Tilling the ground

I wrote about quarantine long before it was actually a thing. Seems like the whole world is locked inside now, but it's not much of a change for us. Luckily, since we live on campus, our "back-yard" is vast. There is much to be grateful for in that sense.

I have been thinking back to other lock downs and pending evacuations. The first time it happened in Congo I was torn between having the school potentially require me to leave and feeling that there was no better place to be than exactly where I was.

In the face of these new uncertain times, no such dilemma ensued. In fact, our school borderline required us to stay. Not in so many words, of course, but there was definitely, initially, a lot of pressure. This didn't really influence my decision, as the only other place I'd rather be wasn't really available at the moment. I do think most people with families should have been encouraged to join them as soon as possible. As a result, there are quite a few families and singles waiting on evacuation flights. I've heard these last minute flights have gone off without too much of a hitch in some other West African nations. Not here, naturally.

While no one is exactly sure why, the emergency flights set up for this week were postponed and rescheduled every day, until finally being cancelled 'until further notice.' It seems to have something to do with negotiations around allowing the pilots into the airport. Clearly not successful. It might be too late.

We are in the awkward position of watching our family and friends around the globe battle this illness as it makes it way to Africa. I have been hoping against hope that somehow Africa will be spared the worst of it. She has suffered so often and bears so much of the pain of life, I would be grateful to see her sit this one out. It's time, I think. She has certainly paid her dues.

I have no doubt we all be touched this. The virus travels in humans, and witnessing the spread from country to country and across continents proves how interconnected we all are. Our family recently received that middle of the night call that everyone dreads. Except it came in the afternoon. Having the sun shining while hearing of death doesn't make the knees stronger. It doesn't stop the heart from dropping or the tears from flowing. And now we are filled up with sadness. Our personal sadness, the sadness of thousands of families losing the ones they love, and sadness at the injustice of it all. Beneath the tragedies, lies a basic foundation of injustice and we can only hope that somehow, in the rebuilding of new systems, the ground will be dug up, turned over and a truly fresh start ensues.

Refugee in Reverse

"She's living out of a suitcase. She had all of her stuff shipped back home." The conversation came on the heels of a premonition someone on campus felt about the security of life for us ex-pats in the DRC. I was catapaulted into a state of shock for entirely different reasons.

Congo is full of aid workers and 'helping' agencies. I've been reading and learning a lot about the real effect this kind of work has on a country. In addition, MONUC is a huge presence here in the capital as well as in the east. It's complicated trying to weigh the cost/ benefits. But because we are already living in such  high tension, I had difficulty imagining an event that would warrant evacuating the foreigners.

Nevertheless, my neighbor and I continued to contemplate. What would our contracts cover? Where would we go? And what would happen to any of the things we left behind? She contemplated how to best provide something for her nanny- who would certainly be in dire straits without a job. And I wondered what all of the Congolese who depended on foreigners for their livelihood would do.

But mostly I thought about myself. I felt caught in the dilemma of nationhood. Where would I be shipped off to? I simply can no longer imagine life in the U.S. and feel no desire to go back. For an instant of panic, I felt that familiar, weightless, floating sense of being without a home- no where to go. There are plenty of people I've encountered recently who have lived in the Congo for a decade or more. I wonder precisely at which moment does a country become home and when does the birthplace become abandoned, or if not abandoned, replaced as the country of identification?

While my neighbor continued to make decisions and lists about which of her things would be most important in an immediate evacutaion, I continued a stubborn resistance. I'm not going. Can I really say I'm not going? But I don't want to go. I have nowhere to go. Why should I go? This one track questioning played over and over in my mind as I compared myself to the Congolese--- who had no decision to make. I've long struggled with this ability to fly out of conflict. A privilege? A curse? A point of confusion if nothing more. Suddenly I felt like a refugee in reverse. I fully realized that someone else may very well be making this decision for me. And I realized it is not a hazard of teaching in many places. But in Africa, at any moment, the government could go south and things could get, well.....tricky. But I really am not ready to give up what I have found.

I am still clinging to the idea when you're home, you're home. And I don't feel able to fly off in the face of danger. I have never felt more content in my life, in my being, in the way I am greeted by each new day.