I have tickets. I don't have my passport or visa yet, but I'm going. Back to the Congo. For real.
This will be my third trip to the DRC, and my sixth trip to Africa, but I'm not sure I'm ready.
I'm not leaving until June, so I have some time. Time to finish writing a chapter, time to get my house in order, time to pay bills for the whole summer, time to make plans for housing over there, time to plan to be in Nairobi at the same time as friends, time for etc., etc., etc.
I'm not sure I'm ready in any sense. I don't know how it's going to be to see people who are now genuinely friends, and to know that many of them still live in uttery misery. I'm not sure I can handle visiting the families in Sake, who walked there from the land that was stolen from them, and who have since had to endure their new town being attacked. Twice.
I'm not sure I can go back to the hospitals, to look into the eyes of women and girls whose lives have been destroyed by evil men. I'm not sure I have any hope to offer them anymore.
I'm really not sure that I'm ready for the children, for the orphans on the streets and in the markets and at the bus stage and setting up roadblocks and everywhere you turn. I'm not sure I'm ready for the hopelessness and despair of their situations. I'm not ready to see the image of the God reflected in their eyes and to wonder how we allow innocent children to live like this when we have so much. I'm just not sure I'm ready.
But ready or not, I'm going back. Again. For real. I have the tickets.