The Smelting Pot
Yardwork. Bleh. To be fair, I did enjoy seeing the lawn nice and clean. It was also nice to lay on the grass and watch the dogs play-fight. And play-hump. Earlier, while Ajax was on a leash screwed into the ground, he ran towards Teddy and snapped the plastic buckle on his collar in two. He's a hoss! Gotta love labs...
After I took a shower, I prepared for a nap by reading a little 'The Problem of Pain'. Lewis was talking about the Fall(and concocted a lengthy 'myth' for it that was beautiful and tragic) and about Man's placement of himself at the center of life. I was reminded that I am still in this situation. Although unsettling, it was a healthy awareness. What gave me a mental lurch was how comfortable I had become in this state. Yet I am... saved? It's so impossible to believe that I almost don't. I think I'm still stuck somewhere between true Faith and my own kind of Existentialism, where I am master of my fate. I've learned, though, not to give my thoughts too much weight, since they are often very heavily weighed with emotion. So, I could just be feeling particulary filthy tonight as my sin and fallenness nauseate my spirit. Don't get me wrong. I want awareness of them. I just don't want to be crippled by them. Second opinions are, of course, welcome.
If you'll allow me to switch gears, I'll move on to what I was planning to post today. In printing out selected writings of mine for a portfolio, I found something I had written last year at the request of my psychiatrist. He wanted me to write up a description of a normal day for me in my village in Senegal, both from my perspective and that of a local. I had forgotten about it. Looking over it again, I thought my friends and readers would find it interesting. So read on, playa, read on.
_______________________________________________________________
It’s morning. I stretch a little, but I don’t get up yet. I enjoy the stillness around me while listening to the world waking up outside. Soon enough, I’m reminded that I can’t lie around forever. My cats are already up. They probably have been for a while. The feisty one, though, is impatient. He begins to nibble at my earlobe. It feels pretty good, actually, but it doesn’t let me rest. I get up, muttering words of patience to my cats as they begin to cry for food. Another day has officially begun.
Once the cats are satisfied, I throw some clothes on. I have to rummage for something that isn’t dirty or dusty. Yeah, looks like I need to do laundry today. Plus ten other things I’d like to get accomplished. Once I’m dressed, I take a deep breath and open the door.
I brace myself with every step away from my hut. It doesn’t take long for the locals to notice me, and the greetings spring up all around me. I reply, saying “Asalamalekum” or “Malekumsalam,” depending on whether I’m greeting or being greeted, respectively. I soon arrive at the crossroads near my hut where three wooden beds sit under a large Neem tree. It’s where I can always find my village father. Today, like every other morning, he is sitting behind a bench lined with bread freshly baked in mud stoves, ready to sell them off to other villagers. As his ‘son,’ though, I get it free.
I shake my father’s hand, take a loaf, and sit down to eat. By now everyone knows I don’t like to have any of the coffee they love, so I drink my filtered water. I stare at the ground while I eat, hoping to avoid conversation with passersby or those sitting around me. Sometimes I’m successful. When I’m not, I speak curtly. I try to be polite, but someone says something annoying and I lose all concern for appearances. When I feel like I’ve stayed long enough to satisfy courtesy, I rise and return to my hut.
I do have reasons to come back right after eating. I like to brush my teeth, for instance. I also have to take my malaria prophylaxis, my OCD medicine, and my vitamins. I don’t even try to pass off taking my medicines as rationalization. I’m thankful to have a reason to leave them, but it doesn’t bother me.
Once my hygiene is out of the way, I take a mental assessment of what I want to do today. I have a list in my head of all the things I want to do to improve my hut, but I only have the materials to work on some of them. I remember my duty to ‘socialize’ with the village, and grudgingly tell myself to work that into my schedule.
I decide to do some woodwork while the morning is still cool. I get the tools I need from around my room and take them outside. I’m careful to shut the door behind me so the cats won’t follow me out. I like them running around, actually, but I’m afraid they’ll get into trouble. Most of the villagers are wary or plain scared of cats. I like the kitties even more for that reason.
I begin working on a plank of wood I brought back a couple of weeks ago. I want to make an armoire and a door for my outside fence, but working it is tough. What I wouldn’t give for a circular saw. It’s even harder since I feel so weak. I should be more worried about my decreasing strength, but I gave up caring a while ago. It feels like I gave up lots of things a while ago. While I’m working, various people stop by. I imagine that they’ve been wondering where the “toubab” was. It’s the same thing with each of them. They call my name, greet me, and ask what I’m doing. This frustrates me, since I’m standing with my hand still on the handle of the saw and the saw still in the plank of wood. I tell them that I’m working, and that I don’t want any help. They soon leave, and I can return to my work- my only solace.
The day is getting hot fast, and everyone, including myself, begins to slow down. Lunch gets brought to me, but I hardly touch it. I’ve developed a distaste for rice since being in Senegal. Not a good thing, since it’s the main course. Anyway, it’s time for me to enjoy some time alone. Nobody does much in the heat of the day, so I can relax in my hut for a few hours without feeling guilty for it. If I’m sleepy, I’ll take a nap with my kittens. If I’m just feeling lazy, I’ll play my Game Boy. If I’m feeling like a little reading, though, I’ll pick up one of the many dusty books I have yet to build a bookshelf for. It doesn’t take long for the early afternoon to pass into late.
After spending so much time alone, I decide that it’s my duty to go out and greet people. I brace myself again as I leave my hut. The evening is, in many ways, nicer than morning. The heat is fading instead of growing. I greet my family first, and then do walk-by greetings of everyone else in the village. Sometimes I stop, but I make sure not to stay too long. It’s usually only a matter of time before someone begins to annoy me and put me in a foul mood, so I try to stay just long enough to seem polite. It’s not even an hour, though, before I’m back in my hut for my favorite part of the day.
It’s about 6:00 or so by now, and from here on out, it’s my time. I fill up a large bucket of water from my father’s faucet, and prepare for a bucket bath. I wash off the sweat and dirt from a hot day with my satellite radio playing American tunes in the background and the sun setting behind my cement wall. It does wonders to relax me and lighten my mood.
It’s beginning to get dark when my bath is done, so I light my propane lantern. Depending on my mood, I’ll either read or play some more Game Boy until my supper arrives. When it does, I say a quick thank you and get my stash of raisins. The food they give me is millet and fresh milk from the cows that have recently been terrorizing my straw roof. I turn on my radio again and enjoy my favorite meal of the day (if you get the raisins and milk just right, it almost tastes like Raisin Bran). I take the bowls back to my father’s house when I’m done. I turn off my flashlight and walk as soft as I can to make sure that no one notices me and asks me to come and talk. I walk back to my hut quickly, sometimes stopping in the road to stare at the stars for a bit.
Once back in my hut, I sometimes think about my situation. Everyday is the same. Is it realistic for me to expect things to get better? Is this what I should be doing? Is this just a trial for me to get through? I have plenty of time to think, but no answers come. In the end, I tuck another day under my belt, and hope things look better tomorrow. ‘Night, kitties.
Ah, here comes Fallou. He’s been here a month but he still doesn’t speak much. He doesn’t smile much, either. I wonder how a toubab like him feels in this village. He can buy whatever he wants, plus he has all those things he brought with him from America. I don’t know why he looks so unhappy. Of course, I hardly see him outside of his hut. How can he be happy all alone? How can anyone? He should come and sit with us more. He needs to talk and laugh. But maybe that’s how his people like it. It doesn’t seem like he’s learning our language very well, either. At least, I think that’s what he’s here for. He never talks, so how would I know? I thought he wanted to fit in, so I’ve tried to help him, give him advice. It just seems to make him angry. My friends wonder about him, too, but it’s up to his father in the end if he’s having problems. I have enough work with the rains approaching. Besides, who knows what goes on inside the mind of a toubab.
______________________________________________________________
"Everyone feels benevolent if nothing happens to be annoying him at the moment."
-C.S. Lewis, 'The Problem of Pain'
After I took a shower, I prepared for a nap by reading a little 'The Problem of Pain'. Lewis was talking about the Fall(and concocted a lengthy 'myth' for it that was beautiful and tragic) and about Man's placement of himself at the center of life. I was reminded that I am still in this situation. Although unsettling, it was a healthy awareness. What gave me a mental lurch was how comfortable I had become in this state. Yet I am... saved? It's so impossible to believe that I almost don't. I think I'm still stuck somewhere between true Faith and my own kind of Existentialism, where I am master of my fate. I've learned, though, not to give my thoughts too much weight, since they are often very heavily weighed with emotion. So, I could just be feeling particulary filthy tonight as my sin and fallenness nauseate my spirit. Don't get me wrong. I want awareness of them. I just don't want to be crippled by them. Second opinions are, of course, welcome.
If you'll allow me to switch gears, I'll move on to what I was planning to post today. In printing out selected writings of mine for a portfolio, I found something I had written last year at the request of my psychiatrist. He wanted me to write up a description of a normal day for me in my village in Senegal, both from my perspective and that of a local. I had forgotten about it. Looking over it again, I thought my friends and readers would find it interesting. So read on, playa, read on.
_______________________________________________________________
It’s morning. I stretch a little, but I don’t get up yet. I enjoy the stillness around me while listening to the world waking up outside. Soon enough, I’m reminded that I can’t lie around forever. My cats are already up. They probably have been for a while. The feisty one, though, is impatient. He begins to nibble at my earlobe. It feels pretty good, actually, but it doesn’t let me rest. I get up, muttering words of patience to my cats as they begin to cry for food. Another day has officially begun.
Once the cats are satisfied, I throw some clothes on. I have to rummage for something that isn’t dirty or dusty. Yeah, looks like I need to do laundry today. Plus ten other things I’d like to get accomplished. Once I’m dressed, I take a deep breath and open the door.
I brace myself with every step away from my hut. It doesn’t take long for the locals to notice me, and the greetings spring up all around me. I reply, saying “Asalamalekum” or “Malekumsalam,” depending on whether I’m greeting or being greeted, respectively. I soon arrive at the crossroads near my hut where three wooden beds sit under a large Neem tree. It’s where I can always find my village father. Today, like every other morning, he is sitting behind a bench lined with bread freshly baked in mud stoves, ready to sell them off to other villagers. As his ‘son,’ though, I get it free.
I shake my father’s hand, take a loaf, and sit down to eat. By now everyone knows I don’t like to have any of the coffee they love, so I drink my filtered water. I stare at the ground while I eat, hoping to avoid conversation with passersby or those sitting around me. Sometimes I’m successful. When I’m not, I speak curtly. I try to be polite, but someone says something annoying and I lose all concern for appearances. When I feel like I’ve stayed long enough to satisfy courtesy, I rise and return to my hut.
I do have reasons to come back right after eating. I like to brush my teeth, for instance. I also have to take my malaria prophylaxis, my OCD medicine, and my vitamins. I don’t even try to pass off taking my medicines as rationalization. I’m thankful to have a reason to leave them, but it doesn’t bother me.
Once my hygiene is out of the way, I take a mental assessment of what I want to do today. I have a list in my head of all the things I want to do to improve my hut, but I only have the materials to work on some of them. I remember my duty to ‘socialize’ with the village, and grudgingly tell myself to work that into my schedule.
I decide to do some woodwork while the morning is still cool. I get the tools I need from around my room and take them outside. I’m careful to shut the door behind me so the cats won’t follow me out. I like them running around, actually, but I’m afraid they’ll get into trouble. Most of the villagers are wary or plain scared of cats. I like the kitties even more for that reason.
I begin working on a plank of wood I brought back a couple of weeks ago. I want to make an armoire and a door for my outside fence, but working it is tough. What I wouldn’t give for a circular saw. It’s even harder since I feel so weak. I should be more worried about my decreasing strength, but I gave up caring a while ago. It feels like I gave up lots of things a while ago. While I’m working, various people stop by. I imagine that they’ve been wondering where the “toubab” was. It’s the same thing with each of them. They call my name, greet me, and ask what I’m doing. This frustrates me, since I’m standing with my hand still on the handle of the saw and the saw still in the plank of wood. I tell them that I’m working, and that I don’t want any help. They soon leave, and I can return to my work- my only solace.
The day is getting hot fast, and everyone, including myself, begins to slow down. Lunch gets brought to me, but I hardly touch it. I’ve developed a distaste for rice since being in Senegal. Not a good thing, since it’s the main course. Anyway, it’s time for me to enjoy some time alone. Nobody does much in the heat of the day, so I can relax in my hut for a few hours without feeling guilty for it. If I’m sleepy, I’ll take a nap with my kittens. If I’m just feeling lazy, I’ll play my Game Boy. If I’m feeling like a little reading, though, I’ll pick up one of the many dusty books I have yet to build a bookshelf for. It doesn’t take long for the early afternoon to pass into late.
After spending so much time alone, I decide that it’s my duty to go out and greet people. I brace myself again as I leave my hut. The evening is, in many ways, nicer than morning. The heat is fading instead of growing. I greet my family first, and then do walk-by greetings of everyone else in the village. Sometimes I stop, but I make sure not to stay too long. It’s usually only a matter of time before someone begins to annoy me and put me in a foul mood, so I try to stay just long enough to seem polite. It’s not even an hour, though, before I’m back in my hut for my favorite part of the day.
It’s about 6:00 or so by now, and from here on out, it’s my time. I fill up a large bucket of water from my father’s faucet, and prepare for a bucket bath. I wash off the sweat and dirt from a hot day with my satellite radio playing American tunes in the background and the sun setting behind my cement wall. It does wonders to relax me and lighten my mood.
It’s beginning to get dark when my bath is done, so I light my propane lantern. Depending on my mood, I’ll either read or play some more Game Boy until my supper arrives. When it does, I say a quick thank you and get my stash of raisins. The food they give me is millet and fresh milk from the cows that have recently been terrorizing my straw roof. I turn on my radio again and enjoy my favorite meal of the day (if you get the raisins and milk just right, it almost tastes like Raisin Bran). I take the bowls back to my father’s house when I’m done. I turn off my flashlight and walk as soft as I can to make sure that no one notices me and asks me to come and talk. I walk back to my hut quickly, sometimes stopping in the road to stare at the stars for a bit.
Once back in my hut, I sometimes think about my situation. Everyday is the same. Is it realistic for me to expect things to get better? Is this what I should be doing? Is this just a trial for me to get through? I have plenty of time to think, but no answers come. In the end, I tuck another day under my belt, and hope things look better tomorrow. ‘Night, kitties.
Ah, here comes Fallou. He’s been here a month but he still doesn’t speak much. He doesn’t smile much, either. I wonder how a toubab like him feels in this village. He can buy whatever he wants, plus he has all those things he brought with him from America. I don’t know why he looks so unhappy. Of course, I hardly see him outside of his hut. How can he be happy all alone? How can anyone? He should come and sit with us more. He needs to talk and laugh. But maybe that’s how his people like it. It doesn’t seem like he’s learning our language very well, either. At least, I think that’s what he’s here for. He never talks, so how would I know? I thought he wanted to fit in, so I’ve tried to help him, give him advice. It just seems to make him angry. My friends wonder about him, too, but it’s up to his father in the end if he’s having problems. I have enough work with the rains approaching. Besides, who knows what goes on inside the mind of a toubab.
______________________________________________________________
"Everyone feels benevolent if nothing happens to be annoying him at the moment."
-C.S. Lewis, 'The Problem of Pain'
posted by Aisyrn | 8:19 PM
4 Comments:
The scary bit is the way you describe it I think I would find myself doing much the same thing in a country like that.
At least you had kitties!
When you wrote that, how long had you been there? How long was it before you left?
I actually wrote it after I came back at the request of my home psychiatrist. I did it from the perspective of when I was three months in country and one month in village, with one month before I left.
I should point out that I rarely spent a whole week in the village. I traveled a lot, often to the regional capital of Tambacounda, where the PC house was. As you read, I had to get out.
The kitties were very nice, except when I was traveling. Since they were still on milk up until right before I left Senegal, I didn't think anyone in my village would be able to care for them. So, they came with. Kitties in sacks on long trips are not fun. Especially when they poop.
Mmmm... a yard. I'd like one of those again. Maybe. I never really like yardwork when I lived in a house, but it seems almost enticing now. Of course, it seems more enticing if I think of it as my house.
I'm nearing a break in my pleasure reading, so maybe I can pick up some more Lewis soon. The book I just finished reading on his spiritual development was interesting, but the best parts were the nuggets of Lewis's own words interspersed throughout. I love his writing.
Your perspective on your experiences in Senegal were interesting. Not having been there, the day to day life doesn't sound so bad. Except the isolation. You recongnized that, of course. Community is so essential to who we are as people.
By the way, I like your ability to choose a voice and speak from within it. That's extremely important to a good storyteller.
mmmmmm
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