On the back of a truck I found my way.... home
So what is it this time? May 4th. I think. 2007. It is Monday. Almost one week since I left Eric. Almost one week I was dropped in the village again, and so much has happened. I have written at least six letters so hopefully I will get some of those in return when I find myself in that states again and I will stick them in my journal. But incase not. A recap.
I will start backwards from today. Just how. How I walked home 1K from Kagoro Road to home in the utter darkness, save the dim twinkle of the milkyway on a moonless night. Scary at first. But mostly due to fear of unremembered potholes or of getting lost. But that is the difference between N.Y.C. and Khankhululu. I do not fear for my safety. Even when I cannot see it. As heard semi-distance voices speak greeting with my name attached…
it was my “African Moment.” Number three. See, I did not feel like cycling home from the BOMA, Katete, after I had ventured in to buy groceries that afternoon. So I inquired about the maize truck going that way. This was at 16hrs. . . We left, at 18. And it was chilly and windy. - But nice. - I was on the back of an open truck on a night with no moon, passing mud houses illuminated only by the vehicle’s headlights. - You know that feeling? That feeling of pulling into your driveway late late at night after a long journey? I would say it is different. But it is just the same. Except mine was a lift with strangers. Walking in the dark and then finally seeing it. And knowing. That feeling. Home. This is home. THIS is my safe place if nowhere else in the world. THIS, this mud pile and thatch covered 3 room structure is all I ever said I wanted. A place, in the “middle of nowhere” far from western civilization. Far from access to food or money or people (if I was not feeling up to them). A place where I have the option to spend the entire day alone, should I choose. - I found it.- THANK GOD. THANK YOU WORLD. I SHALL TAKE ADVANTAGE.
And I realized this. All this. When I was in the BOMA with no desire to cycle, but every desire to be here. That I rather wait 3 hours on a truck than pay 35/60 PIN for a night at a hotel with a warm bathtub in the BOMA. I choose this. Glad I came. So I got that, when in the maze of darkened trees, I needed not light. I could find my way through them like the back of my hand. Because the village has become me. So I knew, when I saw this structure => HOME.
The ride was fun though! People in the truck asking where I was going. Unable to understand the concept of a volunteer without a salary who lives in the village without electricity. He, they, kept asking: “So you get paid by your company? Or, so you will get paid when you get back?” No, no. I try to explain to them. No. No. V-O-L-U-N-T-E-E-R. “But why?” They kept asking, “You are wasting your time. You could be making money!” . . . How to explain? “Let me ask you,” I said, “I made a choice. Should my life be about money, or people?” I could see he understood. Which is a lie since much of my life is about money. I, I am a money magnet. I like having money. And I shall always have a lot of it. - Now. My life is also about people and I don’t think, if you are doing something, anything that you enjoy, that there is such thing as “wasting time” in Life. What is that? How can you “waste” time? If you are happy. I did tell the man a true truth however. That I came to learn. That I teach about HIV and AIDS and TB and they teach me of Life. And that is what I do it for. That was my honesty.
And of course they asked of children, marriage and church, to which I said no to all 3. Possibly a lie, but one I want to tell to let them know that not all women want children and not all people choose marriage. And good volunteers can love humanity without doctrine or Christian versions of God.
So that was my ride home. I sat there on bags of mealie-meal in my Capri pants and hoodie, remembering what I had read in my “Welcome To The Peace Corps” packet on my kitchen stool in NYC just 6 months before: “Your location will be REMOTE Zambia. Travel [which is often means by travel on the back of an open truck] may take up to two days.”
I remember the surprise. And the be honest, the fear. Or just the image, of being in the middle of “nowhere” on a “stranger’s” truck. And there I was, not 2 days, but 2 hours on the back of an open truck. Though not of a stranger. I have yet to meet a strang-er here in rural Zambia. Merely people I am encountering for the first time. Community members. Strang-ers. I think they are a product of urbanization. - And the feeling.- I was not going “nowhere.” I was going HOME.
Bed bugs. So that is my less than exciting report. Other “African Moment” this week. ItCHY! Apparently it was not the best idea to choose to keep the plastic on my mattress thinking it would keep it sanitary longer. No. No. The little ones will live between the dampness of the plastic and the mattress. Who knew?! Damp? Here? Ugh. And apparently you should take your mattress out to sun, often. Yup. Who knew? Not me. = Now I do!=
Not exactly sure how. But tomorrow I will sun my mattress all day!* [no more bed bugs since I wrote this! Woot!]
Hope all is well!
Patricia