Sanu
"Sanu" is a Hausa greeting. Much like 'hello'. On the road to Mike's this evening, I greeted a group of small Hausa children sitting under a wooden stand, huddled around an empty bag of Tom-Toms. "Sanu!" They looked up at me with the usual mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Who is this oyinbo who greets us in Hausa? I walked past, smiling, and waved back as they called to me "se anjima" ("see you later!"). One of the older boys, who wasn't there today, asks me, every single time he sees me, "Madam, catch me bed" (roughly translated, give me a bed). "Ah ah" I say, "where will I find bed?" He points toward Mike's compound, where I had been staying for the past couple of months. I explain, knowing he won't understand but trying anyway, that that place isn't my home and the bed I sleep in is not my own, that I don't even have a bed for myself. Then we part ways and the process begins again when we see each other next. I wish I could give him a bed. I suspect he sleeps with his brothers and sisters on a mat on the floor. Having slept on a mat on the floor here a few times, I can honestly understand why he isn't willing to give up on his quest to 'catch' a bed from me. Would that I could, my little aboki (friend).
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Last week I went to an orphanage, in one of the satellite towns, with two British girls. Liv goes a few times a week, every week. Quite a few of the babies had colds. I kept running to the washroom to rinse my hands with Dettol, as a couple of the babies seemed to mistake me for a gigantic bib. One boy had lovely, big, round, dark eyes. I was amazed, yet again, how comfortable it felt to rest a baby on my hip. Every time I perch a child on my hip I think "ah, so that's what my hips are for!" This usually leaves me feeling somewhat unsettled. If you know me well, you already know why. I was, however, even more unsettled by how much less emotionally impacted I was by the visit. I expected to feel more moved, more torn. I don't know if it's some form of emotional defence mechanism that I've adopted to shield myself from the harsh realities that surround me or if I've become numbed somehow. I know that being upset about the circumstances of these children, at least one of which is HIV positive (my 'hip' baby), won't change their circusmatnces, but I couldn't help but feeling that I should have been more moved. I care, yes, but I didn't feel it in my gut. I wondered, how could I spend so much time lamenting over the loss of a boy who I hardly knew and yet not be overcome by the situation of these little ones? I'm still struggling to figure it out. I don't like being numb toward such important matters. I'm no sure what else to say about it.
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And then there was the talk with J, which I had been avoiding but knew that I needed. I let him do the talking. I already knew what he was going to say, more or less. "Let's be friends." Smile, hide the disappointment, and nod. "Yes, friends." I knew it needed to be said, but somehow I couldn't bring myself to say it. I couldn't give up hope that possibly maybe we could have something 'more' (though, admittedly, I hold friendship to be the golden core of any relationship - without that, you've got nothing, really). It was so nice not feel lonely, to feel my whole body hum (from head to toe) as his lips pressed against mine. But I knew, right from the very beginning, that it wouldn't last, hat it was only a matter of time before things 'expired'. Dairy product dating strikes again. So it goes. I know I'm better off being on my own. I've too much to think about, to do. Somehow that doesn't seem to have made it any easier. How does one let go of something one never really had to begin with? I don't know.
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Anyhow, I'd best be off. Mike's dragging me to a party even though I have to be up tomorrow morning as someone's coming to collect some plants from my friend's place.
Take care all and thanks for your kind words. You mean the world to me.
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Last week I went to an orphanage, in one of the satellite towns, with two British girls. Liv goes a few times a week, every week. Quite a few of the babies had colds. I kept running to the washroom to rinse my hands with Dettol, as a couple of the babies seemed to mistake me for a gigantic bib. One boy had lovely, big, round, dark eyes. I was amazed, yet again, how comfortable it felt to rest a baby on my hip. Every time I perch a child on my hip I think "ah, so that's what my hips are for!" This usually leaves me feeling somewhat unsettled. If you know me well, you already know why. I was, however, even more unsettled by how much less emotionally impacted I was by the visit. I expected to feel more moved, more torn. I don't know if it's some form of emotional defence mechanism that I've adopted to shield myself from the harsh realities that surround me or if I've become numbed somehow. I know that being upset about the circumstances of these children, at least one of which is HIV positive (my 'hip' baby), won't change their circusmatnces, but I couldn't help but feeling that I should have been more moved. I care, yes, but I didn't feel it in my gut. I wondered, how could I spend so much time lamenting over the loss of a boy who I hardly knew and yet not be overcome by the situation of these little ones? I'm still struggling to figure it out. I don't like being numb toward such important matters. I'm no sure what else to say about it.
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And then there was the talk with J, which I had been avoiding but knew that I needed. I let him do the talking. I already knew what he was going to say, more or less. "Let's be friends." Smile, hide the disappointment, and nod. "Yes, friends." I knew it needed to be said, but somehow I couldn't bring myself to say it. I couldn't give up hope that possibly maybe we could have something 'more' (though, admittedly, I hold friendship to be the golden core of any relationship - without that, you've got nothing, really). It was so nice not feel lonely, to feel my whole body hum (from head to toe) as his lips pressed against mine. But I knew, right from the very beginning, that it wouldn't last, hat it was only a matter of time before things 'expired'. Dairy product dating strikes again. So it goes. I know I'm better off being on my own. I've too much to think about, to do. Somehow that doesn't seem to have made it any easier. How does one let go of something one never really had to begin with? I don't know.
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Anyhow, I'd best be off. Mike's dragging me to a party even though I have to be up tomorrow morning as someone's coming to collect some plants from my friend's place.
Take care all and thanks for your kind words. You mean the world to me.