Kin

I have had dinner both nights with my lovely boss and her interesting partner. They have cooked and given me French cheeses and wheat breads. When you go out on the balcony in the back of their apartment with a glass of red wine in your hand, you can see the lights of the city stretching for miles, but you can also see Orion and friends winking at you from the sky. Stars and city lights meet at the horizon.

Kinshasa. Kin is HOT. The guesthouse has a swimming pool and air conditioning. (The swimming pool is green and the air conditioning is dependent on the generator working, but there you go.)

When you leave the guesthouse for the office at 7 a.m., the drive takes you 12 minutes tops. When you leave at 7:30 a.m. or later, bring a book. It will take you over an hour. Blink in the morning and the roads meld into parking lots.

In the office, I have been alternating between wearing the white loafers the worker in the airport gave me when my flip-flops snapped and hot pink flowered shoes my boss loaned me. (Oh yes. I've been looking cool.)

I still can’t believe the generosity of that random woman giving me her shoes. As if I were her neighbor, her kin.

(Obviously, it was especially kind since we all know that there is a dire drought of shoes, shoes, shoes in developing countries.)

Soak in strength from the milk of human kindness.