Hi All, I’ve written up some of my reflections
about what it was like to be in Bukavu on November 5th when there
was exchange of light and heavy artillery fire for eight hours between Abbas, a
recently suspended government official’s gang and the national army. You can read more about it here Since Mom
already knows about it, I figured it might be helpful of interesting for you to
hear some of the deeper thinking that it brought about for Mark and me.
It’s not the first time we’ve been awoken by a loud sound
and thought it was gunfire. But this time it was beyond a doubt. Initially, I
didn’t really consider that it could be in the expat neighborhood – it’s the
“safest” neighborhood in town! I assumed it was coming from the governor’s
residence, which is kinda in the same direction from our house. We have had a
“go bag” packed for a few months, so I was starting to mentally go through what
else I needed to throw in.
I didn’t really feel scared for myself, but I was aware of
my responsibility in the situation and felt that heavily. It was hard that I
couldn’t do anything, and we
all just had to stay home and listen to the gunfire.
I also was thinking how everyone was so surprised this was
happening in the expat neighborhood. This is near where Mark and I first lived
when we arrived. A lot of NGOs with high security protocol don’t allow their
expat staff to walk around except in this neighborhood. It was ironic, and we felt kinda gratified in a sick way that we had
chosen to not stay in that neighborhood and wondered how this will affect the
NGOs who had thought it was “safer” there.
At the same time, I still was not freaking out because the
center of action was literally out the back door of the main UN base, and we
had an explanation of what was going on including a very specific objective
that assured us that the general population was not at risk unless they got too
close to the action. We couldn’t evacuate anyway because the road to the border
was not safe, and I think the border was closed most of the day anyway.
I never felt personally in danger. We had stayed in bed
until maybe 7:30, listening to the noise and checking our phones. Eventually we
got up and made breakfast like normal, moving around the house as normal. We
stayed busy receiving communication and sending it on to others, trying to
determine what was truth and what was rumor. It was mentally engaging. There
was definitely an element of joking lightheartedness that didn’t really fit the
situation, but we both recognized as a normal coping mechanism and didn’t try
to limit ourselves.
Mark and I walked out to the road to see if people were
moving around as normal. There was less traffic than a normal Sunday morning,
and there were police stationed along the road. We figured the biggest risk to
us would be if thieves decided to take advantage of the distraction. We stayed
inside until it was over.
Now, I’m feeling pretty normal. I half expected Monday morning to be
handed an order to evacuate, but it seems like everyone is convinced that it
really was a one-time thing (in that location), and just a reminder that no where
is safe, so we’ve got to stay prepared.
Another observation is how Congolese people ask us about it with a
sort of twisted pride: “Weren’t you really scared? This was your first time to
be really close to the shooting, wasn’t it? What did you think?”
In lighter news: The plethora or large, stationary umbrellas and retractable
sideview mirrors have caught my attention recently as I walk around.
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| Walking down the street where we live. Notice the nice new sidewalks! We just had to endure a year of mud and construction... |
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| From my office window |
