Part II: “Merry Christmas, Barbie, and take care of yourself!”


I passed immigration surprisingly fast and soon found myself in the airport parking lot looking for Nkundiushuti — a driver I found on Facebook who would give me a ride me to Gisenyi- a border town close to Congo. After twenty minutes of waiting, I realized that I’ve been fooled (oh, what a pity, I thought I could trust a man who’s name literally meant “I love people”).

-10 bucks if you get me to the bus station in 20 minutes, — I stopped a guy on a motorbike.

-I am sorry, but the last bus left at 7, — informed me a Virunga Express agent.
-How come? Not possible!- I was about to explode. — You wrote me on Facebook, that the last bus is leaving at 9pm and you even confirmed my seat -21C. Here! — I took out my pink Apple and was pretending to look for prove.
-I am so sorry

Sleepless night, aircraft food, dirty hair… I couldn’t hold myself anymore and burst out crying!

Not sure weather the gentleman fell under spell of my blue eyes or he was just embarrassed that people were stopping to see why a white girl was crying, but he grabbed my hand and dragged me to a dirty minivan. — Give way, let mzungu* pass! — he pushed me inside. -Sister, keep an eye on Snowhite — he ordered a big mamma next to me. — Merry Christmas, Barbie, take care of yourself in Congo!

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