From the Field: The Difficulties of Coming Home

This piece was written by Harper McConnell of HEAL Africa.

It has been over almost three years since I first arrived in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

I went as a somewhat naïve, idealistic college graduate, interested in politics and literature, and the ways in which I could extract what I love from these mediums to bridge a gap between what we know as reality in America and what the majority of the world knows as reality.

I ended up staying in Congo for two years. And I came back as, well, I am not sure what. Maybe as someone who believes that anything, anything is possible. And that "anything" is really a euphemism that encompasses both unspeakable atrocities and the fulfillment of the deemed impossible dream.

I was thrown into a world of paradoxes, where abnormal things became commonplace. Where death and disease dance with little children, dictating a waltz of suffering while fleeing from war, I saw the exhausted but determined and unwavering eyes of my Congolese co-workers taking 35 refugees off the road into an eight person Landcruiser to bring to the closest camp.

Where physically and spiritually destroyed women bear burdens that no human being should imagine exist, I saw Congolese doctors, counselors, and teachers working to heal their mothers, sisters, and daughters.

In a place described as a “black hell-hole” by a celebrity who visited Goma for a couple of hours, I found vibrant friends and dancing that puts Justin Timberlake to shame.

I found filmmakers from Goma who brilliantly capture the everyday life of people in a way that western journalists have completely and utterly missed.

I was humbled by gracious hospitality, knowing the financial sacrifice that was made to host a large dinner for me. I stumbled upon on a place that I can’t abandon.

I often get the question….’so what is it like being back?’ At the end of October 2008 (brilliantly timed with the US elections in the hopes the world would not notice) the Rwandan backed rebel group made massive advances, displacing over 250,000 people. General Nkunda, the rebel leader, closed in on Goma and there were two days where the fate of the town was in question. During these days the whole town, my colleagues, and friends, were all locked in their houses while mass looting and violence erupted.

I couldn’t eat or sleep. I constantly texted with people in Goma, read every piece of news, and wrote; trying to get the word out about HEAL Africa’s crucial aid efforts amidst the crisis, while all other international aid organizations had fled.

Sitting at my desk I received a text message from a friend in Goma that said, “they are looting next door and there are gunshots. We are hoping that they don’t come here.” I sent a message back and waited….and waited….and then waited with my head on the desk. It was excruciating.

A couple hours later I received a message that said they were still OK and that they weren’t hearing shots outside anymore. There were about 15 of them hiding together and everyone was just going to spend the night there.

So, what is it like being back? When the conflict reached a climax, the only place in the world I wanted to be was in Goma. At the same time, I knew that I could have an impact in the States by drawing attention to the war. This tension is now endemic in me-never feeling completely home in either country and split between two worlds. Though of course I think about what the future holds for me, I am taking it day by day, knowing that a second taken for granted is a second wasted.