here, there, everywhere

I haven’t written in a while.  I wish there were a better reason than the one I’m about to share, but the honest reason it’s taken me so long to write another post is because I’ve just been unable to get my emotions together enough to think clearly about all that is life.  The last few weeks of life in Kankan flew by.  Between trying to finish up interviews and term papers, finishing my work on the loom for the final show, and saying the hardest good-byes in my entire life, I hardly had time to process for myself what was going on and how I was dealing with it, much less translate those experiences and emotions into English and find time to go to internet and share them with you. 

Then when I came back, I crashed.  I made it through the three days of traveling, a 9 hour taxi drive, two hotels, and five different airports, thanks to pure adrenaline.  Looking back, I really don’t know how we did it.  Strange thing home is, though.  If you’ve ever experienced reverse culture shock, you know what I mean.  The only thing worse than being in a different culture and having no idea what’s going on or what to do, is being in a culture where you should know what is going on and what to do, and yet you still don’t feel like you belong.  It’s rough.  Everyday things like making breakfast and taking a shower and walking outside to get the mail seem like totally foreign activities, and going to the grocery store or the mall?  Forget it.  The first time I walked into Kroger I had to stop and close my eyes, collect myself, before I could even walk past the second set of doors.  The horribly bright lights, the sounds of carts and announcements on the loud speaker and people talking in English, the absence of smells, no pungent fish or spices or fruit or even garbage for that matter, and then there’s the sheer abundance of everything.  I mean none of this as judgment, because it’s everyday life, it’s how we live here, and there really isn’t an alternative, but the difference is still such a shock.  I bought a bunch of bananas from the top of the display case, and I didn’t ask the women who was selling them how she was doing, and how was her family, and her home; didn’t need to ask the price because it was listed on a sign in huge bold numbers, and I didn’t tell her thank you, or good-bye, or see you tomorrow, as I would have back in Kankan, because there was no one to have this conversation with.  It’s such a simple thing, going to the store to buy bananas, and it’s not that there’s one best way to do this, it’s just different everywhere you go.  You can think you know that things will be different and strange, but emotions don’t really work this way.  You can know things with your head, but your heart doesn’t always speak the language of reason.

The three months I lived in Kankan were three of the hardest months of my life, and yet some days my heart longs for those dusty market streets and the sweet taste of fresh coconut, shared with friends under the cool shade of one of the few trees in the entire city.  I miss the really challenging conversations, miss struggling to communicate.  And yet, I love being back.  I love reconnecting with friends I haven’t seen in way too long, love waking up late without anything to do; I love baking with my mom in my pajamas and going to church again where God can be “she.” 

My mind keeps telling me I can’t love both of these things, I can’t actually have enjoyed life that was so hard and still love this life I came back to.  Missing home means that’s where my heart is, right?  That’s where I’m supposed to be?  But can my heart really be in more than one place?  My brain keeps telling me I have to find one place I belong, that only one can be the best for me.  I have to make the right choice, because there is only one right path, and I need to find that (and hopefully sooner rather than later).  And if I like one, I can’t like the other, right?  Or I should at least have to like one more than the other.  But my heart is telling me something totally different.  I love more than one place.  I loved cooking in the back of the restaurant in Kankan with my host sisters, and laughing together as they taught me how to dance right.  I love baking pumpkin muffins with my mom, both of us in our pajamas, sometimes talking, sometimes not, just enjoying being close to one another.  I love going to breakfast after church with my new friends in Wooster, and spending late Wednesday nights baking way more banana bread than we’ll ever eat.  I love walking across that familiar field at night, looking up at those stars, the only things there that never change, remembering all the times I’ve held God herself in my lap as I rocked her to sleep, or waited for lunch, or just been there for comfort.  In all my travels, my comings and goings, I’ve been searching for that one singular place, path, passion, but what I’ve found is that my passion, my love, multiplies with every place I go. 

I think what it is, my passion, my love, it’s where I find God.  And God, she doesn’t choose one place over the other.  She IS.  Allah ye ya.  Dieu est partout.  God is everywhere.  What do you want to be when you grow up?  What do you want to do with your major?  Where do you see yourself in 5 years?  I want to be in love with God.  I want to use my major to learn how to live with conviction and questions and laughter.  And in 5 years, I don’t care where I’ll be because wherever I’ll be, I’ll be with God. 

It’d be foolish to say I’m always aware of her, but she’s here, whether I realize it or not.  My acknowledgment of her presence, of her intimacy and care, doesn’t change her love.  So instead of pretending I don’t deserve it, or trying to run away from it, or making myself too busy to be able to slow down and realize it, I need to change my response. So I’m trying to slow down a little, stop all the frantic searching, and begin to notice God where I am, wherever I am.  Many times, it’s the little things that have a way of reminding me, the mundane become extraordinary because God, she has a way of changing even the simplest things into moments of love and grace and thanks.  This morning, it was the familiar sight of steam rising from the coffee in my mason jar as I sat outside under the trees working on my journals; and the voice of a friend, honest and from the heart, “I’m really glad you’re here with me right now.”  It was a beautiful sunset, the sun huge falling low in the sky, partially hidden behind a few clouds yet its radiance only enhanced by these shadows that tried to hide it.  Sometimes these little things slip right past, but with each glimpse of God, I become more aware of her presence right here, right now.  Because wherever I am, I am with God. 

November 13

Three weeks left before we leave.  For my family back home it’s still so far away, but for my family here, it’s way too soon.  I can’t believe it’s already been ten weeks.  Where has the time gone?  The days last forever and yet the weeks pass by so quickly.  My brain is like fried mush.  I’ve never lived with so much energy before and at the end of every day I’m absolutely exhausted.  And many times before the end of the day.  Because everything is challenging.  

Don’t get me wrong, there are just as many rewarding parts to each day as well, but even the good times are difficult.  Drinking coffee and eating fried plantains, buying beautiful fabric and delicious fresh fruit from the market, just walking down the street to get to class or taking a taxi moto across town to visit friends, it all requires so much energy.  And quiet time?  It hardly exists.  I came home yesterday and no one was home.  The next 5 minutes were the closest thing to peace and quiet I’ve had in a long time.  It just isn’t a thing here.  

And going to the library to do work, or even going to a café… first, you have to explain to everyone where you’re going and when you’ll be back; then you have to get there, either by walking or by taking a taxi, which involves haggling the price and avoiding dumb questions and trying to understand what people are saying; then once you get there, you have to greet everyone there and when you finally settle down to do work (that is, of course, assuming that where you are has electricity and you can plug your computer in) please, make sure you bring your earphones because then you won’t be able to hear everyone talking about you and you might actually get work done.  I’m so ready to just be normal again.  I never thought I’d say that.  

I take that back, I don’t want to be normal, but I would love to be where I knew what was going on, and I wasn’t stared at everywhere I went, and I could do what I needed to do without waiting for people, and I could communicate without being laughed at for not understanding, and I could just sit and watch the sun set and count the stars as the come out without being bitten by a thousand mosquitoes.  Life is great, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.  

I don’t write this as a complaint, but rather as a celebration.  A celebration for every struggle I’ve made it through, every small ounce of courage I’ve gained; every tear I’ve shed for my life back home, for all those whom I love and who return that love more than I’ll ever know; It’s a celebration of the golden sunlight that comes at the end of every day, no matter how long or tiring, the golden sunlight that promises the soft comfort of darkness, and the familiar comfort of my favorite hunter laying low on the horizon.  It’s a celebration of love, of patience, of deep respect; a celebration of the comfort of a simple handshake, even though we don’t agree, we never will, and despite the fact that I’m only 70% sure I understood the words you said.  But the celebration runs deeper than words, because I understood your hopes, your dreams; I understood the struggle to try to find your place in the world, and to make the most of the life before you; the struggle to follow your heart and the wishes of your family at the same time, and the struggle to remain with God through all of this.  

My brain may feel mike mush at the end of the day, but heart sings always for joy, for love, for life. 

October 26, 2013 - a few days ago, but internet.... enough said.

It’s been an interesting few weeks in my homestay.  There are such highs and yet also such times of frustration and confusion.  I’ve been abnormally busy these past few days, and I’ve slowly realized that I can’t actually function on overload for this long.  I’ve never tried to work 9:00 – 4:00 and remain enrolled in 16 credit hours, much less do so while living in a totally new place and trying to learn two languages at the same time.  I say it now and the realization of the impossible gives me the ability to let go, to take a new look, and to re-prioritize.  

We took a week off last week from living with our host families and taking classes and going to work, to explore a new part of Guinea.  I had such a great time, and it was refreshing to spend so much time in nature.  Dalaba, the city we stayed, is one of the most beautiful places; there are flowers and greenery all over.  We ate some really good food and hiked to the most breath-taking waterfalls.  We got stuck in the rain on the last day and had to hike 40 minutes uphill back to the car soaking wet, but we smiled all the way.  We splashed in puddles and waded across the road-turned-river, and when we finally made it back to the car, it was such a relief to be warm again that being cramped together, ten of us in a small car, for the hour ride back to the hotel was a good thing.  It was a great trip to see and do, but it was also great because it gave me time away from my busy life in Kankan to think about all that I wanted to do and get out of these last six weeks, because, believe it or not, we’re half-way through.  Crazy how fast time moves.  There’s a lot to do before I leave, and not lots of time to do it in.  But I have to be careful I don’t get too busy again, because as much as I love it here, there’s a lot going on, and if I want to be able to make the most of it, I need to make sure I make time for myself, too. 

Because there’s been so much stress and emphasis on doing, there just hasn’t been much time just for being.  I’m used to being busy, and I like being busy (or rather, I just don’t like being bored), but Papa whispers in my ear while I run around trying to find Her, “I’m here; I am with you already.”  And even though I hear it sometimes, it seems too good to be true; I keep looking because it really can’t be that easy, it’s not allowed to be easy.  I’m so undeserving, so small; I ignore Papa’s voice because I don’t think I deserve it, because I can’t imagine why She would choose me, why She would want to call me Her own.  I’m so broken, shattered into pieces too small and too distorted to put back together, but all the while Papa whispers to me, holding me together.  I thought Papa would go away if I decided not to listen, but She had other plans.  “I am here,” Papa calls to me, “and nothing you can do can change that.”  Can I believe that, can I know it with my heart?  I feel it in the hands of those who have opened up their homes to me, to feed me a meal and to feed my soul; I feel it in the voices of the many gathered every Sunday night to just be together, to believe through each other; I see it in the smiles of the broken ones, of those who have so many reasons to be sad, and yet stare up at the stars with such hope, such joy, as we walk hand in hand together across the field.  I sense it here, as I look up into the branches of the biggest tree I’ve ever seen, wishing this tree could talk and tell me things, what it’s seen, what it knows. 

Can I accept it?  Can I allow myself to open my heart to the love that Papa so freely gives?  Already there, already waiting, just for me.  The seed was planted long ago, and yet I’ve been searching so hard to find it.  It’s growing, and yet in my hurry and my want to see something else, I’ve overlooked it.  But Papa, I’ll never know why, She calls me and she lavishes her love upon me regardless.  I’m stubborn as a mule, but I’m beginning to see.  There are years of hurt and pain that threaten to keep the world at arm’s length, but Papa keeps loving, removing one layer at a time. 

There’s been a lot to see, a lot to do; lots of comings and goings, moving and making.  It’s not over, either.  There’s still lots of work to do, but Papa, She’s got it covered.  There are papers to write and people to interview; there’s cloth to be woven, and bogolan to be painted.  There are 40 more days of homestay confusion, of comings and goings, and nights out with friends.  But there’s also tea time and self-time, time for walks and time to stare up at the clouds and think.  Time to write and reflect and remember.  Each day is a blessing; I look around and see Papa’s fingerprints over everything, and a smile slowly spreads over my face.  Slowly, softly; sometimes I don’t even realize it, but it’s there, returning the love I feel so fortunate to receive. 

a day in the life...

I begin this post with a disclaimer because there really isn’t a typical day.  There are so many things going on and things change really quickly, so I never know what’s going to happen when I wake up in the morning, but I’ve tried to put together an average day so you know at least kind of what I’m doing on a day-to-day basis.

7:00 (give or take a half hour) – wake up to the sound of  others moving around the house (and roosters outside and even a few goats sometimes).  Crawl out of my bug tent and open the shutters to let in the cool and refreshing morning air.  Use the bathroom, get dressed, brush my teeth, fold up my tent, make sure I’ve got my meds, make some Gatorade or other re-hydration- type drink to during the day if I need it.  Kill a few spiders and mosquitoes in the process, and make sure I have everything else ready for the day with me in my bag. 

8:00 – be ready to go.  Although we normally don’t leave till 8:20 or 8:30, I still try to be ready early because even though my host dad wears a big fancy watch, it doesn’t work, plus, it’s Africa and things are never on time. 

8:30 – finally leave for the restaurant.  This is after starting the car (which the past few days has taken pushing it across the yard a few times before it starts) and saying hellos to the extended family living around the corner. 

8:45 – breakfast!  It’s called lafidi, and it’s a type of rice and sauce.  It’s delicious, even though it’s heavy on the stomach early in the morning.  If I hear it in time, I refuse the soda they try to give me, and hope they don’t bring out a whole fish to put on top of it (fish have teeth.  I spent all breakfast looking at them.  Just to give you an idea).  If I’m feeling brave, I “remember” my manners and say the proper blessing at the end of the meal, and then just sit there awkwardly until my host dad says it’s time to go and finds someone to take me to work on a moto.  Yes, on the back of a small motorcycle. It's womderful (and safe, mom, everyone here does it and there aren't serious accidents because with the road conditions you can't go above 30mph).

9:30 (or so…) – arrive at the CAFF (it’s name means something about the center for the advancement of women), and greet everyone there.  There’s a lot of people there, but it makes me feel good about myself because I’m really good at greeting people in Maninkakan.  After that, I set up the loom outside and start weaving!  Things are interesting because I sit in the front yard of the center and just hang out with my mentor and lots of other people who stop by to stare at the “tu ba boo” (foreigner/ white person) sitting outside doing a traditional craft.  It’s a lot of fun.  Aside from getting to create some really awesome weaving (I’m improving and my mentor even said I was learning really quickly), I just sit there and observe life; I watch the kids and women selling cassava and water and peanuts and oranges from buckets on the top of their heads, and the loading and unloading of taxis that happens right outside the front gate of the center.  The guys hanging out at the restaurant next door will occasionally wonder over and say hello or try to have longer conversations, some of which I can begin to understand and others of which I just sit there and pretend to understand. 

1:30 (or 2:00, or 2:30, or 3:00) – Lunch!  Normally it’s rice and sauce and fish balls, but I’ve had couscous once and toh once.  I head inside to where the women are sewing, and I sit and eat lunch and watch them sew while they try to sometimes talk to me and most times just talk amongst themselves in a language that’s beautiful, but too fast for me to follow. 

After – I head back to the loom to work some more.  Work and watch and learn.

3:30 or 4:00 – finish what I’m working on for the day and take down/ put away my work for the night.  When I’m done, I say good-bye to my mentor, and then wait until someone can take me home for the day.  Or go somewhere else, which is most normally the case.  Sometimes it’s to the internet place, other times it’s to the bakery to meet friends for some much needed English conversation and debrief of the week; once a week we have language class.  This week, Wednesday through Saturday, we have Bogolan workshops at the center, so at 4:00, everyone comes to me, and we hang out with this fantastic artist from Bamako and do some Bogolan paintings and learn about the art of Bogolan.  I don’t have time now to do the art justice, but it’s super cool if you want to look it up. 

6:30 (or so…) – get back to my compound.  Remember to greet the neighbors as I walk by, and to try not to look too drained as I greet my host family in my own compound.  Normally I take time to “wash” when I get home, and what that means is I go into my room and crash on my bed and sometimes cry and sometimes eat jam with bread, and sometimes just lay in bed and look at the ceiling congratulating myself on (almost) making it through another day.  I do end up “washing” which is in quotations because really I’m just dumping water on myself and scrubbing vigorously.  It’s really great and really refreshing because the water is cold and feels really cleansing, taking off layers of sweat and grime that have built up over the course of the day’s events. 

After – head back to the main house and sit on the couch awkwardly for the next few hours with the family watching TV.  Eat dinner, which has been “salad” and some more rice and sauce (though once it was plantains!)  When I gain the courage to say something, I declare that I’m tired and am going to bed.  Sometimes this happens as early as 8:30, and other times I can make it to 9:30 or so.  And one night I stayed up with the women sitting outside talking until 10:20.  That’s really late for me. 

When I get back to my room I crash.  I set up my mosquito tent, sometimes if there’s electricity I’ll fold clothes and try to get some work done on my computer, but mostly I just go to sleep.  The days are really long and exhausting and draining, but they’re also going by really really fast and they’re so much going on and I love it here, I really do.