How an Emergency Evacuation With Kids Shaped My View of Travel

Why I still believe in traveling with kids—even after an emergency evacuation

On January 28, 2025, I stood in my home in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo, knowing we were about to leave it all behind and unsure if we’d ever come back. It was surreal.

Just days earlier, we had been living our normal routine—school bus pick ups, grocery runs, insane traffic, brunch with friends. But everything changed quickly.

The fighting in the east of the country between the M23 group and the Congolese army had been escalating, but Kinshasa, the capital, had felt far removed.

That distance vanished overnight. Protests erupted in the streets, growing in intensity until they became violent. Tires burned. Shops were looted. Embassies were attacked. The unrest wasn’t just in the background anymore—it was right outside our door.

For two days, we sheltered inside, trying to keep life feeling normal for our kids. It wasn’t easy. The power went out, and when our generator failed, we lost more than just electricity. Our water purifier stopped working, too.

Without electricity, it was incredibly hot and I worried how long our water supply would last us. We stayed calm and let the kids play with any and all toys and eat absolutely anything from the snack cabinet. Meanwhile, my husband was working at the embassy 24/7.

Our First (and hopefully only) Emergency Evacuation

Then, we got the call.

The embassy had decided to initiate an Ordered Departure—a full-scale evacuation of all family members. I felt numb and shocked when I heard the news from the ambassador.

Not just because it meant the situation in the DRC was deteriorating, but because we had to leave my husband behind. He is considered essential staff, meaning he had to stay—even as we boarded a flight to safety.

There was not much time to process, no time to weigh what this would mean long term. We packed only what we could easily carry: 3 days of clothes each, diapers, passports, a couple of their favorite toys and left the rest behind.

Heartbreaking Goodbyes

In the middle of the night, we left. We never got to say goodbye to our nanny nor my older kid’s teachers.

I will never forget the moment we said goodbye to my husband. It still makes my eyes burn with tears as I think about the moment the kids had to give him a final hug goodbye.

Our one-year-old, too young to understand, but old enough to feel the shift, cried inconsolably. My five-year-old clung to my hand, a bit confused, but also wise enough to know that this would be the last time he’d see his dad in a while.

And then, another mom nearby began singing The Itsy Bitsy Spider.

It was such a simple thing—but it was everything in that moment. Others joined in in attempts to soothe my baby. I hummed along, while wiping my own tears, and rocking the baby until we both could stop crying.

That song, that small act of kindness, carried us forward.

A Very Long Journey Home

The evacuation process is long and draining. As you can imagine, moving hundreds of American families, at a moment’s notice is a lot of work.

The flight to Washington, D.C. stretched over 21 hours—long, exhausting hours of juggling emotions, fatigue, and restless children. But we were not alone.

Something remarkable happens in moments of crisis: people come together. Fellow evacuees—strangers just days before—became our support system.

Grown-ups and children alike entertained my kids, offered distractions, shared snacks, and reminded me we weren’t facing this alone. One child offered to share some coloring materials with my son. A dad behind me made silly faces until my baby giggled. A mom carried the baby around the plane so I could go to the bathroom in peace.

Those small moments reminded me of why we travel in the first place: to connect with others, to build resilience in ourselves and our kids, and to grow through both the joys and challenges that life brings.

Even now, months later, I’m still processing the experience. The heartbreak of leaving without goodbyes. The sadness of being separated from my husband. The despair of watching a country struggle. The grief of sudden loss and unexpected change.

After An Emergency Evacuation With Kids, I Still Choose Travel

After all of this, here’s what I want fellow parents to know: This evacuation, while dramatic and deeply painful, is not the norm.

99.9% of the time, traveling overseas with kids is safe, enriching, and incredibly worthwhile. What happened to us was a rare and extreme case—but even in that, we found strength, community, and resilience. And those are things I want my kids to carry with them for life.

Traveling with young children isn’t always easy—but neither is parenting in one place. What we gained by living abroad—the friendships, cultural insights, language, flexibility, and empathy—has shaped our children in ways we will forever cherish.

We’ve learned that preparation matters—having backup copies of documents, basic medical kits, and checklists of what truly matters in a crisis.

We’ve also learned that kids are often far more adaptable than we expect. With love, routine, and a few familiar comforts, they find their footing—even in the most uncertain of times.

There’s no perfect way to wrap up an experience like this. It’s an ongoing process of grieving, adapting, and looking ahead. What stays with me is the power of human connection. The way people show up for each other.

The way a lullaby can calm a child—or a parent. And the reminder that even in the darkest moments, kindness and community can bring light.

Even in the hardest goodbyes, even in the unknown, community matters.

And sometimes, it’s as simple as singing The Itsy Bitsy Spider.