waiting on the other side of Lake Kivu. She flew into Goma, via Kinshasa, with a church delegation led by a California-based Congolese expat, and we have plans to meet up as soon as I arrive.
Finally, a Range Rover with a Women for Women logo pulls up. Christine hops out for an embrace of welcome. â Karibu! Welcome!â
She seems to have changed since we met in the States; perhaps itâs because Iâm seeing her now in her native environment. Her stature is striking. She carries herself with the dignity of African royalty. The ongoing half-joke at Women for Women is that Christine could someday become the first woman president of DR Congo, and it doesnât seem so much a stretch . Her wedding is only a month away and she is in the thick of planning a celebration for five hundred guests.
We drive down the tree-lined, paved road that runs above Lake Kivu. Christine explains, âThere was a problem with Orchid Safari Club. They
are fully booked with a group for the next few nights, so Iâve made arrangements for you to stay elsewhere.â
I have been emphatically warned by Ricki, a staff member at Women for Women headquarters. âOrchid is the only place to stay,â she told me. âNowhere else is secure.â
It was a major point of discussion, actually, when Kelly announced she wanted to do a homestay for a few days. When I ran the idea past a few veteran Congo travelers, they all said the same thing. No way. Not safe.
âWhat is Kelly doing in Congo, anyway?â they all asked.
In her own words, I told them, she wants to âcry with the women. To grieve with them.â
My policy-wonk friends scoffed, but hey, more power to her. There will be plenty of time to sing âKumbayaâ with the people. And Iâm happy to be with a friend and split expenses . I do, however, have a tangible goal. Congo needs a movement. We only raised US$60,000 in the second year of Run for Congo Womenânowhere close to the million dollars I hope will spark a movement . But if we can put a human face on the horror, and document all facets of the conflict in a film, we would have ammunition for advocacy meetings. We could raise that million dollars through screenings and house parties, and generate a buzz that could ignite the grassroots movement for Congo. A good omen landed in my email in-box just before my departure: A producer from a major news network is interested in an American angle on the conflict. They might want my story and footage!
Goals aside, the security threats are real. Before I left, Ricki also impressed on me how quickly things can go wrong when she filled me in on her visit to Congo.
âWe were there in April 2006,â she told me. âZainab was shooting follow-up footage for Oprah , and I was supposed to show our program to a judge for the Conrad Hilton Award, a major humanitarian prize. The first day, Zainab went to the Bukavu ghetto to follow up and we set out to a rural area to meet women.
âWe didnât make it.
âWe got in the car with the driver and Christine, who has four different cell phones, one just for security updates. She got a call. We couldnât go down this street, a main road in Bukavu. Students were protesting. It was Easter break and the police shot someone. Protesters marched with his body over to the governorâs house and left it on the front steps .
âWe immediately did a U-turn. Thirty seconds later, I saw two huge UN tanks in front of us, coming down the road, heading towards the protesters. One of the tanks passed, turned their gun at meâlike two feet from my head. But I was thinking, okay, they are experts, they arenât going to shoot me.
âThe first tank passed and the second tank was coming our way. The only thing between us was a guy on a motorcycle. The tank swerved into our lane and we heard the motorcycle getting crushed. The rider started screaming.
âThe tank stopped there. The
Finally, a Range Rover with a Women for Women logo pulls up. Christine hops out for an embrace of welcome. â Karibu! Welcome!â
She seems to have changed since we met in the States; perhaps itâs because Iâm seeing her now in her native environment. Her stature is striking. She carries herself with the dignity of African royalty. The ongoing half-joke at Women for Women is that Christine could someday become the first woman president of DR Congo, and it doesnât seem so much a stretch . Her wedding is only a month away and she is in the thick of planning a celebration for five hundred guests.
We drive down the tree-lined, paved road that runs above Lake Kivu. Christine explains, âThere was a problem with Orchid Safari Club. They
are fully booked with a group for the next few nights, so Iâve made arrangements for you to stay elsewhere.â
I have been emphatically warned by Ricki, a staff member at Women for Women headquarters. âOrchid is the only place to stay,â she told me. âNowhere else is secure.â
It was a major point of discussion, actually, when Kelly announced she wanted to do a homestay for a few days. When I ran the idea past a few veteran Congo travelers, they all said the same thing. No way. Not safe.
âWhat is Kelly doing in Congo, anyway?â they all asked.
In her own words, I told them, she wants to âcry with the women. To grieve with them.â
My policy-wonk friends scoffed, but hey, more power to her. There will be plenty of time to sing âKumbayaâ with the people. And Iâm happy to be with a friend and split expenses . I do, however, have a tangible goal. Congo needs a movement. We only raised US$60,000 in the second year of Run for Congo Womenânowhere close to the million dollars I hope will spark a movement . But if we can put a human face on the horror, and document all facets of the conflict in a film, we would have ammunition for advocacy meetings. We could raise that million dollars through screenings and house parties, and generate a buzz that could ignite the grassroots movement for Congo. A good omen landed in my email in-box just before my departure: A producer from a major news network is interested in an American angle on the conflict. They might want my story and footage!
Goals aside, the security threats are real. Before I left, Ricki also impressed on me how quickly things can go wrong when she filled me in on her visit to Congo.
âWe were there in April 2006,â she told me. âZainab was shooting follow-up footage for Oprah , and I was supposed to show our program to a judge for the Conrad Hilton Award, a major humanitarian prize. The first day, Zainab went to the Bukavu ghetto to follow up and we set out to a rural area to meet women.
âWe didnât make it.
âWe got in the car with the driver and Christine, who has four different cell phones, one just for security updates. She got a call. We couldnât go down this street, a main road in Bukavu. Students were protesting. It was Easter break and the police shot someone. Protesters marched with his body over to the governorâs house and left it on the front steps .
âWe immediately did a U-turn. Thirty seconds later, I saw two huge UN tanks in front of us, coming down the road, heading towards the protesters. One of the tanks passed, turned their gun at meâlike two feet from my head. But I was thinking, okay, they are experts, they arenât going to shoot me.
âThe first tank passed and the second tank was coming our way. The only thing between us was a guy on a motorcycle. The tank swerved into our lane and we heard the motorcycle getting crushed. The rider started screaming.
âThe tank stopped there. The
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