Home Sick (by Jennings)

(or "How we came to visit family in the U.S. for the holidays, and I ended up bald and living in my parents' guest room")

NB: I wrote this piece back in March 2019, when I was still reeling from the news that I had a recurrence of endometrial cancer, as a metastasis, and that I would need 4 months of chemo and radiation and might need to stay in the U.S. for 2 years. At the time, I wondered if I would ever see our home in Bunia again. My deepest fear was that our life there was over, and I was in shock at that idea. I wrote the following post in the midst of those thoughts and emotions. I'm posting it now because it expresses much of what I love about our Congolese life.

What "coming home" looks like, every day, in Bunia

     In mid-November [2018], we came to the U.S. for Thanksgiving and Christmas. We left our home in Bunia, left our dogs, packed one suitcase each, left our employees' salary money for two months with a friend, and got on a plane, thinking we'd be back in 6 weeks.

     We were blissfully oblivious.

     A month later, in Charlotte, I found out I had cancer again, but was told I would probably just need a short course of radiation. The day after Christmas, we found out it was worse than we had realized, and that we'd need to stay in the U.S. for at least 6 months for treatment, perhaps as long as 2 years, including post-treatment checks every 3 months (any of which could show a new recurrence and trigger a new round of treatment).

     So here we are, living in Birmingham, in my parents' guestroom, and I am bald as can be. 

     It's been a very emotional time, starting with the sheer terror of learning that I have an "aggressive" cancer, that might or might not respond to treatment. That I could die. Or that this could be just the start of a long, agonizing battle. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving Douglas here in this world alone, or of putting my father through the anguish of losing a child. But I quickly realized that all that was out of my hands, so there was no point in worrying about it. (Yes, easier said than done.) I am learning to trust God with my life in a way that feels more serious and real than it ever did.

     Two months later, the existential anxiety has mostly calmed, and I'm just plugging along with the treatment and doing my regular job, part-time, from here. Now I'm starting to grieve the life and home we left behind in Bunia. It comes to me in flashes, like bits of a dream that I had almost forgotten. We make pancakes for dinner, and I suddenly remember that Douglas and I always made (make? not sure which tense to use) pancakes on Sunday mornings after church, for second breakfast. I see a dog, and I think of our two beloved dogs. Et cetera.

     For the first weeks, I was so focused on what we needed to do, treatment-wise, that I didn't take time to think about home, about Bunia. Now I'm starting to do that more, and I realize I am in grief for our life there. I'm homesick. (Plus, I'm "home" and I'm "sick"... get it?)

     I had the clarity of thought, over the past few years, to realize that we had a great, comfortable, full, peaceful life in our little house in Bunia, with our two dogs and our employees and friends. I did appreciate and enjoy it. So I take some comfort in that, at least.

     Another great comfort is that God provided a wonderful British woman - who loves dogs! - to stay in our house and care for our dogs, at least until she finds a permanent place of her own. We're hoping to make a trip to Bunia in July to pack up more of our stuff and to figure out whatever logistical things we need to figure out.

Here are a few of the things I really miss:

• Getting up early, when it's cool and quiet, to meditate and then to read. Putting the percolator on the stove to make coffee.

Morning routine

• Letting the dogs in the house, and saying "Where is he? Go get him!" and they run back to the bedroom to find Douglas. 
• Our employee Daniel arrives around the time we're eating breakfast. The dogs go crazy, jumping all over him, they *love* him. He comes in the kitchen and gets the radio to take outside and play music while he starts doing laundry.

Waiting for their Daniel to arrive

Daniel with the radio

• Tea break at the office. We all make our hot drinks, get some peanuts, a slice of avocado or a fresh beignet, and chat about anything but work (or OK sometimes we chat about work).
• My officemates, Choro and Lee, are unfailingly cheerful.
• Rev Ung'i, in the office across from ours, has the most amazing deep laugh. In the afternoon, around time to go home, he starts whistling a hymn.

Choro, Ung'i and Adabuane. Three of the finest men I know.

• Monday, Wednesday and Friday, after work, Douglas and I go to the gym in the United Nations recreational compound across the street. We are often sedentary most of the day, so this exercise is important for our emotional and physical well-being. Douglas has a free-weight and floor routine, and I mostly walk around the soccer field outside or use the elliptical machine and stretch.
• On Saturday mornings, I'll walk into town to do some shopping and maybe go to the bank. It's a great time to just be in the crowds and get a feel for Bunia life.

One Saturday morning's haul: eggs, hot sauce (for the night guard), sardines (for the dogs), high-quality TP, imported oranges and apples

• Tuesday night missionary Bible study. Sunday afternoon catching up with friends and praying together.
• Our friend Maryanne has lunch with us twice a week
• Sunday church

Douglas sings in a choir at our church, and we both get asked to preach regularly

• Goma... dear friends there
• Isiro… the translators and admin folk at CITBA, the other missionaries, and the Catholic brothers and fathers at Consolata

Dogs napping in sync

Dogs napping in sync, part deux

Kegomoti and Regine in traditional Budu hats

Elikia's fur grows quickly and has to be brushed and trimmed. But she doesn't care for grooming, so you have to grab the opportunities when you can. Here, she's rolling around playing with an avocado, so Douglas grabs a leg and trims her belly. Puck only needs brushing.

Front yard and guardhouse. Our former neighbors, a Canadian couple, planted lots of flowers and left us seeds. The compound is much more beautiful because of them.

Front gate, with view of United Nations guard tower across the street (they could take us out at any time... fortunately, there's never anyone up there).

     We are still connected to our group via email, still doing our jobs remotely, part-time. We are hopeful that we'll be able to live in Bunia again. We're thankful for the 8 years we had there. They were rich and full.