Paranoia paranoia

“Who indeed knows the secret of the earthly pilgrimage? Who indeed knows why there can be comfort in a world of desolation? Now God be thanked that there is a beloved one who can lift up the heart in suffering, that one can play with a child in the face of such misery. Now God be thanked that the name of a hill is such music, that the name of a river can heal. Aye, even the name of a river that runs no more. Who indeed knows the secret of the earthly pilgrimage? Who knows for what we live, and struggle, and die? Who knows what keeps us living and struggling, while all things break about us? Who knows why the warm flesh of a child is such comfort, when one’s own child is lost and cannot be recovered? Wise men write many books, in words too hard to understand. But this, the purpose of our lives, the end of all our struggle, is beyond all human wisdom.” -Cry the Beloved Country

Forgive me for being a slacker (still) after all these years. Again two months have passed and I have neglected to write a single word to tell anyone about my movements on a far away continent. The truth is, I haven’t been slacking quite as much as in the past, I’ve been working quite a lot and living quite enthusiastically, which sometimes doesn’t permit a good run at writing.

It’s hard to believe that in 2 weeks my long break will be finished and I’ll be back before a classroom of obnoxious hooligans, but in some ways I’m rather looking forward to it. Since July I have been somewhat all over the place and the pieces of time I’ve spent at home have been more focused on relaxing, planning next school year’s activities, and really spending time with people in the village. Mid-service was fun, I got to see a lot of volunteers I haven’t heard from all year and relax a bit in the Yaounde house. Afterwards was back to village to plan a regional meeting I hosted and then a training on tofu making the next day in my village, both of which were a success!

Getting across the halfway point threshold has birthed a whole new energy and tolerance for everything I’m here to do. It’s also inspired a lot more focus in lieu of frustration. I guess development work in general has this effect. It took the entire first year to really get my feet wet, stop cursing, and try seeing what the hell needed doing and how to do it. Now with just a year left, I feel more willing to step away from my own world to make things happen knowing that soon enough I will get to step back into it for good. This means sitting idly with my neighbors even when all they’re doing is passing the time, talking in mother tongue and watching the kids play. It means buying more villagers a beer when the whim hits rather than begrudging their request.

Early this month we took a weekend in the East with the Gym teacher from the high school and a group of kids who attended a sports camp for three days. Unfortunately most of the East I got to see was from the bus windows but the trip as a whole was really an adventure and it was fun to be a part of it. Claude wound up running into a friend he grew up next door to and hasn’t seen in 11 years and he helped show us around including renting a moto to tour around a bit with. Since being back I’ve helped run two summer camps that were a great hit and really felt meaningful. They provided great preparation for my work with Girls’ Club this year and I can’t wait to get started.

This is the first time Claude and I have been apart for a while and it’s good to have some time to reflect and process things. In the coming weeks I will hold the second formation for village women, which is far less intimidating than the first. I ran into the school supervisor yesterday and he informed me he’s already back working so I will go Monday and try getting my classes put together. I have much different standards this year than the last and do not wish to be surprised with teaching classes that I will loathe.

Spending a lot of time recently with other volunteers, all in efforts toward work, has been really gratifying. It’s surprising how much being able to deeply discuss all the myriad craziness that is life in Peace Corps has a cathartic effect. It even helps to steer the ship back to shore, to remind you of why you did this in the first place and inspires you to push through the muck. Regardless, there are still days of great questioning and frustration. Luckily for me I’m just someone that never lets myself off easily in anything, I believe in finishing the fight at all costs, so, it never crosses my mind to throw in the towel in moments of fluster. Yet, sometimes I wonder if I’m not a complete lunatic for desiring to leave the sunshine of Los Angeles to come collect my water from a well, or walk through mud puddles in the market. To spend my little money in attempts to satisfy the high expectations of strangers. To risk life and limb in so many ways you don’t even put together until a year of living it and hear so many many stories and witness so many horrible things that you sometimes pray for it to end as quickly as possible. Lately my fears have risen. Maybe it’s turning 26 or being in love for the first time, or perhaps it simply really is due to the build up of testimonies of horror. I myself have witnessed 2 motorcyle accidents right before my eyes, a boy recently struck by a car lying on the side of the road in his bloodsoaked t-shirt. A student passing away, another passing into a state of unconscious consciousness for an extended time, stories of young people from village dying in motorcycle accidents- one just at the market. Other volunteers talk of what they’ve seen, children struck by motos, one killed by a volunteer’s bus. Stories of illness that kills quickly and unbiased. Even stories of sorcery inflicted on others in ways indescribable and nauseating. There is fear of witnessing violent acts like that of mob justice or domestic abuse. The other day several volunteers and I declared how absolutely afraid we are alone in our homes at night. So used to 911 and a virtual army just a few seconds away after a phone call, the thought of having almost no reprieve is horrifying in and of itself. Not to mention being a particular target for offense. Having to be on constant guard is a sentiment that didn’t even escape me when I was visiting the States last. In fact, it was hard to believe that I could sit on my front porch and perhaps no one driving by would even notice me there.

Yet, through it all, behind the blackness of the paranoia and anxiety, there is this sliver of hope at breaking through something. Making a tiny crack in the shell of all this chaos to bring a little more order. A hope that you will happen to survive amid the unpredictability to bring forth a little change.

There’s little else to update on. As the second year strolls in it’s no longer just a curiosity to examine the future after Peace Corps. My recent inquiries into grad schools left me surprised that there’s a rush to start applying already for next fall and to submit before the end of the year. I should also add that Claude and I are talking about marriage, which is very exciting and terrifying at the same time as I envision a complicated year of travel arrangements and visa hoops to jump through. But, contrary to what I’d imagined before getting here, there’s rarely a dull moment in this life.