It's the one year anniversary to my second arrival in the DRC! The trip and the time that followed have been busy but it seems like I might finally have the time and head space to write about it. Names will be changed to protect the identities of the characters in this little adventure, and of course this is more focused on my personal experience and views, not those of my employer(s).
It's 7 a.m. on July 26th 2017, one week before I'm supposed to leave . I blearily stare into my phone as I've become accustomed to do. Ever since I agreed to work with the firm as a public health expert on this project, I've woken up to many "high importance" e-mails. This morning's e-mail is particularly shocking. The team lead had quit and they wanted me to replace him.
"What?!" I think to myself. "This trip is never going to happen."
I then send a series of urgent e-mails to my doctoral supervisor and mentor friend type person in Ottawa seeking advice. One says "run!" the other says "go for it!".
So I decided to negotiate. I could take on the job if they gave me a raise and guaranteed that I would not need to work for more than 10 days after I came back from the field. They agreed and suggested that I take on the role of "methodological lead" rather than team lead. I reluctantly accepted and my flights were booked for the following week.
In the interim I had another meeting with the third person who I had e-mailed. The Big Man had referred me to the position and was distressed to learn that it all seemed to be falling apart, so he stepped up and was declared the new team lead while I remained the methodological lead.
In his negotiations he indicated that he could not be with the team for the duration of its trip in the Eastern DRC. Instead he was to be with us for the first five days and to return at the end of the mission to wrap things up.
Although we were both travelling from Ottawa, the Big Man and I were booked on different flights. I was supposed to be on a long-haul flight from Toronto to Addis while he had somehow convinced the firm to fly him through London. However, when my flight to Toronto was cancelled on the day of my departure, I was re-routed through London with him.
I had known the Big Man for quite some time in a semi-professional context and he seemed friendly and easy going, although I had my doubts. I was naturally displeased when during the first two legs of our trip all he could bring himself to talk about was his expectation that I work beyond the 60 hour weeks that I had committed to until the job was done and that if I didn't take a job with the UN that I would be wasting my life.
We spent the day in London. When we returned to Heathrow he had some difficulty boarding our flight to Addis. He explained that he was told that he had not obtained the correct visa to fly into Goma, despite having a UN passport but convinced Ethiopian to let him board the flight.
After a five-hour layover in the tired and dated African departures terminal in Addis our flight was boarding. I was ahead of the Big Man in line and was waved on to the tarmac. He was stopped by the flight attendant behind me and informed again that he did not have the requisite visa to enter the DRC, he told me to go ahead without him.
Three hours later I arrived in Goma, nauseous, exhausted, with a strangely itchy head and back in charge of the team. Well. Sort of.
(Next scheduled post: tomorrow! 5 p.m. EST).
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