Tuesday, April 13, 2010


Our security rules in Kinshasa are stricter than our rules in Goma.

In Goma, we can walk ourselves to the office. As long as it is daylight, we can walk to the coffee shop by the first round-about or past it to the grocery stores. We can walk to the border with Rwanda and cross, and walk through Gisenyi to the beach.

In Kinshasa, we aren’t allowed to walk. Ever.

I’m here through Friday at least, now. On Friday, I will go to the airport and I will stand at the end of the runway and I will stick out my thumb, squeeze shut my eyes, and pray that the MONUC flight deigns to take me on board.

Kinshasa is nice for some things. My colleagues are nice. I like having lunch together with them. It’s nice to get face-time with my boss and to discuss work in person instead of via the crackly cell phone. I like going to my boss’s home for dinner almost every night. I like swimming in the green deep warm swimming pool at our guesthouse. It’s interesting to see this big funny hot loud rusty dusty colorful metallic city.


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