I WOULD HEAR OFTEN..."YOU'RE NOT BLACK. YOU'RE AN OREO."... OR "GO BACK TO AFRICA!"

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NM: So I am standing in this grocery store, and it's been a long time since I've seen Americans.

NM: And I hear an American accent. And I'm like UUUHHH! Americans! Right? It was this group of two or three guys, and so I go up to talk to them. And before I talk…

It's been about two or three weeks since Ngofeen has been overseas … which on this trip feels like eternity. He’s hit that point when anything from home is comforting… a slice of pizza… a drink with ice in it… even just the taste of cinnamon. And so he's in this grocery store, browsing the aisles.

He sees this look in their eyes. They don’t seem particularly excited to see a fellow American. And then he remembers. Right. This is Congo. And I am black.

NM: What they see of me coming up to them is just another Congolese person because that’s what I am. They just see another black guy who’s going to come bother them and ask them for something. And you can see this shutting down, like ugh. And then the second I say something, and my American accent comes out, they’re like, “Oh! We can talk to you.” You know, they don’t say that, but you see it. Wait… why didn’t I matter before I was American?

You’re listening to The Power is Out, and my name is Austin Dannhaus. I’m filling in this week for Ngofeen, who you just heard… telling me about an encounter he had with a group of white Americans while traveling in the Congo in 2009.

It was a pretty pivotal trip for Ngofeen…one that set him on the path to becoming a lawyer. And this episode I’m helping him tell that story, of how he spent the better part of a decade training to be, then working as, a lawyer before leaving it all behind.

Now, if you know Ngofeen, you probably know that he cares a lot about advocacy. About standing up for others. But what’s not immediately apparent is how that passion… comes from a part of his past that’s deeply personal. His struggle as a teenager, to figure out the protocols of race in the spaces around him. Especially at school and at church.

NM: It was constantly like you don’t fit in. I would hear often like, “Oh, you’re not really black. You’re an oreo. You’re black on the inside and white on the inside.” Classmates would say stuff like that. “Man, you’re not black.” Or “Go back to Africa.”

Ngofeen had never been to Africa. He was born in Indiana… moved to the South in middle school. He grew up in a black church, then a white church… and went to a largely black and white high school… Regardless, from early on, the recurring message was pretty clear. He never quite acted like he was supposed to.

NM: In 1999, in 2001, no one was talking about the idea of like there being facets as to what a black person can be or look like. I feel like it was like, if you talk the way that I talk you’re not black.

AD: Do you remember having a strong desire to be connected to either of those groups at a young age? Or did you go back and forth between where you felt most comfortable to fit in.

NM: That’s a hard question. So I remember this instance… we were still living in Indiana and we went to a black church. And I just remember, apparently back in the day I was really ashy. And I remember like other kids making fun of me for that. It was being ashy and having nappy hair. And it’s like, I’m not ashy anymore, but I feel like my hair is generally nappy. But like I remember that then… I remember having this feeling of like… I don’t want to be made fun of. So, it’s not that I didn’t want to be part of the black community, but I always had this feeling of like… I’m never black enough.

But amidst the competing narratives about who Ngofeen should be, what shaped him the most… were the moments of grace... the people that showed up along the way to give him a hand. People like his friend Stephen.

NM: I met this guy Steven, and he rode my bus. He was in 8th grade with me. And whenever people made fun of me, he would stand up for me. As I grew to understand who I was as a person, what came with that was this sense of defending other people.

That feeling would start to take shape in college. In 2006, Ngofeen saw Invisible Children, a documentary that told the story of a group of kids in Northern Uganda… Hundreds of kids who slept in bus parks, schools, and hospitals so they won’t be kidnapped and forced to become child soldiers… Their stories were harrowing.

There was one kid, in particular, Jacob, whose older brother had been killed by rebel soldiers. Jacob said he and his younger brother were now all alone, with no one taking care of them. And that he’d rather die than stay on earth. His words cut right to the heart.

We all have those moments in our lives, the ones we can’t come back from. For me, it was stepping foot into my 3rd grade classroom as a 1st year teacher just out of college. Seeing the faces of my students – I knew I’d spend the rest of my life serving young people, working in education. And for Ngofeen, it was hearing Jacob’s story. The raw emotion in Jacob’s voice kindled something inside of him.

NM: I just knew that that’s what I wanted to do. Be a person that is speaking up for those people and doing something about those situations.

Ngofeen spends the rest of his college years studying all things humanitarian---international relations, internal displacement, … he takes a class on genocide. But the decision that will affect his career the most… he makes in 2009… during his first trip to Congo…. Here’s Ngofeen:

NM: The day we get picked up … the day that we’re flying into Kinshasa the capital. Then looking out at the plane to try to see the city lights. And my mom saying, “Haha. Trying to see the city lights. That’s funny.” And then being picked up at the airport and taken to my aunt’s house where we stayed and the first day we’re there, the first night, it being pitch black and there not being electricity. And eating, I am fairly sure we ate omelets that night by candlelight. And then I didn’t see what Congo looked like until the morning. And we go outside, and it’s like… dang this is bright and green… this looks like Africa.

Even though Ngofeen had never been there before… being in Congo, in some ways, felt like coming home. The culture, the food, the music… the fact that people could say his name. It all felt so familiar. It was great.

NM: It was weird because I no longer had this feeling of feeling outside. Like I went to Congo and people could say my name when they read it. Oh, right. Because I’m Congolese. Everyone’s black. And I am black too. And it sounds dumb, but yeah. Right.

Still, the good always comes with the bad. And Congo was no different. The days without running water, the indefinite power outages, … and moments like the one in the grocery store, at the start of our story…. where Ngofeen’s standing in the aisle… hoping to speak that group of Americans, but can’t, until he proves he’s like one of them.

On the surface, it might not seem like a big deal, but what Ngofeen felt in the seconds before those guys realized he was American... is something he’s never forgotten. In that moment, Ngofeen got a glimpse of what it felt like to be Congolese. It meant… being seen by the outside world… not as a person deserving of dignity. But just as a nameless, voiceless “other.”

Even when it came to Congolese politics, he saw how people in power used the law to abuse the vulnerable.

NM: In Congo, lawyers exist to extort you. So the only reason you go to a lawyer is because it is the last, last, last option.

This is what convinced him to law school. To get a practical skillset he could use to actually help people.

BREAK.

After the break, Ngofeen heads to law school, and a few years later his life starts falling apart. What happened after the break.

Coming back from Congo, Ngofeen heads to law school, focusing as much as he can on human rights and international law. His family also starts a small non-profit in Kinshasa. And, over the next few years, he learns more and more about being an advocate.

But---and this is important---he’s doing it at the same time that American politics are getting increasingly turbulent. You remember this time, right?

In summer 2013, as Ngofeen studies homicide for the bar exam, a Florida jury issue his verdict in the Trayvon Martin trial, sparking the creation of the Black Lives Matter movement.

In 2014, just days before Ngofeen files his first lawsuit as a junior attorney at the law firm, the governor of Missouri declares a state of emergency in anticipation of what would become days of protests in Ferguson, Missouri.

In 2015, just months after Ngofeen’s first oral argument, the picture of 3-year old Alan Kurdi goes viral… you know the one… the Syrian boy whose body washed ashore on a beach in Turkey.

With each event, the national conversation gets more and more heated...

Meanwhile, work’s not going well for Ngofeen. One of the crappy parts of being an attorney is billing your time. At Ngofeen’s job he had to record his time in 6-minute intervals. He had timers to keep track of everything. Phone call with client---6 minutes. Drafting an e-mail to opposing counsel--18 minutes. Revising legal brief -- 42 minutes. When he went to the bathroom, he’d turn off the timer. If he forgot to, he’d subtract the 6 minutes he’d lost. So, he constantly found himself thinking, “You’re wasting time. You’re not working hard enough.”

And on top of that, Ngofeen was trying to manage the non-profit he and his family started in the Congo. Which lead to weeks, like this one in 2014… when Ngofeen headed back to Kinshasa with his mom and brother.

WM: Chaotic. That's how that whole week was for me. A very emotionally charged trip.

This is Wamba Mputubwele, Ngofeen’s younger brother.

WM: Because there was the good and the bad all rolled in.

One night, after visiting family, Ngofeen, his brother, and his cousin get into a taxibus to head home.

NM: It’s like a van.

WM: A van that should seat 8 people max, there's like 20 people inside. And instead of normal seats for the van, there's just benches. They take out all the seats, and there's just benches there.

NM: And the sliding door for the van is open, and so there's a guy who stands on that who calls out the stops.

WM: And he's yelling, looking for people who are trying to get on their bus, and when they're full, he taps the side of the van, and the driver keeps driving. So, we're in there, and this lady needed to get out.

NM: They make a stop, and this lady starts to get out of the van.

WM: The car starts going.

NM: And she hasn't finished coming out yet.

WM: And she's in stepping in/out process.

NM: The van is moving, and she hasn't landed.

WM: So she fell out, and I believe the back wheel went over her. I don't know if it was her leg... I don't know what part of her it was, but the back wheel. I just remember the [sound of] going over.

NM: And everyone in the van in Lingala is like, "Stop! Stop! Stop!"

WM: And then, the dude that taps the van, he got up and looked, and I guess he was just, "Nothing to see.. Alright, let's keep going." And I was like, wow, keep going, really?

NM: It was just this moment of like … I… man. It’s really hard to explain, but like… (sigh). I… I like look at my brother, and we…

WM: And I look at my brother, and I was like well, what in the world. And we just kept going. And I'm like, "What? No!" You don't treat somebody like that. You know what I'm saying? Someone just ran over you. Really you need to be taken to a hospital. That's what would happen here? We're not going to check on her, we're not going to see if she's alright. We'll just keep driving like nothing ever happened, like it wasn't significant or anything.

NM: Why are people, human beings made in the image of God living in situations like this? It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t sense.

WM: I don't think I've ever seen anything like that before.

NM: I gotta do something. I have to find some way to contribute and like make things better. And use the voice and use the position that the Lord has put me in to help bring the Gospel to bear on the world that we live in in a really practical way.

Coming home from that trip… Ngofeen was completely wiped. Between anxieties about work, raging national debates that felt personal, and the fact that he’d seen someone almost die, and everyone act like it was normal… he felt overwhelmed. He pressed on best he could. But, after a while, something just snapped.

And suddenly, I watched Ngofeen’s joy --- that great part of him that everyone who knows him appreciates so much --- break down into despair.

I remember what it was like to hear my friend, a straight-A achiever, tell me how he’d hide under his blanket because he couldn’t sum up the strength to go to work. I could tell how much it hurt. How embarrassed he felt. Ashamed.

NM: In the morning, I would get up for work. I’d go, take a shower, get dressed. And I had this long hallway in my apartment. And so I would get out of my room, walk down the hallway to get to over by the door where I’m going to leave. And I would just like fall on the ground in the hallway. And I’d be like God, help. Help. God, I can’t do this. I can’t… Like it’s just too hard. And I’m so overwhelmed…. And I don’t know what to do.

Eventually, Ngofeen told his supervisors about his depression. They were really supportive. He started counseling, considered take a leave of absence. And he finally started processing everything.

Ngofeen was 28. It’d been nearly ten years since he’d first seen Invisible Children… since he’d resolved to become an advocate. And he couldn’t help but ask himself whether it was worth it. He’d think too about his college friends, who’d also set out into the world in hopes of doing good... Ngofeen wondered where they found themselves 10 years later. After the idealism had worn out.

It was easy to dwell on all the struggles... but even as he did, Ngofeen’s mind was constantly being drawn back to his time in the Congo. He’d thought a lot about how in the midst of some of the darkest moments came some of the most humanizing experiences. Like when the power was out… and people gathered together… and chatted… laughed… told stories.

NM: Whenever the power was out, we… you just get silly. Because you find fun things to do.

There was the time Ngofeen told his cousins the story of Lord of the Rings by candlelight. He’d say the lines in English. His teenage old cousin would translate, even Gandalf’s famous line, “You shall not pass.”

There was the time Ngofeen, his mom, and his roommate Chris turned the flashlights on, and munched on beignets, as his mom told them her earliest memories of living in the U.S.

And there was the time Ngofeen and Chris spent the night laughing hysterically about obscure Shaquille O’Neal quotes:

NM: We stayed up late and we were just laughing. It doesn’t even make sense. We were just being silly. The Power being out it was this was place where people were actually being people, interacting with one another.

WM: Family time, that was just really concentrated family time.

Looking back at his time in the Congo, Ngofeen can’t help but smile. From where he sits, the Congolese story is a story of joy, undergirded by a deep pain. But even deeper still is hope. A hope that endures no matter how dark things get.

Remembering Congo, the good and the bad, encouraged Ngofeen to keep persevering… it reminded him he did still want to be an advocate, to keep fighting for others. But maybe the way to do that, looked less like the path he was on… and more like the one that inspired him in the first place.

Maybe, telling stories could be his way of speaking up, of bringing people together. Like when the Power is out in Kinshasa.

NM: My mom before we went on the trip… when we trying to figure out what it’s going to be like or whatever. She’d always be like… you’ll have your own story to tell. I can’t tell your story. And you’ll see. And you’ll have your own story to tell. And it’s like. I have my own story to tell now.

In early 2016, Ngofeen applied to work as a producer at a podcasting company in Brooklyn… telling people’s stories. It would mean leaving his legal career, the one he spent the better part of a decade training for and working in.

A couple days before his final interview, Ngofeen and his friend Luke hopped on a Skype call to chat. Luke asked him to imagine what might happen if he made the career switch.

LP: Ok. This is being recorded. So you get the job at Gimlet, for three months, you’re like this is the greatest thing ever, I’m learning, it’s hard you’re working all the time, you’re being challenged. But like, then the fourth month hits. You’re living situation is hard. You’re tired, you’re not making enough money. The newness has worn off. Why do you want this? Why is it worth it?

NM: (Sigh.) Man. (Laughs.) It’s worth it to learn how to tell good stories. Because that’s how people connect with each other. Especially people that aren’t supposed to be together, or people that are supposed to hate each other, or people that have no reason to care about each other. The way that you connect is through story. And if you learn that, you learn how to get to people’s hearts. And inspire them to do the things that matter like love your neighbor… even the one that’s way over there. Yeah. That’s why.

LP: Say that. Say all that.