DRC- Take 2

I wasn't too keen on going into the DRC myself, but I don't want to let fear stop me from ding anything. I have found my biggest regrets on this trip have been what I haven't done, not what I have done. I am still sad I didn't go to Jordan, plus I figured if I can survive the DRC by myself then I can do anything!
So I crossed the border from Rwanda into Goma.
The city was destroyed when the volcano erupted in 2002. Buildings were levied. The few ones that were standing were still charred. Between that and the garbage burning down side streets it gave the sense of a city that is perpetually on fire.
I felt like i had just missed a massive attack by hours. It was the most inflamed, violent and destroyed town I have ever seen, though I witnessed no actual violence or destruction. It just seemed to have a sadness and resonance of desperation and fire.
The whole feel of Goma was that of a war zone. It consists of bombed out and burnt buildings and smelled like fire. UN helicopters and airplanes flew in constantly. I have never seen so many guns in my life.
The UN peacekeeping presence was huge. I saw other foreigners but all of them were aid workers or peacekeepers and all were in cars driving with guns. I was definitely the only foreigner walking around and that was a little intimidating.
The people have built walls out of the volcanic rocks. On all but the main street there is no road or pavement, just volcanic rock; layer upon layer. There is no way a vehicle could drive on most of the streets.
People are rebuilding so there are a few big nice houses, brightly painted to contrast with the black lava that surrounds the rest. Aside from those few houses, poking up out of the lava rock there is a temporary feel to Goma. People live in shanty homes made of tin, tarp and corrugated metal. Even stores seem quickly put up with a few boards and metal along with tarps. It is like nobody wants to admit they actually live there by making something permanent, that or the people are so used to losing everything they don't want anything that can be taken away.
I have never seen anything like it. The only word that comes to mind to encompass Goma is dark.
The people for their part were mostly nice. I was stared at a lot but I am used to that. Some went out of their way to say, "bonjour" or show me around. Others fixed me with steely looks. Two women threw rocks at me. I felt vulnerable and out of place by myself, but I was OK.
There was a stark contrast between the refugee camps I saw in Rwanda where everyone was playing soccer and here where there was more of a quiet desperation of people just sitting and staring, shell-shocked.
I went to find out about climbing the active volcano, my goal for the trip. I found that nobody would go up it because rebels have taken over the area. Another plan foiled.
I was tempted to press on with my adventure, but there was such a darkness to this place I knew that could be a death wish. I would have loved to have been there as part of the UN or feeling like I was doing something to help, but alone all I really felt was lawlessness, darkness and fire.
Hopefully I will be able to come back, like I wish for much of Africa, as a journalist or a diplomat. I keep dreaming and praying. Who knows what the future holds but I do know that I am spellbound by this continent.