Sciatheric

Sciatheric (adj)- relating to the measuring of time by shadows

There are so many ways to think about time. New ones surface almost every day.

In a three week period, I had 1) a kidney infection stemming from an untreated UTI, 2) schistosomiasis, which probably made me more likely to have UTIs, 3) a second UTI, and 4) dysentery (!). I was a sick puppy, particularly with the kidney infection. 

 There were certainly a handful of moments where I had proper conception of how sick I was and the though arose often, “Okay. I give up. I need to go home.” It being either the dead middle of the night or without network access, or both, there wasn’t anything to do but wait, trying to sleep until the morning came. 

With sleep or with sunlight, my conviction to flee vanished, each time. In the wee hours awake, I planned out my homecoming, or what the next six months or so until Stephen finishes his PhD might look like. There being a path, a home to return to, a tentative plan for the proximate future was so very comforting. Even if I don’t need to act on this plan, its existence is a salve to anxiety and fears. 

I know I am lucky to have two homes, two families (or possibly more, if the Clarkes and extended family are included). Here in Zambia, in Ikelenge, in Chinyaji, my other families often feel so incredibly far away. I’m realizing though, after being here a year and with another year to come, the monumental planetary gap between this world and my other one is slowly being bridged, I suppose by virtue of me. Even if my other families will not truly know this once and former home of mine, I will have intimate, true knowledge of this place and its people and so it will cease to be foreign or far.

                                                                                                                        

One year from today, I will no longer be a Peace Corps Volunteer and I will have completed my service to the very best of my capability. While twenty-seven months seemed an interminable sentence, twelve months or even 365 days seems a conquerable challenge, dotted with milestones to mark the passage of this experience.

Yes, I will undoubtedly be wracked with pain and discomfort again, thanks to some unseen denizen of “a fecalized environment”.
Yes, I will certainly feel the urgent need to run away, run home, run to Stephen, run to comfort again. Yes, I know I am strong enough to hold on, fighting both disease and those urges, asking for help when needed and rebuilding strength to return to my community and be as good a Volunteer as possible.

Easier said than done, perhaps? I was given a motivational boost by two women in KuMukaala who greeted me yesterday saying, “A sista, shikenu mwani!” The added respect, especially in contrast to the usually informal language here made me feel both appreciated and integrated, in a way I haven’t felt before. I still awkwardly gesticulated through the program I had planned, but it certainly felt as though I was wanted and welcomed.

Now if only I could elicit the same sentiment from the ladies in my closer village, Nyilamba. I need to figure out how best to engage them while meeting their expressed needs. Three flops so far. ;)

4 May 2018