I've officially been sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer and I'm finally getting to work in what will be my home and place of employment for the next two years!
Getting the house in a clean, livable condition was hard work! I no longer find the Ugandan custom of thanking everyone you run into on the street for their work strange. I used to think, "Why are you thanking me, I haven't done anything." I don't think that anymore. Now I think, "I HAVE worked hard today. I've worked really, really hard! Thank you for acknowledging and appreciating that!" Daily living here is a sweaty, back-breaking venture. It takes hours to haul water, wash clothes by hand, boil drinking water, buy the things you need (one day I spent nearly 3 hours trying to find a nail--a single, solitary nail), and do every other chore that's (comparatively) a breeze at home.
Part of cleaning up the house was waging an all-out war against giant cockroaches, who came as soon as the food arrived in my kitchen. I don't think I can express in words how ferociously I detest cockroaches. They remind me of a time in my life that was full of poverty and sadness. I have a very unhealthy, irrational fear of them. My list of irrational fears used to be quite a bit longer, but cockroaches are the only thing that remain. I guess it's time to cross them off the list.
In addition to scrubbing, I've spent many fruitless hours trying to plug all of the holes that enable them to just waltz right in to my house. The one inch gap under my kitchen door. The huge gaps in between the wooden panels on my window shutters. The hole in the bathroom that leads straight outside. All of the places where the windows don't quite meet the frames. The house was designed, or has devolved, into a mecca for creatures of all shapes and sizes. "Come right in," cries the house, "let me roll out the red carpet!" And so, I pulled out the duct tape and the weathering strips, the Magic Erasers (to which I could write many a love song to), the caulk, the Doom!, and every other weapon of war I brought with me or had sent from home. And I fought, my friends. I fought. And every day I would think that this time I had won the war, and every night the cockroaches would come out to taunt me. I would chase them, kill them (the big ones are dumber and slower than their smaller cousins), and literally scream things like, "WHO'S NEXT?!?" I went quite batty for awhile.
I fought in other ways too. I fought against my brain. I did countless Google searches entitled, "What's good about cockroaches?" and, "Why cockroaches are good for the environment." I imagined many a children's story about a girl coming upon a cockroach laying helpless on its back and choosing to save it. I watched "Wall-E" and tried to see his little cockroach friend as "cute." (Please note that it's very unlike me to want to kill anything. I scoot spiders aside and relocate beetles. I don't feel comfortable killing an ant.) I have tried to love cockroaches. I really, really have. It hasn't worked. I finally had to get to that place I keep coming back to, again and again...that place of accepting what I cannot change. I can't change the fact that my house is overrun by giant cockroaches. I have to accept it. And so, I've begun the slow return to sanity.
Speaking of things I cannot control, school started this week. In Uganda, school starting means that some of the teachers and a few of the students start showing up, slowly by slowly. By the end of the week, the classes were still only half full. I'm told that the children are needed at home for chores or that they just don't want to come to school yet. Matters are complicated by the fact that teachers still don't know if they're getting transferred or not, and all week, they've been waiting with baited breath to see if they will be relocated to a new school next week. Since the school typically provides housing for its teachers, being transferred also means having to move. Very stressful. They also haven't been paid yet, and they don't know when they will be paid. In the meantime, they are expected to pay school fees for their own children to attend school but can't afford them.
The other problem with the first week at my school is that there was no food. The teachers went two days without any breakfast or lunch (keep in mind that the school day for my teachers is from 8:30 A.M. until 6:00 P.M.). Worse, there was no breakfast or lunch for any of the students the entire week. These children are very often poor. Many only come to school because they get a meal, and this week they got nothing. I heard it was because the cook was sick, but I'm really not sure the reason. And so the students who came to school sat all day in hot classrooms, often without a teacher, and without food or drink. It was hard to watch. Who can blame them for staying home?
Fun Fact:
My school has a unit for the deaf and disabled. They are far and away my favorite group of people at the school.
What I'm Reading:
The Princess and the Goblins (MacDonald)****
The Princess and Curdie (MacDonald)***
Mere Christianity (Lewis)****
White Fang (London)***
Getting the house in a clean, livable condition was hard work! I no longer find the Ugandan custom of thanking everyone you run into on the street for their work strange. I used to think, "Why are you thanking me, I haven't done anything." I don't think that anymore. Now I think, "I HAVE worked hard today. I've worked really, really hard! Thank you for acknowledging and appreciating that!" Daily living here is a sweaty, back-breaking venture. It takes hours to haul water, wash clothes by hand, boil drinking water, buy the things you need (one day I spent nearly 3 hours trying to find a nail--a single, solitary nail), and do every other chore that's (comparatively) a breeze at home.
Part of cleaning up the house was waging an all-out war against giant cockroaches, who came as soon as the food arrived in my kitchen. I don't think I can express in words how ferociously I detest cockroaches. They remind me of a time in my life that was full of poverty and sadness. I have a very unhealthy, irrational fear of them. My list of irrational fears used to be quite a bit longer, but cockroaches are the only thing that remain. I guess it's time to cross them off the list.
In addition to scrubbing, I've spent many fruitless hours trying to plug all of the holes that enable them to just waltz right in to my house. The one inch gap under my kitchen door. The huge gaps in between the wooden panels on my window shutters. The hole in the bathroom that leads straight outside. All of the places where the windows don't quite meet the frames. The house was designed, or has devolved, into a mecca for creatures of all shapes and sizes. "Come right in," cries the house, "let me roll out the red carpet!" And so, I pulled out the duct tape and the weathering strips, the Magic Erasers (to which I could write many a love song to), the caulk, the Doom!, and every other weapon of war I brought with me or had sent from home. And I fought, my friends. I fought. And every day I would think that this time I had won the war, and every night the cockroaches would come out to taunt me. I would chase them, kill them (the big ones are dumber and slower than their smaller cousins), and literally scream things like, "WHO'S NEXT?!?" I went quite batty for awhile.
I fought in other ways too. I fought against my brain. I did countless Google searches entitled, "What's good about cockroaches?" and, "Why cockroaches are good for the environment." I imagined many a children's story about a girl coming upon a cockroach laying helpless on its back and choosing to save it. I watched "Wall-E" and tried to see his little cockroach friend as "cute." (Please note that it's very unlike me to want to kill anything. I scoot spiders aside and relocate beetles. I don't feel comfortable killing an ant.) I have tried to love cockroaches. I really, really have. It hasn't worked. I finally had to get to that place I keep coming back to, again and again...that place of accepting what I cannot change. I can't change the fact that my house is overrun by giant cockroaches. I have to accept it. And so, I've begun the slow return to sanity.
Speaking of things I cannot control, school started this week. In Uganda, school starting means that some of the teachers and a few of the students start showing up, slowly by slowly. By the end of the week, the classes were still only half full. I'm told that the children are needed at home for chores or that they just don't want to come to school yet. Matters are complicated by the fact that teachers still don't know if they're getting transferred or not, and all week, they've been waiting with baited breath to see if they will be relocated to a new school next week. Since the school typically provides housing for its teachers, being transferred also means having to move. Very stressful. They also haven't been paid yet, and they don't know when they will be paid. In the meantime, they are expected to pay school fees for their own children to attend school but can't afford them.
The other problem with the first week at my school is that there was no food. The teachers went two days without any breakfast or lunch (keep in mind that the school day for my teachers is from 8:30 A.M. until 6:00 P.M.). Worse, there was no breakfast or lunch for any of the students the entire week. These children are very often poor. Many only come to school because they get a meal, and this week they got nothing. I heard it was because the cook was sick, but I'm really not sure the reason. And so the students who came to school sat all day in hot classrooms, often without a teacher, and without food or drink. It was hard to watch. Who can blame them for staying home?
Fun Fact:
My school has a unit for the deaf and disabled. They are far and away my favorite group of people at the school.
What I'm Reading:
The Princess and the Goblins (MacDonald)****
The Princess and Curdie (MacDonald)***
Mere Christianity (Lewis)****
White Fang (London)***
Feller, I have been keeping up with you and must write to you some of my thoughts. First, what a fabulous voice your writing has. I love reading your posts because I can really hear you in them. Congratulations on that for it is not something everyone (myself) can do. I can't help but think of you and your bravery. Your resilience is inspiring. I moved one hour to the South and can't adjust. Bravo on making this work and finding a path that seems to have brought you peace. Again, not something everyone can do. I am proud to call you my friend. Safe travels to you. Love, Gina
ReplyDeleteThanks, Gina! You are far too kind. I've heard southern Idaho is like a whole new planet, so go easy on yourself. ;) I'm not sure how brave or resilient I am, but I keep pretending to be in the hopes that one day it might be true. I'm really grateful for your support.
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