Out of My Element

Woman in Congo

Today I stand in the middle of the FedEx office with a mailer in my hand. Oblivious to my children who chase each other in circles around me, I tear open the strip on the package. It’s the moment of truth. I can’t believe what I see. It’s my passport with something stapled to page 11. I’ve finally been granted a visa to visit the Democratic Republic of Congo. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years.

In 2008, I made a contribution to Human Rights Watch, which changed my life. When I casually asked my contact at the organization how my donation might help, I received a report from a researcher in the Democratic Republic of Congo. It outlined a brief history of outside entities raping the land for natural resources, the fallout from the war in the Kivus, as well as descriptions of violence against women. The tyranny of militias and the suffering of Congo’s people got me riled up, and I began devouring books and articles about the subject.

Congo began to occupy my dreams. During the day, I would find myself thinking about how lucky we were to live in a country where men with AK-47’s wouldn’t come and take my family members away. I reached out to my fellow Writing Mamas, who encouraged me to take my passion for human rights and write a book. One Writing Mama, Jessica O’Dwyer, said that if I put myself on this path, I’d find myself in Congo soon.

Before I knew it, I’d met activists Adam Hochschild and Eve Ensler, both of whom encouraged me to visit. I found a community of enraged activists who want to help the people of this deeply troubled region. I went on a writing retreat and banged out character biographies and step outlines for a novel. The Berkeley Repertory Theater approached me to produce Ruined, a play about Congo.

This winter, I received an invitation to attend the opening of V-Day’s City of Joy, a women’s center which helps people regain some of their lost dignity. (V-Day is a global movement to end violence against women and girls, founded by Ensler.) City of Joy strives to give power to Congo’s women by teaching them self-defense and leadership skills. Human Rights Watch researchers will also be at the grand opening. They will meet me and take me to Goma to introduce me to some of the remarkable women of the Congo. All told, I will have 12 days to immerse myself in Congo.

It has taken years of reading, months of planning, applications, vaccinations, and networking to get me to a point where I’d be willing to travel to this unstable region of the world. I have a loving husband and two small kids at home, and I feel conflicted about taking even a relaxing week away from them. Bukavu and Goma in Congo are a far cry from a week at a spa.

When I dragged my kids to pick up my FedEx package, I didn’t realize that opening the mailer would be the next step toward Congo. I opened my passport and wept. In a month, I will journey to the place A Thousand Sisters’ Lisa Shannon says is the worst place on earth to be a woman.

“By the time I get back, I will have lots to share with you,” I say to my kids on our way home. What I neglect to tell them is that people who go to Congo sometimes don’t make it home. My kids don’t know what rape is. The concept of being forced to work in a mine is beyond them. As I tuck them into bed, I remember that there are plenty of orphans in Congo. There are also women there who, because of their injuries, can no longer have children. Until very recently, I’ve been a privileged American who has failed to realize what’s going on outside my own world. In Congo, I will be out of my element.