Sometimes I think I should title this blog “the sundial
blog” in that I only record the ‘sunny times’ here. When a number of weeks pass
without a blog it’s usually because things are not so ‘sunny.’ I have been
silent on this blog for the past month for a number of reasons. A week or so
with no water, intermittent internet connection, rolling power outrages
(usually at dinner time) are really not so hard to take anymore—most of the
world lives without the steady stream of amenities that we are so accustomed to
in the United States and I have learned to live without them too, thankfully
for short periods of time.
Friends who
know me well know that I have an innate sense of direction—put me anywhere and
I can usually tell North, South, East or West, take me somewhere once and I can
find my way back. That is not true here in Botswana. My first week at site I
became totally lost and had to call my landlady for help. I described where I
was and she said “Just walk South.” The sun was setting and so I knew where
West was, but when I looked in the direction that should have been South I was
stymied. It just didn’t feel right. I know I am on the other side of the earth
from where I grew up. I understand that although the calendar says May, I
cannot expect to see Lilies of the Valley or peonies, I cannot even expect to
see anything green… still, I didn’t expect to be so upside down…
Eight
months have passed since I stepped onto the red soil of Africa. We were told
over and over that our first year would be difficult, a ‘rollercoaster’, that
we would struggle to get things going at our site, to make connections and to
integrate into the community. Then, somewhere around the one-year mark things
will change, and everything will move along. What we were not told is that
although we are volunteers, our workplace may think of us as their employees.
This is truly upside-down, and something many volunteers have been struggling
with.
I have
followed the advice of previous volunteers and found projects that I love, such
as producing the volunteer newsletter and running writing workshops for both
volunteers and students in my school. A number of my projects have not gotten
off the ground, some have gotten off the ground and crashed back to earth, and
some are stuck in some bureaucratic office somewhere. All of that is part of
the landscape and can usually be attributed to cultural differences, but
sometimes that landscape becomes insurmountable and one has to ask ‘did I leave
my home and family to spend two years pushing a rock up a hill?” This is when the Serenity Prayer should be
put on the loudspeakers that roll through the village with announcements
(African version of a town crier). Lord
grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to
change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference. It’s a
great prayer, and the one I always say when I am asked (as is Botswana custom)
to give the prayer before a meeting or after a class.
What is
missing from that prayer is what do to when you know you cannot accept the
things you cannot change, and even if you have the courage, you cannot change
them. What then? For some it means moving on, accepting the fact that the rock
isn’t going to stay at the top of the hill and there are probably better ways
to use your time and experience. Unfortunately for those of us who arrived in
Botswana eight months ago, two of our group have had to make that difficult
decision to move on. It is a great loss to us, and a personal loss to me. It
feels upside down and inside out, and I will probably be silent for a while
longer.
