The land of extreme contrast

I just finished pastel-ing outside to try and process through some of the things that have happened so far today, before we leave for the children's hospital. So much transpires in a day and I want to keep it all in my immediate memory.

Besides teaching Jesus Loves Me in front of a Sunday school group of about 120 kids in a classroom and not really remembering the hand motions, I felt comfortable at church this morning. I couldn't help but think about the way that the pastor and the rest of the congregation continually welcomed us, telling everyone how far we had traveled and that we "visitors" come from a place with air-conditioned houses and air-conditioned cars. It's also the place where I am recognized by an African woman as someone who appeared on reality TV. The schoolteacher from California, as I was introduced to the congregation, apparently bears a strong resemblance to a contestant on one of the last season's Bachelor shows.

I also was greeted by kids with sticky hands and puffy tummies. They did everything they could to cling to me and make me feel at home. I have a hard time saying no to them, when they ask me for everything from shoes to food to my email address, just like I have a hard time setting boundaries at home.

Africa, the land of contrasts.

The joy of the people despite their dire circumstances. Their faith in God despite everything that they have endured. My full heart ready to give, yet burdened because most of the time I'm not sure how. I know that I can fund a preschooler's boarding school education, after hearing the story that she came home one day and was locked out of her home and had no where to go. The cement factory, polluting the air, now next to a land that is a testament to God's cleansing love for Africa.

Schoolteacher Margaret, who yesterday adopted me as her third child among the eight that she already has, tucking in my bra strap and shooing away the children from me.

Entering the gate of our hotel, where the back is full of trash, and the front a manicured and landscaped lawn.

I need Africa, more than Africa needs me

Patience pays; you can never get back time; late to school, late in life; always respect your teachers... These were some of the phrases decorating a building at the school at the TrueVine compound in Tororo, Uganda, that we visited today. I was in awe the entire time that we saw this five and a half year old community, previously a bandit's field next to the Tororo Cement factory. Each brick that was laid for the grounds of the complex had Jesus' light shining through, a blessing.
From the moment that we arrived at the community, I had children attached to my arms. One toddler, pretending to drive an abandoned truck, burst into tears when he saw me. I tried not to take it personally, this mixed reaction to a group of 25 of us entering their space. But, they are so grateful for everything that Hope4Kids has done for the community: purchasing the 35 acres of land, starting with a church, then clinic and school, now houses for the workers and boarding students, a well, x-ray machine, computer lab. Plans continue to evolve, but the goal is for the community to be self-sustaining and life-giving.
I felt helpless the first few days here, driving along the roads, experiencing intense emotion as I watched the kids dressed smartly in their uniforms walking to school and felt vulnerable when the people at rest stops would storm our van with offers of chicken on a stick and water. Now, I feel like I can do something, I can give to these people in the community here for the next 8 days. I can encourage Margaret, a fifth grade school teacher with 8 kids of her own and 80 in her class each day. I can share my teaching with the students at the different primary schools. I can teach women in the village how to knit. I can sponsor a child and secure their educational path. I think that the quote that most rings true with me is "I need Africa more than Africa needs me."

Casting my anxiety

I leave in 36 hours. I had a dream Friday night about how I missed my flight because I got on one a day early, the plane had to keep taking off and landing, and I was going to end up in Detroit with no where to go for a day until my plane to Amsterdam. I was thinking about calling my aunt and uncle who live nearby, but they were busy with a band gig.
I'm alone in my apartment and at first, the silence was welcoming. Now, it's overwhelming and anxiety-provoking. I'm not sure if I should try and cram more things into my suitcase or read over the list again at things I should bring. I'm probably going to forget something, I know that much, I'm not the world's best traveler. My dad calls me a gypsy, but I think he's still reeling from the time that I threw down my suitcase at him from the top of the escalator while on a family vacation in Texas.
I don't know what to expect. I told my friend Pryor yesterday that all I hope for is to have someone that I can connect with on the trip and some sort of action that God can use me while I'm there. I don't know what the day-to-day will look like or how I will feel. All of this alone time beforehand has been good for challenging my mind and trying to establish inner-peace, something I struggle with daily.
I like to be around people because they give me some kind of jumping off point. Like I'm not as terrible as I somehow make myself out to be in my head. And interacting with others gives me inspiration to do the things that I want to do by myself. Teaching a friend to knit makes me want to knit more. Sharing time with families makes me want one of my own someday. Going to a museum with friends strengthens my creativity. I don't know if I'm capable of action by myself.

Crazy for Africa

All of a sudden, it hit me that I'm leaving for Africa in less than a week. Staring at my friend Christi, blinking back the sun out on the patio at Mojo, it hit me when she asked if I was nervous. Or when my mom told me yesterday that she needs to hear my voice at least once a day before I go because what I'm doing "is a big deal." Or when I've been driving friends to and from the airport, thinking the next time, it will be me coming from the international terminal. Even though I've been preparing for 2 months and I'm set and ready to go, I don't know anyone I'm traveling with and have no idea what to expect. I realized today that I don't know what my life will look like in a week. I'll be in Uganda, but what will I be doing? who will I be with? will I have friends? what will I eat? will I feel completely overwhelmed? how will I explain to other people when I get back about what I've experienced?
I might feel like I did when I lived in France the first time, moved to San Francisco: an uneasy feeling in my gut from the moment I awoke. I'm not doing the easy thing. My friend Aldwin wrote in his thoughtful penmanship, "You're probably the only person I know who would be brave enough to do something like this, giving to do something like this." I know that might not be true, but I'm encouraged by it all the same.

Objectified

I love to accumulate. Papers and keepsakes, books and magazines. City church bulletins, letters from kids, art supplies. As my mom would like to say, I'm a pack-rat. My roommates would agree that I'm the one who, as Maggie pointed out, will one day have to move out of my room because I've just filled it to its capacity. I will be drowning in stuff. Sounds terrible, but I have the hardest time separating from objects of significance.
Maybe it's because I saw the film "Objectified" today and saw the creative design and thought process behind some of the most mundane things we own. Like a potato peeler or a vacuum cleaner. I guess I will never look at household objects the same way again. But, the last line of the movie, a journalist suggested that no matter how well something is designed, it doesn't mean it will be the first thing we grab when the hurricane comes. We will grab objects of significance, which are unique to each of us.
All of this to say, I've been on a cleaning rampage since summer began and several trash bags and one clothing exchange later, I've just about finished. It feels good to have a simpler life, a file organizer of important papers, a clean purse, a perfectly packed suitcase, an iPhone filled with important contact information. Maybe this is about what becoming an adult is like. Ever since I saw "Away We Go," I've been thinking about how you know when you've reached that phase. I guess you never do reach complete adult nirvana, but rather you come to terms with the fact that it's unattainable. You can question yourself, "Am I a f*&% up?" like John Krasinski and Mia Rudolph's characters do (and I find myself thinking 85% of the time), or you can accept the reality that it will never actually happen. Chapters of the book will close, internships will end, seasons of life will change, relationships will result in an engagement or a break-up.
I know I like to make a mess in the meantime, but I'm always up for the organizational debriefing along the way. But, just when you think you've got it all together, the hurricane might hit and none of the tiny imperfections will survive the deluge.

Nanny Diaries

Seeing families at work and play in the city is a paradox to me. I'm both encouraged, when I see an apartment filled with a parent's art work and a well-lit studio upstairs, and sad, when I see how hard parents have to work to compensate for providing the best for their child. Or when a new mom, now with baby, can't leave her apartment for a few weeks. Or when three kids, two of which erupt in tantrums at the dinner table, continue to instigate each other's traumas.
But then you see the cute moms with the strollers make it look so easy, when really it's not. The difficult three-year-old who literally pees on the floor, having an accident like she is a puppy. Taking kids to the grocery store and not being able to leave the store without the Starburst that the two-year-old stuck in her mouth and blue soda that the six-year-old swore his dad let him have.
But there are moments when I think my life can't get any better: when the kids are worn out from the day, when we're having a dance party to Kelly Clarkson, when we are eating ice cream in the middle of the afternoon, when we are in the sand at the park, when we are cuddling and reading a story together. A dad this week reminded me that I need to see the good in my life: like having the summer off and focusing on me. But at the same time, I know that it's so much more gratifying when the attention shifts to others. And it's hard for me to not think about how I want what they have one day, even in a city if God wills it to be that way.
I wonder if my mom felt the same way in her twenties, focused on her career and burgeoning life in the city. What all changed when she met my dad and then decided to have kids, five years later? Why did my mom have two kids and what did she do to get through the days of tantrums and accidents? I don't remember being difficult, but I know that I was just as guilty as my brother in provoking bickering.
Am I acting maternal right now so I can give to others' kids or is it all to benefit those of my own some day? I don't know the answer, and it's sometimes hard to be patient in the meantime trying to figure it all out, not knowing if "Meg, you will make a great mom someday."

What time is it?

Summertime, anticipation, no more waking up at 6 am...
I've listened to the HSM2 soundtrack song so many times over the last few days, that the words are all jumbled together in my head. Even my friend Sayde from home, who I saw this past weekend in SLO, knew the words and bopped along to the song while it was blaring in the car. She said it's because "Zac Efron's a cutie," but I'm not sure if that's really why she knows all the words.
I listened to it the first time with Maggie the other day, we shared headphones on an ipod so as not to wake our other roommates up. It was too hard to dance with the headphones in, so we had to turn the volume down low and turn the speakers on.
The second time I was with my last group of kids on Thursday morning. I played the soundtrack for them and they were so excited for this song and "Gotta Go My Own Way" (into second grade, go figure?) It was a bittersweet moment, these were kids that I've grown so attached to over the past year that I had a hard time letting go.
The third time I was with Claudia and Robin on the car trip down to SLO that same day. Our music selection was diminished significantly, but we came upon a CD entitled "Meg's Choice" from 6/08 that helped set the tone with Ingrid Michaelson, Death Cab, and HSM hits all on the same disc.
The fourth time I was with Matt and Katie on Friday night, I think? and Nick and Robin and Claudia at Nick's house to celebrate Matt's birthday. I'm sure that it came up in some context that evening, Matt singing it, I just can't remember all of the specifics.
Saturday, I was having a hard time rallying for the next outing, due to the lack of sleep from the night before. Sayde wanted to see the landmark Morro Rock, a gi-normous rock jutting into the ocean a few miles from San Luis Obispo. As soon as I got into the car with Sayde and Robin, with the windows down and the song blaring, I felt re-energized.
It's Sunday night now, and I'm thinking about what time it is? I don't have to wake up at 6 am...