“You’re going where?!” The look on my mom’s face when I told her I was about to board a flight to Brazzaville in the Republic of Congo was one that had, in the lead-up to my trip, become familiar.

It’s around 5:45 a.m., dawn in Republic of the Congo. The sun is burning off the final clouds from last night’s rain, and there’s a gentle breeze rippling the thick humidity in the air. I’m waist-deep ...