Smooth as a skippin' rock

It's a true Monday and after a full weekend I'm not sure how to get myself in a place to handle the day. Saturday we got our stipends deposited, so, after washing my hair and having tea and toast for breakfast I headed to find a koombi to town. I had to walk a little ways from my village, to just past the hospital, before I caught a taxi heading to the taxi rank, but the walk was good, allowed me to clear my head. When I got to the taxi rank I was immediately whisked away to the last seat on a Tzaneen taxi.. and it was the front seat ( in some areas this isn't such a good thing, as the front seat people are in charge of taking the money and counting it for the driver, giving people change, etc.. but not so much around here). The man occupying the middle of the seat, in between the driver and myself, was the guy I had met a few days before on the main road in Metz. He's from Nigeria and is in the area for 2 months to work on the road crew, laying pipe, filling holes, and tarring. An interesting guy with some interesting things to say. He asked where I was from in America and my reply of, "Texas" was met with,"Oh, I've been to Sheffield." Sheffield, Sheffield. Where is Sheffield? Is it in Illinois? No, no, that's Springfield. "Hmm, I'm sorry, I can't think of where Sheffield is in the States. Do you remember which area of the country it was in?" "No, no I don't, but I'll be heading back to the UK soon and there's a chance I may be placed in Sheffield again." "OH. Sheffield in the UK. Uh huh. Yeah, I've never been there." Then before I could attempt to explain that no, the UK and the US are not the same country... the driver turned up the dance club music and the three of us spent the rest of the trip in a yelling conversation (had to let the music be heard by everyone... and the driver didn't want people going to sleep) about game reserves and what you're supposed to do if you find yourself in a situation where you're in the middle of nowhere with an elephant looking as though it might want to stomp you. (You clap loudly) Town. This weekend wasn't the best weekend to head there as it was month end (when everyone gets their pension and grant checks), lines that are already pretty long, were going to be three times that. But good coffee and a chance to meet up with some other volunteers made it worth it. I ran my errands, bought the Lucky Dube CD I've been wanting (ever since a burned copy corrupted my iTunes), got some new paper and a good pen for letter writing, and sat at Woolworth's finishing up a couple of my Newsweeks from the last Peace Corps' mailing. Lunch was at the good Indian restaurant with Jaceson, VIrginia, Erin, and Ronda, before I headed back to the taxi rank. I had the taxi luck. When I got to the taxi rank, I was able to get the last seat on the koombi heading for Metz and piled my two grocery bags (6 litres of milk, cheese, crackers, 2 liters juice, lentils, cereal, bread, and butter) in for the ride. I ended up sitting next to a guy who talked to me about the current situation in Zimbabwe (sad and overwhelming) and who used his internet phone to look up a few news articles so I could get caught up. Got back to the village pretty quickly, hauled all my food back to my room and sat on my bed, not sure what to do with myself. Antsy, tired, fried, overwhelmed, claustrophobic, trapped, blah, stressed, tense, emotional, you name it, I was feeling it. I got to talk to a good friend from the States... and although it was a good conversation and I was very much in it, I couldn't tell you half the things I said. Yesterday, because I was having such a hard time I just threw myself into washing all my clothes and spending the day cleaning my room. I'm just tired. I don't want to complain. Don't want to come across as complaining, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. I AM TIRED. I don't want to leave here. I don't wish I had more amenities. I'm ok where I am... I'm just exhausted, worn out, worn down. This is isn't the kind of exhaustion that is remedied with sleep, I get plenty. It's the kind that is rooted in being here for almost a year, taking in so much, and feeling your limbs shake because you're starting to buckle from some of the pressure. I know I'm lucky. I recognize this everyday. I have made the choice to be here. I can leave whenever I choose. And I choose to stay. I wish I could be someone who could just take it all, absorb it, and not complain, someone who can take the weight and not bend, but I don't think that it's very realistic to put such expectations on yourself. Nothing is perfect.. no one is perfect. I am living with way more amenities than I ever expected to have when I signed up to do Peace Corps, but I'm also living a very different life than I once thought I would live during my service. I know I've gained a lot of positive things and grown a lot as a person, learned a lot about the world and how big, yet small it is... and I'm really, really hoping that, after all has been said and done, the negative things I've seen, heard, and absorbed during my time here, that mess with my head on a pretty regular basis, won't end up doing more harm when I'm through with my service. I really, really hope.
I've been thinking a lot about the work I'm doing and trying to do here. A few big things have happened to spur such thoughts.
*Abby left to fly home for a visit last week and while talking to her about all the feelings attached to making such a journey... I was having my own little panic attacks. AMERICA?! I'm eventually going to go back there. What the hell am I going to do when I get back there? How am I going to handle going out at night? Not having to spend so much time alone? People asking me questions about here? People not asking me questions about here? Realizing more and more how I've changed? Seeing people I love and hold so close after so much time of not seeing them? Consumerism? Options and options and options? Yards and houses and cars NOT behind big, tall, barbed, electrified, fences and gates? Lots and lots of white people. A wasting of resources. Pressures. Thoughts of the future.
*While Abby was in the air flying, possbily, over the ocean, some people from my "place" were in the village. Yep. Oh yeah. Metz village had some Americans visit! On Thursday morning, the pastor from a nearby village who is on my NGO's board of directors, stopped by the office. "Ah, Mmapula. There are people from your place here." "Whaaaaat!?!" "Yes. At the Lutheran Church. You should go greet them." Oh you better believe I was going to greet them! We locked up the office and headed down the main road to the church to meet all these people. I'll admit, I was a little nervous. I'm pretty comfortable in the village and with people from the village... and I'm comfortable with PCV's.. but I've had some mixed experiences with people from the international community who are here to do any sort of volunteering. I ended up spending the day with a great group of people. On a trip connected with their church they had come over to provide basic dental and eye care to hundreds of people in the local villages in the Metz area. It was good to see instant results.... people who were having pain because of infections in their mouths could have teeth removed... people who couldn't read because their eyes wouldn't allow them to.. were given, not one, but two pairs of glasses (glasses and sunglasses).. people were smiling, needs were being met. It was awesome, heartwarming, and really, really good for me to witness. I know all the volunteers were tired.. they had been working long days, were seeing all sorts of sad cases, were spending hours and hours giving parts of themselves, and were exhausted. Such work is exhausting. Over the last few days I've met so many people who have come up to me and asked me if I knew the group. "Oh good! They helped me get glasses!","I haven't been able to read my Bible for some time now, but last night I got to!", " My tooth had been bothering me, but now that it's gone, it feels better on that side of my face!" They helped and touched hundreds of people during their short time here, but I'm most touched by the members of my African family who were helped. It's a personal thing. Maria (MmaDiapo's older sister), Margaret (her daughter), and MmaDiapo's brother's wife all got glasses on Friday. Thursday they tried to get on the list to be seen, but showed up after all the numbers had been given out. On Thursday night I encouraged all of them to get up really early and get to Lorraine (the village the volunteers would be in on Friday) before 9am so they could have a place in the queue. That's just what they did. They left their houses early and at lunchtime on Friday, when I was coming back from the office, all of them showed me their glasses, smiling big, and talking excitedly.
*I read an article in the May 26/June 2nd, 2008 Newsweek called "An Immigrant's Silent Struggle", about a man, Robert Kosi Tette, who had immigrated to the US from Ghana about 10 years ago. He recently went back to Ghana for a visit and wrote about the thoughts he had had as he sat at an onion seller's stall in Accra. The quote that struck me and has stuck with me is as follows:
"It was as though I had run 10 consecutive marathons, one for each year abroad, and my body screamed for rest. My trip home was in anticipation of a respite, but instead I felt as though I were drowning in a melting pot of cultures. Part of me wanted to settle permanently in America and put closure to the direction my life was heading. Another part still longed for the uncomplicated life I once knew in Ghana-despite the illusive price of acceptance. Most of us leaving home never quite considered how much we would change or the scarring challenges ahead of us. I could still remember a time when my thinking was no different than the onion seller's. Someone had seen beyond that and given me a chance to come to America, so I still felt compelled to give something back. Perhaps I should have been asking myself if I really wanted to trade places with the onion seller. Deep down I knew my answer was no. Enlightenment had come with the loss of innocence and a silent struggle. My cultural dichotomy was no different from what other immigrants from other cultures faced in America. I could stop dwelling on being torn between two countries by accepting my new identity as a progressive blend of the two and embrace new responsibilities."
*Friday, in the office, Esther compiled a list of the "poorest of the poor" children and families our NGO serves and later on that day we spent a couple of hours unloading 50kg bags of mealie meal and plastic bags full of beans, laundry soap, powdered milk, and other needed items, from a bakkie (pickup truck). Watching those families come from far off villages, most of them remote, back next to the mountains, to pick up the food and haul it back to their homes really struck a chord. So many children who don't have food. Poverty staring us all in the face. So many people awkward about asking for the food, but needing to do so.
Things to think about.
I'm off to work... I feel better getting some of my thoughts out there... but before I go I'd like to extend a thanks to all who read this blog, who comment, and who send me good thoughts. Thanks to you. Support is greatly appreciated.... and thank you for bearing with me and my writing. My grasp on the English language is slipping... and although I try to practice with a Word Power book, reading all the time, and keeping up with my letter and journal writing... I still have trouble spelling certain words, making grammatical decisions, and completing thoughts. So thank you, loyal readers. Thank you very much.