Does evil not rest?
I wake up, meet a friend for breakfast and to exchange some files I will bring back to Bunia with me for an NGO he covered while he was in town a few months back. We talk over our lattes and computer screens like a chatty game of Battleship on a Sunday morning in a quasi-euro cafe in Nairobi. He asks if I had heard about the two church bombings that morning up country from us, I ask if he has read this article on dangerous narratives coming out of the Congo, info exchanged on North Kivu, talking about Al-Shabab, commiserating over ineffective and even dangerous aid, he asks if I heard about the massacre of okapis and park rangers… battleship sunk.
Few good things come out of the DRC, in fact, this particular conversation I was having was with a journalist who really aims to report on the progression and positive stories coming out of Africa. Here we are, two people trying to make and find good in a place that is known for the opposite and still, it can feel like such an insurmountable mountain. We know there is good, we know because we see it every day. But my goodness, between the victories are an awful lot of defeats and it can be hard to catch your breath when you are trapped in the impact zone amidst a particularly gnarly set.
The Okapi reserve is a few hundred kilometers from my base in Ango, I have never been there but most of my colleagues have been. It is home to some 14 Okapis, who are on the verge of extinction.
Last week it was ransacked by a group of poachers and rebels in response to stricter control on poaching of elephants in the near by game reserve. From what I understand, all but one of the Okapis were killed, five park guards and some of their families were killed, it is unclear if rape was involved. Computers and all equipment stolen, offices ransacked, the entire center destroyed. I met Rosie once when I first arrived in Congo, this was her life's work - she flies back in today, her meetings in the States cut short so she can return.
This was for no political gain, no real reason, just to prove a point on behalf of the rebels.
Point taken, my faith in humanity has been punched in the gut once again.
You just shake your head in wonderment over what the hell is wrong with people.
Seriously, what the fu*k is wrong with people?
You see so much, you hear about so much and you can only not feel so much of it before something breaks through and knocks you backwards for a bit. In a sense, I am happy i can still feel, most the time I wish I could not. It would be easier. However, in stead of giving up, you pay for breakfast, say another of dozens of goodbyes, catch a cab to the airport and sit in the third of 4 planes that will take you back into the middle of it.
I like these plane rides, they give a nice buffer zone between floating in a crystal clear ocean with lazy nights at the beach bar with more bliss filed travelers and the perpetually sweat, dirt and difficult decisions that await me at the base. I must admit, though, I am rested and ready to get back into the fight.
I was not made to sit in the stands and I am not sure if I will ever be able to go back to my seat there for much longer than the time it takes me to catch my breath. Sometimes I need more time, others less, but I am always resting with one eye on the field.
I wake up, meet a friend for breakfast and to exchange some files I will bring back to Bunia with me for an NGO he covered while he was in town a few months back. We talk over our lattes and computer screens like a chatty game of Battleship on a Sunday morning in a quasi-euro cafe in Nairobi. He asks if I had heard about the two church bombings that morning up country from us, I ask if he has read this article on dangerous narratives coming out of the Congo, info exchanged on North Kivu, talking about Al-Shabab, commiserating over ineffective and even dangerous aid, he asks if I heard about the massacre of okapis and park rangers… battleship sunk.
I had not heard.
Few good things come out of the DRC, in fact, this particular conversation I was having was with a journalist who really aims to report on the progression and positive stories coming out of Africa. Here we are, two people trying to make and find good in a place that is known for the opposite and still, it can feel like such an insurmountable mountain. We know there is good, we know because we see it every day. But my goodness, between the victories are an awful lot of defeats and it can be hard to catch your breath when you are trapped in the impact zone amidst a particularly gnarly set.
The Okapi reserve is a few hundred kilometers from my base in Ango, I have never been there but most of my colleagues have been. It is home to some 14 Okapis, who are on the verge of extinction.
Last week it was ransacked by a group of poachers and rebels in response to stricter control on poaching of elephants in the near by game reserve. From what I understand, all but one of the Okapis were killed, five park guards and some of their families were killed, it is unclear if rape was involved. Computers and all equipment stolen, offices ransacked, the entire center destroyed. I met Rosie once when I first arrived in Congo, this was her life's work - she flies back in today, her meetings in the States cut short so she can return.
This was for no political gain, no real reason, just to prove a point on behalf of the rebels.
Point taken, my faith in humanity has been punched in the gut once again.
You just shake your head in wonderment over what the hell is wrong with people.
Seriously, what the fu*k is wrong with people?
You see so much, you hear about so much and you can only not feel so much of it before something breaks through and knocks you backwards for a bit. In a sense, I am happy i can still feel, most the time I wish I could not. It would be easier. However, in stead of giving up, you pay for breakfast, say another of dozens of goodbyes, catch a cab to the airport and sit in the third of 4 planes that will take you back into the middle of it.
I like these plane rides, they give a nice buffer zone between floating in a crystal clear ocean with lazy nights at the beach bar with more bliss filed travelers and the perpetually sweat, dirt and difficult decisions that await me at the base. I must admit, though, I am rested and ready to get back into the fight.
I was not made to sit in the stands and I am not sure if I will ever be able to go back to my seat there for much longer than the time it takes me to catch my breath. Sometimes I need more time, others less, but I am always resting with one eye on the field.
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