no more complaining

I am tired of complaining about the hardships of life here. In all honesty, the hardest part about being here was not the weather, work frustrations or cultural clashes. My most difficult task was overcoming myself.

The first few months in Garly simply leaving my compound was a daily battle. Greeting people zapped my energy, walking around a bit took all of my concentration. I was so preoccupied with Mariam Ba’s expectations I made a chart once, graphing her behaviors, to see if I could figure cause and effects of my own behaviors. I obsessed over villager’s opinions- making sure to smile constantly and never complain.

I felt guilty about everything. I felt like I was a leech on my host family’s resources and time- needing guidance on daily living, requiring corrections on my language. I felt bad about my sturdy shoes, the rate at which my hair grew, my splendid education. I suffered over the gift of yearly dentist appointments and the frivolous opportunities that freckled my entire existence.

An excerpt from my journal: "I feel bad that these women can't read or write. That their feet are dry and full of cracks- that they don't know what they're missing in the world- that they don't know what their lives look like to me. I just feel bad. 'Help' is complicated and I don't think I could do it anyway. It's like we're playing Presidency [a card game] and I get to be the prez every time, and I think that by being here I am being generous- that I am closing the privilege gap."

I felt, at the beginning, that my life was intrinsically better than life in Garly. I thought the USA had the answers and I was so blessed to be from there, and these people were so not fortunate to live where they did.

Then I went back to the States. I saw on the news something called Prison Idol. Child obesity and worries about global warming engulfed me. Cheap and easy food was everywhere. Not to mention cheap and easy entertainment, clothes, transportation and distraction. To live a life of balance and moderation in America is a life consciously chosen and painfully stuck to. The choices were staggering, the consumption and consumerism overwhelming.

I was jolted from a make-believe superior place and blasted back to confusion in Garly. If I don’t know who is happier, me or them, then I can’t feel bad for them. If I don’t know what is a good or bad way to develop a third world country, I can’t feel bad for doing it my way. Realizing my utter cluelessness released me from the burden of myself. I let go of the pressure I held over myself- I don’t have to know everything or do it all the right way. I have never lived this day before- perhaps I don’t yet know the best way to live it.

How I get over myself? First, I admit that I don’t know. Then I go from there.