Laafi Bala: Koudougou Contemplations and Prayers

I keep seeing M'Po Augustine's feet in my mind. Her bare toes pointing up and thin legs crossed at the ankle, resting next to mine on the ground. This is where we spent ninety percent of our visiting: in the courtyard of her home in Koudougou, Burkina Faso, West Africa, seated on chairs and woven mats close to the paved earth. Brown, barefoot children, intent family gathered all around - with three year old Marguerite Kiemde tucked behind either her father or myself, sheepishly peering out at her newly proclaimed grandmother. "Yaaba." 

I recall the warm touch of my mother-in-law’s hands on mine while she spoke softly to me in More', offering a blessing, or more loudly with new phrases she's asking me to repeat. “Laafi be me;  Laafi bala."How is your health? We are in good health.  

These memories bring me back to my post in her home on the outskirts of Burkina’s third largest city. M'Po's eyes smile and I recognize their joy as that which she passed on to her son. I think to myself, "Who could ever mistake this woman for my husband's birth mom?" Their eyes dance with delight and a simultaneous darkness. As she holds my hands and whispers, I wonder, “How much has she seen in her life?” As one of fifteen of Regma’s wives; a bearer of 8 children; mother and grandmother to countless babes; mourner of two deceased sons. My imagination races with what her eyes, heart, mind have taken in and known.

We sat daily in shaded spaces - under mango trees, under tin canopies, under thatched roofs, under the roofs of cars -- to protect ourselves from the intensity of the sun's rays. 110 degrees fahrenheidt is something to endure...Our consumption of liquids was seemingly never-ending to replenish all that was perspired through our pores. Bottled water. Brakina Beer. Milk. Water. Orange Fanta. Sugared Nescafe. Tea. Brakina beer. 

Our first Sunday in my husband's homeland included mass at the Ouagadougou Cathedral, followed by a meal in the shade of pink flowering trees and a thatched covered dining area. French fries, fish, rice and spicy soup served up next to a swimming pool – and then a trip to visit Armelle, Francois' niece, in the hospital. It was an especially poignant trip for me, as Armelle was the first one to really "introduce" me to my husband's home through a series of photographs she'd taken and sent back with Francois on a previous visit. Armelle with the broad cheeks and smile. Armelle with the curly hair. Armelle with the bold request and vision for her own hair salon. Armelle, the middle child in an orphaned sibling set. 

As we approached the mental health facility in our car where Armelle was being treated, a young man emerged from the crowd outside our vehicle. Was he en route home? Was he looking for us? Where was he going? How did we see one another?

Suddenly, More and French words were being exchanged enthusiastically; the car door opened to invite in this child, and I realized that Francois was greeting someone special.

 It was outside the gates of his sister's hospital room, that I met Cedric Kiemde for the first time. This 14 –year-old-looking 17-and-a- half-year-old son of Francois' deceased brother Raphael. And something shifted inside my heart. Cedric was the very first official Kiemde child I met in the daylight, and my heart felt like it might burst inside my chest. Big eyes, dark skin, broad smile. Sweetness incarnate.

"Enchante'" I repeated, squeezing his hand, when we got out of the car. "Enchante."

 "No, that's too formal," my husband chided. But I didn't care. I was beyond delighted to make his acquaintance. Enchante. Enchanted I was, and still am. 

Georgette, Zio, Victor, Roger, Wally, Lucy, Mark, Pauline, Delphine, Kaillou, are all central figures from Francois' large and extended family and network of friends that I can still name, beyond Yaaba, Cedric and Armelle. At every corner would appear someone else my husband would claim as a brother or sister, a friend or elder who had known him his whole life. At the pharmacy counter. In the lobby of our hotel. Stopping to retrace the boundaries of his childhood home. Visiting his father’s gravesite. Kiemdes everywhere. And conversations ensued. Words of joy, passion, sorrow, humor uttered almost ceaselessly in French and More'. While my mind never processed literally what was being said, I know on the deepest levels of my spirit and psyche that this visit and the stories are stored in my being. Pain. Poverty. Blessings. Need. Hope.

Can you pay this electric bill?

You have a beautiful family!

Your brother has a new job.

Would you make me a loan for my peanut and t-shirt cart?

Here now it rains!

She will recover!

It makes me so happy to see you.

I wept when I met Georgette and Roger. These two siblings of Francois' in particular who have held my prayers and attention. I keep them close still as I write. Older sister responsible for sending Francois to the States. Younger brother who my husband helped get grounded in work. 

***

We birthed and buried our own son Xavi last September. And that experience gave way on many levels for this trek to my husband's homeland. With our child’s brief life and the ache present in our home as we grieve him, there is this amazing open space in our hearts that begs God for direction in receiving anew. Our time in Koudougou provided us with real glimpses of God's goodness, and possible ways that our family may expand in welcoming a new member. 

The invitation to reframe Xavi’s life and death is constant. We didn’t just lose a son, we broke open a way to grieve our family’s deepest sorrows, and make way for new life.  With our hollowing out, has come a greater capacity to receive and claim.

A child. Our marriage. Our family. Our callings.

On a very practical level then, Francois and I have been prayerfully discerning our next steps. In the quiet of each of our hearts, and in our spoken prayers and reflections, we both know we would like Cedric to come and live with us. We have investigated adoption, as a permanent response to this calling to receive him, but have learned that that window is closed, given his age. So: we are simply inviting Cedric to come and visit. We hope this might happen as quickly as August. We shall see.

The Visitation Sisters have a prayer that they say with most everyone who knocks on their door in need or want of something. As I recognize my own incredible need and want at this juncture, I request your prayers. I invite you to join me and Francois as we contemplate these words by St. Francis de Sales:

Do not fear what may happen tomorrow;
the same everlasting Father who cares for you today will take care of you then and everyday.
He will either shield you from suffering,
or will give you unfailing strength to bear it.
Be at peace, and put aside all anxious thoughts and imagination.

May we be at peace. May we know God’s embrace. May we take our next best steps.
Amen.

**************************************************************************************

To see pictures from our journey: Africa Photos Online

Desmond Tutu on Human Rights

I came across the following writing by Desmond Tutu this week when a friend in Cape Town, South Africa, posted a link to this Washington Post article on her Facebook page. For the past couple of days, I've returned to Archbishop Tutu's words, and been inspired by the simplicity of his message; the largeness of love conveyed in his writing.

I've boldfaced passages that struck me in particular. Let me know what strikes a chord in you.

In love, peace, solidarity,

Melissa Borgmann-Kiemde

In Africa, a step backward on human rights

By Desmond Tutu

Friday, March 12, 2010

Hate has no place in the house of God. No one should be excluded from our love, our compassion or our concern because of race or gender, faith or ethnicity -- or because of their sexual orientation. Nor should anyone be excluded from health care on any of these grounds. In my country of South Africa, we struggled for years against the evil system of apartheid that divided human beings, children of the same God, by racial classification and then denied many of them fundamental human rights. We knew this was wrong. Thankfully, the world supported us in our struggle for freedom and dignity.

It is time to stand up against another wrong.

Gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered people are part of so many families. They are part of the human family. They are part of God's family. And of course they are part of the African family. But a wave of hate is spreading across my beloved continent. People are again being denied their fundamental rights and freedoms. Men have been falsely charged and imprisoned in Senegal, and health services for these men and their community have suffered. In Malawi, men have been jailed and humiliated for expressing their partnerships with other men. Just this month, mobs in Mtwapa Township, Kenya, attacked men they suspected of being gay. Kenyan religious leaders, I am ashamed to say, threatened an HIV clinic there for providing counseling services to all members of that community, because the clerics wanted gay men excluded.

Uganda's parliament is debating legislation that would make homosexuality punishable by life imprisonment, and more discriminatory legislation has been debated in Rwanda and Burundi.

These are terrible backward steps for human rights in Africa.

Our lesbian and gay brothers and sisters across Africa are living in fear.

And they are living in hiding -- away from care, away from the protection the state should offer to every citizen and away from health care in the AIDS era, when all of us, especially Africans, need access to essential HIV services. That this pandering to intolerance is being done by politicians looking for scapegoats for their failures is not surprising. But it is a great wrong. An even larger offense is that it is being done in the name of God. Show me where Christ said "Love thy fellow man, except for the gay ones." Gay people, too, are made in my God's image. I would never worship a homophobic God.

"But they are sinners," I can hear the preachers and politicians say. "They are choosing a life of sin for which they must be punished." My scientist and medical friends have shared with me a reality that so many gay people have confirmed, I now know it in my heart to be true. No one chooses to be gay. Sexual orientation, like skin color, is another feature of our diversity as a human family. Isn't it amazing that we are all made in God's image, and yet there is so much diversity among his people? Does God love his dark- or his light-skinned children less? The brave more than the timid? And does any of us know the mind of God so well that we can decide for him who is included, and who is excluded, from the circle of his love?

The wave of hate must stop. Politicians who profit from exploiting this hate, from fanning it, must not be tempted by this easy way to profit from fear and misunderstanding. And my fellow clerics, of all faiths, must stand up for the principles of universal dignity and fellowship. Exclusion is never the way forward on our shared paths to freedom and justice.

The writer is archbishop emeritus of Cape Town, South Africa. He won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1984.

Blogging for the Visitation Monastery in North Minneapolis

Family, Friends, Fans of "QueenMab" -- Far and Wide:

In the days, weeks, and months to come, I'll be devoting much more of my time to a new blog and website. The Visitation Sisters of North Minneapolis have asked me to write and host a blogsite for them as part of their vocations initiative to find "seven visionary women to be a prayerful presence in North Minneapolis." It's an absolute honor and privilege to be part of this campaign.

As many of you know, these nuns are near and dear to my heart; they've kept me not only breathing and upright over the course of the past decade, but cultivated a deep spirit of gratitude, expanding faith, and sense of hope as I've made my way from teaching at Minneapolis North High, and moved out into the world, trying to honor a calling to make change, build relationships, love, create and live well.

You have been with me through the "Teens Rock the Mic" and "Juno Collective" days; helped me host delightful, artful writing and teaching humans from abroad; followed along and aided in the transformation and sale of 1188 Juno; trekked through Africa with me on a six week journey at the start of my 40th year; and been witness to Francois Xavier Kiemde's courtship of yours truly, alongside our subsequent marriage.... Together, we have cracked open poems and scripture; asked contemplative questions on topics of leadership, governance and global citizenship; and meditated on the mundane. I invite you now to join me on this next adventure with the nuns! Come along as we search for these seven new women, explore the daily interactions at the monastery, and inhabit another contemplative realm where faith and action intersect.

Your good thoughts and prayers are deeply appreciated as we commence on this journey -- as I attempt to honor the fullness of these women's lives in this blog-writing venture....Who knows? Maybe you are acquainted with one of these women we are seeking? Perhaps this life of prayer and service speaks to you?

Love, Blessings,
Melissa Borgmann Kiemde
Visitation Vocations
www.visitationmonasteryminneapolis.org

Inctivus, Advent, Incarnation...

I wonder who among you has seen the recent film entitled, "Invictus"? Starring Morgan Freeman, as the newly-released-from-prison/ newly-elected-to-office President Nelson Mandela, alongside Matt Damon, playing South African Springbok Rugby captain, Francois Pienaar, the film places us squarely inside South Africa's transition from Apartheid rule to a free, Democratic nation. The time and period in our world's recent history is not without incredible charge, strife, and division among people. It's a time and period that calls us all to deeper reflection and contemplation of what it means to be united in the face of incredible adversity, diversity, conviction.

Enter Mandela. Enter a leader who exemplifies a radically new kind of authority and governance: one that is deeply acquainted with the victim, with the experience of the oppressed and marginalized, and yet is one who leads from a transcended space of love, compassion, and forgiveness. Enter Pienaar, another leader of sorts, who is called into this space to inspire his peers beyond their comfort and convictions into a place of equally transcended and transported action. Mandela and Pienaar are two starkly contrasted men who this film centers around in the name of delivering a narrative of hope and promise, of victory over fear and ignorance; it's a tale about the unity of people in spirit, mind, body.

On one hand, Invictus is an American film examining the post-Apartheid times and circumstances of our South African brothers and sisters. As a Clint Eastwood Production, it comes to the American public in this package and presentation that, for me as viewer, invites me to receive it within this lens. The Dirty-Harry-Unforgiven-Gran-Torino Eastwood delivers this story in a way that I must embrace as gift, as he - and the film's creators - present us with these larger questions around leadership and unity in the midst of deep divide. (How are the film's themes applicable to the American public? The larger world? It's rich!)

On another hand, Invictus is a David and Goliath sports flick, giving us an underdog team in the Springboks that strives to defeat the giant opponent in New Zealand's All Blacks. It is Hollywood flexing its American muscles inside a biblical metaphor. It's a film that culminates in sweet victory, a virtual miracle of sorts unfolding before our eyes when we all consider the human odds of Black and White camps and convictions, experience and athleticism, going into battle.

And now, a week after seeing the film, still reviewing a number of its moving scenes in my mind, I hold the fullness of the film's lessons about transcendent leadership and possibilities, inside of this Advent season. Invictus comes to me this day in a much larger light, one where its characters are considered inside of a faith perspective; that where a divine presence enters our midst and is seen in the most obscure places. Mandela as a President emerging from South Africa's apartheid prison. Pienaar as post-Apartheid athlete unifier. The uncanny, unfathomable, seemingly impossible, becomes possible, tanglible, quite real in this tale. There is an incarnation witnessed in this film as the should-be-conquered and conquerable reveal themselves to be as the movie title states: Invictus, Unconquerable.

I can see a Christ-figure born in each of these men: Mandela as compassionate intellectual posing questions of unity and leadership, inviting the black majority of South Africa to reconsider its battles with the former white majority rule. ("Why overturn the Springbok green and gold?) Pienaar, as athletic leader who wrestles with his privilege, his comfort, and ventures to see inspiration and possibility through the "other's" perspective. The rugby captain actually traveling to the new president's former prison cell at Robben Island, and contemplating what captivity has taught him about the human spirit, about compassion, about the invincibility of an unjustly accused and condemned man.

Whatever lens you choose to view this film through, I invite you to simply view it! Consider how its characters and circumstances speak to your heart. Consider these questions:

What does it mean to lead? What is at the center of your beliefs and actions? What inspires nations and its citizens? What creates hope and optimism in your own home? What is possible in the face of great odds? What is trying to get born in you today, in your work, on your field, in your lab, in your mind, within your family or community? How are you called to respond? Do you see yourself as unconquerable? Do you know that beauty and the divine dwell within and all around? Do you recognize your own capacity to forgive, to transcend those who have caused you the greatest grief or injury?

This season, I invite you all to see this film and meditate on its themes and many questions.

In peace and contemplation,

Love,

Melissa

On South Africa's Election

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8012567.stm

The turnout today at the polls in South Africa has been amazing. This headline from the BBC inspires many thoughts and questions:

What is the future of this beautiful nation?
What role do the young people play in today's results?
Who is Jacob Zuma to the average South African, and to globally-conscious -people abroad?
Where is this country economically and spiritually, fifteen years since the fall of Apartheid?
How will the emergence of this new opposition party, Congress of the People (COPE) impact the present and future direction of the country's leadership?

***

I am writing to send good thoughts to my South African friends abroad - and to all citizens who discerned their votes today, taking action to make change. In my travels last November to this beautiful land, I entered into so many political discussions. On the heels of the United States' election of President Obama, people from areas all over South Africa (Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania and Ghana) engaged me in critical discourse and reflection on democratic governance and change. No matter where I went -- whether it be the urban areas of Johannesburg, East London, Pietermaritzburg and Durban - to the rural communities of Msinga and Nquthu -- the questions and knowledge about the recent election in the United States blew me away. It was so inspiring to be engaged with so many differnt people, and to realize time and again how much the election of Barack Obama was triggering the critical engagement of other people in their own governments all over the world.

I encourage us all to take note of what is happening today in South Africa. The circumstances broaden and challenge us - no matter where we are in our local communities, or where we claim citizenship. As we tune into developing and transforming democracies all over the planet, we take notes, ask questions and in turn, support ongoing change for the liberation and prosperity of all people.

It's so exciting! Blessings to South Africa!
Melissa

Zimbabwe News...

Family, Friends,

Has anyone seen this? I'm not sure how many take note of Zimbabwe's Headlines, but this news on their prime minister and his wife is so sad.

That President Mugabe is still in power blows my mind. To read this now about Prime Minister Tsvangirai - (the man who opposed him in the last election, fled the country because of death threats - only to return and be instated as P.M.) is also mind boggling.

Here are Excerpts from the NYTimes Article: (click to read the entire thing.)

The prime minister of Zimbabwe, Morgan Tsvangirai, was hurt and his wife, Susan, was killed Friday in a car crash about 45 miles south of the capital, according to officials of Mr. Tsvangirai's political party, the Movement for Democratic Change

Mr. Tsvangirai has been the victim of multiple assassination attempts during his years as an opposition leader. Last year, he fled the country, fearing for his life, after he outpolled Mr. Mugabe in March presidential elections.

Mr. Tsvangirai and his wife were married for more than three decades. They have six children, including twins, age 14.

"They were a team; they were very effective and extremely close," Mr. Cross said of the couple. "She was very much a pillar of support, spiritually and in every other way. Morgan will feel her loss enormously. I can't think of many couples as close as those two."

Michael Franti In Minneapolis: "Say Hey!" Happy Valentine's Day!

"Seems like every where I go, the more I see, the less I know."

I love this song. The simplicity. The sweetness. The story.

This evening I will have the pleasure of seeing Michael Franti perform this live with Spearhead at the Orpheum Theater in downtown Minneapolis. As a precursor to tonight's event, I share this You Tube music video of his latest song, "Say Hey (I love you.) " It says volumes to me about the sweet, simple, profound notion of love, and what our journeys really teach us.

Enjoy!

Melissa

Vusi Mahlasela at the Ordway: Another kind of Church

I had the amazing privilege and pleasure of seeing this rocking South African perform last night in St. Paul. Yeah to the Ordway for bringing Vusi Mahlasela here. All day, I was referring to the event, and trying to describe how powerful it was when people got up from their "pews" to dance in the aisles. Realizing we weren't in church, I thought my mistake was actually quite appropriate, as the concert felt like being at a rocking service.

An additional note: In the opening of this song, recorded in Johannesburg, South Africa, at the Live 8 concert, Vusi reminds me so much of former Teens Rock the Mic poets, spitting poetic narratives quickly into the mic...In this case, Mr. Mahlasela speaks as witness - or in testimony- to the crimes committed during Apartheid...However bleak it may seem, it's truly a song of hope and healing.

Enjoy!

Strange Fruit: A Reflection on Race, Culture, Faith, and Dialogue from the North Side

Southern trees bear strange fruit,

Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,

Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,

Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
- Strange Fruit, Billie Holiday

It's Wednesday night. I am at the Church of St. Philips in North Minneapolis. Actress and singer Thomasina Taylor Petrus is performing in the Mixed Blood Theater production of the one-woman show, "Daughters of Africa." At the corner of 26th and Bryant, inside this Catholic church, I am a member of this diverse audience that includes neighborhood children and teens, parents and mentors all gathered with fellow church members and Patchwork Quilt volunteers from partnering parishes around the Twin Cities. Black, White. Brown, yellow. Old, young. All are welcome and assembled for this free community performance of a musical honoring the lives and legacies of African American women through the ages.

At this moment, I am struck by Ms. Petrus' performance of Billie Holiday. The actress embodies this vocal legend -- physically, emotionally --singing "Strange Fruit" from the stage space created in front of the church's alter. In the course of her song, hearing these harrowing and powerful lyrics, I take note of the setting. I stand in awe of this juxtaposition of a Holiday in our midst, offering such potent words, with Christ on the Cross behind her, hanging atop a multi-colored stone-constructed wall.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south,

The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,

Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,

Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

My breathe stops short for a second. I pause, and take it in. Blood on the leaves. Blood at the root. Bulging eyes, twisted mouth. Bodies swinging. The scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh.

A month ago, I sat in this same space, to witness the ecumenical memorial service for Annshalike Hamilton, a 15 year old young girl found frozen in a garage, two blocks away, having been beaten to death. She was 7 months pregnant. Every sunday, I attend mass in this same space, blending with a congregation of West Africans and Polish Immigrants, North Siders, Suburban members and other Urban dwellers. And I am moved by it all: the proximity of people and tales, language and culture, crucifixion and terror, faith and community, fear and love, creation and transcendence -- all in one space. All seem to converge and speak directly to my core as some kind of celebratory witness of our humanity.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.

By the time the performance ends, we have seen Harriet Tubman, Elisabeth Freeman, Madam C.J. Walker, Zora Neale Hurston, Lena Horne, Rosa Parks, Oprah Winfrey. All come to life. All these women tell their stories, sing and engage our crowd.

Afterwards, after the applause, after the question and answer period -- after the little kids marvel and move toward Thomasina, after the children crawl up to sit next to her, after I even add my comment about this moment that has stood out to me -- this is when I have the next conversation. The layered conversation, the race meets faith meets culture and language conversation.

Fr. Jules Omba Omalanga, my newly installed pastor from the Congo, is locking up the place. I say to this dear man, with brown skin and a warm, round face, "Hey! Good stuff, eh, Pere Jules?"

He is beaming, and notes, in his African-French-accented English: "Did you see all the little kids coming up to her? I love seeing children so engaged."

I smile. I nod. I say, "And, this took place in church, Father!? And there was not one overt mention of Jesus!?" He nods and turns his head to me. I continue, "It's powerful what the arts and opportunities like this do for engaging us all, eh?"

I want to squeeze him. I want to thank him for his role in having this kind of thing happen in our church. I want to talk about my own large catholic spirit layered notions of how faith intersects with story, and works to inspire us all. I hold back. I wonder if this appropriate? I wonder if my Congolese Catholic priest gleans the way words shared, performed, sung this evening, are not unlike the words we hear shared each Sunday morning at service? I consider the way I feel fed by this performance, in a similar way to how I feel fed each time I attend mass and receive the Eucharist. I wonder if I can even utter such things? I wonder how he perceives, what he gleans of this evening, what he gets from the history of African Americans? I wonder too, especially, what it's like when his own Congolese and French-speaking self has only been here a few short years? I wonder if he understands me? Ultimately, I wonder if I understand him?

"Fr. Jules, did you get the "Strange Fruit" reference I mentioned?"

He shakes his head, "no" and continues locking up. Fumbling with keys, he says, "What is this 'strange fruit'?"

I try to explain, "It's an allusion to the lynching of an African American in a song by Billie Holiday."

"What is this word, "lynching?" he asks, still turning locks, still looking puzzled.

I pause, put my hand on his arm, "Father, imagine Jesus is black, and instead of a cross, he's hanging from a rope in a tree. That is 'lynching.'"

Then he nods, stopping, looking straight at me, and says, "Yes. I know many stories like this. It reminds me of stories from home. Stories from places the Congo and other African countries... like in Darfur. I know what this is."

Whew. And there's another conversation, right? Another 15 conversations! Here I am thinking all about catholicism and race and culture and history as it mixes itself up on the North side. Here I am trying to sort if this fellow and I have much in common and how we might ever really communicate, understand one another, be on the same page. And here, in this honest exchange, in this slowing down and stopping sort-of-exchange, my priest and friend takes me right out into the larger world. Into his home country, and into his experiences -- into spaces that I have no first hand knowledge of, but desire to understand deeply. He also takes me right into his own heart. I feel like I am present, lucky, so privileged to be standing here and part of something that feels so much larger.

And it makes me ask:

How many layers of communication must we peel back until we are all on the same page -- until we are all speaking about the same thing, using a common language, or common frame of reference? How many doors, hallways, buildings, alleys, (continents) do we travel over and through, until we find ourselves euphemistically, literally, in same room? What does it take to get there? How many keys do we need? How many doors do we lock and unlock? How many plays and masses and funerals do we attend? How many conversations do we have? Who wants to go through all the work? Who wants the hastle, the mess, the emotion? Who wants to hold feelings of perhaps being lost or confused? Who wants to acknowledge the work, and what exists in this room, on this page, when we arrive? And why would any of us want to go there?

These are questions I'm passionate about. These are questions that plague me. These are questions that seem to be at the heart of all my work and experiences of late. Whew. So I put them out here, in light of this recent encounter, and I invite you to hold this with me.

I invite you into the strange fruit experiences, conversations and contemplations of your own.

LOVE!

Melissa

The Inauguration of President Barack Obama: Honoring His Words

Friends Far and Wide,

As a way to simply honor this historic moment in our Nation's history, in our World's history, I point to lines from President Obama's speech that struck a chord with me. I watched this at home on my television in St. Paul, Minnesota, taking notes and tuning in and out through tears and awe, joy, wonder. I turned to friends on Facebook, as my computer alerted me to messages coming through, simultaneously in response to President Obama's Inaugural address.

When Nomi Nkomo in Johannesburg, South Africa, and Colette Deharpporte in Northeast Minneapolis, posted the exact same excerpt from President Obama's speech as their "status update," I knew I needed to comment as well.

"Know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy." - President Obama

Amen.

I honor the fullness of this moment, by simply echoing back words, phrases, lines, from this new leader's speech, that speak to my heart, mind, spirit and inspire me to lean into our future with hope.

"In the words of Scripture, 'the time has come to set aside childish things...'

America is a friend of each nation. We are ready to lead once more...

For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus - and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace....

Know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy..." -President Barack Obama

Again, can I get an "Amen"?

Here's a link to the entire text of his speech. I'd love to hear your favorite lines.

Happy contemplating!

In Peace, Love, Leadership,

Melissa

International Communication...

Video Skype anyone? Goodness!

I'm sitting at the Fireroast Mountain Cafe in South Minneapolis, and for the past hour have been mesmerized by a young blond who is wearing a headset and has a small video camera mounted to her computer. She has been speaking softly in another language, and conversing clearly with a person via her laptop and this internet connection. She laughs. Smiles. Nods. And I hear this foreign language spoken that takes me to scenes abroad. To life abroad. I imagine different warmer settings and time zones and something outside the frosty morning here in South Minneapolis. I am happy next to this woman.

She packs up her computer and equipment, and I learn she was talking with her sister and parents in Germany. (I have to inquire, right?) She is an education student doing an internship here in a German Immersion school, and has been studying and working in St. Paul for the past four and a half months. She has four weeks to go. She shares that this technology has been a saving grace. "It's just like they are next door, and I can reach out and see them and hear their voice, and it makes me so happy, less homesick."

I have at some point in the recent past been conversing with many of you about what it is to dialogue across nations, lines, borders, races, classes, boundaries....and how we develop and maintain relationships while living, traveling, studying abroad. I'm especially interested in how we raise families and children in the larger world. Seeing this technology at work inspires me as I lean into my future and imagine the possibilities of life and love....Here. And Abroad.

Yes!

Happy Contemplating and Communications!
Melissa

40th Birthday Tribute (Pre-Africa Departure)

The following birthday song was written and performed by David Mann, and recorded and posted to You Tube by my dear friend Brian Mogren on the occasion of my 40th Birthday. I share as a glorious way to close out my 2008, and say, "Thank you" to all of you. LOVE! -Melissa



David Mann and friends celebrate Melissa Borgmann on the occasion of her 40th birthday and departure for six weeks of travel through Africa.

"North of Uganda and God" - Compassionate Inquiry as Response

The following arrived in my inbox as a response to Monday's blog post about the recent massacre in the Congo. I found it particularly powerful in the complex and compassionate questions that my friend is posing. He writes from his perspective as a Ugandan residing in Minnesota. I share anonymously with his permission, and with much gratitude for such correspondence. You will see my response below.

***

Melissa, is this why some people choose to stay within their areas of comfort, environments they understand, situations they can interpret? Sometimes our quest to expand our horizons can be a nightmare in itself! Sometimes its better to stay within the confines that make sense. I have reached a point in my life where I do not fault those who are not traveled (not even beyond their state of origin). Sometimes one is better off knowing so little but, at the minimum, in position to make sense of the little. More knowledge, of and about our world can be overwhelming. It can be confusing. It can be hard to reconcile human nature and humanity.

Obviously, as you state in your writing, you are conflicted by what you read and what you experienced in your travels. How do you reconcile that? The terrible truth is that you reconcile by digging deeper into the details, into the history, into the propaganda and guess what....... sounds like even more confusion as you uncover the background noise.

For example, the bitter truth about the LRA atrocities over the last 16 years is that more than half have been committed by the Ugandan army. Remember all this has happened in the North of Uganda and God..... does the government have such spicy hatred for the people of the North........ Wanna know why?..... read some more*...... Its terrible........!! Those people have suffered at the hands of our government!

In Uganda not many people would pay attention to a 'Church Burning' story by the LRA. Suprise!!! ....... Well yeah.. Because no one believes that it either happened or it was at the hands of the LRA.

Enough for now..... Its a terrible world.

Its a beautiful day out here, in MN...., in the US of A.

Too bad for the Iraqis or Palestinians who can't say the same......

Well, if you have a headache blame it on the winter!

***

*For more information on the Lord's Resistance Army, here's a link to the International Criminal Courts Investigations. This is provided by the Global Policy Forum, which monitors Policy -Making at the United Nations.
-Melissa

Questions on the Congo, LRA, Uganda - from Omaha, Nebraska

What is the Lord's Resistance Army?
How much do I want to really want to know about warring factions in Africa?
What is the relationship between colonization in the Congo (and Uganda and the Sudan and....) and anyone called "Lord"?
Who is Joseph Kony and what might my Congolese priest, Fr. Jules, have to say about him? How am I connected to any of these details about a place so far away, when I'm so happily present with family in Omaha, Nebraska?
Why ask questions?

These are some of my queries this Monday afternoon, in no particular order, as I peruse today's headlines and wonder aloud about this recent atrocity in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

What is going on?

I arrived home a week ago today from my six week sojourn through six countries in Africa, and still my mind and heart and spirit persist in staying connected to this other continent.

I am in Omaha. It's after Christmas. I'm visiting family. I am tending to my nearly three year old niece Izzy today, and taking in this news from the BBC that sort of staggers me.

"Women and children cut in pieces,
45 civilians in a Catholic church hacked to death
Uganda's army has accused the Lord's Resistance Army
LRA leader Joseph Kony again refused to sign a peace deal.
He lives in a jungle hide out in the DR Congo.
The South Sudanese government hosts peace negotiations."

And I wonder. I sit in Omaha, and marvel at it all: What I don't know. What I do. What I have experienced, what I am currently experiencing.

Seventeen days ago I sat in the Kampala Club across from Ishaka Mawanda, who slipped me a note saying that the second in command of the Ugandan Army was seated two feet to my right. Now I'm reading about members of this General's military operation who are working to restore some kind of peace and order to a place where children are being killed, and it gives me pause. I tend to a child, who is breath-taking, beautiful in her innocence, and I believe she cannot be much different from the babies who are caught in the middle of this mayhem in Central and Eastern Africa.

What is going on?

Izzy is coloring. Her father is in the next room with a small team of contractors, working to remodel the living and dining area of their humble Omaha abode, and I'm in awe at the juxtaposition of war of development, family and faith, questions, curiosity, seeming contentment.

What is going on?

What do any of us really know about what goes on in the world? What makes us care?

I sit, wonder, and something in me is deeply stirred. I am not angry, but am moved toward a kind of outrage at what I know of the beauty of Africa, and what gets reported. I am moved toward a kind of outrage over the complexity that exists in trying to hold circumstances outside me with the immediacy of what my heart knows in loving family here, and a larger family abroad. I am not biologically related to anyone in Africa, but my body, heart, spirit knows a connectedness that transcends blood. And it all begs attention and inspires questions.

What is going on?

In peace, discomfort, contemplation,
Melissa

A "Welcome Home from Africa" - Rising Poem....

"There is no disorientation quite like sleep depravataion combined with the jet lag." -Colette DeHarpporte

***

I am home from Africa, having arrived yesterday around noon, from the glorious Accra, Ghana. My heart does a funny leap writing this line, now at 3:47am in my St. Paul, Minnesota apartment, where a Winter draft greets my still-in-Africa-skin, and my body struggles to re-acclimate to the cold, this time zone. Yes.

Today's Writer's Almanac Poem*, by Robert Bly, arrives in my in box, next to my friend Colette's email, like sweet, warm, sort of "Welcome home!" words.

Disoriented, rising at this hour of dark, when my head expects light, I recognize Bly's words alive and at work inside my being: "Navies are setting forth in my veins." Yes. Little ships are moving, porting packages from my heart toward other destinations in the body. African gifts of story, memory, warmth, are being toted through my blood stream as I wake and wonder where I am, and what this air is that moves from outside, through the cracks in my windows, over my exposed South-African-Zanzibarian-Kenyan-Ugandan-Ghanaian-sun-tanned limbs....

I am happy thinking of the Indian Ocean. I am ecstatic seeing Saddam Dzikunun-Bansah's face in my mind's eye, or hearing Dumisani Ntombelas's voice the other side of a line, sending me off with South African parting words. I giggle thinking of Nomi Nkomo's sweet, silly text messages standing in line at customs. I marvel at the Dorothy Amenuke-Art-house-Arthaus dreams still alive and being constructed in real life time in Kumasi -- as well as in my own imagination. I wonder about Ishaka Mawanda and Emily Morris and if they are carrying Africa with them in their now on-safari-in-Minnesota-blood streams...? (Surely, they must understand this poem and the way waking so early in the cold affects the heart, mind, spirit.) I hold the questions of Patrick Kilonzo and Kenyan-Paper-making-collaborations in my rising body -- along with a happy desire to return to the Eastern Cape and squeeze a beloved Auntie Mo Dabula by her 70th birthday....

I read "Welcome Home" emails from State Side family and friends with requests for my American address and imagine the Holiday greeting cards that will arrive at 2338 Marshall Avenue in St. Paul. (Where will these cards arrive next year, or years to come? What is my address? Where do I live?) Hmmmmm......Where does any of us really reside?

A woman named Nozi, who is not my South African Community Development friend from Nquthu, drops me a line wondering how she got onto my Africa-emails-list-serve. I wonder this, too. My head filled with poems and dizzy dawn dreams and so much desire to locate my body in a proper time, place, aligning all of me with what my heart knows. Where does Ms. Motloung live? What is her email address? Where am I? Where are you?

Happy Morning. Happy Rising and Return Journeys to all who read this.

Yes!

Love,

Melissa

*Waking from Sleep

by Robert Bly

Inside the veins there are navies setting forth,

Tiny explosions at the waterlines,

And seagulls weaving in the wind of the salty blood.

It is the morning. The country has slept the whole winter.

Window seats were covered with fur skins, the yard was full

Of stiff dogs, and hands that clumsily held heavy books.

Now we wake, and rise from bed, and eat breakfast!

Shouts rise from the harbor of the blood,

Mist, and masts rising, the knock of wooden tackle in the sunlight.

Now we sing, and do tiny dances on the kitchen floor.

Our whole body is like a harbor at dawn;

We know that our master has left us for the day.

"Waking from Sleep" by Robert Bly, from Silence in the Snowy Fields. © Wesleyan University Press, 1962. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)