The plane ride, while long, was rather uneventful. Or rather, when I arrived at the airport I was initially told the flight was closed. With beads of sweat pouring down my face I wondered exactly how I was going to call with the news. I did my very best to concentrate on deep breathing (this is not happening, this will not happen,…) aware that all the passengers were watching me, waiting for a spectacle. Denial works sometimes and after looking at my ticket (not just to Paris but then to Congo...no, there is probably not another connecting flight), some arrangements were made to hastily get me on the plane. The baggage was deemed too heavy and I was frantic to make the flight. I tore open the bag and tried to decide what things could go. Books? Yes the books on teaching poetry and enriching the lives of youth, gone. Not the bag of medicines. String? Yes the bag of string I wanted to make the Huichol Indian yarn paintings, gone. I‘m tearing things out of the bag dropping stuff on the floor and feeling completely ridiculous. There was no maximum weight listed anywhere. Lamine has done this a million times. Isn‘t this what overweight fees are for?!?!
The man eventually helps me out and passes the bag. I rush through security barely saying goodbye, …..all so we could then sit on the tarmac for an hour and a half. I went from running to the gate pulling children and bags behind to sitting impatiently in a cramped airline seat. Only two of the seats were together but the flight attendants managed to work things out. After that, things were fairly uneventful. Nabih had one small moment of being very over tired and hyper active but by then we had nearly arrived. In Paris we did meet 2 other people going to TASOK and so we became a group.
The arrival in Kinshasa, again, uneventful. Perhaps the night air softened things a bit…..the military guys look less severe with their weapons in the shadow of night (though nothing really softens the acrid smell of burning toxins.) There are areas marked by long yellow lines to walk in imposing a rigid military stride on us all. Anytime the group got too wide, we were ushered back to the marked areas. Guinea was that way as well. It seems so strange to be walking in straight lines and corners when the pavement is vast and open (due of course, I suppose to the crowd control technique.) We were quickly ushered to the VIP area where we found ourselves in comfy chairs and sipping Cokes. Nabih had a pretty major meltdown here but it was really nothing compared to the Conakry airport. For that, I suppose I am grateful. Once I may have had the energy to figure it out, but not this time, not with two children.
After our bags had been corralled, we descended into the night. Outside the airport was full of children selling eggs and others just asking for money or singing things of America. Mohamed was confused by this. He saw children looking like his brother but acting so different. It took awhile for everyone to sort their gear and so the kids sat in a car surrounded by other kids gawking in the windows wondering if they “speaka Englis?”.
“Can we go back to America tomorrow?” Mohamed wondered. He then set about the task of comforting Nabih by explaining how we would be leaving tomorrow and Baba would come to get us.
Perhaps here is where it started, listening to the children and their fears, spoken so openly and with a ready solution. Perhaps it grew when there was talk of missing bags or when my last finally arrived but was split open down the side. Somewhere along the way I began to panic.
The house was a complete surprise. I’m not exactly sure what I had been expecting but it was certainly…LESS. I was not prepared for the enormity of the house. I felt swallowed up and overwhelmed. I did not pack any of the things that would be necessary to cozy this place up. It seemed to be vast tile and freshly painted wall space. Three bedrooms (though one is not considered that I suppose. In my world, it’s perfect for 1.) It seemed so big and empty and there wasn’t much hope of us filling it up.
Mohamed made a valiant effort and decided to put away his clothes and toys. He alone unpacked the suitcase and informed me of where, exactly, I could find the clothes for Nabih.
“We are lucky,” he said as he lined up all his toys: a row of cars followed by a row of lizards and then a few wrestling guys. I could tell he was thinking about the airport. “We have a lot of toys. See?” and he passed his arm across the meager collection. It could fit inside a gallon zip loc bag. I love this side of him, seeing his riches for what they are and making no presumptions.
I imagine his little six year old body straddling two worlds- one of nannies and drivers and European vacations with one of boys in the night trying to sell boiled eggs to jet-lagged Americans. It’s up to me to keep his fragile wisdom whole.
So the small storm began again, swirling in my stomach. By the time we had readied for bed it was a raging hurricane of doubt and fear. Surely I had made the biggest mistake to come here alone. I wanted something comfortable and known as much as the children. I wanted to embrace their simple answer of going home to all things familiar. Failing that I wanted someone else to be here to help weather the clouds of change. There was no way to sleep through the inside noise.
Somewhere in the night, my worries turned to the open bag and what might have fallen out. I worried that I had foolishly placed a box of blank checks in there and that it had been stolen. I was certain at that very moment my bank account was being raided of its whole $500 and then drawn negative. I felt so completely and utterly alone. I prayed all night.
In the morning I found my box of checks securely placed and thanked God for supporting me. The next nights passed nearly the same, full of smaller storms of self-doubt. It was not until Monday night that my stomach calmed enough for real sleep. And it is not until tonight that I have remembered why I came. Slowing down is hard and I resist…but I have passed through the most difficult part of the change and am ready to embrace the adventure.
