Genethliacon vol. 25

Genethliacon (n)- a birthday ode

Today was remarkably Wednesday, birthday and all. There was none of the weight of a Monday nor the freedom and possibility inherent in weekend days. It was business as usual, which was alright by me.

 I think this birthday doesn’t feel so weighty to me because this whole year is monumental. It will stand out in another ¾ of a century to me. I can rent a car without paying through the nose. What does feel weighty is the entrance into this ten-year period where I would like to establish the foundations for the rest of my life. Ten years from right now, I hope to be comfortably settled in a town, with a partner and ready, if not already planning for children. I hope to have a job that satisfies me, to have beehive(s), and to still be knitting. I feel like I’m ready for that life. 

If twenty-five years marks the climb into adulthood, maybe the next twenty-five years arching towards fifty, mid-life, imply a downward course towards settling. Settling in, settling down, not settling for less, unsatisfied. Being here has taught me that it can be so pleasant to be comfortable. Comfortable to be clean, surrounded by love, to have options, to have work surfaces, and to have help at hand. 

That doesn’t imply not learning or not working hard. I think after my time here in Zambia, I won’t feel the need to prove that I’m tough enough, resilient enough, to keep going. Toughness and resiliency would be welcomed, though. 

Today I had two small breakdowns which felt uncontrollable and were undoubtedly culturally inappropriate. On the phone with my mom, we started talking about being far away and her tear-choked voice talking about her own father drove me to tears. Three men stopped to greet me as I was tearfully on the phone. Why do Zambians start talking to you when you are clearly on the phone? They asked me who had died (because a death is the only time when adults cry in this culture). I said no one had and said goodbye to them, somewhat briskly.

 Then, talking to Stephen later I became so overwhelmed. We were talking about heavier things than I wish we had been, plus my phone had momentarily become unresponsive. I was wondering if I could still manage to get to Lusaka for meetings next week without a working phone. Then a maama approached me and started trying to tell me something I did not understand in the least (while I was also clearly on the phone). I told her I didn’t understand with tears brimming, then turned away and cried, again. I’m not proud and it was an uncomfortable moment. 

When I came back from the boma, recovering from my thirst and the heat, I promptly fell asleep for several hours. The only explanation I can give is emotional exhaustion. Maybe physical, too. I’m pretty sore from my gardening yesterday, in unexpected places like my hands and my abdominals.

In summation, twenty-five doesn’t feel like a spectacular change. Compared to times before, I’m maturing still. I’m learning more about life and my place in it. The number marks a progression, not defines it. Is that even proper English? More to learn, obviously. 

6 September 2017

Grilse

Grilse (n)- a salmon that has returned to freshwater after a single year at sea

First day back in the village after a month! I think this is a sort of turning point in my service. Reiterating thoughts I shared with family- I know I’m not totally happy here. At least, not as happy as I am at home or with my loved ones. I’m not as comfortable and not as healthy, physically or mentally. I know these things and I am going to choose to stay.

 That’s essentially the point of Peace Corps: to be somewhere radically different, to break from the comfort and ease of our known lives, and to try and serve the community in which we are placed. In this last aim, I will try my best. If, after two years, it is hard to see any difference, so be it. I will know I have tried, stayed committed, and followed through. This conviction will make a difference to me. So far, at every wrong turn I think about quitting, even if in a small part. Not an option. Needing medical or psychiatric care would be a different story; I acknowledge that. I’m in my seventh month, ¼ of the way through, and I have things to do! 

This is me being tough. 

All that said, today and yesterday were rough. I rode back to my village in the dusty heat and was warmly welcomed by my host family, which I loved. Anxious to try out my repeater, I plugged it in, turned it on, and…nothing on my phone. That was quite a blow. Mice (or worse) ate through a bottle of hair conditioner, some seed packets, one of my food bins, and pooped/nested in my clothes. Streams of ants (three different ones, to be precise) were in my doorway, by my bed, and around my water filter. The oil pourer I bought in South Africa is too small for any bottle I have. And! Someone stole my malaria medication while I was traveling. I have no idea when, as I didn’t check to see if it was there on my trip. I also lost a malachite heart pendant I bought at the Sunday market in Lusaka. I’m trying not to read into symbolism there.

On the positive side, my new shampoo makes my hair smell like honey. My angel of a host mom cleaned my house, washed my rugs, and planted my garden with tomatoes, beans, and rape (canola in American English). Apparently the pigs came and ate everything again. Some basil, mint, wusi, and tomatoes escaped. I taught my host brother Weston about mint and basil today.

Ataata has apparently been building toilets and educating about sanitation in Kaswaswa, Kafweko, and Ikongo (nearby villages), which is amazing. However, that, plus the work being done on their new house, means no cement or thatching repairs for me. I really can’t complain though and it honestly doesn’t bother me much. There is still time before rainy season. The hot season is upon us- I’m in pajama shorts for the first time since arriving. There are many noisy insects and they all seem to be thirsty. Plus, it’s very smoky. Thankfully I have apparently recovered from whatever nastiness was afflicting us at Camp TREE.

I dug a berm and one full bed in my garden today, plus some retention holes. It was nice to do physical labor but I could feel my weakness. My hands trembled still hours after I rested. The heat and sun made me pink, glistening, and light-headed. My neighbor Sid has said before it’s clear Zambians are more physically suited to this environment, while we are not. Let’s hope the garden goes better this time around. 

5 September 2017

Iracund

Iracund (adj)- having a tendency to be easily angered

I have been pervasively angry this week. Any way you could spin it: surly, disagreeable, isolated (and self-isolating), hormonal, curse-ridden, and sad. Disappointed, perhaps more accurately.

I usually contend it is better for one's happiness to count blessings, not grievances, but I think it I will try removing them from my mind by putting them here. I think what's happening is an amassed cohort of small frustrations is coalesced into one tumultuous thunderstorm in my head. I would really like to discharge some of its electricity before I leave for IST tomorrow, in order to help feel excited about returning a month from now. Here are my current frustrations:

-no network at home, plus feelings of discomfort/ridicule using the network on the hill
-terrible roads and sand -> less than functional bicycle
-back, knee, and wrist pain from bad roads, more physical labor than I'm used to, and bad sleep
-terrible skin here being publicly called out by Zambians- not so great for the self-esteem
-so hard to eat well here! My poor garden was ransacked and fresh fruits and vegetables are so hard to come by this time of year. I feel I'm not taking care of what I put in my body
-teachers at the school seem thankless, slow, not keeping time, don't spell particularly well, and seemingly don't teach!
-students not responding to my questions and saying they understand, when they clearly do not, in both English and Lunda
-people not coming to the meetings they specifically asked for. Lateness is fine by me, but just not coming with no notice or explanation frustrates me so much
-not having done any fish farming work
-cultural and linguistic isolation. I can't think of any way to beat the nighttime loneliness here. Books and music only go so far
- the bushfires
-how almost no one seems to understand my Lunda
-missing Stephen and family
-the f*ing flies. Writing that, I felt my blood pressure rise. Also, why I am swearing so much recently? In the past, my cursing is a direct influence of the people around me. No one here is cursing, not in English anyways. Is it just this cumulative frustration oozing out in explosive vulgarities?

I'm not sure whether or not this helped. Between this, the yoga from earlier, and the tea I'm drinking, I feel better.

27 July 2017

Exiguous

Exiguous (adj)- very small in size or amount

Behold! Exiguous thoughts from the past six months or so. Not so small as to qualify as "tweets" but brief in my terms.

1 July 2017- Ants are my harshest critics. They never fail to draw unnecessary attention to every crumb I drop and every spot I miss on my dishes.

8 July 2017- The head teacher of a school flat-out fell asleep in the middle of a meeting with me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more awkward. I just sat there and waited until he woke up.

12 July 2017- Church conference in the U.S.: glass buildings, folding chairs, powerpoint presentations, suits, maybe communal prayers over banquet lunches.

Church conference in Zambia: a crowd of people in garishly bright colours jumping and singing in a circle deep within the trees. 

7 September 2017- I greeted a young man in Lunda and he responded with "Nyinka mali" [Give me money, spoken without respect]. Between that and all the CHIN-DE-LI! CHIN-DE-LI!s I got yesterday on my bike ride from Kalene, I'm feeling very grateful for my village and the respect they give me. Even if they don't come to my meetings or don't really understand me, they call me by name.

14 September 2017- Mice, ants, and goats destroy everything I love: A two-year journey in Zambia

17 September 2017- Prescott gave me a pineapple while I was out walking. I walked back to my hut with it on my head, in my chitenge, having conversations along the way about carrying things on one's head. I am a Peace Corps volunteer. 

22 September 2017- I didn't realise how much I rely on my neighbors Nick and Sid for social contact. Them both not being here this past week has magnified the feeling of cultural loneliness. Even if I don't see them, knowing they are only a few (or okay, several) kilometres away is surprisingly comforting. The normal approaches to handling loneliness don't work here. 

29 September 2017- I completely underestimated the difference being healthy would make in my service. The past few weeks of actual normal gastrointestinal health meant I had energy, dietary creativity, and much more optimism. Today is another sick day. I decided not to push myself to run this morning and it sort of set a precedence for failures (if mild ones) all day today. 

23 October 2017- My last pair of Locals slippers from Hawaii broke yesterday. I super-glued them back together but the end of an era is nigh. 

26 October 2017- A thought: our modern conveniences are what allow us to live independent, solitary lives, if we so choose. It no longer takes a village to raise a child, so we no longer live in villages. 

A work/life balance here is difficult because in addition to working, I have to do all my own time-consuming chores. In Zambian families, chores are delegated and divided, allowing enough time for school, church, field work, rest, and play. An empty day for me is still remarkably full, just through the necessity of everyday life here. 

7 January 2018- Sick sick sick sick sucks sucks sucks sucks.

 Part of me is saying GET THE HECK OUT OF HERE. 

Another part is saying you have to see it through, what would come now except regret and disappointment? 

Another part is saying just run away to Solwezi for a few days, or South Africa or home for a few weeks. 

Another part is saying Owwwwwwww