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.
