Unbearable.
It seems only a prison. The compound is gated and guarded. The door multiple and locked. A door to the balcony with bars on it. The windows stay close to metal bars. The balconies regard the street and its people with aloofness. The books are old and ragged. The kitchen too empty or not quite empty enough. The bathroom stocked with not quite a full stock. The clothes left for us stamped with a name on the back: infirmary. I half expect the sleeves to be too long, the walls well padded. I sit and talk. Then alone I pace from the balcony to the phone (waiting for dinner to arrive) to the kitchen. We sit and talk. Time passes more slowly than, dare I say, the flights from home. At first, I was engaged, but quickly loose focus. My mind is gone. One girl will leave traiing and go home tomorrow. At first, I try to offer an empathetic gaze, a consoling ear. But my patience betrays me. I am entirely selfish. I do not want to talk about leaving. I want to be back in Hamdy. Back in the language classes, without fulanzam or distraction. I want to make up the missed cHA session. I want to have the conversation about placement. I want to plan more shenanigans. I want to brainstorm more ideas for projects. I cannot even explain it. My legs itch as if I have not run in a month. I consider innumerable sets of pushups. I want to tear at...something. But there is nothing to do. But wait. It would seem a welcome refuge, but I am too well to melt into its beds, not well enough to avoid it entirely.
Perhaps it is not so bad. But coming back to the main building after time on the internet, I bump into the country director and the man who drove her. I greet him in Zarma, exchange a few sentances. They remark how good my Zarma is, though I have only been here for a month. They are flatteringly me falsely I know, and usually this would be a simple confidence boost, but tonight it makes me scream inside. I don't want to be competent or proficient. I want to be the quickest study, the best Zarma speaker of any goddamn annassara in this stage or any other, and in my anger I actually believe this could be so, if I didn't need to miss any classes for unbearably slow moving trips to Niamey.
And then, the next layer of frustration. Yes, I want to be with the best of the best. And I remember, I have been there, I am told. And, as I recall, I did not measure up that time, as my unfinished thesis and substellar GPA prove. I thought yesterday I judge people so, sometimes on superfiscial markers of intelligence or passion because I am insecure. In motion, all seems forgiven. But stuck in this...waiting place...tonight does nothing to allay my concerns. No distractions to rebuild momentum. My journal left behind; I cannot unleash the weight of my full thoughts.
Sometimes, often times, it takes a taste of both sides of the fence to realize on which side you want to be. I've had two extra trips to the capital in the last four days, and I want nothing to do with these. I want to be with my stage, in my host community, really walking the corner of town where all the kids know my name. I am suprised now, when within a decent radius of my house, a kid will call "Fofo annassara, comment te t'appelle" (sp?), and I now laugh, half annoyed, as I reply, incredulous that this little skunk doesn't yet know who I am. Must be a kid who doesn't like soccer or dance parties. I am totally selfish. Vieing for the top, whatever that means in this setting, I want nothing to do with the slow moving, the frazzled, the tired, the stupid questions, the departing, or the sick. This is, most likely, so intense beacuse I myself am a little under the weather myself. In America, a quick test, the right dose of the right drug. But here, driving back and forth, waiting for consultation on test results. It's a process, one I am not apt to lend patience. More time passes here. I meet more people. Feel I...have the right stuff so to speak for this kind of endeaver. So... Selfish attitude a terrible one for someone supposedly getting paid for service to others. An irony? How I selfishly cry, Get me the fuck out of this place, get me back to 100%, get me back to work, and get out of my way... until I need your help.
2315 Wakeup in 8-10hrs. Back to site in less than 12. Tally: two missed language session. One missed technical session. Plus the causualties from last Friday's trip.
It feels the longest day thus far.
Dan...from a sermon by Peter Chrysologus, bishop
ReplyDeleteThere are three things my brethren by which faith stands firm, devotion remains constantt, and virture endures. They are prayer, fasting and mercy. Prayer knocks at the door, fasting obtains, mercy receives. Prayer, fasting and mercy: these three are one, and they give life to each other.
Fasting is the soul of prayer, mercy is the lifeblood of fasting. Let no one try to separate them; they cannot be separated. If you have only one of them or not all together, you have nothing. So if you pray, fast; if you fast, show mercy; if you want your petition heard, hear the petition of others. If you do not close your ear to others you open God's ear to yourself.
When you fast, see the fasting of others. If you want God to know that you are hungry, know the other is hungry. If you hope for mercy, show mercy. If you look for kindness, show kindness. If you want to receive, give. If you ask for yourself what you deny to others, your asking is mockery.
Let this be the pattern for all men when they practice mercy: show mercy to others in the same way, with the same generosity, with the same promptness, as you want others to show mercy to you.
Therefore, let prayer, mercy and fasting be one single plea to God on our behalf, one speech in our defense, a threefold united prayer in our favor.
Let use use fasting to make up for what we have lost by despising others. Let us offer our souls in sacrifice by means of fasting. There is nothing more pleasing that we can offer to God., as the psalmist said in prophecy: A sacrifice to God is a broken spririt; God does not despise a bruised and humbled heart.
Offer your soul to God, make him an oblation of your fasting, so that your soul may be a pure offering, a holy sacrifice, a living victim, remaining your own and at the same time made over to God. Whoever fails to give this to God will not be excused, for if you are to give him yourself you are never without the means of giving.
To make these acceptable, mercy must be added. Fasting bears no fruit unless it is watered by mercy. Fasting dries up when mercy dries up. Mercy is to fasting as rain is to the earth. However much you may cultivate your heart, clear the soil of your nature, root out vices, sow virtures, if you do not release the springs of mercy, your fasting will bear no fruit.
When you fast, if your mercy is thin your harvest will be thin; when you fast, what you pour out in mercy overflows into your barn. Therefore, do not lose by saving, but gather in by scattering. Give to the poor, and you give to yourself. You will not be allowed to keep what you have refused to give to others.