Good Night

The sun slowly migrates to the horizon as I wait to make the half-hour drive back to Maji. We pile into the car, packing as many people as we can in the back seat to avoid bouncing around on the pothole filled roads of Goma.

At the one intersection we have to stop at I hear the routine tap on my driver’s side window by a persistent boy of around 10 years old asking for some money or a cookie. I respond with the rehearsed Swahili dialogue that I tell him every day. “hakuna pesa, pole” “I have no money, sorry.” His smile turns into disappointment as he walks away, but I know that tomorrow we will do the dance again.

Once back at Maji, I grab my book and head for the water’s edge. I sit and try to read as the sights and sounds of the fisherman returning home distract me. I read until the sun drops behind the Congolese mountains and I can no longer withstand the constant swatting of mosquitoes.

After dinner and tea I dodge up to the apartment upstairs. I am met at the door by a smile and simple question, “can I grab you a beer?” We rehash the day’s events, the good and the bad, as my bottle becomes dry. Our eyelids become heavy and the generator shuts off leaving us in complete darkness. It’s time for the small trek back to my room.

I pass by a dark, silent figure with a large machine and a straight face, one of our three night guards. He apologizes if he startled me and continues on his loop of the property. By flashlight I organize my room and make sure my mosquito net is tucked away. I lay my head back on the pillow and look at my watch, its 9:45 pm and I am exhausted. Another day is done.