Sunday, November 27, 2011

Color

First there was green, Tender, growing, unknowing/ Then came blue, Pure, rigid, cold/ And red, Hot, intense exhausting/ Pieces, scattered, cut And I, broken Between heart and mouth Between mind and mantra Between/ I could not move, in one, Too hobbled to dance/ Yellow sun has come Poured on my broken pieces/ Melting them into it’s yellow- white/ Intensity, love, purity, tenderness In the ray that holds all spectrum In one/

Grandpa Z

In khakhi shorts and black support hose
Saggy fanny pack, hairy nose
You every time
Rescued
Delivered
Knew
And these days,
I still wonder,
Are you omnipotent?
And how do you still
Outflag my energy
Rise early
Trimming fallen branches
Rescuing wayward child- adults
We needed you
We need you
We will need you
Until we don't need ourselves.
Uncombed white halo
Thinning, ever thinning,
Stubbornly There
Seep Grandpa
Stubby protruding chin fierce eyes
Sleep soft heart
Love embodied in competence
But not just yet

Ran out

The first scent dust rising/ And I hear small sprays on metal sheet roof// How many more? Avocado seasons large glittering green dripping emerald trees// Pineapple alone with bananas in cake/ pineaple wine so bitter sweet water to poison// How many hot, dry sunshines sweating with jerry cans at the borehole// Not many, not many, few.

Judge Judy


I spent the other weekend with a phenominal woman nicknamed Judge Judy. We went through plans for postbac premedical programs, medical schools, finances, last minute essay revisions, and other small crises. After staying up till 2AM Sunday morning with various problems and schemes, we had an idea of what lay ahead, and the time and money it would take. The next afternoon, I asked, what is the real difference between pursuing this medical degree at a top school and going to my grandparents' home to try and find a normal job or become a nurse? Quality of life, after all, is about joy in the little things and relationships. A pause, small eye roll, and hand to hip later, her answer was simple. "It's the difference between taking control of your life and allowing someone else to take it." I think I am the Judge's most difficult case.

Go Big or Go Home



The other night, I felt a bit of pain in my gut. A few hours later, it intensified, twisting and clawing. Clean water miraculously pouring out of a tap did not help; neither had the guilty pleasure of a steaming hot shower. Sleep did not ensue, as I alternately shivered and sweat in aching cold despite my soft, clean bankets. By morning, I was tired and still in pain. For a few hours I called my health insurance to see which provider I could visit without going bankrupt. There were a few but none had an ultrasound machine-- neccessary if there was to be any serious problem. So, I went to that icon of American healthcare, the best in the world, the pinnacle of scientific advancement, the emergency room. After waiting six hours, pain having subsided, I saw the doctor. He laughed at me, prescribed Zantac, and told me to quit eating so much friend chicken. I am still waiting to go broke from the bill.

The next week, a hurricane blew through my brother's neighborhood, ripping apart houses and tearing up the local high school. Despite all of the fallen lines, power was back on within 36 hours. Now the problem is fighting with housing insurance guys and repair men. Later on, as we went out to eat at Ryans and I looked at the overweight, slightly dishevled couple beside us, I was struck by how hard it really is to survive here. Writing this, I am sitting with my legs crossed (unallowed in Uganda) in comfortable leggings and a sweater (all recently realized dreams) on a clean couch with clean socks and a clean carpet. Yes, for the first time in a while, I was in mass, and no one cut in line ahead of me for offering or communion. But life here has its own way of getting to you.

Survival, minimum wage (or more) and bills and insurance and health payments. Survival is impossible if it is my goal. If I were to seek employment for its own sake and just try to make it, I probably would not.

Last Sunday, the priest said that we must live beyond fear and invest the talenst we were given for something greater than ourselves. We can never bury ourselves in survival mode, afraid of losing what we have. Terrified, I have applied to Columbia. Living expenses in New York, tuition, and transportation made my stomach begin to twist again. But this is America, where you step off a boat (or plane) with nothing but ten bucks ( or some African dresses) and work hard to achieve your dreams.

A friend from Zambia, when watching news about American earthquakes, tornados, hurricanes, and blizzards, told me that humans were never meant to survive in America. That is true. In America, you cannot survive, you have to dream, to jump and thrive; either go big or go home.

Welcome to America


I have arrived!!- - in the US. My first day, after landing in JFK, I boarded the red line heading to Penn Station. I was the only person without a smart phone and was doing the unthinkable-- reading a PAPER book. Yikes! Amtrack security videos continually replayed tips for locating potential terrorists-- If you see someone asking strange questions (which one is Penn Station?) or trying to escape by way of suspicious doors (wow, sorry I didn't see that blazing Exit sign) or laying down suspicious baggage (my hot pink striped African bag?) or carrying suspicious items (a pillow sized bag of dried green leaves-- for cooking) or wearing suspicious clothes (nuff said). Anyway, I barely escaped the police that time.
I was caught a few weeks later when jogging outside of my brother's house. The sherriff looked at me and asked, "Do you think that is safe, young lady?" Apart from my lack of headphones and use of the correct side of the road, cars swerved around several lanes to be at least ten feet away from me. I literally felt more safe than I had in years. The sheriff, however, thought jogging could prove bad for my health (he obviously stayed far away from it himself). He then drove me back to the housing complex, and, using his gut as a built in desk, drew a map, showing how I could drive to the jogging path at the park. Welcome to America.