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Published: July 10th 2017
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Visiting Sacred Caves in the ville
Our ville is famous for the tribal hiding places during times of colonialization. Got a faceful of bats when we went into this cave. I open my eyes and realize it isn’t the world that’s in chaos; it’s in my mind that the view becomes distorted and the beauty flees the scene. There was a profound moment today when I was meditating when I tuned into the sounds around me. No, not to the rooster who galavants around my yard like a 1920’s mobster, and not to the crows who land like elephants on my iron roof, but to the undertones. To earth’s tiny messages that become lost in the haze of our dizzy minds. To the rustling, airy pendulum of time passing without schedules, without measurement, without adherence to any particular will but its own peaceful contentment in keeping on.
“I’ve been here,” the gracious earth spoke to me. “Haven’t you been listening?”
Where in the fragile web of consciousness have we lost grip on the peacefulness of our very existence? When did I stop listening?
Now, peering out my seldom-opened curtains to the mountain sunset, I can confidently say that I, Kate Watkins, have a listening problem. Act, Do, Think, Feel, Say,
Explain, Run, Run, Run. I speak more than I listen, act more than I reflect, and hide behind a selfish ego disguised by good will to (wo)men. And, so it is that this individualistic culture of our American society has made me, to an extent, very successful. Here, in my little brick box of beautifully painful solitude, my soul gets to breathe. Emotions escape through the pores of my being, lower than low and higher than high. The dark clouds of avoided “should-haves” finally rain upon my thoughts, and the mystic excitement of “will-bes” make my mind a kaleidoscope. “Finally!” the earth sings to me, “finally, she is still!” So what happens, then? When we are forced to finally listen to the undertones? To who we fear we are, who we hope to be, finally beginning to untangle the knots that no one has caused us but our own, frantic selves.
Well, since I’ve got my incense burning in the corner, a bucket full of treats you all have sent (including Dove chocolates and Kind Bars--- who are you people, and what do you want from me?!), I can say from a place of strength that we
break the F*CK DOWN! The sounds of our soul are so overwhelming. So beautiful, so painful, so intuitive. When we finally stand still in a moment, or a year, or an African Village, it’s like the hamsters who run the wheels in our mind have simultaneous seizures. I can tell you that my three hamsters are currently:
#1-Sobbing audibly while sprinting upside down on a wheel that won’t spin. When asked a question, screams in terror and then returns to sobbing.
#2-Face down in a puddle of red wine, smeared entirely with dark chocolate
#3-Meditating cross-legged, paranoidly opening its eyes every breath to check that hamster #2 still has a pulse.
Maybe your hamsters are eating cheeseburgers, sitting on the beach, or feverishly finishing a work assignment. They haven’t gotten the whole “listening” memo yet, trust me.
So, now I’m in the process of rebooting my poor little brain-hamsters. I took a trip to a beautiful lake that borders Malawi for July Fourth and allowed myself time to cry, write, and walk along the water. I did
yoga at sunrise, drank homemade bloody marys, and snuggled my Peace Corps Wifey, Nicole in a little tent on the sand. I meditate almost daily, exercise, and try my very best to plan at least one activity interacting with villagers in Swahili every day. That might not sound like much, but the Hamsters are struggling enough in English, so cut them a break. I’ve been adamantly writing in my journal about people (especially one person in-particular), and reflecting on who I am outside of what other people think of me. Isn’t that an interesting concept? Who are you when you remove the identity that others have reflected back to you?
While the hamsters recover, I actually have managed to accomplish a few things. I finally finished and submitted my Community Entry Passport, which was the main Peace Corps Assignment for the first three months at site. I’ve taught practical agriculture classes to adult villagers, which will continue this week with a “Chicken Class.” Translating from my Peace Corps materials is rough, especially when I don’t have any hands-on experience with chickens myself! It has been fulfilling to see my counter-part Lawrence take over and teach the material
after I present it to him. Our goal here is to build capacity so that villagers teach each other, not to offer some BS pamphlet that gets tossed in the trash the second I close my service. Administering information is so much more rewarding when you see your fellow humans pick it up and run with it.
I’ll be co-teaching these Agri Classes every Thursday, but saving Wednesdays to visit the village clinic for baby weigh-ins. I am really hoping to track some of the undernourished children and potentially get a mamas group together to teach Bag-Gardening—a mini-garden built in a bag that could increase nutrition during the dry season. Since I just planted my own bag-garden, I’ll have to wait until it’s sprouted to demonstrate the technique’s success. Fingers crossed that my seeds sprout! I lost my herb garden to goat fumbles and poor soil techniques on my part.
As I prepare for Early Service Training at the end of July, I’m amazed that I’ve been here close to six months already. As soon as I return from EST, I’ll be able to start applying for grants to
do larger scale projects in my village. They are currently most interested in an apple tree project to increase fruit sales, which would also increase nutrition by having at least one fruit available locally. I am hoping to raise more excitement over a drip-irrigation project so that we can begin to utilize gardening even during the dry season. After my forty farm interviews, I learned that most families only keep vegetables growing during the rainy season, leaving economic and nutritional gaps from April to November. I’ll most likely be applying for grants from World WildLife Fund, and potentially USAID or other organizations. Again, the hope is to build capacity, not things.
So, there you have it. Deep thinking, spastic hamsters, and chicken translations. If someone asked me to explain my Peace Corps experience so far, I think that about sums it up. Now, the sun is about to fall just below the mountain line, turning the clouds into flaming cotton-candy, and whispering to me, “you’ve lived another day.” How silly it is for me to complain when the children still laugh outside, the rooster still crows, and the air is still so fresh
with pine. No matter the longing, the anxiety, the tears, when I really listen, all I can hear is how good it is to be where my heart had called me all along.
I miss you more than you know,
Your Kate
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