road

I barely scraped the edge of the international aid world when I was in Rwanda/Tanzania/Liberia/Sudan, but I know enough people involved in that industry that I feel a little flutter of worry when I check a list of people who died in the plane crash in DR Congo last week. (Update: one or two names that could be that guy who worked with ______, but no one I actually know. So far.)

The next thing I did, because what else is one to do after checking to see if anyone you know died in a plane crash, is start checking reliefweb for international jobs. UN planes are crashing in DR Congo? Look for a job that would allow you to fly on UN planes!

It comes in waves, the desire to move back overseas, but it never quite recedes into invisibility.

One cold winter day in late 2001 or early 2002, the winter before I moved to Rwanda, I remember walking through a slushy parking lot in Michigan and thinking to myself, "Someday, I will be living in a warm, tropical place, and when I do, I will remember this miserable, gray, soupy day." When I drag myself through yet another dark winter day here, I think that again. Someday, my life will be warmer and more interesting than this. This is a necessary step, but it is not the end of the road.