Three sure signs that I’ve been here too long:
1. Yesterday at the end of the Craziest Interview Ever, the subject asked if I would mind carrying a letter to his friend in Goma (who’s the one who connected me in the first place). This is how it works here. Every traveler is an independent postal service.
2. People stop by my home to greet me, announced and otherwise. Last night A brought his wife, their four children, and his wife’s sister by to greet me. Tonight, Uncle Rene and his friend came by, just to say hello.
3. It seems perfectly reasonable that I should have to make 2 trips (so far) to pay the security guard bill for the month. To a company, by the way, whose name is Human Dignity in the World.
It’s times like these - when it starts to seem normal to me to have to wait half an hour for a scheduled appointment, or when it seems perfectly reasonable that my taxi ride downtown would involve a detour a military barracks – that I realize it’s time to go home. I’ve done 103 interviews. I’m tired. It’s time to go.