hanging loose in the Big Nothing
“Against your will you are forced to experience the euphoric horror of floating in emptiness, your moorings cut for good. It is an emotion which has slowly corroded all your ties, but is also a constant vertigo you will never get used to.
This is why one day you have to come back. Because now you no longer belong anywhere. Not to any address, house, or telephone number in any city. Because once you have been out here, hanging loose in the Big Nothing, you will never be able to fill your lungs with enough air.
Africa has taken you in and has broken you away from what you were before.
This is why you will keep wanting to get away but will always have to return.”
- Francesca Marciano, writer
strine
I didn’t anticipate learning to speak “strine” when I came to Africa.
Strine is Australian lingo. It’s the blending and speeding up of words – long words, several words – into shorter phrases. I don’t know how my leader – Peter – manages to crunch 10 syllables into 2, but somehow he does. For example,
Did you have a good weekend? In strine becomes
Djuvgdwe-end? (or something like this)
I stare blankly a lot. I say “What?” a lot. I raise my eyebrows a lot.
I probably understand three-quarters of all that Peter says. So we all laugh a lot, mostly at me, which makes for good bonding. And I’ve found that my Australian leaders, Peter and Kim, are very patient with me, displaying a great a sense of humor and grace.
This is a picture of my great, strine-speaking leaders. (smiles)
tp
Grocery shopping expeditions. All of the packaging continues to look foreign to me. So unless I really take some time reading and comparing items, I can easily grab the wrong thing. The other day, for example, I needed toilet paper. What did I grab? Paper towels.
Now I have a roll of paper towels sitting in my bathroom.
the phone
My leaders asked me on Christmas if I wanted to “ring my folks.”
I said, “I don’t know how.”
“Maybe they can ring you,” they suggested.
“They don’t know how either!” I say. The phone continues to be a great mystery and challenge.
The store sold me international calling cards that didn’t work. Upon googling this brand and doing a little research, I found that there is a lawsuit against this calling card. So the “line” has been disconnected. Why then do the stores still sell the cards?
Why? Because TIA. This Is Africa.
(I try not to say or think that while rolling my eyes and exhaling hot air. I know I’m supposed to try to gain an understanding for all that I don’t understand or want to dismiss as “stupid” or “ridiculous.” But most of the time, I’m no saint.)
must not love dogs
“Where do you live?”
“Westlands.”
“Oh, that’s far.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Who with?”
“Well…” I hesitate. How do you explain house and dog “sitting” to a Kenyan? “Well, my friend is in the US visiting family, so I’m taking care of her house and her – uh – dog.”
“Her dog? Guy!”
We laugh.
“I know,” I say.
“What does he eat?”
“These little pebbles of food. It’s food made for dogs.” I feel stupid. Kids are starving here.
“Food for dogs?”
“Yes.”
When I see myself, this aspect of my culture,
through their eyes,
it looks absurd.
Could it be a farse?
A comedy of errors?
Can dogs really be a million dollar business
in America?
playing chicken
If my driver would stop playing “chicken” with bicyclists on the morning commute, then I could stop holding my breath and expanding my lung capacity. Bicyclists have no clue that he’s coming that close to their rears before he swerves out to avoid hitting them. I move my body to the left or right, as if I’m playing the Nintendo Wii, hoping I’ll move the car and save a life.
I mean, I just don’t get it. Even if there’s a ton of room to go around the pedestrian or cyclist, the drivers don’t. I am afraid we will one day maim or kill someone on the way to work, forcing me to deploy my hostile environments and first aid training.
pulling out my hair
I know I shouldn’t be pulling out my hair as I’ll need it for my bridesmaid’s dress this spring, but I want to. It relieves stress.
Friends and family sent me e-cards for Christmas and it takes me 5 days to open them.
Net’s down.
Net dropped me.
Re-load page.
Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.
Argh!
Is this e-card worth it?
Give up.
Do something else…
Try again.
Dropped gain.
Refresh again.
Re-load again.
You get the point.
Five days of perseverance.
The e-cards were worth it, though, keeping me in touch with another world.
Who will cry for these babies?
Ryan died last week. He was only 150 days old. He came to us extremely malnourished. His little head disproportionate to his body as his brain grew but his body refused to keep up. His mother left him in the marketplace. Ryan died during the night, our nurses with him. Since the time I arrived here, I’ve witnessed him receiving such special care – the nurses, care workers, and volunteers so gentle with him.
But I find that “the world not as it should be” when a baby this small passes away without the grief of a mother or a father to fall on him.
Mary Beckenham, one of New Life’s founder-directors, opened our office door with tears in her eyes and told us the news of his death, saying, “He’s happy though. He’s up there with all our other ones.” All of the other abandoned infants who lived but a few days, or weeks, or months, within our care.
And so we grieve, but not as those without hope, for we know that a new day is coming.
“Look, I will create new heavens and a new earth.
The former things will not be remembered,
nor will they come to mind.
Never again will there be in it
an infant who lives but a few days…”
- God (in Isaiah 65:17 & 20)
Posts
