Things are beginning to
break. My blue camp chair, my computer battery, one of the strings on
my beloved and well-worn leather backpack. It seems like everything I
own, from my sneakers to my underwear, ether does have holes or will
at any moment. It feels like the universe is conspiring, if not
against me, then at least against the things that make up my life, as
if it knows that my time here is limited, so things might as well
fall apart.
Other things are also beginning to break down: My stamina, creativity, innovation and on some days, my inner calm. That thing that let me sit back and watch my
emotions before I reacted to them, that even after a bad day lent me
the resolve to begin anew tomorrow, to keep going, to find joy in the
journey of it because the end wasn't anywhere in sight.
Now I can see the end, in
clear lines and shapes and plans, in a way I never could before. And
now that I can see it I am all of a sudden overwhelmingly ready for
it. Ready to be re-united with the village that raised me, with the
family and friends I left behind.
Sick of living so far
away from everyone and wondering how they are because communication
is hard. Sick of always,
always, always being visible and on display and expected to talk to
people, expected to go out of my way to interact (even though in the
same instant where I get pissed off and feel like I'm going to snap,
a parallel tape plays that reminds me that this is their culture,
this song and dance of greetings, of never choosing to be alone, of
staring unabashedly.)
Maybe that's part of the
angst~the fact that I can get so pissed at something that I also
understand and generally respect. I didn't used to feel this
impatient, but like I said it feels like everything is breaking.
Every piece of bad news feels like another boulder added to the pile
of things I can't do anything about, every adorable child who asks me
for sweets a possible target for rudeness and sharp words, that I
know will do nothing to dissuade them from this idea that a white
person is a walking vending machine, or their parents that I'm a
walking meal ticket. I understand where all of this comes from~many a
guilt-ridden white traveler will thoughtlessly leave candy and sweets
in their wake, unconscious of the precedent they set, uncaring or
unaware that such gifts are not really helping people. It's an instantaneous
action that does more harm than good, and dammit if those
high-pitches voices saying “hi!” and “give me sweets” don't
make me scowl and grit my teeth.
I've been making lots of
list, because it seems like my head and mind is everywhere but here;
on how great it will feel to embrace my friends, to walk down a
street without anyone giving me a second glance, to be able to
finally sit down with the ones I miss so dearly and exchange stories
of past and present, to start graduate school and move to Chicago, to
have electricity and washers and dryers and craft beer readily
available. To be back in my city. I have lists of presents to get for
people and things I want to get before I go. I have to-do lists and
shopping lists and a list of the things I'll send home before me so I
won't have to carry anything but Penny Lane (my backpack) when I
leave Lesotho. They are my way of preparing to go, of organizing the
many strings that must be tied up before I leave. They are also my
way of making it through the week, through the month. My calendar is
marked up with up-coming events because more than ever I need things
to look forward to now, just to make it through.
And then sometimes my
better half will lift her head up from the pile of fluffy white
comforters she's been sleeping under and remind me that this
is my life, this moment. There is no pause button and no rewind
either, and if I keep on living for the future I'll miss what's right
in front of me and regret that I spnet my last four months here
waiting to leave. She'll lovingly remind me that I will probably be
back to Lesotho but have no idea when that will be, and that feeling
sour inside means I'm probably not being my best self to the people
around me either. She'll reach over and lift up my chin and remind me
that I want my host siblings to have fond memories of me, the best
me, and not the angsty witch that's been inhabiting my body lately. I
may wrinkle my nose and roll my eyes, but I'll thank her. Because
she's right. Because these are truths that I've come to know so
intimately in my time here, and understanding them doesn't mean a
damn thing if I don't act accordingly.
The
truth is that I'm infinitely grateful for this experience, and for
what this passage of time has given me: a broader perspective and
understanding of the world, another family and a community that love
me, lifelong friends as quirky and varied as tropical birds who I
would never have known had I not chosen to live half-way across the
world for a couple years. I'm conscious of the ways I've changed as a
result of this experience: I move slower, I'm more patient and I'm
better at communicating. I take real pleasure now in the time and
effort it takes to cook a delicious meal, to make a garden grow. I
can sit and just be without feeling the need to do.
I hope that these things remain amidst the hustle and bustle that is
the city of my birth and the culture I was born into.
It's just time. The fact that I am mentally, emotionally and
spiritually just about through with this experience doesn't negate
any of these changes.
It's just time. I always knew I'd be spent at the end of my time
here, that there was nothing here for me beyond 27 months. That's
still true, and I still love Lesotho.
But it's time.
The struggle is in holding both of these truths in the same hands,
the same heart.
Three more months.
on the bright side....
the dictionaries are here!
 |
| "Mme Mpho, take me a photo!" |
And electricity is almost here! We're wired, and we're raising the last funds to get it installed.
Infinite thanks, love and gratitude to all those who donated to these projects. Things like electricity and dictionaries may seem like small, simple things, but they make a world of difference to the experience of learning.
Khotso ya'll.
