30
Jun
(Photo by http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/287289)
Today June 30th is Congo’s Independence Day. Congolese all over the world are celebrating. My country of origin is 49 years old; very young, indeed, and still going through massive growing pains. Congolese-Americans are celebrating the day with barbecues and parties. As for me, since I live in a tiny town in Iowa, I spend the day quietly reflecting on all the cherished memories I hold of everything “Congo” in my life.
30
Jun
26
Jun
Several years ago, I wrote a letter to Michael Jackson, thanking him for saving me and my sister. I never did mail that letter, but somehow my letter ended up printed in a newspaper and I told my story on VH1. So here it is…
Dear Michael Jackson,
My name is Kabuika Kamunga. One of your songs saved my sister and I in the Congo. Back home in the early 1980s, Congo’s President Mobutu oppressed the population with his military regime.
“I will arrest any woman who wears pants,” soldiers boasted in the streets.
Unfortunately, the law gave them the right to do so. According to the dictator, pants were European symbols and thus forbidden.
“But pants are fashionable,” I thought.
My Belgian classmates wore them all the time. And at 16, I was willing to take the risk of getting arrested. So my sister Noelle and I often wore pants to go school. Since we drove to school, I felt we were pretty safe. And when I had to stop and pump gasoline, I usually scanned the surroundings to check if there were any soldier around. Noelle and I promised each other that if we ever got caught, we would start speaking English to make believe that we were not Congolese.
One day we got caught. Two soldiers zoomed in on us, as Noelle and I were wearing our favorite pairs of blue jeans.
“Papier!” The soldiers shouted at us in French, demanding to see our ID. The threatening look on their faces did not leave any room for negotiation. Jail was where they intended to send us. That’s the place where people disappeared and women got raped. We had to avoid going there at all cost.
I looked at my sister. English was our way out of this mess. The problem was we barely spoke English. However, I knew the words of Michael Jackson’s song “Beat It” by heart and Noelle knew one line.
I turned to her with a well-acted perplexed look on my face and we started to “speak” the song.
Me: “They told me don’t you come around here. Don’t want to see your face, you better disappear. The fire in their eyes and their words are very clear…”
Her: “Yes, yes, yes, so beat it. Just beat it.”
The soldiers looked at each other wondering who we were. Noelle and I were the image of confusion itself, we shrugged our shoulders and continued speaking.
Me: “You better run, you better do what you can. Don’t want to see no blood, don’t be a macho man. You want to be tough, better do what you can…”
Her: “Yes, yes, yes, so beat it, just beat it.”
This went on for a while. The soldiers did not understand a word of what we were saying. Finally one of them shooed us away.
“Ceux sont des étrangères! They’re foreigners!”
Noelle and I looked at each other, then started walking away still reciting the song:
Me: “No one wants to be defeated”
Her: “Yes, yes, yes, just beat it.”
Me: “Show me how strong is your fight.”
Her: “Yes, yes, yes, just beat it.”
Me: “It doesn’t matter who’s wrong or right…”
When we finally got to the safety of our car, we burst out laughing. We congratulated ourselves for tricking the military, thus the government.”
So, thank you Michael for your song “Beat It”.
Sincerely,
Kabuika
25
Jun
I have never spent a summer doing absolutely nothing. And here I am planning to stay in Iowa for the summer. Will I have a do-nothing summer? What is there to do in a small town of 10,000 people? Any suggestion? I am living one hour south of Iowa City.
24
Jun
Marcia's Last Feast
24
Jun
I went to Chicago twice to film Marcia as she organized her last dinner party. She is a fearless old woman who is going through a big transition. I have known Marcia for 16 years; she is truly an inspiration. I directed and produced the resulting film, Marcia’s Last Feast, which premiered on June 12th in Fairfield, Iowa. I am looking for additional venues to show the short film and am currently submitting it to film festivals. Any suggestion will be welcome.
Watch the trailer and let me know what you think.
Below is a description of the 20-minute film.
“For the past 62 years, Marcia has prepared a Passover feast in her home. This year she is facing a major change in her life. It is time for the 86-year-old widow to move. Not because she wants to. But because she has to.”
17
Jun
I just booked an airline ticket to attend a close friend’s wedding this weekend. My first American wedding in a long time. Comme une Africaine qui se respecte (sorry there is no real translation in English for this French expression)… like a typical procrastinating African, I did not plan ahead and waited until the lat minute to book my flight. Actually, M, the mother of the bride, called me and prompted me into action. It’s a good thing I am going, M said to me. I would have wasted close to a $1000 otherwise _ on food alone.
$150 per plate for the dinner rehearsal
$40 per plate for lunch the following day
$600 per plate on the wedding day.
600 dollars!?! An Iranian friend of mine said that plate could feed the whole of Africa. Well, I wouldn’t go that far! But I’m thinking $600 worth of food for me alone? I can’t wait to taste it. What will the food look like? Maybe it will have gold nuggets mixed in with the rice. I hope so; I’ll keep them as souvenirs. In any case, I will have to film the 600-dollar food. Filming the eating experience will be a great excuse to present to my professor, since I will have to take 2 days off to attend the wedding.
Professor Gurdy, I will be filming in Florida for 2 days.
What will I film, you ask? A $600 plate of food.
Maybe that plate is a symbol of American weddings nowadays. I will find out.
16
Jun
Marcia’s Last Feast
For the past 62 years, Marcia has prepared a Passover feast in her home. But this year she is facing a major change in her life. It is time for the 86-year-old widow to move. Not because she wants to, but because she has to.
This 20-minute film brings you an unusual slice of life.