And So The Day Begins
10 March 2019
I sit on my front porch staring across the ward waiting for my taxi, drinking a cup of real coffee that I made from a broken French press, already starting to sweat before the true heat of the day makes its oppression known.
I think about the time I’ve been here, why I came, and my plans for the immediate future and beyond.
Oscar, the white rooster who frequents my yard to terrorize the black rooster and to chase the hens and chicks away from the morning feast I provide, struts along the fence line stopping briefly to arch his neck and let loose a crow that the sun itself must beam at the sound of. Truth be told the black rooster always wins the cock fight, but Oscar has my heart, as does every other under rooster.
I came here because I thought I needed to find myself through service to others. I was wrong. I came here to become reacquainted with myself. I never lost me; I just put her on the shelf to get back to one day, like a favorite book you re-visit when you need the comfort of the old friends you find there.
The neighbor’s dog, a white coarse-haired guy with a Napoleon complex, barks ferociously at a passerby and then harrumphs when the man passes without defiling his yard with his footstep, as if sure his bark has been the deterrent.
I’ve enjoyed my time here, through the ups and the downs, each carrying a life lesson that I now have time to ponder. The same lessons that visited me in the States, but I rarely took the time to ponder.
The ups have been wonderful. I have finally owned my muscular dystrophy, if only to take the teeth out of the innocent reminders to smile. I share the reason for my stony face, which has given me strength. My smile is fading away but I am usually smiling on the inside. And another friend constantly reminds me that my eyes still smile quite nicely.
I have made lifelong friends here, both in host country nationals and in other Americans. I have found a new best friend who laughs at my goofy smile and my insatiable need to make people laugh. He watches me talk to strangers as if I’ve known them forever and leave them looking after me when I walk away like they’re not quite sure what happened. He tells me I’m beautiful, when I know that beauty faded a while ago. He reminds me of my vanity, because when he says I’m beautiful, he means my inner beauty. He always offers to carry my pack and shrugs when I refuse in recognition of my stubbornness and my right to be me.
I love my work and the people with whom I work. I started social media marketing and a newsletter for the district health management team and we have made great strides in communicating with our village. That’s a major “up.” I am doing what I wanted to do when I came here; I am using communication strategy to promote health and wellbeing. I am a photographer and writer again. Welcome back, Jill. It’s nice to visit with you again.
A breeze sweeps across the yard, stirring up sand devils. My yard mate’s boyfriend knocks on the door to the little room he shares with her. No answer. I can’t understand what he says, but I hear the plea in his voice. I hear the door squeak as it opens. My curiosity makes me turn to see her open the door, still disheveled from the night’s sleep and to see him slip inside with what looks like a small gift that my imagination makes an apology for whatever wrong he has committed.
The downs? I’ll leave those for another day, because the important lesson I have learned here is that life and people are pretty much the same wherever in the world you travel. And one thing is abundantly true: We are the same person wherever in the world we travel. We might go in search of ourselves, but we never truly lose who we are; we just get lost in the daily minutia and sometimes fall prey to other people’s definitions of us. But we were never lost. I think we begin to focus on the downs instead of the ups sometimes, which gives us the impression that we were lost, when, in fact, we just forgot to take time to watch the sun rise, or to dance in the rain, or to marvel at the rainbow and imagine the yellow brick road on the other side where troubles melt like lemon drops. We begin to feel the weight of our troubles instead of the embrace of our friends and the warmth of the people who love us. We begin to live life in fear of what we might lose rather than just living each day with gratitude and the wish to bring joy to the people around us.
The taxi arrives, bumping along the deep sand that is my driveway. I think he’s going to get stuck one day in that deep sand. “I know my car, Amo,” he laughs. “It won’t get stuck.” The shocks are worn out. We squeak and bounce all the way to work. We stop for two women along the road. “Hello, Amo,” they say as they climb inside. We have to stop for two adult donkeys and baby donkey young enough to still have its fluff as they walk down the center of the road, the two adults’ front legs tied to keep them from wandering too far from home. A small herd of goats graze on thorn bushes along the roadside, the donging bell around the biggest male’s neck giving away their location should their owner need to find them in time for dinner.
We arrive at the hospital. I stop at the food stall outside the gate to buy phaphata from the taxi driver’s sister. It’s only 1.5 Pula and will go nicely with my Coke at teatime. A mother hen and her lone bitty peep-peep around the food stall waiting for crumbs.
“Good-bye,” I say to the phaphata lady. “I will be back at lunch, if you have potato salad.”
“Amo, you know we only have potatoes on Wednesdays and Fridays,” I am reminded with a chuckle.
“I know,” I say, “but maybe if I ask every day, I will get lucky and you will make potato salad an extra day.” I smile and wave good-bye as I turn to walk through the gate toward the hospital.
“Hello, Amo, my dear,” Solomon, the dental cleaning lady smiles as I enter the dental office where I work for most of the day.
“Hello, my love,” I return. “How’s Baby Amo?” Solomon is expecting a child in May, and our joke since I arrived is that she will name her Amo.
Solomon laughs with her whole body as she pats her belly, “Baby Amo is growing. She is growing fast.”
And so the day begins.
