Under the cover of darkness, I grabbed my things and made my way to the path, leading to the main road. Clinging to my tiny flashlight, I tried to count my steps and focus on anything but the noises around me, and the horrible past of the soil beneath me.
During the genocide of ’94, the Catholic Church next to the guesthouse was home to one of the worst massacres during the 100 day stretch. Eleven-thousand Tutsi Rwandans sought refuge within those four walls, but sadly, their safety was fleeting. Smoke forced them out into the open where hundreds of Hutus were waiting with machetes, clubs riddled with nails, and AK-47’s.
As I stood at the end of the road on the steps of the church, my mind filled with graphic images of the terror that took place. I was sad, I was angry, I was scared. Minutes felt like hours as I watched and waited. And just when I considered running back to Saint Jean, the car lights flashed and I felt a wave of relief; my temporary safety had arrived.
Four hours, and 100km later, we arrived at the DRC border. The roads were some of the worst I have seen, riddled with pot holes that are better described as craters, and small children and farm animals strewn about. It’s a miracle that we didn’t hit anyone. Or run off the road.
Crossing into the Congo had me flooded with emotions. I was beaming with excitement, but extremely nervous, too — more so than ever before. There are few places in the world that remain a true mystery, and I suppose this is one of them. After receiving my exit stamp, I walked toward a sign riddled with bullet holes and surrendered my things to the guards for their search. While two men examined my belongings, another flashed a light in my eyes and scanned for my temperature. With Ebola outbreaks on the rise, I was pleased to see these simple safety precautions were put into place.
Two-thirds of the world’s poor live in five countries, and DRC is firmly seated on that list. With a population of 10.17 million, and the highest poverty rate in the world, coming in at 88%. It is a country the size of Western Europe with fertile soil and an abundance of mineral deposits such as gold, diamonds, oil and copper — that if utilized properly, in a stable and supportive political environment, could make the country one of the richest in the world. But stability and politics are not on speaking terms within the DRC, sadly. It is also said to be one of the most dangerous countries, coming in behind places like Afghanistan and Somalia.
But outside of these lists, percentages, and “facts” at my fingertips, I knew there had to be so much more than the warlords, rebel groups and mineral conflicts we so often hear about in mainstream media. It’s lush and beautiful, with amazing wildlife, people, and stories. And something inside made me feel as though I needed to see it for myself…
