Tuesday

A cheerful start. Hot coffee from the Kerosene stove and stainless steel coffee press, bread and chocolate. Those of us leaving will be leaving very soon as all seems quiet. Nothing like not having any decisions to make and being completely irresponsible to cheer you up.

Unfortunately the lull seems to be because they've cunningly gone round the town. . . We have about 30 minutes to get out and across the border.

We're 2 locked in land cruisers, and, strangely, a truck. We would speed but the truck can't. We inch. The streets dusty and muted. Weary remnants of last night's army straggle, heads bent, down the road out of town, a few dragging guns. Between them women with bundles on their heads and kids on their backs, girls bent double with jerry cans and bags, men pushing wheelbarrows of belongings and children clutching adults' hands. They all keep to the side of the road. Small groups of young men gather and glare sulkily. Everything is covered in a muted pink dust and plays as a silent film strip. It's heart-breaking.

We leave as the shells start again. We cross the border in the pouring rain along with a line of 16 UN cars: the elves leaving middle earth to its fate. Middle class Congolese also rushing across the border - anyone who can. They've all seen it before.

Swept on to Kigali. Regret at leaving, relief at being out, wondering about friends and colleagues, sick for the imagined consequences for the Congolese. It's very very odd and anti-climactic. Kigali not my top choice for getting over Goma.

Goma officially "falls" at about 2pm. It's not my place, I usually despair about it and I am so happy to be leaving. But it somehow feels personal.