The truth is that I have been doing an awful job of keeping up with this blog. I haven’t written about half the things I’ve planned on and in such have not taken my friends, family and others with me on my journey as I wish I would have.
The truth is that I’ve really been struggling. No one likes to air his or her dirty laundry and sometimes because of one’s position one isn’t allowed too.
I’m an extrovert. I’m not afraid to speak my opinion or set the record straight. Everyone knows me as an outgoing, independent, strong woman, which I take pride in. Being loud doesn’t mean that I always am though. Being independent doesn’t mean that I enjoy being alone. Being strong doesn’t mean that I don’t want or need someone to lean on.
I feel these bits and pieces of myself slipping away; the face in the mirror becoming unrecognizable. Sure, I may seem very independent and strong living alone in a foreign country, but I definitely do not feel that way. I feel lonely and weak. The pressure of doing good, making a difference, "saving the world" eating away at me. Frustration rising, burning out, wearing thin. There's a rage that has been building up inside of me and I don’t know how to let it out.
I’m angry that this is the way the world is. That the poverty, child marriage, female genital cutting, beatings, lack of a quality education that I see firsthand exists! I feel like I cannot really do much about it and honestly, I don't know what to do about it.
I'm angry that I've been confronted with a real world problem- that I've had facilitators come to me saying there are children in their village who want to go to school, but the school is too far away for them to walk- and I have no idea how to solve it.
"Ideas?" they ask me. What about a cars? No, none exist in the village or surrounding area. A doneky cart maybe, but who? We'd have to find someone that would actually commit to taking them every day. How would we pay them?
So I turned to research for alternative schooling methods. I found school by radio and a learning center in the village in place of formal school. Both things would need to be implemented/approved on a national level.
I do not have the answers.
The kids are still not in school and so, I'm angry.
I'm angry that all the girls I've met and have become friends with have/will most likely have a poor education. That they will be taken out of school around 14 or 15 to do housework or to get married. Even if they complete secondary school the chances of them continuing education are slim. Most will likely be married, possibly as a second or third wife (polygomy is legal here) and with child before the age of 22 stuck playing care taker and houseworker for the rest of their lives.
I’m angry that I will get to leave this place and that so many others will never get the chance too.
I’m angry I can’t make a bigger impact. I’m angry at my laziness- that I’m not trying hard enough, making a big enough difference. I’m angry I don’t know how.
I’m angry that I’m following my dream, that I thought I was where I’m suppose to be and yet, I’m miserable. I have no idea what I want to do with my life, where I want to go. I’m angry that I feel so lost and hopeless.
I’m angry hearing the world “toubab” (white/forienger in the local language) on a daily basis. It isn’t meant as an insult, but I cannot help but feel a stabbing pain when I hear it even if it’s coming from the most innocent, smiling face. Many children are so excited and some have never seen a light skinned person before. Fine, OK. But that doesn’t excuse rudeness. They will shout and shout after me, even after I’ve already greeted them. Goodness knows I could never be famous and deal with the paparazzi and fans if this is even a taste of what that life is like. It’s annoying getting treated differently, constantly being called out, getting no respect. Yes, I said it. No respect. It’s not respectful to continue shouting at someone after they’ve greeted you, after they've passed you. No, this isn’t a cultural thing. Kids do not do this to anyone else besides foreigners (aka me) here. And yes, adults do say it to me as well. They’ll be just walking by and look up right as they pass and say it, as if it were suppose to be a greeting, when all I feel is a slap in the face.
My reactions are always different. Sometimes I say hi anyway. Sometimes I’m silent. Sometimes I angrily snap at them in the local language to stop and tell them that I’m not a toubab. Sometimes I try and teach, telling them, "Hey, do I call you black?" I try to explain that it’s not nice to call someone out by a physical feature. Sometimes the message gets across, other times it not so much.
It makes me angry that parents don’t stop their children from saying it. Half the time the parents laugh at their children who are shouting at me! Do they not know that other races exist? That you should not treat them any differently? Don't they know their own history and what happens when a race is treated differently?
I am the only foreigner here in my town of roughly 20,000 people. There is a Peace Corps transit house on the outskirts of town, but no one is based there. Volunteers come in every now and then for some R&R. I only know they’re there if someone calls and tells me they’re coming to town or I run into them in the market. It can be hard being around them though. I’m still the kid that’s left out, not in the club, not understanding their lingo or wanting to hear all the latest PCV gossip.
I recently befriended two Danes who were here volunteering with the Medical Research Council for three weeks. I just so happened to run into them on their first day here in the market. I remember I was so excited to see foreigners that I had to calm myself down, told myself not to scare them away! (Lol, yep it's true, I gave myself a pep talk or well a chill-out talk). It was nice having people over for dinner, to show around town, to get a drink with. It felt so normal, the way life should be. And yet, it was a treat for me, a rarity, an abnormality from my life. They left yesterday.
I have no social life other than what I just mentioned. Only one real Gambian friend here and even that has fizzled in the past few weeks. Sure, I know lots of people, families even who invite me to hang out in their compound, who want me to come visit. But they are not deep relationships. Language limits a lot. A conversation rarely goes past basic greetings. They invite me to stay, to sit, and that's all we really do... sit.
It’s lonely. It’s isolating. I’ve had more time to myself than I know what to do with. I refer to my situation as jail. I actually thought that one day, 'OK if I was in a jail cell, but had access to things (like the guys in movies who have the system rigged and get chess sets and books in their cells) what would I do? If I had all the time in the world to myself what have I always wanted to learn?
I’ve read till I was bored of reading, beaded until my fingers hurt, knit until my fingers hurt, and watched every movie and almost every TV show on my hard drive (we’re talking 433.5 GB of TV shows and ~275 movies).
There is nothing to do in town- no entertainment, no restaurants. There’s a bar by the river, which is “nice” (nice only because it’s by the river). Not so nice, because it overlooks the part of the river where motobikes are being cleaned, clothes are being washed, and men are bathing. Not so much fun to drink alone though and I need to keep my wits about me for my ~20 minute walk home and night time by the river is not the best of places.
The only thing there is to spend money on besides food is fabric. I’ll go fabric shopping when I have the strength for a fight- there are no set prices, everything is a bargain. Sometimes I get a fair price, other times people try and ripe me off. Even after I've told them it's too high and call them out on it explaining that I know the correct price, they will still refuse to bring it down. Then, the fun part of dealing with a tailor comes. They are NEVER on time. Now, I’m not saying it has to be top of the line perfection, but if I ask what day you’d like me to come back and I don’t care if it’s a week later, I expect it to be finished on that day! Expectations… not often met here.
So, what?
I’ve had an experience!
I’m a stronger person!
Yada, Yada.
I’ll be able to deal with anything after this?
*eye roll*
I’ve fallen into an unhealthy routine and environment that I’m not happy with and I don’t know how to get out of. Depression? I’m sure I’ve had my bouts of it, probably am right now.
This is never the situation I thought I’d "accept" being in or just plain be in. It’s what I’ve always worked against- a "miserable life." I do what I do because I love it. I do not do it for the money. I believe in a job that isn’t a job, but a life calling, something that you just do. And yet here I am exploring what I thought was what I wanted to do and am miserable. I'm not getting the money or the love.
It’s making me question everything. Do I want to be in international development? I haven’t completely written it off. I mean I’ve learned that I don’t enjoy being in a small town, that I don’t like isolated work or being completely alone in the field for long lengths of time. I loved my life in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia though. Maybe a bigger city is all I need.
But, what if this isn’t for me? That I’ll always feel as a “toubab,” an outsider abroad. That back in the US where I’m a citizen, an accepted member of the community, I can have a larger impact, a better influence.
I want to believe that I’m a citizen of the world and that country doesn’t define us, that borders shouldn’t hold us. Wherever I go, I’ll always have a Western influence though, I mean I am Western. Does it mean I’ll always carry a bit of the West helping the rest (first world knows best) wherever I go in this line of work? Is it a bad thing? Does it matter?
I’m at a cross roads in my life or currently experiencing a quarter-life crisis as I like to call it. I don’t know what’s next for me. I don’t know if I’ll stay abroad or come home. I don’t know what field I’ll be in- International development, education, human trafficking, humanitarian, community development. I’m interested in too many of them! A problem in that I have no idea what I want to concentrate in, so graduate school for now is on hold.
It’s like I can read the current chapter of my life, even see the same boring thing being written about tomorrow. But, the near future, just beyond this place, is a blank page. If only a few words were written so that I would know which direction to go.
My life has always been a mystery. I’ve often never known where I’d be in a year from now. I have no clue where I’ll be in five, ten years. It's way to far away to think about. My life could go in a million different directions. I just wish I knew what I wanted. I wish I knew how to start writing the next chapter, but I don’t.
I’m afraid staying will only continue to make me more miserable and accepting of my depression. I’m afraid leaving will only led to regret and failure in my eyes.
I am hopeful. There is something in the works that is exciting me beyond words to the point it’s consumed my thoughts. I’m not sure if it’s the right next move for me or not. Like I said, I really cannot tell what’s next. A life beyond my simple, miserable, little one here seems like a dream. I’ve told myself if it doesn’t work out that it’s not meant to be then. If that’s so I’m left with the same thoughts and questions...
Stay or go?
And the even better question- go where?
