Sunday on the terrace of our new house.  Lake Kivu is calm today, which seems strange to me, considering all that's taking place on the other side of it.  The conflict around Goma continues and the sad truth is that most of us are prepared for it to go on like this for some time; no huge explosion, but no swift resolution. 

The Friday summit convened by UN Secretary General Ban Ki-moon in Nairobi can't really be described as a disappointment, since none of us were expecting much out of it anyway.  Rwandan President Kagame is being told in diplomatic code to stop meddling in eastern DRC, yet he still affects a benign expression and insists his government has nothing to do with the resurgence in violence.  Nkunda, leader of the rebel CNDP group, recently demanded direct negotiations with the Congolese government.  When he was denied, he threatened to break the cease-fire he himself declared when he halted his forces just kilometers outside of Goma last week. And indeed, the violence has started up again after a brief reprieve, and a pointless blame game is now being played as Nkunda insists the pro-government militia, Mayi-Mayi PARECO, started it.

On the whole, the Mayi-Mayi are loosely organized into various, often competing groups, one of which, the Mayi-Mayi PARECO, is (at least for the moment) allied with the government FARDC forces.  Unsurprisingly, that alliance appears increasingly frayed at the edges, as Mayi-Mayi militia recently moved into the no-man's land between CNDP and FARDC-controlled territory without the permission of the FARDC.  The list of parties involved in this mess is growing exponentially, prompting intense déjà vu in those who lived through the 12-year civil war often called "Africa's First World War." 

MONUC is saying they have spotted Angolan troops in North Kivu who, it is assumed, have come at the invitation of Congolese President Kabila. The Congolese government is calling them Portugese-speaking Congolese soldiers, which would be funny if they were kidding, but they actually seem to expect people to buy it. 

Infiltration is the word of the day in Bukavu, although no one really agrees on precisely what it means.  There exists a pronounced paranoia of Rwandan, Burundian, and Ugandan supporters of Nkunda and his Rwandan Tutsi rebels.  The OCHA (Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs) meeting held each Friday has turned into some weird variation of "Hard Talk," with people mercilessly grilling the Major of the Pakistani Batallion (PakBatt) of MONUC for answers he simply doesn't have.

MONUC is, it seems to me at this point, the very definition of "damned if you do, damned if you don't."  Knowing their own national army, the FARDC, lacks the discipline and capacity to hold off the CNDP on their own, Congolese by and large expect MONUC to do it.  So, the thinking goes, if Goma doesn't fall, MONUC is just doing its job.  If Goma does fall, MONUC (and, by extension, the international community as a whole) has betrayed the Congolese people. Any attempt to explain to my Congolese friends that the peace-keeping mandate of MONUC does not include national defense falls on deaf ears, as Congolese government officials continue to publicly call on MONUC to save the country.

The local media stokes the flames of peoples' fear, and rumors run rampant. Before the cease-fire was declared last week, the office buzzed all day with people insisting they had it on good authority (from a brother/colleague/husband on the ground) that Goma had fallen. The possible panic this could spur is the real threat in Bukavu.  It's morbidly fascinating, therefore, to see the destabilizing effect Nkunda can have from hours away.  The likelihood that he will bring his troops down here is slim to none, but just as the majority of civilian deaths from this recent upsurge will be tied to the aftermath of crowded and unsanitary camps rather than actual battle, the potential for destabilizing eastern DRC lies in such misinformation and fear-mongering. 

What Bukavu truly needs is a leader such as the local governor to talk to the people of the town regularly, frankly, openly and give them hard, confirmed facts to stem the tide of rumors and speculation.  Such leadership does not appear forthcoming.

In the midst of all of this, we here in Bukavu are under tighter security measures.  The office is cleared by 5pm (which has actually been a great unexpected outcome since I was making a bad habit of 12 hour workdays), we have an evening curfew and regular radio checks. Certain parts of town that are known FARDC enclaves are now off-limits. 

But life goes on.  We internalize it all and this has become the new norm, however abnormal it truly is. 

We joke about who has to drive the car with the terrible clutch in the event that we are evacuated.  We make sure there is enough beer in the fridge in case of consolidation and "hibernation" (having to stay in the house for an extended period of time).  We use restricted movement as an excuse to hang around the house all day reading and watching DVDs on our laptops. We are amazed that the days can pass so quickly in this fashion. 

We wait...

...We think we're doing fine until we're not.  Last week, after staying up all night to watch the election results come in, I sat on my couch in dazed elation and witnessed Obama's incredible acceptance speech at 6am.  I, like so many other people, felt my throat catch with pride, joyful disbelief, and the sharp pang of of possibility that pierced through the numbing fog the past 8 years of American politics had created in me.

It was later, though, after the speech was over and I had gone back to my room to take a shower and get ready for work, that the reality sunk in...I don't know what it was, but as I sat in the bathtub, something in my chest gave way - something I had been holding onto for weeks, I suppose. As soon as I turned the water on, the tears came.

I put my head in my hands and wept under the stream of the shower. The tense anxiety that has been building for weeks now in South Kivu; the stress of an unrelenting workload; the continuing uncertainty about whether or not I'm doing my job right or royally screwing up; the supressed homesickness brought on by the Phillies' World Series win (seriously!); the latent fear I'd been carrying around that McCain would somehow find a way to win...it all just rose up and flowed out of me, following the water down the drain. I don't think I had realized until then how much I had been carrying around with me in that tight little ball in my stomach. 

It's still there, but for now the exuberance of Obama is carrying me through. Even as their family and friends flee fighting just a few hours north, my Congolese friends are all smiles and congratulations about our new leader.  It's wonderful to hope that things can change, to feel that the U.S. may be turning a corner. 

But even as I savour that feeling, I look at Ben, my closest Congolese colleague, and remember that he sees his country turning a different kind of corner, back into the belly of conflict. Instead of optimism, Ben gives me an indulgent smile and a resigned shrug, as if he knows this is just how it will be.  This great privilege of mine - to hope and plan and believe things will be different - this has, at least for now, been taken from him.