Reflections on a water tank

Last week, another volunteer came to my site and, along with his team of masons and construction workers, built an ISSB (interlocking stabilized soil) water tank. These tanks are cheaper, more environmentally friendly, and more long lasting than the standard plastic or brick ones usually used. My part was to write and account for the grant, ensure things went well with my site and the construction, and monitor the follow-up gutters and final touches.
For those of you build in the US; this was done with two hoes, two spades, one pick (excavation), one wheelbarrow, and two hammers. The rest, from ladders to cement smoothers, were done by hand. Oh yes, to break up the hardcore, we borrowed a mallet. Water was fetched from a nearby source one jerry can at a time. When we say manual labor, hon, it doesn't get any more manual than this!
Did my site need me for this tank? No, there are plenty of other tanks and even other ISSB projects around. All they needed was the money, and if they didn't get it from my grant, they would have gotten it from another somewhere else.
During these last few months, I realize that I was right about a few things when I first decided to come. First of all, that I could not change the world, or Uganda, or my community. That they didn't need me, BUT that I needed them. I needed this experience to grow and learn and try to "become the change that I want to see in the world."
On the other hand, my community did not use a different ISSB project, they trusted the Peace Corps more. They also did not get a grant for a water tank from anywhere else. My local contractor- friend did not know about this new method until he visited our building site and the girls did not know the importance of drinking water until they saw me -- relatively healthy and well hydrated and able to outrun and outlift (with water jerry cans) them.
I have often said that my community has to have it's meal. They are the matooke and chicken and posho and greens. I am only a bit of salt. I am only a little nudge. They are the boulder that has to run downhill.

Kashaija

When I first came to my site, I was puzzled by the soprano voice that I could often hear from the night watchman’s house. I also wondered at the shuffling little steps, the endless work, the quiet, meek face that peered out of a weather- hardened brow.
There is a watchman at my technical school by the name of Kashaija (little man) who is the source of all these mysteries. He is slightly retarded but works extremely hard doing all the odd jobs needed around the compound. Today, I told him to go to the health center and ask the nurse to examine his foot. I found that he had failed to do so because he feared to ask the sisters for his medical record book (the Ugandan system is soooo different from the US!) When the school cook is not there, he is instructed to get food from the convent. In December when the cook left for the holidays, we found him Kashaija weak that he could barely walk. He was too afraid to ask for food from the convent cook. Similarly, he is usually incapable of getting care at the health center because he doesn’t speak up for himself. Unless we have already arranged with a nurse, as we did today, I accompany him and make him get his treatment. Speaking of which--- what is he ailing of? His feet were badly burned by walking on the road with no shoes. He had not purchased shoes for himself with his small salary because he bought a chicken for his mother.
When I first arrived in this area, he asked me if he could borrow 10,000 shillings. Before you get excited, remember that 1 US dollar equals 2,000 shillings. But remember how many US dollars peace corps volunteers get--- not much. Anyway, I did not want to arrive as the white person and begin handing out money. So I asked one of the nuns what to do. She told me to refuse, and I did. Later, a different nun (who I was to learn is much more compassionate than the first nun) found Kashaija crying. He had debts of 10,000 shillings and someone was threatening his life.
In that timid man with the high voice, I too often find myself. To afraid to ask for something, too willing to kill my dreams because of fear. Fear of what? Of what people will do to me? Of what they will say? Of rejection? No. It is a fear of loving yourself. A fear of asking too much for yourself, a fear of disturbing others. At its base is the notion that others have written you off and that you are only annoying them by your presence. At its base is the notion that you are not valuable to others and that you will never be.
Right now, I am sensitive to Kashaija when he needs help going to the health center or getting medicine, or getting food. Right now, I try to make it clear that I care about Kashaija and that his presence is a blessing, not a curse to me. The other day, he saw me carrying my jerry cans to the bore hole. He took them from me and insisted on bringing me water. I tried to refuse, thinking that I was disturbing him, but he would not allow it. With great pride, thirty minutes later, he brought the water to my house. Not crying, not ashamed, but with a wide smile. Similarly, I enjoy going with him to the health center, and insist on attending with him. He is not disturbing me, instead helping him gives me joy.
We are learning that we do have strengths and that we can be helpful to others. We are not merely in the way! Somehow we are both finding that our joy is in helping others—but that in helping us, others also benefit.

What is life?

Here are some thoughts on the meaning of life.
When you realize that money and power are only
endless mirages, you wonder what it's all about;
here are my thoughts:

I used to think of life as
measured on a yardstick
20, 25, 30, 60 and so on.

But I find myself
Less strong, steady, dependable,
dead.

Instead
Weak, flexible, pulsing,
full of

LIFE

is more a rubber band
stretching around objects
expanding and contracting
with use

is more a bud, opening in
its own time
some slowly, others rapid
the bloom is the best
don't rush it

is more a flame
brief, bright, easily blown
consuming cannot see
it's own light

And what if power
no longer a fist
or a hammer or scythe

is only a magnet,
measured in force of
attraction

qualified in whether
it is positive
or negative
or nothing at all

Falling in Love

Last night, I did myself a great service and read a love book. Now, I am not one for romance (books, films, or music) but a friend convinced me to read Dr. Neil Clark Warren’s Falling in Love for All the Right Reasons. Aside from giving me serious worries about my newly found lying habit (acquired in Uganda-- I never tell people where I live, where I am from, or where I am going here! I am used to being surrounded in lies, am I now a pathological liar? Should I go for psychotherapy with Dr. Warren before proceeding?) the book was quite inspirational. According to his statistics, 50% of marriages end in divorce, and of those who stay together, half are miserable. I personally know of only three marriages that I would really want to emulate. But in those marriages, and the potential for them, I find my inspiration.
Take the marriage of my mother’s parents, for example. (If you are married, you can imagine that you are in one of the remaining two). They have been married for over 50 years and are still crazy about each other. From all of the little nicknames, to the incessant teasing, to the fact that they just love to be with each other, they exude more romance than most newlyweds. They have weathered the thick and the thin with humor, common beliefs and attitudes, similar work ethics, thrift, cuddling, card games, the occasional German phrase, plenty of Oreos and chocolate fudge, and some really cool grandkids.
The enemy of the best choice is always the “ok” choice. Especially in terms of marriage and relationships, the enemy of what would be a phenomenal relationship is getting stuck with the passable one, for now. Fear of being alone, living alone, and, eventually, dying alone can make me think of a lot of passable choices. Especially here, where men who know more than “I love you” in English and “My size, you come, we go!” are rare. Jokes aside, however, the lack of compatible men here does make me consider people that I might not have otherwise thought about.
Secondly, I have to be sure that Sarah is ok before moving forward. Peace Corps has been really good for me, as a person, as a friend, and as a potential relationship partner. I needed to figure out who I was, who I am, spiritually, culturally, career- wise, and etc. before bringing anyone else into my world.
In the end, I just need to keep the faith. Faith in the idea that there is the right person out there somewhere, faith that I can become a great partner to someone, and faith that I don’t have to settle for anything else; that faith is the most important thing. I know that my family members on both sides are wondering if I will ever get married. I wonder also. I know that everyone is relieved that I am not bringing home someone from Uganda (except the motorcycle drivers in my village, that is). Finally, I know that I, after having spent two years alone here am not afraid of singleness. In fact, I love being single, and will only trade it for a phenomenal relationship. – by the way, using eHarmony to do so may not be such a bad idea after all………… oh wait, I have to actually decide where I live first!

Requiem for a Peace Corps Volunteer

My requiem
I prepare slowly

To few bold notes
We combine harmony

Quick violin strokes
Long mournful viola

After the final drumbeat
Only scent remains

Lingering presence
On tired strings/ fingertips/
Hum of young musician

There can be no
Accurate recording.

Besides,
Who would listen?

Only faint presence
Inspiring you

To sing

Again.

I find myself at the end of my Peace Corps experience—only 7 months left. I am preparing now for another death. A beautiful requiem remains for composition; one of harmony with those around me, one that prepares for the next life, one of spirituality. My commitment, therefore, is to mend personal relationships, write, pray, sing, and, of course, dance through these next months. Oh yeah, and I have a few big projects to finish. Then I am planning a big party at the end at which I will give a big speech.
Then I’ll fly away, becoming just another ghost. And for me, a thousand new ghosts will haunt my world, not least of who will be six in veils and matching blue habits.