Closing Up

Lastly, I am in the capitol just having finished our closing seminar. Meaning, that I will be coming back State side by December. The last two months in village were very contemplative/reflective for me as I was seriously considering/praying to God as to whether or not I was meant to extend my service for another year, or whether it was time to go home. Whether or not I was meant to give my heart for this community for another year, or If my love is meant to be spent somewhere else. The truth is that I am immensely happy with my life in Dir. I have never felt so fulfilled, so supported by a community, so joyful, so close to God. I love my quality of life, and I love the values that people live by. I love that on a Wednesday a man who comes knocking on my door for help at the hospital for his sick wife, is fixing my broken down motorcycle in the bush on a Sunday. I love that the mama who feeds me beans four times a week is also the woman who takes me out dancing at the bars. I love knowing the stories of the women who are waddling around pregnant at market, and a couple of months later being able to meet their babies. I love that I am the person women come to when they are looking for ways to stop getting pregnant. I love that the food I eat comes from the community, and that there are only certain times of the year that we get to eat it because we are dependent on crop seasons! I love that when the rains come, everything stops, that we are subject to the weather here, that we have to be humble to our environment. I love that I have finally figured out the logistics of living here, that fetching water, cooking on village ingredients, and life without electricity is normal to me now. I love that I have stopped constantly thinking about “What do I have to be doing?” “What comes next” and that I’ve just learned to sit with people. I love that I have time to myself, and time to go on long walks just because I want some time to think. I love that I can be in a village 40 km out into the bush and people know me by name. I love the surprise that comes to people’s faces when I am able to roll their native tongue with them. I love that I don’t need to worry about having social plans or “things to do” because whenever I have free time in my schedule I can just go spend hours with one of my boutique guys or the petrol guy talking about everything and nothing. I love that in the evenings my neighbors and I all gather around a lamp and a cell phone and listen to music while the goobers dance.

It’s amazing to say, but my life here has become so easy, so effortless, so normal. I think I may be crazy for giving it up. For saying good-bye to the life I have created for myself here and the people who make up my world here. But, despite that, I can’t explain it in a concrete way, but I believe God is telling me that (for the time being) it’s time to come home. There is still much work to do at the hospital and with the soy harvest in my last three months in Dir, but my priority as my service winds down is simply to soak up all the small moments that make my life so full here.

Passages and Pictures

Wanted to share a few passages from a book I just read. Peter Godwin's "When A Crocodile Eats the Sun." A book about Mugabe reclaiming white farmer's land in Zimbabwe. A very good read. There are two passages that encompassed feelings I have had about Africa better than I ever could.

To compliment my last blog entry about Ishmael's cerebral malaria:

"In my part of Africa, death is never far away. With most Zimbabweans dying in their early 30s now, mortality has a seat at every table. The urgent, tugging winds themselves seem to whisper the message memento mori, you too shall die. In Africa, you do not view death from the auditorium of life, as a spectator, but from the edge of a stage, waiting only for when you are called. You feel perishable, temporary, transient. You feel mortal.

Maybe that is why you seem to live more vividly in Africa. The drama of life there is amplified by its constant proximity to death. That's what infuses it with tension. It is the essence of tragedy too. People love harder there. Love is the way that life forgets that it is terminal. Love is life's alibi in the face of death."

Then, this passage words perfectly how I have felt at time here:

"I feel like weeping. Weeping at the way Africa does this to you. Just as you are about to dismiss it and walk away, it delivers something so unexpected, so tender. One minute you're scared shitless, the next you are choked with affection."

Secondly, just three pictures to share:

Here are all my little neighbor goobers dressed up for the Fete du Ramadan. This year I fasted with all the Muslims to better understand what the month of Ramadan meant (and I also had my own intentions in my heart I was offering). It was fascinating to join in on the fast and learn even more about the Muslim faith. I know so many of us in the United States carry negative connatations about Islam, but when it is not interpreted by extremist, it is a beautiful, very peaceful, and incredibly disciplined religion.

Here is a close-up of Samira. She was a baaaaby when I first arrived, always being carried around on people's backs and now she's a little grown up. Dressed up with traditional make-up and everything for the Fete = ) (Ain't the snot a nice touch to the overall look?) In the background in the yellow outfit and hat is Ishmael, all recovered and looking like a little man!

This is Amanda Fanta Clodine! My first baby named after me in village! Her mother is a simple village woman, and I did two of her pre-natal consultations. When she came to the hospital in labor I was on night shift with Hortence and we helped her through a difficult birth. Two weeks later, she came to market and my name sake recieved her first vaccination. As I was sitting there holding baby Amanda at market it came to me that this baby encompasses everything I love about my work at the hospital. I love that small village life allows me, not only to be there at once, but to see it all. To be there for the whole story.