Mango Margaritas in D.C.

I’m in the hotel lounge, waiting on my Congolese participants and listening to the rain outside. I wonder what the french word is for rain. It’s 5:30 pm and I could go to sleep or write in a stupor if my keyboard would allow me. I’ve met with a good delegation of Africans this week and I’m starting to wonder at my own place and purpose. On one hand, I want to support them in their endeavors to rectify human rights abuses and support them in their struggle to meet 1st country standards, but on the other hand it’s like meeting a child for the first time. Hesitant and awkward, wanting to make a good first impression, realizing that our country and many others have spent decades undermining their ability to function and be self-sufficient. I’ve realized that in the end, it comes down to money, and it sickens me. and now i’m back to work… I wish I could exist again.