How Strange and Glorious

(written 6 May 2012)

I've been snippety.  For the past three weeks, I'd say.  My mom paid several thousand dollars to come visit me in the African bush, and by day 4 my apprehensions were realized--we started driving each other a bit crazy.  It wasn't continual, but at various points throughout her eleven days in Zambia, I was rude.  Snarky comments, minimal eye contact.  I knew it and yet I felt almost powerless, or at least unwilling, to stop it.  I'd say something, unneeded or in a rude tone, and my bewildered conscience would probe, bewildered, saying, "Why did you say that?"  But I failed to apologize when I knew I should, when I know that apologizing is not that hard.

But Mom went home, and arrived there safely, and seems to have had a good time despite her unappreciative daughter.

I also returned home, up north to where I live, though it took me longer to traverse the country than for her to cross the ocean.  Transport from Lusaka to Kasama wasn't particularly pleasant, compounded by logistical incongruencies within Peace Corps.  It took me two days to reach the provincial house in Kasama where I had a restorative (if not restful) night with a few good friends and new members of the NoPro family getting ready to go to their villages.  The next morning, I reached my village and was in my house for less than an hour, exchanging a few things in the suitcase and passing almost cursory greetings to my family.  Then off to Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World), after a 4.5 hour wait at the roadside for a ride, complicated by me dropping my phone as we boarded and then needing to get off, run back to retrieve it, get a new ride, and meet back with the others.  However, I found the phone and we arrived not too much later than the rest of the PCVs, counterparts, and campers.

The week went well--11 PCVs, 6 counterparts (mine went home due to a family urgency), 14 girls.  But I was in a funk.  Again, rude comments and a general poor demeanor surfaced without much explanation.  Not the whole time, of course; I think I did well when working with the camp participants.  But with my friends, at moments at least, I was bitchy, just as I'd been with my mom.

And I hated it.  I was in a funk and couldn't get out.  Not fully, anyway.  I tried writing, reading, artwork, alone time.  It soothed a bit but not fully.  I made a list of possible reasons why I was cranky (everything from cigarette smoke to needing attention).  And while I couldn't figure it out exactly, I did realize that--contrary to the experience of many others--when I am with other volunteers is often when I feel the most isolated.

And today I reached home, and it was amazing.  My equilibrium was restored.  My zen settled in on the sofa of my psyche.  I felt like myself again--the self that I like, the self that, lately, I only seem to find here, in my house, in my village.  There's something wonderful about a troupe of cheering children running to greet you when you return (though they had staged a dramatic mock-cry when I left for camp and refused to leave the plastic tea set out for them to play with in my absence).  There's something lovely about being home, and being wanted there.  Being missed.

As I watched the football (soccer) game this evening, I felt so much more at peace.  So much joy in the air--and with a few differences, I could have been at a hometown American football game on an early autumn Friday evening.  So many things feel the same: the chill in the air sneaking in through my hoodie; the children playing, the meandering of spectators along the sidelines, the community seeing and being seen.  The breeze was nice, the air crisp, the sky so big and blue (reminding me, as always, of Montana).  I thought of the song we used to sing in Ku'umba, "I weep," (lyrics at bottom for the unitiated), and looked up from the game to see a rainbow arced cross the sky.

"It could not be more perfect," I thought.  And tears rolled down.

How strange and glorious.  That I feel happiest in all the world at Masamba.

*******
(lyrics approximated from memory)

I Weep
I weep
Not from the hurt
Nor from my pain
But from the power in Your name
And the unfathomable love You've shown to me
Lord I cry
Not tears of doubt
Nor of distress
But from the joy of Sabbath rest
I feel no alarm, I'm a child in Your arms
Though I'm unworthy to be
So I weep
On bended knee
My arms stretched wide
This joy I have, so deep inside
I try to keep my cool
But tears they flow
You love me so
Oh I weep