C'est Le Depart

Writer Roger Burks stands with Christophe, a Mercy Corps program assistant, beside a truck delivering water to displaced families at a church in Goma. Photo: Mercy Corps

Today, I am leaving Goma to go back home — more than 35 hours of flights and layovers on my way back to Portland, and my family. And, over the course of the morning, I have heard one phrase over and over: "C'est le depart?"

It means, literally, "Are you leaving?" But, as with many things in Africa, the phrase has deeper meaning. There's a sense of loss. Affection. The expectation of return.
 
For me, that return will come some day, I'm sure. Each time I leave Africa, I bring back more stories. And those stories hold part of me to the red soil — or rocky ground — of this continent.
 
When I came to Africa exactly 15 years ago, I was a fresh-faced 23-year-old. My age and appearance conspired to give me a particular nickname among those in my village: "Petit," which means "young one."
 
But today, with gray hair prominent in my beard and at my temples, I gained a different nickname during my short time in eastern Congo: "Papa." I noticed younger men and women referring to their elders this way. And so I carry that remarkable distinction back to my home, where my 4-year-old son anxiously awaits.
 
I will show him the photographs I took in the displacement camps, and tell him stories of the people I met. After all, many children in the camps know him as well: After taking pictures, I'd often stop and show them the few pictures of my son that I keep on the camera. They would marvel at that tiny window into America. And, honestly, it made me feel somewhat guilty and sad.

There is also a measure of guilt and a sense of uncompleted work in my departure. I'm leaving after two incredibly eventful weeks, when the future of eastern Congo appears more promising than at any time in its recent history. But, most likely, that promise of change will result in even more need for assistance. Villages have been burned and lives shattered. The work of picking up the pieces, then rebuilding, looms large.
 
When I return to Portland, I will seek out news about eastern Congo more intently. I will write stories about my time here until I've exhausted my notes and memory. And I will take every occasion to tell folks about what I've seen, heard and experienced here.
 
This place, and the people who are bidding me "farewell" today, are infinitely deserving of your support, prayers and thoughts. Please don't forget about them. I never will.