It has been a few busy days since I have arrived in Kinshasa. My nights are at the Methodist Guesthouse (MPH) and the days spent at homes of friends. Some have asked when I plan on starting to blog again. Seemingly, so much that has happened seems normal already. A special moment is always stepping out the doors of the aircraft and being greeted with that hot, humid air and the smells that accompany it. So much of what happens defied description. How does one describe a smell? How does one describe an intersection of solid steel with about 20 cars inches from each other awaiting the one who holds the key to the unscrambling to move only to have the space liberated filled with a dozen motorbike taxis? Can there be any understanding why my friend Jonas’ TV still has the clear plastic cover over the screen and a part of the picture is obscured by the original price tag which has never been removed just in case the $11/month payment can’t be made, and the set can then be resold as almost new. How can one relate to a young girl looking to marry looks past any notion of love but whether her suitor has a job or not. How to explain to fellow Canadians who believe in a better life beyond Trudeau that the Congolese have given up on a better life but long for me to bring them to Canada, Trudeau and all.

So this is the reality of the Congo and how does one talk about it? One has to live it or it is just talk.

Possibly the one point one can bring home is a lesson one learns here; when all else fails, there is always God.