Humble me Lord

10/18/06

Today I realized that right now—being here in Cape Verde—is the first time I have really felt like an adult. I may have been independent, self-sufficient, and responsible in the States during college and grad school, but never did I truly feel like an adult, for some reason. Maybe there’s something about being in school that muddles your identity a bit: you’re not really an “adult” while you’re still a “student”. Or maybe it was the continual eating of top ramen and other assorted processed and boxed foods you can eat in front of the TV that inhibited me from entering the adult world. Or the lack of any real substantial job. I never really felt like I could say “I feel like a real grown-up” (though who says that anyway?) But today for some reason I feel like suddenly I’ve become some kind of official adult. As I was preparing the mop bucket to mop the bathroom and my bedroom, I realized that I have been carrying out pretty much all the activities an “adult” would by American standards. I clean the house regularly, I shop for all my food (which I’ve done before, but never have I bought food that requires much actual cooking), I am learning to cook, I have a real job that does serious things, and I am looked to as a person with a certain level of responsibility—people come to me for things, holy crap—, all of which one might consider part of adulthood. I realized I now have the pleasure, for the most part, of being looked on as someone who accomplishes things, rather than someone who is on their way to accomplishing things. Because of course in our culture (and in many others), that’s how we view it: not until you’re an “adult” are you really doing much noteworthy, other than requiring a lot of patience or tolerance from the exceedingly gracious adults, the very same who continue to chant that “children are the future.” Adolescence is merely “playtime”, or “preparation time” for when you really start to matter. Hey, kids are great at meeting whatever expectations we give them. Okay, so I’m being a little sarcastic and maybe a bit cynical, but really all this is to say the confidence that was lurking somewhere in the corners of myself that was waiting for an invitation to emerge has suddenly snuck out. I’m confident. Imagine that! No longer the student who’s perpetually and humbly learning the ropes, but the teacher who’s teaching with authority. And of course this is false, I’m always learning and not always effectively teaching, and it’s not all the time that I’m confident: I still feel like a child sometimes with my language, I still have a ways to go in earning the trust and respect of some of the workers in the ICM, and still have somewhat of a place to earn within the CEJ. But in a lot of ways, I’m striking out on my own, taking responsibility, making my place here in my new surroundings. And it feels even better than I’d hoped.

For the first time I am frequently viewed as an expert (of course I don’t consider myself one…though when does one really become an official “expert”?), a feeling I’m not accustomed to. This whole week I’ve been administering surveys during interviews with the girls to ascertain their interests and feelings within the Center, as though I’m someone official with authority. And yesterday while I was at the CEJ, a man came to see me (how he knew who I was or why I was there, I have no idea), asking if he could speak with me. Paulo (the CEJ director) ushered me into the “big chair” at the desk in his private office, as though it were my own office, and the man asked if he could make an appointment to see me. I asked what for, not understanding who he was or why he needed me, and he explained he just wanted to talk. About what? He looked a bit surprised and responded “About life, problems, things I’m dealing with.” And I started to realize he basically wanted a counseling session with the local psychologist—me. So maybe that will be a part of my duties, maybe that’s how my presence is being explained throughout the community, despite my attempts to explain the concept of appropriate credentials that exists in the States. So I’m settling into it. I’ll be one of the town psychologists. And one of the town social workers. And maybe activity coordinator for the ICM. And possibly babysitter slash cool foreign girl who hangs out in the Center. And now the beauty of Peace Corps Community Development Youth Mobilizer and all the vast inclusivity the title holds is being revealed: I will be entrusted with helping the youth in Assomada in whatever way, shape, or form that comes. Huh. Sometimes the freedom is glorious! Scary as hell, but glorious.

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I thought I should update on what happened with Zelda, the girl I wrote about last week. After the first night in the hospital, I went back early in the morning to check on her, see if she had woken up, how she was doing, and just be a familiar face so she didn’t have to wake up alone in the hospital with a bunch of strangers. I spoke with the doctor, who said he would prefer her to stay there all weekend with someone familiar with her at all times, as she wasn’t in an appropriate condition to go back to the Center. When I saw her she was calm, but after a while she became agitated again, probably as soon as she started to realize they weren’t going to let her leave. So I stayed with her for a few hours, waiting for someone from the Center to show up so I could explain the situation. After awhile, two mães showed up, I told them what the doctor said, made sure that they would rotate out so that someone was always there, and then I left for the afternoon. Zelda stayed in the hospital all weekend, and on Monday, as planned, they took her to Praia to see the psychiatrist to get the official word on what should be done with her, as we still weren’t entirely sure. The doctor decided she should be institutionalized, even though she was underage, as there wasn’t really another feasible option. So to our helpless dismay, she is currently in Cape Verde’s only institution for people with severe mental disabilities—among the adults with schizophrenia and the like. And hopefully she will be cared for there better than she might be in a different place, but the idea of institutions makes me sad anyway: it’s like a final dumping place for the people society can’t (or won’t) properly take care of. And I know sometimes it’s necessary, but still…I don’t know what the conditions of Cape Verde’s institution are, or how it is viewed by those in the community, and I suppose I should consider it lucky that they even have one, but if I can assume it is like many mental institutions throughout the world, it makes my heart hurt to picture Zelda there. Or anyone for that matter. In a perfect world, no one would have to suffer from mental illness, or if they did, they would find the loving and supportive environment they needed so that they didn’t become neglected or stigmatized. I’m sure this sounds more negative than it needs to: the situation isn’t as bad as it could be, and not all people with mental illnesses are treated like refuse. But it is largely misunderstood, throughout the world. Compassion requires a lot of energy.