Francine

Today was disconcerting.  I woke up running through in my mind how I would speak to a group of women in Congo about how to improve their micro-businesses.

Other thoughts were running too, I was fuming about an email I received earlier this week. After three days, one minor comment a co-worker made kept ringing in my head and making my heart sour. 

So, with that comment on my mind, I went to my women’s meeting.  The meeting itself went well, there was open sharing and building of community, essential to formation of self-help groups that can work and save to provide an economic safety net together. 

But, I noticed Francine (not her real name) hadn’t come to the meeting today.  She had stood out to me from our first Wednesday morning meeting, because she was a prayer warrior.  Her solution for every problem that came up was always to be on her knees in prayer, day and night, and to not forget the power that each of us had through the Spirit in our lives.  I remembered her because of her hopeful spirit, because she inspired me to take my faith deeper.

I assumed she didn’t come to the meeting because she had too much work at the house, in her garden, or a family member was sick in the hospital.  Those are some of the regular reasons that keep women from showing up to meetings.  But at the end of our morning session, it was shared that Francine herself was in the hospital.  What for? we asked.  Last week her husband beat her so badly she could barely walk.  My heart sank into the pit of my stomach.  I didn’t know. I didn’t know the burden that she carried with her everywhere she went.  I insisted that we go visit her in the health clinic. 

We walked in the blazing sun, and through the sweat of my furrowed brow I tried to think of what I would say to my friend, when I knew all of my normal American advice would be less that helpful.  “ You leave that son of a bitch. You don’t deserve this behavior.  Do what’s right for yourself and for your kids.”  But that wouldn’t work here.  Being married is your social key to survival.  If a woman wanted a divorce, especially someone like Francine, without a high school education and another job to support herself, she is chained to her marriage.  Leaving her husband would be social suicide.  And in Congo, social ties are everything, the key to survival.  So her choices are to stay with an abusive and devaluing husband, or be excommunicated.  Oh God, help her.

We reached the health clinic, but they informed us that Francine had already gone home.  She lives in a mud home not far from the clinic, so we hurried on to see her.  She tried to smile as we approached, and was quick to find us chairs so we could sit and be comfortable.  I shared a broken bamboo chair with Francine as she settled in to tell us her tale of woe.  Her face was downcast, but I could see, her spirit was not broken.  She told us what had happened the Sunday before – her family had two guests staying for the evening, and Francine was responsible for feeding and taking care of the guests, which is a typical role for Congolese women.  Cooking and cleaning literally take all day, so Francine was exhausted, and had had little time for herself.  Finally, when the meal was finished and the visitors were relaxing with a cup of coffee outside the house, Francine decided to bathe before going to bed.  As she was bent over to wash her feet she felt something come down hard on her lower back “WHACK!!”  She gasped for the air that had been knocked out of her lungs and tried to turn around to see what happened – her husband continued to hit her, screaming that she should not be outside the house with the visitors, that she was being unfaithful.  Francine fought to get out of his grasp and yelled for help, and eventually the neighbors stepped in.  But damage had already been done.  Francine told us through a quiet yet hard voice that she needed to leave, because he could have hit her on the head and she would be dead already.

 Francine has a difficult decision.  She could go to her family, over 400km away for refuge because the community recognizes that her husband is a mean drunk that is not changing his abusive behavior.  But if she does that, her husbands family has the right to her three children, and they will not be able to go with her to Bumba, her hometown.  It is likely that Francine will decide to stay with her husband and continue to endure beatings for fear of losing her children.

There is no abuse hotline to call here, no functioning policing system.  Francine will rely on the council of her neighbors, church and extended family members.  And she is not broken, because she has a faith stronger than mine – she knows her God has a plan for her life and that he would not let her suffer for nothing.  When you look into Francine’s eyes, she sees beyond pain and abuse – she sees the light that she has been invited to claim, and she is reaching, always reaching for it. 

I thought back to the email that had made me so angry earlier that week. I was all up in arms about a small comment that was made about me.  I have the privilege of being angry, and being able to safely voice my opposition when I feel I’ve been wrongly judged.  Francine doesn’t have that privilege, and is forced to live in fear for herself and her children, but continues to trust that God will make a way.  My worries suddenly seem so small and silly.

Pray with me for Francine, and the millions of women just like her in Congo and around the world.