, King Kester, etc. Some Kenyans even name their offspring after such great musicians!

While in Kenya, a friend requested me to teach him how to dance to the Lingala tune on my return for holidays. For him, there was no much theology in that part of the world rather the music proficiency.

According to him, I was destined to breath, eat, and sleep Lingala tunes.

Yes! Lingala dominates but to my surprise, it is a vast country with over two hundred other ethnic languages yet many put Lingala synonymous to Congo. And just to add, I met not only music but also other development-based enterprises.

Madly in prayers in mad environment

In the days of our arrival, Congo seemed very hot and the sun rays penetrated the atmosphere earlier than I expected.

By 3.30 am other birds apart from the veteran rooster are heard singing from trees. There was much light that one would walk out to begin the day. And the dusk came as early as 5 pm in the evening. This has never happened in my world! Not only once, twice or three times that I found myself up at the wee hours of dawn ready for the day, but several days before I got used to this solar behavior.

Prof. Mbiti’s reflection on Africans and their religious attitude finds meaning in Congo than anywhere else I have set my foot. He states that ‘Africans are notoriously religious’ and I would add that Congolese are not only notorious but also madly in religion. It is the only African country with its particular rite of celebrating the Eucharist, the Zairean rite or known as the Lingala Mass in the Roman Catholic Church.

This is a moment of worship where everything is put asunder and people go bizarre and really dance and sing to the Lord, in words and gestures that left me at owe. While on the other hand the traditional Latin Mass is not far from here. It is reincarnated in the French Mass. In the latter, some songs, responses, and gestures are adopted from typical Latin Mass, that of pre-Vatican II Assembly. One would quickly think that the Benedictine monks form the better part of the choir that fills the Church’s atmosphere with the Gregorian tunes. I bet my late grandmother would have been more at home here than where her mortal remains is lying, for she always chanted the Dominus vobiscum every time we gathered for a prayer.

To add impetus to Congolese religiosity, I once saw a traffic policeman, in the middle of the traffic control tower suspend the duty of raising his hands for the jam-packed motorists and instead raise it to God. He literary made the sign of the cross as if it was part of the many traffic signs! Then followed by the movement of his lips suggesting that he was bubbling some prayer. It was midday by my watch and the nearby Church bell was sounding horribly. That is when it dawned on me that it was angelus, for some other lips beside me were also on motion.

Three out of four Congolese I meet each day has a particular dress code. The kitenge apparel woven in different forms. Most of these kitenge bear scriptural writings and the names and portraits of such people as Jesus, Mary, mother of God, holy men and women, Churches, Popes over centuries and current one, bishops, etc., and quite a majority with Rosary hanged on the neck.

The first Mass that I attended here in DR Congo was in French, at the adjacent parish from my place of residence. I comprehended nothing! It was all Greek. And had my mouth shut save for the alleluia and amen.

Fortunately, the Church’s milieu offered me magnificent and good-to-stare piece of art work, for it was a new place that I had not stepped since the creation time. That kept me going despite the little knocks of sleep during the homily. At some point I simply gave in and just dozed off, for what else could a man like me amidst long unfathomed sermon do? I did ‘participate’ generously after all! That was a fair beginning. An eye opener to numerous experiences to come.