sweeping up the heart

11/5/2002:
i was reading about water in The Healing Wisdom of Africa yesterday. about tears, sadness, grief, anger, rage and frustration. about keeping things inside. not properly grieving over lost loved ones. or about failure and loss.

Malidoma Somé calls for water rituals to address this pent up grief. water brings balance and realignment. it counteracts the fire that can rise and rage within us if we don't grieve. if we only move on/away from loss and keep busy.

i don't know about his rituals. not for me. but there's wisdom in his insight. and his comments on grief hit home. he wrote something i recall telling Rama once myself. reflecting my refusal to express or deal with emotion because of the fear of losing control.

according to Somé, this is symptomatic of our denial of grief's social component. we deal with loss and failure alone. but in doing so, we don't really deal with it. it's kept inside. it's pent up. it grows and swells. one day it will burst.

the flood gates will open, and Somé says that's not so bad. i'll quote him on this, then quote Emily Dickinson. her poem speaks for itself.

"I have heard many times people express their fear of grief because they feel that if they even begin to release it, they will be overcome, eventually drowning in their own tears. Indeed, this is how it feels, but this is not what actually happens" (p. 220)

"You cannot truly grieve within and remain composed without. Emotion is an extroverted phenomenon, and it cannot find its much-need release if expressed only internally" (p. 220)

"The end of the domination of one's life by such emotions requires an outpouring of liquid" (p. 220)


The Bustle in a House
The Morning after Death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted opon Earth –

The Sweeping up the Heart
And putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity –

what not to cry over

also 10/6/2002:
mama and i have been going for a short walk in the morning. 25-30 mins, instead of my runs. compromise on cardio for a nice walk and talk. both good for the heart.

today we broached the topic of grief. mama asked if i cried. i replied "that's my business." stupid and inconsiderate of me, yes. but the convo went on. mama is bigger than that.

i apologized later in the afternoon, but she wasn't offended. she explained her point, grief needs to be released. crying does that. else it's like sitting on a time-bomb (as Malidoma Somé suggests in The Healing Wisdom of Africa). she also gave some family examples of death and pent-up grief.

then she spoke about men crying over their women, and vice versa. relationships falter and, indeed, crumble. if your partner wants to leave, then check yourself. if it's you and you can/should change, do so. if it's not, then let her or him go. move on. you're better off without them. don't shed any tears.

mama ended all this by saying that it seemed to her that men now aren't like the men she knew. her father and mine. not that they were more manly b/c they didn't cry... but b/c of what they didn't cry over. Allah y'hdeena! [may God guide/grant us].

cycle of adjustment

8/7/2002:

Cycle of Adjustment

1. Intro & "Disclaimer"
2. Goals & Objectives
3. Processing (anecdotes, experiences, stories)
4. the Cycle of Adjustment...
5. Coping Strategies
6. Q & A

...had this [training] session at Ma Flo's in Santa, like last year. much the same format. presented the cycle, quotes, personal anecdotes, etc. it went well. PCTs [peace corps trainees] vented, asked questions, listened. nice. glad we did it.

i listened to fellow PCVs talk about going home and got lost in my head. thinking, with what i have to admit was some regret and doubt, "why didn't i go home?" all is well, though... i'll get back there soon enough, insha'Allah.

i just want to say that i miss home. i miss family. that's OK to think/say, no? i hope so.

your pain...

8/6/2002:

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding."

-Gibran

back in Babadjou

7/9/2002:
in Babadjou. got a "guest room" at the staff house by ADP [the local bar/restaurant]. good to be back here... stepped out to get bread and couldn't stop smiling. WOW!... 1 year. back in Babadjou.

talked to Jean for a little. just he and Pa Simon [peace corps drivers] here. Francois, Michelle and Jeane [peace corps trainers] upstairs. PCT's [peace corps trainees] at home... in bed?

finally got my package. a lot of music from OMZ. including his 2 singles with T. kinda cool... though i can't here it well. he's got a smooth/funky style. kinda funny... Omar Curly rapping!

by the way...

• that to do list in Bamenda... came close. close enough. will do more later.
• and the ups and downs "roller-coast" on.

a little less than happy

7/8/2002:

-in the slum and down in the dumps, again...
-in bamenda and a little less than happy, still.

...all is well, though. riding this roller coaster of emotions. it will end. right now, it's just tough being alone. i'm in need of people. a presence. friends. family... i guess that's what i'm longing for. i'm dreaming of home. WHY? WHO?

anywho... i've got work to do. got into town late and the previous page [previous post] of "to dos" remains, more or less, undone. so... b/w tonight and tomorrow morning – b/c i need to get to training in Babadjou by afternoon... let's get to it!

do i finish the thought?

 

7/3/2002:
i'm in room 222 at the Holiday Inn in Limbe. alone, with a few key articles of clothing drying in front of the AC. the Limbe [volunteer] house is closed and empty. i did not know this. and i'm not sure where kristen is.

the only reason i didn't leave Limbe this afternoon is b/c i feel compelled to let the people at the botanic garden know, in person, that i won't be working there this summer. WHY?!... i'm not sure. i think throwing myself into work may help. and Limbe may keep me happy here in the tropics.

but that's all academic. no house, no job. besides... i can stay busy and be happy up in Wum, i'm sure. just have to want to. right now, i'm a little less than happy here. in fact, in many ways i don't want to be here. but i know that's a confused/complicated emotion right now.

i miss home. i miss mali. the grass was much greener in West Africa... all my frustration here comes to mind all too quickly and conveniently, of course. i need, as always, to settle down and think. i know i can do another year here... i can do another year here and excel. be busy & happy.

do i finish the thought???... do i write "but..." and go on? or do i make the best of it. as i have been... look on the bright side. find the silver lining. think of the things that keep me here. give them a chance to keep me here...

moving

 
6/23/2002:
i'm somewhere b/w Diamou and Kayes. the train has stopped. coming back up from Mahina [SW Mali, photo]. was there for a PCV 'HIV/AIDS Day' event. which went well.

this dynamic theater group that performed last night was great. drew a HUGE crowd! i was very impressed and quite entertained. great music and dance, too.

spent a couple nights in Mahina sleeping outside. still hot, but cooling off. rain not too far off. sometimes falling.

i'll be back (lunch break!) to write about another thought/emotion or two...

...right. bon appetit! actually a surprisingly good meal here on the train. rice & sauce. i prayed a shortened zhur [midday prayer] outside but no time for 'asr [afternoon prayer], b/c the train started moving again!

anyway... the thought was about the garden and this book i'm reading [2 Ears of Corn]. but i'll go there later. the emotion is, of course, about what all my emotions are about right now. and i'll go there later, as well.

changing

 
6/20/2002:
been a few days. still in and out of my head. up and down emotionally. but i won't go there b/c i'm not coming back.

i've said a lot... and perhaps changed a little. not thinking as much. but still thinking. accepting. drifting. yet not completely letting go... and i need to. enough.

remind me to write about the garden! Musa & Haider's.

in my head...

6/17/2002:

I AM ALWAYS IN MY HEAD!

diamou relax

 
6/15/2002:
in Diamou [Western Mali]. beautiful place. particularly where i'm staying. great view of these prominent cliffs across the river. and it's a short stroll to the river. the Senegal. no lights. no water. very much a typical PC experience. not to take anything away from it, or this beautiful place.

it's quiet and peaceful here. i can see why PCVs enjoy coming down here from kayes to relax. i've spent just a few days there myself and i need to relax. lots of questions. some answered, more some raised. more closure? less doubt? or bitterness... anger? have i let go? i need to. i will.

the goddess

6/13/2002:

"worship the goddess in rose petal garden. drunk when, bitter after."

thinking in circles

6/10/2002:
there's actually a cool breeze blowing out on the veranda. just got out of the shower, so that's also keeping me cool. the boys next door are reciting their morning Qur'an.

i'm thinking too much. wondering even more. have so many questions. a lot to say. even more to write. but i don't know where to start and, even if i did, where it would end. because, like my mind, my words would just go in circles.

"But when they made love he was offended by her eyes. They behaved as though they belonged to someone else. Someone watching. Looking outside the window at the sea. At a boat in the river. Or a passerby in the mist in a hat.

He was exasperated because he didn't know what the look meant. He put it somewhere between indifference and despair. He didn't know that in some places, like the country Rahel came from, various kinds of despair competed for primacy. And that personal despair could never be desperate enough. That something happened when personal turmoil dropped by at the wayside shrine of the vast, violent, circling, driving, ridiculous, insane, unfeasible, public turmoil of a nation. That Big God howled like a hot wind, and demanded obeisance.

Then Small God (cozy and contained, private and limited) came away cauterized, laughing numbly at his own temerity. Inured by the confirmation of his own inconsequence, he became resilient and truly indifferent. Nothing mattered much. Nothing much mattered. It was never important enough. Because worse things had happened. In the country that she came from, poised forever between the terror of war and horror of peace, worse things kept happening.

So Small God laughed a hollow laugh, and skipped away cheerfully. Like a rich boy in shorts. He whistled, kicked stones. The source of his brittle elation was the relative smallness of his misfortune. He climbed into people's eyes and became an exasperating expression.

What Larry McCaslin saw in Rahel's eyes was not despair at all, but a sort of enforced optimism. And a hollow where Estha's words had been. He couldn't be expected to understand that. That the emptiness in one twin was only a version of the quietness in the other. That the two things fitted together. Like stacked spoons. Like familiar lovers' bodies."

Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things.

the hypocrisy of we

3/4/2002:
palestine keeps getting worse. afghanistan is still going. the philippines, georgia, iraq and yemen are next. listening to the BBC this evening [2002, Review of the Year] i didn’t know what to think. what is there to think? one just feels in cases like these. and [we] Americans (the administration, at least, but the public to the extent that [we] don’t protest) seem unable to do either; think or feel, that is. only for [our]selves.

and [we] send troops around the globe reflecting that... an ethnocentric egoism blind to how others are affected or may ultimately react. and [we] send volunteers around the globe talking about peace and understanding. i cannot believe i got a letter from George W telling me what an important job i’m doing. the hypocrisy disgusts me. makes me sick. ashamed that i’m out here. as an American... that i’d even begin to defend American values, ideals or culture... let alone represent them.

i was so disgusted as i listened to yet another self-righteous, myopic “ugly American” political viewpoint that it made me want to leave. head right to Yaounde and tear up my passport in front of anyone high enough to do something about it. to send me home. to take this label off of me. where do they get off? ...and how do i utter we anymore without buying into that same hypocrisy?

the Peace Corps... are you kidding me?!

9 months left

one question: has 9 months ever seemed so short and so long all at once?

you know what i’m saying? this academic year will soon be upon us. then – hmmm... i am not and do not want to count the days. but whenever i tell my people here that i’m leaving by next June they over-react. ya’ll get that too?

they start talking about “but can’t you ask to stay for one more year, or two?!” r-i-g-h-t! they’re all thinking it’s too short. as flattering as that is, though, i’m thinking these are gonna be a long 9 months. Oh, my God!

• confidence/composure/determination... out the window!
• apprehension/doubt/hyperventilation... won-duh-ful won-das!

[that's pidgin for "wonderful wonders"... an uncommon but comical expression of emotion]

aho!
Mohamad
8/20/2002
Wum

no working blues

10/14/2001:
OK... it’s morning. the lights have been out for a couple days. spoke to Paul. the water issues are due to recent plumbing work. new meter put in yesterday. 2 problems. meters got switched. paul has mine. i, the new one... and with that, extremely low water pressure. dirty, too. no big deal, though... no complaints. i have water. some don’t. Kay, for example. the trainees coming to Babadjou at the end of the month as well.

i got a bunch of letters from loved ones in Bamenda... often they’re bitter-sweet. so glad to hear from them and to know what they’re thinking/going through. yet so sad to read pain or sadness or anxiety in the letters and not be able to help... with at least a hug or kiss or just being there.

i was asked why my letters lacked detail about my living conditions. was i pampered? did i have a flush toilet? shower? electricity? i remember having a conversation with Greg about that. whether our “peace corps experience” was somehow less of one b/c we had amenities. many. our common opinion was that it’s not just about electricity and running water, or lack-there-of. there’s still the emotional tribulations, cultural frustrations and the work.

still, i can’t deny that going through all that in a mud hut, no electricity or water and inhospitable climate makes it... different. and yet i won’t accept someone telling me that i had it easy. but why am i looking to justify things like that to myself?

the same goes for my workload now. seeing and speaking with the other PCVs, and realizing how many more hours they have, had me feeling a little inadequate. some have 20+ hours! some are teaching in 2 schools. not just 2nd year PCVs, but my stage mates as well.

i’ve got 4 hours now. i do little work. soon i’ll reach 8 hours. i still find myself procrastinating from lesson prep. as little as there is. like right now, i’m writing here and rereading The God of Small Things. at least i’m not sitting around here idle and vegetating, right? i told several folks back at the slum that sometimes i feel more like a homemaker than a teacher. cooking, cleaning, washing, etc.

Mike says it took him until January to get used to / feel comfortable with the teaching thing. patience. of course. but i wonder whether i should look for other things to do... clubs, projects, more classes. whether more work will get me more involved and have me motivated to prepare more??? i don’t know... patience.

con artist

10/9/2001:
this young man introduced himself to me yesterday (quite bluntly, i may add): “Mark,” he said as he pointed at himself, “i’m an artist.” “of course,” i thought, “aren’t we all?” anywho... he’s Francophone. says he works in Bamenda. also says he’s been around and that he has an “American babe.”

right... so he came around again today (as promised) to show me his work. “Jesus on the cross” on a T-shirt. nice image actually. quite cubist. cheap T-shirt. was trying to sell it for 5000cfa. instead i brought a bracelet and necklace off him for 2000cfa.

he wanted to sell anything and i wanted him to leave. so we really didn’t bargain. i’m an artist, too... art of tasreef [over-spending] is what i’m working on. but as the jewlery i bought was/is totally not worth 2000cfa i guess Mark’s the better artist for now... con artist.

i let him know, not in so many words, that i was too busy to entertain him so he left right after the transaction. it rained, heavily, shortly thereafter. maybe he got wet??? cruel to think so. maybe i’m bitter??? just was not interested in humoring him any longer. i'm sure he won't be the last "artist" i meet here.

oh... got my 1st bill today! from SNEC [water company] for 2,210cfa. thats approximately 1 bracelet, 1 necklace, a door-to-door ride from home to work and one of those long, rolled-up groundnut things! but who's counting???

never let go

8/21/2001:
another Tuesday night in Babadjou, but the last Peace and Freedom for a little bit. i went 1st and said only a few words. but then i was inspired (by what people said and read) to read the poem mama sent. in Arabic then a translation. i’m glad i shared. Greg explained his idea on continuing Peace and Freedom in written form. i think it’ll work. well.

we’re all to procure books and begin to write in them. anything. share experiences. write quotes. draw and/or paste pictures. whatever. just genuine. then, whenever we meet another stage-mate we exchange books and go on writing all the same. the books will be exchanged over and over... so everyone will have a chance to write in many of the books with or without getting their own books back. at COS (close of service) though, you get your book back. along the way you share and read, read and share experiences and we continue learning and growing from and with one another. wonderful! i love my stage.

Robert said something that i tried hard to remember today in his Peace and Freedom. something a friend wrote to him recently: “it must’ve been very hard for you to leave to Africa, but i didn’t see it.” indeed, how can you put such a myriad of emotions into words when whenever you try there’s a lump in your throat and tears in your eye? you swallow your emotions and hold back your tears as much as you can. on the outside you look stalwart. on the inside you’re crying out to be hugged, loved and never let go of.

that’s how i felt before leaving. now i’m here. glad i am though. in many ways glad i left, too. b/c i have a feeling that when i get back i’ll have a little better idea of how to express my emotions; how to cry, how to say i love you and how to ask to be hugged... and never let go.

the fog of training

8/9/2001: (i’d like to write in here more frequently!)
sometimes, through this heavy fog that is pre-service training, the sun shines and brightens my day. not for too long though. and that’s too bad. i never feel like i don’t want to be here, but i often feel like i’d rather be somewhere else.

de temps en temps, all this changes as something (anything) shines through the emotional and mental tribulations and makes me smile. the hills and valleys of infinite shades of green, a beautiful sunset and a soft breeze, all the children on my street screaming “bon soir Muh-ham-med!” simultaneously, and really connecting with another person. a good person. PCT, PCV or HCN... regardless of those titles.

i’ve received two letters from mama these past 2 days. bless her. the first spoke of dealing with people as people... regardless of culture or faith. she also included a poem about traveling. both matters being so very relevant and timely. the second letter i’ve yet to read. will do tonight.

much else to do. cross-cultural presentation tomorrow. exams to prepare. a lesson. clothes. “small-small catch monkee,” as the saying here goes... it’ll all get done, slowly but surely.

i’m getting excited about Wum. we had a session about settling in at post yesterday. heard much about the first few days and weeks of adjustment. down-time. lack of necessities. a little depression... they gave it to us straight. difficult, but worth it in the end.

i worry a little. about myself and the others... some of us have been down for a bit. but i understand, too... we didn’t come out here for a cup of tea. the sun seems to shine a little brighter and the air smell a little sweeter after the clouds and rain. and there are many clouds and much rain here in this part of Africa.

my other side...

 
7/10/2001:
just got back from Peace & Freedom. i was nervous about what i wanted to talk about... the “other” side of me that’s feeling closeted here. let me clarify:

i've been overwhelmed by all that i've been feeling and thinking about for the past few weeks. about the fear of losing touch with the culture that’s more or less been placed on the back burner here, if you will. partly my fault. partly a desire to adjust and identify with my colleagues. partly the reality that i’m not in Muslim country, right-here / right-now. and that there isn't anyone here who can identify with that part of me.

i brought up my anxiety at Peace & Freedom. hadn’t really thought about it, so i rambled... not like me to share spontaneously like that. people were concerned. it was comforting to get support and empathy from everyone... whatever each respective individual could offer. all was appreciated. Greg especially... he can articulate emotions so eloquently. it sounds so clear and simple when he says it.

generally speaking, so many of us are going through the same emotional process: ups and downs, missing family and friends, feeling alone and misunderstood, struggling for motivation in hardship, etc. i admire these people so much. for their courage, fortitude and determination... just plain stubborn sometimes.

but a few of us have broken-down during Peace & Freedom, talking about all of this. someone said they felt like they were “killing themselves” b/c of how stubborn they were being. i can see how that's worrying especially when it comes to health. i've just been having digestive issues, but a couple of us have had more serious ailments.

i thanked Greg for sharing his experience last week and on other occasions. his description of the troubles i was feeling and how he handled it kept me going and helped me cope many a time. overall, there was a lot to say today... emotional, somber, yet somehow open-minded and hopeful. many more questions raised than answered, though... what to say?