Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Reflections on Africa‏

I have been back in the states for a few days now, but my heart and my mind are not back yet. I have left them in Africa indefinitely. My last few days in Africa were not out of the usual: played bumper goats with the kids, milked Emily, watched a goat get slaughtered and then subsequently ate its fried liver in a dark barn (sorry Dick if you are reading this)…you know, typical stuff in Africa. The final day I helped prepare for a big celebration where we roasted the goats, danced and sang. It was a joyous way to end an amazing 6 weeks living with the street kids in Kamulu. I received dozens of notes as I left from the kids thanking me for being there and how much it meant to them. Although I read them in Africa, I still haven’t been able to open them up in America. I already miss it enough…

Much to my surprise, it didn’t feel different when the airplane briskly set down its wheels in America. The airplane landing in Kenya felt very similar, as did the landing in Brussels earlier that morning. The land felt no different than any other land, but the truth is that the land I am on now is drastically different than the land on which I previously stood. I knew when I left Africa that I would never be the same; I just didn’t know coming home would be such a shock.

The shock began almost immediately when my friends took me straight from the airport to a sports bar to watch the Lakers game. May I remind you that I was still in my Africa conga and beaded tribal wear as a joke since I didn’t get to go home and the airline lost my bag. To go from a celebration send off with traditional dancing and goat roasting one night, to a sports bar with endless LCD flat screen TVs and well dressed drinkers the next, created an unsettling feeling within me. For the first time I felt uncomfortable in a setting that was easy for me to previously mesh into. The next day, the discomfort and uneasiness continued. I went to do some errands and for the first time in 6 weeks I was amongst other white people. I had gotten so used to be the center of attention wherever I went, being a rarity, that it felt weird to be completely invisible. Los Angeles went on with its usual hustle and bustle without recognizing my presence.

I sat in my car for a few minutes not wanting to go inside the grocery store. I hadn’t seen a store in over a month. If we wanted some veggies or fruits you could usually find some ladies sitting on the ground down the village road a ways selling something you might want. An avocado in Africa would cost me around 8 cents whereas here they are 2 for 5 dollars. Crazy price difference for the same thing. I went into the store and almost turned around before I had any items in my cart. I was overwhelmed by the mass quantities of options, since I have eaten beans and rice for weeks, and the mass amounts of people coming and going without realizing how fortunate they were or acknowledging me. But how could I blame them? On the outside I look like I belong here. I have the skin color, the physical features of a Californian, and the clothes. Yet on the inside my heart is screaming for those I have loved and served in a part of the world that those who pass me by in the grocery storey have not seen or known.

Among this blur of cultures, a few things have become clear. I think I now fully understand the significance of the ying yang symbol. The ying yang has the darkness and the light always chasing each other with a spot of darkness in the light and a spot of light in the darkness. Socially, people would consider Africa the darkness shrouded by disease, famine, and despair. But I have seen the spot of light within this darkness. For inside this place is a joy and hope unlike anything I could compare here. The people I came to know are so joyful, giving, and appreciative of life and the things in it (even though by our standards they have so little). I know what the soul fully alive looks like now, and it can be readily found in this darkness. I have also lived in the light, or as many people may call it: America. I live in Malibu, home of those who’ve made it, succeeded, and aren’t afraid to show it. However, in this light is the spot of darkness. It doesn’t take a hard look to see past the façade of material things into a heart that is broken. The people here are miserable; they’ve tried to fill their lives with endless things, yearly vacations, the best education, and when things start going south…the best psychiatrists money can offer. They wonder at the end of the night why they feel empty, why their marriage is in shambles, and their “successful” job isn’t as rewarding as they imagined it would be. Yes, I do believe this is the darkness in the light.

Perhaps many may ascribe to the notion that ignorance is bliss. That my life would have been better off without knowing how the rest of the world eats, sleeps, and lives. I do not ascribe to this belief. I believe that knowledge is power, power to make a difference, power to change lives, and the power to recognize how to be the spot of light in the darkness. Yes this trip has changed me and I hope I will never be the same from it. I hope that this trip was one of many and I hope that others will step outside their comfortable boxes long enough to let the real world transform their minds and their hearts.

I don’t even know how to put into words an answer to the question “How was Africa?” I know I will get this question a lot, but what perfect combination of words would do this 6 week trip justice? “Amazing.” “Life-changing.” “Spectacular.” All are cliché and don’t provide any insight into the sights these eyes have seen. What stories capture the memories I have? And what pictures reveal the heart and soul these precious children have? I now see why people fall in love with Africa; it takes your heart and breaks it so it can put it back together in a way that it didn’t fit before but strangely feels like it had been out of order in the first place. I don’t know if Africa needed me, but I think I was in need of Africa. Somehow it broke me down and built me up at the same time without much conscious effort so that I can’t remember when the change occurred. But I do know I will never be the same.

Jessica

Sunday, June 7, 2009

I survived.

I survived. Five days later, I summited. I cried when I got to the top because it was the hardest thing I have ever done physically or mentally. I have now stood at 20,000 feet. This trip keeps on getting more and more unforgettable. I am exhausted and leave to go back to the orphanage at 6am in the morning. I cant wait to see my kids again for a few days. I leave on the 10th and get back to LAX on the 11th. Just wanted to let you know I am okay. However, things did get a little hairy on the mountain. I have walked 45 miles in 5 days. Enough said...

I love you soo much!

Jessica