Marks of life in Africa

18.5.07

This evening I took a shower and shivered as I stepped out of the cold water. Rubbing my body dry I notice so many little marks: the dark plum skin colored scar on my shin where a microbe had dug itself a home in my flesh, just below it the skin is lighter, more the tinted brown of the flesh where I burned myself on the exhaust of my motorbike. This scar actually kind of pleases me as it reminds me of the shape of a bird in flight on the distant horizon. My belly and legs are mostly white, while my face and arms are darkening more and more. Even the zits on my face from the incessant dust and heat seem unfamiliar to me.

Here and there I notice physical changes but I can not begin to list the changes I feel brewing and steaming inside me. I find that there is often a battle fighting itself inside my brain. I find that I am continually trying to come to terms with myself here and it’s a precarious job. The constantly cheery Shey that is so familiar to so many is coming across one of the bigger challenges of her life: balancing the physical, mental and emotional trials of life alone in a brand new culture with her vision of herself and her value in the world. I find that living here puts all my moral concepts of myself into a different context. I work hard to keep from losing track of who I am and why I am here.

Since the VA school shootings, finding this balance became more difficult. Now, however, I am beginning to realize all the things I can do for myself to keep sanity.

Two weeks ago I went back to Burkina Faso to visit one of my best friends, an Italian named Elena who is the only one I truly feel close to here; I also went to visit a guy who has been slowly breaking into my surprisingly hard core with poetry, patience, and passion. I fell ill the last two days I was there and spent the following week trying to recuperate. This week of particularly low energy and uncommon bowel movements turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I still worked, but spent lots of time at home, by myself, sleeping, reading and writing. I slowly came to understand and accept how much space I need here. Being sick, I was able to say no to the constant stream of friends, acquaintances and children who come by regularly. Finally I was able to say yes to myself. I may be developing in a way that is less African than I would have imagined myself but
after three months of accepting and incorporating so much of myself in others, I found myself drained, lost, and ultimately paralyzed. I’ve learned that I can feel loneliest when I am most surrounded by people. I am finally coming to terms with the fact that to be who I need to be, I need to take time and space to myself.

So now I read, I spend time writing each day. I wake and run and relish the sweat that is bold enough to drip off my face at 7 AM. I sit on my roof at twilight. I watch Venus shine over my head as the sky fights to find a color somewhere between orange, violet and black, finally settling on that deep underwater blue that makes me dream of being a whale. I try different mangos: relish the tangerine flower opening after I have cut a checkerboard in its flesh, and pick strings out from my teeth for the rest of the day. Tonight, I will dance till I can’t feel my legs.

So as each day unfolds before me, the marks and scars will undoubtedly change me in some way or another, but ultimately, one day I will come back home toting some version of myself. What a wonderful chance I have to dig into that self; I believe I will find many mysteries, and just as many solid elements that do not change.

RAIN

4.22.07

THE RAIN CAME. Like an answer to me, the smell like home so fresh and metallic. I lay on my roof. Soaking the heavy crush of water into my cotton cloths, watching fingers of lightning creep across an angry sky. Viens of electricity filling my body, willing me back to life like the pound of a heart attack.