11/7/06

I haven’t journaled in what feels like ages, and it’s frustrating. Normally writing things down helps me to express everything I’m feeling, put it out on paper, let it exist somewhere other than in my mind and weighing on my heart. But there’s simply no time. I’m absolutely exhausted every single day. And then it builds up and becomes overwhelming. Yesterday as we were driving back from Orgãos, a more rural town between here and Praia, my heart felt so heavy with the realization that in some ways this is nothing like I imagined. I guess I had imagined what is taking place with other Peace Corps Volunteers on the continent of Africa, the rural impoverished countries of Africa—living with the bare minimum, no electricity, mud huts, slower pace of living, closer connection with the outside environment and with the earth, more time to think and relax, read a book, grow accustomed to a pattern and rhythm of living that turned away from the one I knew. All in all a more rural lifestyle. So many years of the fast-paced crazy American lifestyle where every minute of your day is planned out and you rely on constant caffeine running through your veins as you let life sweep you away before you turn around and realize it’s gone—all those years made me crave stillness, a break from the modern world. It’s too much stress, and I felt like eventually it would kill me. I want to sit on a back porch, listen to animals and chirping crickets while the sun sets over the beautiful Cape Verdean mountaintops, without worrying about how many things I need to be getting done before tomorrow. And so lately I feel as though a part of my heart has broken with the realization that coming here hasn’t been an escape from the hectic, too-full lifestyle. Almost the opposite. Instead of exploring myself, letting my true desires unfold and spread their wings to the outer reaches of the sky (the beautifully sappy picture I held in my head), I am at times busier than I’ve ever been. Sometimes there’s so much riding on my shoulders that I wonder if I was crazy to not have realized the responsibility this would entail before coming here. I knew I would have my Volunteer responsibilities along with the task of writing my thesis, but I never envisioned my lifestyle taking this shape. Running around from place to place, missing lunches, being pulled in so many directions I feel I’ll be torn to pieces. And so I suppose I’m mourning the life I envisioned and longed for, the dream that has died and been replaced by a different dream—equally fruitful and beneficial, but something I had envisioned happening much later on. I want to accomplish so many things, and many of those things are happening right now, I’m getting the experience I eventually wanted. And so I can’t complain, because in so many ways I love my job and what I have the blessing to be able to do here, but sometimes it’s a lot to take all at once. I thought all this would happen after I got the adjusting-to-African-culture part down, drinking in its richness. I don’t want to miss the subtleties while I’m swept along the busy highway. It just mixes with your emotions, trying to deal with the world, the reality you have before you while ghosts from a former life chase you into the corners of your consciousness until you can’t help but face the longings and expectations that you may never have given voice to, or continued to avoid. And so I suppose this is one of my ghosts: the perpetual conflict between wanting to accomplish so much, affect so many lives and bring joy to those around me—change the world—and wanting to step back and be dissolved into a completely foreign, more simple yet profound life that may seem to sacrifice the type of significant change I hope to see. I think I never wanted to admit that possibly the two can’t simultaneously exist. I wanted to believe that I can do all the things I want to do while at some point having a “break”, breathing in the air of silent reflection and simple living, where taking an afternoon to write a song isn’t an absurd distraction throwing a kink in your plan. And I want someone to tell me that that’s okay, to give me that space, that I'm not ridiculously foolish. During all the crazy times in my life where I’ve pushed forward at 100 miles an hour, there was always a little voice in the back of my head that prodded me forward and promised that there would be a time when it would all just stop and I would be able to breathe, when things would “settle down”. That voice convinced me that it would all be worth it: kill yourself working now and later you will finally have stability. Truthfully, that voice still shows up often in my thoughts. I’m pretty sure the voice is lying. And I had somehow convinced myself that possibly going abroad, doing the Peace Corps, would be that pause, that time when while I’m still working hard, pushing myself, stretching myself in all different ways, it would be in a separate way than my life before, in a way that challenged different parts of me and brought out my broader self. A pause from craziness to appreciate a new way of looking at the world.

To be perfectly honest I think what’s frustrating me the most is that I feel like I’m not doing enough, that I’m not pushing hard enough, at the same time that I sometimes feel I am giving too much, giving all that I have and feasibly can. How does that work? So many things I’m not doing that I want to be, that if I just make a few changes I can accomplish more with the time I have. Then the other side says “You’re killing yourself!” I’m only one person and I can’t keep getting caught in the trap of trying to do it all myself, which often helps no one. But then who will do it? Who will stand up for those who have no advocate? Who will be the “superwoman” with hundreds of projects and programs going on at once? There are those moments when it just seems so easy to quit, to slump back and admit defeat. So many doubts that can easily turn into excuses—me against the world, how do you know who to trust and what to take as truth, if it exists? Many things in the development world I’m not willing or ready to take as truth, but that can’t be an excuse to do nothing, to avoid helping to the extent I can. Anything can be turned into a “well I’m not sure about that, I’d better not bother with it”. But self-assured falsified truth is just as dangerous. Slipping into apathy is no better than pretending you know the “right” way to go.

Okay I’m starting to ramble and if I know myself, it looks like it could go on for awhile, so I’m cutting myself off. I’m exhausted and I haven’t even begun to catch up on updates of what has happened in the last week or so. Tomorrow maybe…if my heart is up to it…

11/8/06

Today I suppose it’s time for me to backtrack and recount what’s been happening the last week or two. Last week was Halloween, and Nick, Mel and I threw a party at our house for all the PCVs on Santiago and as many Cape Verdeans as we could round up and muster up an explanation of dressing in costumes for. We started preparing for this extravaganza pretty much since we got here in Assomada, so there was quite a bit of build-up. We made decorations for the house, planned costumes, made appetizers for everyone, and even made two piñatas. Yes, they have virtually nothing to do with Halloween, except for the candy that fills them, but we thought it would be entertaining to introduce the concept of beating a large paper contraption until candy explodes from it to a bunch of Cape Verdeans. Who doesn’t like beating things with a stick, much less getting a nice surprise at the end? The funniest part (besides the fact that one of the piñatas was a three-legged donkey Nick painstakingly made and painted a smiley face on) was that we snuck condoms in the piñatas with the candy, since nothing in Peace Corps Africa can be done without involving an HIV/AIDS lesson—be safe out there, kids. Before the party started, all the PCVs who came with costumes (I was Little Red Riding Hood) went to the ICM Center to help pass out candy for the girls, our own little twist on the Halloween theme, and something that truly made the girls’ night. They were elated that not only were a bunch of crazy Americans coming dressed in costumes, but they had brought candy. What a dream! They weren’t about to let us leave until we had taken pictures, explained our costumes, given everyone hugs, and danced a bit of funana. Even with all that they were bummed to see us go. So a good time was had by all.

All in all I think our party went well, even if the whole concept is something I never thought I’d come across in the Peace Corps. Adding to the list of things I never thought (or wanted) to see, was the surprise last-minute presence of—get this—a keg. Yes, a keg. Of beer. The fact that the concept even exists already here in CV helps you understand the drinking culture that most certainly goes on strong here. Let’s just say you should have seen the look on my face when I answered the door to find two men asking me where to put the “maquina de cerveja (beer machine)” that apparently my housemate and his friends had ordered. Pretty much the last thing I expected to happen. So…beer was flowing aplenty for those who like it, which seemed to have been most Cape Verdeans and virtually all of the PCVs excluding myself. I was happy holding my cup of wine and playing hostess. Anyhow, it was a good time, piñatas were broken, music was danced to, friends were made and bid farewell to (sad to see you go JC, we’ll miss you), all the makings of a successful party, complete with the random white guy who came dressed as Adam from Adam and Eve, as in the Bible. It was awkward at times, but thankfully his solitary leaf stayed in its place the whole night.

Okay I have to sign off for now, but I will update the rest of the events that have taken place since the party on the next blog. Ciao.