|
It was never the plan to live in the United States. It was never the plan, but God has a way of redirecting the plans.
My father was a security guard at a gold mine in a small town in the northeast of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. My mother ran a small business, selling tomatoes, onions, and bananas in a local market near our home in Bunia. In Congo people often go to work but don’t get paid. And so it was with my father—I don’t ever remember him being paid. But we did have a house that was provided by the company.
Although my parents were very dedicated to our education, they couldn’t afford school for all thirteen of us children. Even though I am the seventh child, I was the first one to get an education. My mother was able to pay for most of my first two years of school, but then the money ran out.
I still tried to attend school. Every day I would wake up at 4 a.m. and walk seven miles to the school, but the teachers would kick me out of class because my parents could not pay the “minerval,” the monthly fee of $2. Instead of going home, I would stop and play soccer with friends until it was time to go home. My siblings and I were very discouraged and felt we had no hope.
Continue reading Flory's story
|