Well, this is the last blog, a week later than my self-imposed deadline. Am I still in the lenient West African time mentality, or is it perhaps that I’m holding on to something I don’t want to let go of? In any case, here I am. And it’s time to wrap things up… for now.
“Little by little, the bird builds his nest.”
The phrase I’ve heard over and over the past two years: Donni, donni. Things don’t happen quickly in international development, in language learning, or with personal growth. Patience, as people used to say in this country, is a virtue. And why? Maybe we feel a heightened sense of accomplishment when reward doesn’t come easy or at least when gratification is delayed. Then, presumably, when we reach some end goal, we can look back with pride all the superpowers we had to muster to survive and surpass.
That would be the linear way of looking at it, and it’s how I always have. Start to finish. Beginning to end. Persevere and you’ll cross the line a winner. Well I’ve crossed the line, I made it. But I don’t feel finished.
The bird here is not building a linear road, or trying to launch an incredible flight to a distant land. She is building, piece by piece, an endless circular nest, which can envelop her chicks as she nurtures them. Little by little, allowing time to breathe and understand, she carefully intertwines one twig with another. She’s found these pieces in distant corners, and carried them back to this one spot, bringing them together to lay a strong base in a carefully prepared location. And she never stops building, repairing, rearranging, to respond to the change in winds or rain. All to make a strong shelter for what she will produce, love and foster through growth.
Most recently returned Peace Corps volunteers have a little trouble, shall I say, defining their nest. I’ve been home for three weeks, but find I’m not fully here. I want to settle in, be comfortable and enjoy it, but to do that, I find myself pushing away thoughts of Dombila. I’ll call today, or maybe tomorrow. I’m fine until the ghost of Shaka seems to be running beside me, or I sit alone outside and am interfered with an image of Boure sitting with me. It seems to be a struggle to find balance between these two worlds, and its frighteningly simple to temporarily block Mali out.
I went to New York City last week to catch up with some interesting people. Lauren was in from Mali, and being her culturally savvy self, took me to see a Slovic brass band, art at the MET, and lunch at an Indian restaurant with some Israelis. I got to spend some QT with my godmother’s family in New Jersey, and also RPCV/ my personal hero Sally Briggs. The last night, I met an 8 ½ month-pregnant Andi and her husband Seydou (remember from the 9/11/09 Blog?). They took me out to a West African restaurant where I had great Yassa and fried Plantains, Malian specialties. Then it was out to celebrate Ramadan in “Little Mali” with a bunch of Bambara speaking, Malian dressed, New Yorkers. It was strange, but a blast to speak Bambara, talk about Mali, and see the way they all meshed their culture with living in NYC.
And now I’m back here, doing what I should be doing. Job hunting, driving a car, putting food in a refrigerator, taking warm showers on cool autumn mornings when alas, I’m not that dirty to begin with (or so I think). I never had a breakdown, an overwhelming sense of guilt, or a sudden urge to go back. Am I doing this right? I’m supposed to be forever changed, but sometimes things seem just as they were before. Comfortable. I can be comfortable here. But God help me, I never want to be.
Comfortable is ignorant, it’s unchallenging, it’s stagnant. It doesn’t allow me to question, to step outside of the lines, to take a moment and remember the other side of the world. I can be comfortable with the fact that I’ll always be a little uncomfortable. For not just scanning over the yet-another-middle east bombing in the newspaper; for talking to people who may be different; for asking questions; for learning; for acting on injustice; for being mindful of Dombila and all its blessings and sufferings.
That’s how I believe our great leaders live. And great RPCVs. To quote one: “I never really fully adjusted back to life in the United States. And I hope I never do.” I have a place here, I have a place there. And perhaps it shouldn’t be a “constant struggle” but more like building a strong nest of all types of experiences. Or maybe we, if we allow ourselves to be carried, bent, and placed next to strangers, are the weavings of the nest. It’s not comfortable, but it’s the only way to craft peace in a world full of so many insecurities and inequalities.
In the spirit of Malian blessings:
May we all be constantly intertwining ourselves with each other- on this side of the nest and the other.
May we build our nests with diligence and diversity.
May we not be afraid to step, work, and live outside of our comfort zone.
Ever noticed the dove in flight in the Peace Corps logo? That didn’t happen in a day.
Now excuse me, I have a few phone calls to make.
Donni, donni.
