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Published: October 21st 2005
Here this is a travel blog, and I write about anything but my travels.
Somehow, Sundays are the hardest. Sundays are when I wake up thinking of nothing but home and family and friends, wishing for easy communication, if not those people right bedside me. Sundays are when I go to church and experience the most extreme feelings of homesickness, insignificance, and love. All of these emotions during the two hours of mass, and then some.
I am homesick on Sundays because Sundays have such regularity. Sundays are always beautiful, rain, sun, or snow. (Snow? What?) Waking up, reading books, eating pancakes, and smiling are all easy things to do on Sundays. Sundays are church, family, and contentedness. For 22 years I have had that regularity, and on a different continent I keep it that way. All the while I am sitting/kneeling/standing/dancing in church, I KNOW exactly what the priest is saying, even though it’s in Mina. I know that I am as loved by family here as when I am at home. The familiarity of mass comforts me as much as it makes me homesick.
As for feeling insignificant, that is nothing more than realizing before my very eyes how similar the world is all over. The world moves, people live, no matter what I am doing or where I am.
Feeling insignificant is also one of the reasons why I feel love so intensely. I feel love thinking of friends and family at home in compensation for feeling small here. I read letters that have words such as, “I miss you and I love you a great deal. You have much support back here at home. Do not doubt that you are where you should be, and take comfort in the words of JPII, ‘Be not afraid’… Here’s to all our challenges. May we face adversity and overcome it. May we face love and let it overcome us.” Another letter; “Always know that we pray for you safety and appreciate your work there to help .” I loved reading, “You will show them, without meaning to, that you are smart, adventurous, daring, silly, caring, friendly, and fun.” One more I really like, “Of course I want you to stay there and post lots of weblogs and pictures of crazy four-year old monsters. It just makes me sad you’re not on my continent.” And the ever predictable and warmly welcomed salutation, “Hi Sweetie Pie!” with news that the Chiefs won, 27-7. I take great comfort in letting those letters, those people, nourish me with the strength to take the time to appreciate my life here while I have it. I do not stay here, so far from those I love, because I take their love for granted, but because I am constantly reminded I am loved so much. The more I know that people who love me support me being here, the more capable I become of living and loving in Athieme.
I also feel loved on Sundays in a manner not as direct, but maybe more with divine intervention. Last Sunday, instead of a mass solely in Mina, there were some summaries in French; I assume they were for the awkward white girl who speaks funny French. After church, I tuned left to look for food. I found it when an older woman called me over and told me to eat. She spoke no French, but I ate with her, and sat with her. She told me she wanted my hair. I told her I would give it to her. I took my time going home, saying hello to everyone. I bought peanut snacks from a woman selling near my home, and she gave me a few extra for free. That night I ate at the marche and sat again, comfortably in the midst of everyone who was waiting for the rain to stop. This is the best place, this society, for being a stranger. People are always welcome. A persons’ good character is called in to question if s/he has not been visiting for a week. Most outings include very necessary stops along the way, to say hello. You see, if I leave my home, I am welcomed both because I am a novelty and a friend. Truly, Sundays are the most difficult, but also the most rewarding.
But I love my home, which is quickly becoming my American haven. I realized after having the fence built that although the fence is good to have, it means I will have to leave my home. Especially now that I am quickly gaining a garden and a basketball hoop, I am tempted to stay home and play. One of my homologues gave me flowering plants, including bougainvillea. (He also gave me oranges and two meals… Talking about feeling “loved”…) My home is where I listen and dance to my music, run around and play with my puppy, wear shorts!, eat such oddities as a fresh salad, read books in English, write in English, speak in English… So, my home is both a refuge and a blindfold. I love it. The only thing that saves me from being entirely westernized is that there is a crazy man living in my carriage house (because I have a carriage house. Have I mentioned that I live in a mansion?). I don’t mind; he’s harmless, and in any case, I cannot kick him out. What am I going to say? “Excuse me, I need that carriage house. I don’t already have enough room.” No, I do not think so. I did tell people he is living there, just so people know. I must say, it was surprising to hear such a low voice singing in my backyard at 3 a.m., and to see someone using a machete to weed whack when I woke up. But he reminds me for whom I am working.
Otherwise, I am safe, secure, comfortable, and well installed in Athieme, really enjoying getting to know everyone and all the hot spots. Work seems to be finding me well, and I am able to read and write quite often.
Thank you all for keeping my Sundays regular.
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Nancy Jo
Nancy Lanzrath
Sunday, Sunday so good to me!
This was a very good entry...perhaps, i'm just emotional right now...haha! Can you believe you've been gone 4 months now. As for me, i have been gone one month and i still feel like i'm very new (but very welcome). i think i will make pancakes this week (for dinner), i'll put the peanut butter on the table just for you! Nancy:)