I haven't spent a lot of time in this blog talking about the difficult times. Maybe I've been misleading you, in which case I'm sorry. So here's the truth: At least once a day, the thought runs through my head--"I could go home right now. I could call it quits and be eating a goat cheese salad [or pizza, or thai food, or mint chocolate chip ice cream, or...] in 72 hours." That's the sort of thing we're not supposed to admit, but it's true. It doesn't mean I'm going anywhere anytime soon. At least once a day I also think, "I'm the luckiest human being in the world." The combination of these two thoughts, and the short time frame within which both of them float through my mind, is referred to by volunteers as the "roller coaster." The thing about roller coasters, even emotional ones, is that they are simultaneously thrilling, terrifying, fun, and nauseating.
Some days I would rather sit in my house and stare at the wall than attempt to have a coherent conversation in Swahili. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the cultural barriers separating me from my new friends--it has become apparent over the past few months that there really are some things that can't be understood cross-culturally. As close as I am to my Mamas, there is so much about me they will never understand. And I'm sure they feel the same way about me. And sometimes I just want to sit in my house and sob hysterically about the things I've witnessed here, and the fact that there is so, so little I can do to help. Other times I just feel totally numb. I find myself making really off-color jokes, which I guess is my way of trying to deal with things that are just beyond my comprehension. AIDS? Food insecurity? If I can't laugh, I'll cry. Sometimes I do cry. The realization that, statistically, at least a few of the children I play with on a daily basis are going to die of preventable disease. How are you supposed to deal with that? Everyday, I rotate between feelings of anger so intense I think it might eat me alive and numbness to the point of boredom and sadness so deep I might get lost inside it.
The roller coaster has been getting faster. The twists are more nauseating, the rails a little rickety-er, the drops are more dramatic. I find myself overwhelmed by the simplest decisions -- do I hold on or throw my hands up? Do I scream with joy or scream with fear? And really, is there even a difference?
What you are doing there is very important, and you make us all very proud.
ReplyDeleteNobody trips over mountains. It is the small pebble that causes you to stumble. Pass all the pebbles in your path and you will find you have crossed the mountain!!! Sending lots of love your way! Martina
ReplyDeleteWhile not exactly thousands of miles away from my homeland, and not doing nearly the courageous things you are doing on a daily basis, I kind of understand how you feel. During my ten year stint working in an all black charter school in Detroit, I had moments similar to what you described in your blog. Times in particular were at sporting events like going to our middle school boys basketball games. The first time was freaky, but I looked around and realized I was the only, and I mean only white person in the gymnasium. We had other white teachers but they never came to the games. My feelings ranged from feeling very cool and hip to "what am I doing here?" It happened again when I was coaching track and we would be at these huge meets and again I would look around and maybe there were one or two other honky's, but that was it. I never really got used to it, just accepted it and always felt good knowing I was making one or two kids feel good about themselves. But it was like I could really feel what it felt like to be "different", and wondered if I was being judged. It was never (or not always) about how I was feeling, but more so how important I was making the kids feel because I was there. Keep on keepin' on Lovely Lauren and Happy Hanukkah! Have you tried to explain that yet! :) Love, Your very white, Aunt Lori
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