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.

Eternity at heart

As a thanks for my 27 month peace corps service, I get a plane ticket home-- or reimbursement for one-- and some “readjustment” money. But no real pressure to go home. As a result, I am free to just stay here-- or drift slowly back. I am doing the latter through Ethiopia, Egypt, and Jordan, with a fellow volunteer.
In each place-- from the 1000 year old rock hewn churches in Lalibella, Ethiopia, to the glorieous mummies and burial chambers in Luxor, Egypt, we hang between awesome structures, knick knack vendors, and petty thieves.
I just finished 2 years of modern 3rd world living. Hand washing, baking over an open fire, sweeping with straws, using an outhouse, sleeping in mud and thatch structures, and bathing with a bucket. The people who built the rock hewn churches of Ethiopia and the great temples and palaces of Egypt, however, didn't even have the plastic jerry cans, buckets, soap, or latrines that I did. Here were people for whom life hung between rainy seasons, fending off wild animals, and mysterious disease-- for whom survival required constant work-- and they were focused on the hereafter. They wanted to connect with their maker, and leave something behind for their descendants. As a result, they made beautiful, intricate, spiritual tombs, churches, and temples.
At the same places, there are people who make their livings off of overpriced papyrus, buggy rides, or cold injera (Ethiopian staple) and lentils. How about grave robbers, pocket thieves, or kidnappers? How could these great historic civilizations, hewing granite and carving intricate hieroglyphics, produce such? Standing next to these grand achievements, moreover, how do shopkeepers feel as they sell junk that no one wants?
I know that in their own ways, the shopkeepers are building their lives, etc, but I would rather be a Queen Nefertari than a fake papyrus vendor.
As I see 30% unemployment on magazines in airports, and wonder about my prospects at home, I must remember this lesson. I do not want to sink into survival mode, but instead, to keep my eye on the ultimate prize; to keep eternity at heart.

Coming Out

Coming out of foothills
Glance behind
Majesty
Now, strain
all I see
air
I am where?

Last Day

I was in the pyramids, looking at mummies with missing noses-- someone told me they were WWII soldiers – and elephants were running around “Sarah, do you still want to go running? it is 6:20!” “Where am I?” Oh yeah, the village-- starting my last day. My friend, Leah and I pulled ourselves together for jogging. On the road, a group of elementary boys laughing and shouting “muzungu” got a run for their money. I chased them down and told them I was going to eat them. Last night, when a kid asked me for money, I grabbed him by the shirt, pulled his dirty little face up to mine and explained-- in the local language-- why that was a very bad idea. Further down the road, a group of women smiled and genuinely seemed happy to see us-- nice to see women brave enough to run.
We got home and took our bucket baths-- I can bathe, wash and condition my hair, and scrub the calluses off of my feet with 3 liters of water! Over our oatmeal, peanut butter, and honey breakfast, we talked about kashi and raisin bran-- ahhhhh-- made me so hungry I ate a second bowl. I then wondered what I would do today. Would I visit a village savings group this morning? Would I do monitoring in the afternoon? It was already 9:30, so the man I was supposed to meet at 8 was not yet there. Every day really is the same. As I stood on the front porch, wondering what to do, a group of students carried a screaming, quivering student by. “She has demons-- as usual” they reported.
Within a few hours, the demons were out and by three (yes, 7 hours late), I was in the village, doing a Typhoid talk. In the between, however, some people surprised me with gifts of fabric (even though my goodbye party is over) and I had a nice talk with a friend. It never changes!

Growth

Jokes aside, there are a few good things that I learned in Uganda, which frame new commitments in life. I hope that these changes for the positive will not be reversed when I hit home.

1. Natural lifestyle. I can make bread and cakes from flour and sugar, cheese from a cow, and guacamole of about 3 varieties. When I went home for David's wedding, I could taste the fake and the corn syrup in frozen pizza and a dairy queen blizzard. When I tried eating a cinnamon bun, the sweetness made me sick. It may require more creativity and time, but I want to stay as natural as possible.
2. Environmental sustainability. Living so close to the Earth and depending on nature for everything. Like, hmmmm, should I wash my clothes? It hasn't rained, so there is no water-- or it's raining now so they won't dry. Or, the school closed early because the crops dried up and there wasn't enough food. These are everyday occurrences. I want to maintain a commitment to sustainable decision making when I get home-- especially with water and fuel (after my first long shower to wash off the grime and riding a plane home, that is). I don't need to live in a big place and I hope to take public transport and have a natural foods option. Furthermore, I love what Mayor Nutter is doing with green surfaces in Philly and what new LEED housing ideas are doing. Who knows, by the time I need a car, I might drive hydrogen- powered.
3. Deeper spiritual connections. I have been introduced to a whole new world of spirituality with Catholicism. Nouwen, Merton, St. Francis-- solitude and deeper prayer. The nuns are so hard working and happy and kind because time in prayer is their mainstay. Poverty, celibacy, and obedience-- basically denial of all that humanity craves. What do they gain? A lot of joy, for one thing, and more care for other people.
4. Human color and diversity. The Peace Corps is so diverse and colorful, it adds a great mosaic backdrop to my life. I want to continue being a part of an interesting community of people at home, whether in a city neighborhood or a small town.
5. Not worry about being “late” for something in life. I met a priest who started first grade at 17 and was ordained in his late thirties. Several people, due to family delays, etc., don't do things at the exactly correct time here. But who cares? You can't let past problems ruin you because you're afraid of a bit of delay. Besides, life is about the journey, so enjoy the scenic route!
6. Realize that every post is equal, but you have to make it your own. Some peace corps volunteers work in high powered offices and have apartments in town with running water. Ok, not in Uganda, but I'm sure it happens somewhere. Others are deep in the village, making stoves out of cow dung and baking their own bread or living on cassava flour. In the end, both are valuable and meaningful. I am returning home with an idea of a post- bac then med. School, so I have a plan. But if there are some kinks in the road, I can still have meaning in life. Plan B is bee- keeping and surrogate motherhood and Plan C. is returning to Uganda and becoming a wedding singer. So- no worries, right?
7. Commitment to the team. I did not expect other volunteers to be so wonderful, but they have been a big part of why Peace Corps is great. Sharing beer and goat's meat, jamming to local tunes, or climbing in the hills, time with my fellow peace corps volunteers, no matter how different we are from each other, has been extraordinary. When I return, I want to keep up with friends and continue in the spirit of camaraderie with my new team mates—ok, minus the goat meat.

Serendipity

This last month, I decided to move to a hospital and try to see if this medicine thing is right or not. At first, I had grand illusions of shadowing a doctor friend of my parents the whole time. A fellow PCV had become an impromptu scrub nurse, and I thought “That should get me used to blood!” The doctor, however, was not interested in another scrub nurse and was combating an area typhoid epidemic, so the best thing I could do was to stay out of the way. Some German med. Students (all of 21 years old, impossibly thin, and in their final year) could not conceal a slight repulsion toward my lack of usefulness and my misdirected life. I don’t blame them-- I had no idea what I was going to do with my life at 10 yrs old.
Three hours later, I found myself scared to ask the nurse’s aide; what is a normal blood pressure reading? Boredom ensued-- you can only make so much of reading patient charts all day and trying (unsuccessfully) to look intelligent as you follow a stick thin med. student around.
I came home to a fellow pcv’s house (for whom I am puppy and cat sitting……….) and thought, a whole month of this? Good enough it was a Friday. That evening, I met some nuns nearby. A short conversation about the typhoid epidemic and they wanted me to speak in church on Sunday. I quickly put some local language teaching materials together then talked with nearly 100 people. I was then asked to return for women’s groups on Tuesday -- where I met about 80 women. The parish development coordinator found me and asked if I had free time (you bet I did!!!) and if I could climb into some mountain villages to talk there-- again a resounding YES! The next day, mountains, and then the next, a catechists’ meeting (with representatives from each village). Now I have speaking engagements sufficient to fill the next three weeks, training community groups, from savings associations, to agricultural trainings, to churches, to prevent typhoid. The material is basic-- water sterilization, water protection, basic hygiene, signs/ symptoms and treatment, but it is not yet widely known. I had to say a little prayer, thank you, God for your Church!. Of course I’m not doing anything special like taking blood pressure but, hey, I’m happy.