Categories
Uncategorized

Lullaby

I’ve been listening to this song by One Republic each night as I fall asleep: Lullaby.

—-

June 8

Homesickness hits unexpectedly, as I anticipated it. It feels like apathy, manifesting itself as indifference, carelessness, and even selfishness. Being as sentimental in nature as I am, it urges me to look through the photos of friends and family which I brought from home. It tires me out easily, and makes me susceptible to irritation at simple things like insects or heat. I am tempted to sit here, to wallow in it with my earphones on, blocking out the realities of this village.

There’re so many challenges to our project planning. There are a lot of people to accommodate, and it’s a different experience planning debate conference from Vancouver altogether. We are all intent on making our projects work, and all keen on learning as much as we can to stay afloat in this new culture. Sometimes, this means that we have to fend for ourselves when faced with homesick feelings or apprehension at new things we must overcome.

I think this will pass soon. I wish it will, because it’s kept me from reflecting as effectively as I know I can and should. I would like to go to bed and curl up and sleep.

6:30 PM

Presenting to the classes at the high schools in this region is always a challenge because there are so many students in each class. It’s really a test of my public speaking skills, as well as my confidence. It gets easier with each class, though, which is a relief. Today I visited the last of the schools to visit, totalling six. The biggest challenge in organizing the Reading Clubs and the inter- school events has definitely been to figure out how to delegate responsibilities. There are so many high school students to manage that it gets overwhelming to the point of being inefficient. But I’m glad that Hannali gave me good advice that allowed me to delegate accordingly and really believe in my own leadership decisions.

I think that the people here are as uncomfortable and afraid of me as I am of them. Why do we have this divide? What causes the discomfort? Misunderstanding? Language? Currency? Motivation? Upbringing? Intentions?

—-

June 11, 2011

I’ve realized, while experiencing homesickness, that I only need to feel comfortable with myself and with my environment for me to feel at home.

I also find it difficult to separate myself from yearnings that come with longing for home and the ‘luxuries’ which we so easily call our essentials. Sometimes I am most conflicted because I can see that villagers face the realities which cause me to yearn for home every single day, as they have and will for the rest of their lives.

Trees touch windows say their hellos
Hear this house as it settles in
Worry slips away it don’t know your name
It don’t know where to find us

Categories
Uncategorized

Good morning, village!

7:41 am

I woke up and felt calm. I didn’t feel too excited, or apprehensive, or sad, or happy or anything. I just felt at peace with myself. I think this is the feeling of settling into a new environment.

My internet worked well enough for me to read emails from my close friends back home. I miss home a little bit, especially for the people who are always looking on to see how I am. All the emails brought me to tears, because everyone’s been so honest with me, giving me the gentle third- perspective that I so needed.

I’m late for breakfast, so I will type more later. Good morning, Busolwe! Kojeyo! It’s a bright new sunny day. Everyone’s hard at work already. Maybe we’ll meet even more local kids today at the library, they love to hear the story books read out loud.

Categories
Uncategorized

Thinking of home.

At the end of the day I am exhausted. It’s tiring to be stared at all day. It’s tiring not being able to communicate in the same language with the people around us. It’s tiring knowing that a long bike ride awaits before home. This exhaustion has allowed to appreciate all the simple pleasures that exist in my Vancouver life.

The bike ride home is a long stretch of orange dirt road connecting the Busolwe town center to Mugulu. The bike I have is missing brakes on one hand, and the seat is half stripped of the cushion that was once there. Whenever trucks or motorbikes bass by, we must turn town into the ditch on the side of the road, which always throws me off. Literally. People stare. It’s always the same hill every ride to and from work that I have trouble with. I tell myself that people do this daily, that they don’t have pillows and a warm bed to go home to. That they don’t get to leave in three months’ time. That they work so much harder for so much less. That my frustration and complaining is petty. But in those moments of frustration, exhaustion, and embarrassment, I just want to be back home again, in Vancouver. I promise I will be so much more grateful for the essential things which we take for granted in North America.

The evening is cool. I am typing away on a bench outside our little house, watching the other families on the homestead work away to prepare dinner. I’m watching a beautifully blue bird fly with such excitement onto a tree to join his friends… while this is going on, the mother hen is feeding, with her seven little chicks trailing her. The rooster struts around majestically, while insects circle humans and animals with such curiosity. The geckos will be out to feed on these insects soon, and we shall see him as we do every night, on the walls in the room where we take our dinner conversation.

Spam prevention powered by Akismet