I was haunted by their faces. Renee with deep scars carved into what was once a beautiful face, eyes with a depth of sorrow I had never before witnessed and hands pink where her flesh was burned off. When the Interahamwe came, they burned her house after seven men raped her. She ran back inside when her eldest son slipped through her hands. As she clutched him in her arms the burning house fell down upon her. Her youngest son had already been killed by the militiamen.

Yesterday, at the Goma border crossing, a local Congolese official told our translator that she wanted to go through our luggage. We knew it was a shakedown, but wanted to avoid any trouble. Isaiah talked to her to try to smooth things over, so that she would let it go. And she told him, “Isaiah, please, make me feel better now.”

For nine years Mama Francine (for her safety I cannot reveal her true name) has lived in the safe house in a remote and isolated area outside of Goma.  For six years before that she lived at a hospital and endured surgery after surgery to repair the damage to her body caused by violent rape.  Even six surgeries could not repair Mama Francine’s body. 

Congo is unlike anything I have experienced.  I can barely process what I have seen and heard today.  The poverty and desolation are unimaginable.  There is such a waste of human potential.

Yesterday we drove east from Kigali to visit the Agahozo Shalom Youth Village, an extraordinary program established by Jewish philanthropist Ann Heyman as a response to helping Rwanda move forward following the horrifying genocide of the early 1990’s.  While visiting the Genocide Memorial in Kigali earlier in the day, we stood in a room filled with snapshots of hundreds of men, women and children who were murdered.  But we cannot forget that thousands of youngsters survived, many without any family or with families that lost mothers or fathers. 

I met Ingrid in person in April, 2007 when she came to California for her admissions interview at Stanford University.  At the time, Ingrid was 19 years old.  But I had actually seen Ingrid a few years before…when as a young teenager she was prominently featured in a documentary film (brilliantly produced by Global Nomads) about the Rwandan genocide. 

In just a few hours our small group representing Jewish World Watch leaves for the Eastern Congo. Every day for the last week, my sisters each call me and ask me if I feel that going to the Congo is really necessary.  My parents and my in-laws ask me on a daily basis if there is anything they could say to persuade me to cancel the trip. 

By all accounts I shouldn’t be making this trip. My mother keeps tracking me down to tell me that she is “opposed” to it, my father sent me several emails reminding me that “Congo is not Cancun” (thanks for the reminder, Dad), and therefore, perhaps I should reconsider. But most importantly, most pressingly – perhaps I shouldn’t be making this trip because I have a five and a half month old daughter at home.

This will be my sixth trip to the continent of Africa over the past thirty five years. I am very excited to make this visit as part of the Jewish World Watch delegation. After spending the last month reading about the tragic situation in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, I am expecting the visit to be critical to my understanding of the human impact and personal consequences for the residents of this nation.

I am a public relations consultant and as such I am always the one pitching the story.  I am much more comfortable to stand in the background or sit on the sidelines promoting the good work and adventures of others.  It is strange to think that this time I am part of the story itself.