I was in a thoroughly negative, angry headspace two days ago
but couldn’t bear the thought of my new pretty journal (thanks, Ava!) starting
with such negativity. Thankfully, time has cooled by head.
That day, I walked
to a meeting where women fought over the few supplies I brought them, struggled
profusely to communicate, was harassed in both directions along my walk (“my
wife, my wife, I will marry you”), was grabbed in a hugely inappropriate way by
a child who knew exactly what he was doing, and came home to unwind and clean
up only to find my bathing soap had been stolen.
All-in-all, I was filled with
rage. Not the gloomy, pessimistic displeasure with surroundings typical of my
bad days here but a burning hot, outwardly focused RAGE. I felt this
community/culture had no respect for women, for personal property, or for my
giving of my time and energy to be here.
With a bit of temporal distance, only the issue of respect
for women is still eating away at me. This is the second time my soap has been
stolen so I probably should have known better than to leave it in my chisasa
(bathing shelter). If someone needs soap that badly, fine. Be clean.
On the
fighting over materials, it occurred to me how very little most people have. If
most of what you own is geared toward basic survival (eating and keeping warm),
I can see how you would eagerly grab for an extra tool (sewing needles,
scissors) or something to beautify a very modest dwelling. I brought chitenge
cloth, needles, thread, and scissors for women to sew along the bottoms of their
mosquito nets. The fabric helps prevent rips in the net, encourages people to
take the nets out of their packaging and actually use them, and also serves as
a little extra decoration.
My friends here and I were talking about how surprised we are
that the promise of free things doesn’t always entice people here, especially compared
to in America. What does it say about our American culture that people who have
so much need only the suggestion of more to become engaged? I guess the
surprising thing here is what works and what doesn’t. Free education,
experience, even seeds and jewelry have not worked at all in my rural village
setting. Clothes, fabrics, and food are sure successes.
The other overwhelming feeling is an awareness of what an
anomaly I am…I have no ground to stand on criticizing folks for acting a bit
overzealous in some areas but having no motivation in others. I don’t have to
farm my own food; I don’t have children to raise; and money for incidentals isn’t
really an issue here. I’m loath to bring up any complaints about my work with
neighbors and counterparts because I’m so overwhelmingly fortunate and still
can’t find a way to be happy.
All in all, it’s me who has the problems, not the community
I’m working with. Between three different villages, about 36 women (and one
man) beautified their mosquito nets and had a refresher on critical information
on malaria.
Here is my amaama Judith, on the left, and amaama Sylvia, on the right, working on their mosquito nets inside my house because the rain picked up.
Here are some of the ladies of KuMukaala village working on their nets as well.
9 June 2018
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