Why I Choose Love and Solidarity
Initially, I came to Congo to shake up my worldview, and that it has done. I was a determined 20-year-old Canadian who wanted to challenge the bubble in which I lived, revise my priorities, and learn what it truly meant to love my neighbors.
Working in Congo these past three years has honestly been the most challenging and stretching experience of my entire life, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. I feel privileged to live here in this beautiful country - to have learned how to raise children and parent communally. I’ve learned the complexities of cooking in the congo, how to dance in church, and how to live a more faith-filled life.
Lischa Maccallum, Manager of the Sabuli’s Children Center, The Sanguma Foundation
More importantly, I’ve gained the ability to overcome, the resilience to keep going, and the strength to keep loving. My brothers and sisters here have taught me that it’s better to share than to hoard, better to be inconvenienced by lending a hand than to live a self-sufficient life. Here, there is the freedom to mourn and cry and a need to forgive quickly and laugh often. I’ve been shown that family isn’t a closed unit as everyone is your mama/papa or ndenko (sibling). I’ve learned that there’s always enough to share, no matter how little there is; there’s always enough space to squeeze one more human on the bench or onto the motorcycle taxi. I am forever grateful that I’ve been welcomed into this community.
My favorite space - and where I spent all my time - is the Sabuli’s Children Center. There is never a dull moment, and there are always a million and one things happening: laughter and learning, milestones achieved, and friendships deepened. The children have come from many different backgrounds, and each carries various heartbreaks, but at the center, they’ve found family, a refugee, and a community that cares about them.
It’s hard sometimes to navigate and balance the reality of their situations. They’ve all experienced death and heartache, and their dreams have been tainted by poverty. I’ve learned that poverty here proves to be relentless, leaving many vulnerable, focused on survival, and missing the opportunity of preparing for the future. It doesn’t let you save or dream but screams ‘hopelessness’ at its victims. Despite this - or maybe because of this - these children have become resilient. They are fighting, trying to make it work. I want them to be able to dream and have opportunities - to have the chance to change their lives and be proud of who they will become. Each child is unique. All of them are caring and quick to share; they are intelligent and funny, and they do have big dreams.
I want to do everything possible to pour into them and build them up on a foundation that says they are deeply loved, and they are capable. They are capable of fighting against the various obstacles in front of them, capable of rising above, and capable of chasing their dreams. And I want to fight with them. That’s why I choose to be here, love them, and stand with them in solidarity. To me, they all represent hope; their pain and their loss didn’t - and couldn’t - overpower them. Each of their individual stories and passions breathes hope into what may seem hopeless. These children are the reason I choose to stay. When I miss my family and my old life, or when I want to run and return to my friends and comforts, I choose to love the people here. I choose to stay and learn and continue to be in solidarity with my brothers and sisters in the Congo.
