I always knew that going to Africa would change my life forever, but I never understood how deeply. Everything I see, feel and hear now passes through the filter of my memories of Kenya. At times I am cynical and can't make any sense of the world, my career, spirituality, friendships, wants, needs, values...
I was in the kitchen today looking at my bowl of large, perfectly shaped oranges each with their very own sticker on them. As I peeled the stickers off that speckle my garden if I leave them on the peel when I compost them, I wondered if it is really necessary to label every single orange. Each time I am in Superstore staring at a sea of plastic looking, brightly painted produce and isles and isles of packages resembling something like food, I long for the Kakamega market. I miss seeing our friend and favourite vendor Paul and his wife Vanessa, meeting us with a warm handshake and asking how many pieces we want today, choosing each piece personally to make sure we get only the ripe ones, often throwing in a 'discount' or suggesting a melon or passionfruit to increase his sale.
I feel alone. People that I love and respect don't get it. They say things like, "it's all about balance," and I want to scream -- where is the balance in millions of people starving, oppressed, ignored. I am conflicted and probably most disappointed in myself because I am not doing all I can do to dive in and help. I'm selling a little jewelry and will send a few hundred dollars, maybe even a few thousand back and it will make a difference. But there is so much more to do.
I am having difficulty finding meaning in anything. Life coaching seems so trivial. I wonder if Josephine is worrying about dying "with her music still in her" as she is walking for water or worrying about her sick baby.
A lovely woman I know has just spent $12,000 having her teeth veneered. She says it is the first time she has ever done anything that is just for her. What are we missing that we need to gift ourselves with $12,000 worth of shiny white teeth? I wonder if it has given her the sense of love and meaning that humanity is so craving.
Oh, and please believe me, I am not pointing fingers. I am looking in the mirror. I picked up B12 drops for $24.50 yesterday and am taking my fish oil caplets daily in the hopes of stopping my hair from falling out. I'm still wearing Lulu Lemon and making Feng Shui adjustments in my home. I am grasping to goals and to do lists tightly so I can function and get out of bed in the morning.
I know my family wants me to shake it off and just be happy. I don't want to burden my friends with my broken heart and I certainly don't want to be a downer. I want to learn to speak about our experience in such a way that people are uplifted and moved to contribute. Even as I say this I am reminded about how many people followed our blog and have been moved by it. And have helped me to feel less alone. This is why I am writing now, just in case someone is still reading. It helps to get it out so that I can hopefully cease to be so paralyzed by the biggness of it all.
And I am happy much of the time. And so grateful for my life. We had such a wonderful time in Kenya. I'm so blessed to have been able to share this trip with Cody. We laughed every day, lounged in the sunshine, drank chai with friends, ooed and awed constantly at how beautiful the people, the sights and the sounds are. So sometimes I am confused by my own sense of grief. We kept our trip pretty darned light -- no medical clinics, no refugee camps, no starvation... just friends with no electricity or running water working hard to eek out something like a living against very tough circumstances.
We watched the movie MILK recently and I am reminded that Harvey Milk's movement for gay rights only fully came to life when he switched the focus of his speeches from oppression to hope. That is what people need; hope.
I feel moments of hope every time I sell another piece of Julius' jewelry, or put a two-nie in my mud bank to save for the tools Fredrick will need upon completing his carpentry training, or when people jump right in to donate to fill a pond with fingerlings for KASFOOC... oh, there is so much hope. I look at the picture of the children from the Head Start School and I find hope.
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