As I sit here on the plane somewhere thousands of feet in the air in between DRC and Kenya, I attempt to unwind and sip chai tea. Departing from Kinshasa airport was a taxing experience and I thought I had my share of airport fun. Nine security checkpoints, one member of my van deciding to take a photo of the airport and then caught by the police for his illegal act but later having the camera returned, delaying of my flight twice and bribing the ticket counter lady with American candy to lower my excess bag fee (ok not really, I had to get rid of 9 kilos so the candy weighed 1kg but she did take off 4 kg). I realize that I have some certainty about where I am headed. I pat myself in the back for reserving the room for tonight far enough in advance to get a shared room at the Mennonite Guest House, where I stayed in Nairobi for some of the time last year though my flight delay might leave me without the prearranged taxi from the airport. I’m kind of wishing I was that diligent about planning how to get to Shirati. Last year I paid a small chunk for the private van that took us all to Shirati and then a large chunk for the private car that took Melody and I back. This time, running on no budget, private car is out of the question. I have to face the local bus. The one that will take 10+ hours, have only Swahili speakers, breaks down quite consistently, keep on constant guard of my stuff (which is a small mountain) and don’t accept food from strangers (like one unfortunate American who was drugged and had his stuff stolen). I sort of arranged for an escort from Shirati to help me from Nairobi but realized I never received a confirmation for tomorrow…so either all is set and well and I’m on a limb.
Besides the logistics of how to return to Shirati, I know that I have needed to. Since I was 7 years old, I’ve longed with a deep desire to traverse continents to Africa and perform some sort of meaningful service work. I finally realized that dream last year with a research grant from USC to carry out a small self-designed study with Melody. I fell in love with it all, the research, walking house-to-house, the warm, friendly locals, the bottled sodas, and beauty of African nature. Mel and I haphazardly started a few programs days before leaving without much foresight into how we would sustain them. These included sponsoring an orphaned kingergartener with school assistance, shelter and food, starting the first girls soccer league in the area and malaria prevention education. Somehow these programs continued in our absence through wire transfers, e-mails and Skype calls every few months. It has been a little shy of 1 year since I nervously left LA to immerse myself for 7 weeks in the most poverty-stricken area I have seen yet. Towards the end, I did not want to leave and made a promise to come back. Originally, I imagined this fun trip where Mel and I with a few of our friends and boyfriends would return and work on building our programs together. Life happens and no one else was able to go so I shrugged and prepped for a solo trip. It can’t be that bad right? I travel alone all the time and meet up with others. The bus does intimidate me quite honestly. I know after this experience of spending the next 3 weeks alone (mostly) will only help me grow. I admit I will miss having that moral support when making ethical decisions or experiencing the most amazing moments with Melody like seeing the girls soccer team for the first time or reuniting with Babu.
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