Page 27 - Archangel

refugee return To bukavu

A freshening headwind increased the drizzle into their faces as the
surface of Lake Kivu rippled with chop. Skye had to maintain near full
throttle despite the bouncing and bruising, jarring Dr. Collins and his
precious cargo from dead sleep with, “Jesus, Highlander but you’re rattling
the teeth out of our heads.” MacIain retorted, “If either the Rwandans or
DRC officers catch us, we could be fish bait, you little leprechaun.” Sean
soon resumed a sorrowful sleep with Layla’s son loosely fastened to his
chest with surgical tape. An adjacent mother confirmed that Layla’s boy
was okay with a bright smile that shown through the darkness. During the
few times Sean had awakened during the return ride, he had refused to
pass the lad to another of several willing nurturers.
With MacIain’s audible and chilling warning, no one else complained
about the rocky ride to potential freedom. But all were relieved as Skye
finally slowed the bateau a full third after crossing over from Rwandan
into DRC waters. There had been border incursions between the two
countries. DRC took their international border with Rwanda seriously,
understandable as 500,000 Rwandans, refugees and murderers among
them, were pouring into the likes of Goma and Bukavu. The other
surrounding nations also had little capacity for what would later represent
an influx of a million refugees to support.
In another hour, which seemed like five, MacIain passed a landmark
which often catalyzed Skye and Sean to celebrate another successful water
crossing. But tonight’s approach to their makeshift mooring was tempered
with sorrow, sobriety, and trepidation from everyone on board around
Layla’s safety and their own new lot in life. Skye had alerted their Bukavu–
based Operation Moses teammates of the bateau’s general position by
shortwave radio upon entering DRC waters. But that arrival had been
slowed by seasickness among half the passengers en route.
As the exhausted, soaked and scared survivors started their approach to
the dock under Skye’s competent captaining, they heard singing from the
shore. The moonlight was soon accented with torches which the hosts held
skyward 200 yards out. The 30-40 souls sang louder as they approached,
what sounded like ‘Amazing Grace’ in Kinyarwandan. Some of the bearers
started wading into the shallows to secure the bateau and help passengers

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