Je suis arrivee a Goma!

Today is my first day ‘on the job.’ Not quite sure what that means, I trail behind Harper, whose friendly laugh greets everyone, overflowing with fluent Swahili. I must learn Swahili asap! She introduces me as Cristina, ‘yes, yet another Cristina, Christina, Christine and Kristin.” The Congolese must think all Americans have the same name- since currently or in the last 2 months there have been about 5! My favorite so far is not actually an American; Dr. Christina is from Holland, highly gifted in surgical procedures other doctors cannot succeed in. When she stays at HEAL Africa, she performs about 5 fistula repair surgeries a day, whereas the hospital usually performs that amount in an entire week! She is funny, easy to talk with and very humble.
The day I arrived in Goma (Saturday), we crossed the Rwandan border by foot, and then hopped into cars toward the HEAL Africa hospital. As I was receiving a tour, who walks by me but a young lady, the very one featured in the LUMO documentary! I meet eyes with her and smile, but avoid singling her out by yelling out her name in recognition.
The house where I now live is beautiful; there are always a ton of guests, volunteers and workers living there. I share a room with Harper, which has already been a blast for talking at night and catching up. It’s just great to hang out with her again, only now we are living in the Congo! Our room overlooks Lake Kivu, so we are lulled to sleep with the lapping waves and woken pleasantly in the morning by the busy birds chirping amongst the garden. I love the lady of the night, a flower that exudes its fragrance when evening sets! Smells of all sorts assail your senses wherever you are in Goma, so my nasal fixation delights in escapes like these.

February 21, 2008
My first realization that I was finally truly on my way to Africa happened with the first steps I took into the Dutch aircraft towards Amsterdam. My hypersensitive nose twitched at the smell of sardines as I juggled my carry-on luggage and favorite pillow down the long row of compact seats. I stumbled upon the source: a burly man in full traditional African garb, complete with a black and red speckled turban. His work-roughened hands cracked pieces of dried fish from a ziplock bag on his lap into his mouth, to the dubious look of the mid-twenties, adventure-eager American next to him. I eased on past them, wondering what awaited me at seat 43J. My companion for the next seven and a half hour flight stood to allow me in, wafting of Acqua de Gio cologne, to the relaxation of my senses. His perfectly slicked back hair moved not a millimeter from the partitions provided by his comb the entire 8 hour flight, complimented by a dark red shirt and a black vest. A previous military serviceman during the first Gulf War, his current job at Best Buy doing security investigations made him quite a pleasant person to coexist with as we soared over the Atlantic Ocean in the middle of the wintry night. Oh, it’s true that I have left the snow in Minnesota behind for at least 10 months!