don't let the fire die

2 january 2010

I think most often when we hear or say that phrase, it's referring to romance, to a relationship.

Living here in Africa, I literally mean it about this charcoal fire I have spent 3 hours working on.

I am a slave to the fire.

I must feed the fire,

fan the fire to keep the coals burning,

tending to the charcoal that took me half a candle, half a dozen matches, half of a notebook as well as half of the afternoon to start.

I'd like to think that I am a pretty independent young woman, at least this is true in America, isn't it?

It's now 3:30 in the afternoon,

my arms are black with charcoal,

my skirt is filthy from wiping my blackened hands all over it

Just as I type this my neighbor, a man in his late fifties, with 8 children (2 girls, 6 boys = jackpot) to his name (which I forget at the moment), knocks at my door. "Injira" I tell him "come in". He has such a kind, friendly face, he reminds me of Shrek before he turned into a prince and all. He tells me, in his African French, that his children, particularly his sons I take it to mean, are there to help me.

I'd just wandered out of my gated mud-yard a few minutes earlier carrying my two empty jerry cans, in need of more water. I felt weak (is that the correct adjective?) asking his 16 year old son, Richard, to help me with the water. I thought maybe he would take one and I would take the other. He took them both and told me he'd have them back to my house in ten minutes. So I returned home, added some charcoal to the fire, checked my bean soup - still needs a few more minutes - and found myself just absolutely exhausted. I seem to have a cold (cough, stuffy nose, stuffy head for that matter) and my voice est en train de disparu (is in the process of disappearing).

So when my jolly ol' neighbor arrives and tells me that his children are there to help with things like water and whatnot, in my weak voice and poor French, I respond to him saying that in the States, I am very independent, I am used to doing things for myself. I believe this to be true about myself in general, but reflecting on it now, I find it depends entirely on the context... or perhaps the continent.

Today;

I hand washed dishes - without a sink equipped with running water - without a sink at all actually

I spent an hour and a half working away at that damn charcoal fire

I then spent another couple of hours tending to that fire as well as to the soup I have boiling on it

I brought in laundry (that'd I'd hand washed a couple days before - but which hadn't finished drying, and was then re-soaked in the rain yesterday.. and which now need to be re-washed by hand due to the mud that has splashed up all over it) from where it was hanging to dry when the rain began

Do ANY of these things play a role in my daily routine in America?

No, they don't.

So when just the idea of washing out another pot to boil water to take a warm bucket bath overwhelms me with exhaustion, if a thought alone can do that, to my body that is already crying out for rest, should I really be so hard on myself about asking for help fetching water?

Naw, I don't think so.

These days are all about little victories,

the small moments of success.

For example

- finding that the fire has actually caught

- catching rain water in buckets - water I can later use to wash my dishes

- having drinkable water (boiling it, filtering it)

- tasting that this soup I've spent the entire day working on is actually really good

- taking a walk, hand-in-hand with my 9 year old neighbor (the youngest of that family of 8)

- getting all of the black charcoal dust out from under my fingernails

- using the squat pot without pissing on my sandals

- finding the courage to squash the wasp that has been hanging out on my ceiling for the past couple of days to avoid being stung if/when he decides to attack

You know, things like that.

I guess I ought to describe a bit more than these mundane chores.

I think this is their vacation.

This is our life.

Katy and I said to one another as we passed an open-air African style "tour bus" full of muzungus on the way to our sites for the first time (december 30th).

The mountains covered with pinwheel banana trees, even after 3 months in-country, still make us catch our breath. For two girls from what might be America's flattest states (Michigan and Nebraska) imagine then, the excitement we experienced seeing the gigantic volcanos as we rounded the corner of yet another mountain.

Screams, giggles, pictures.

Beauty.

Now take the green mountains and the monstrous volcanos and throw in an islandfull lake that extends far to the peak-silhouetted horizon, all of which wrap so perfectly around a peninsula that gives you a spectacular view of said landscape (as long as the top of the volcano is not lost in the clouds) and there you have it, my home for the next two years.

Honestly, I nearly cried the last day of 2009, the first day of my life here. It wasn't from sadness, nor an aching heart, but because I felt so fortunate to find myself in a place of the utmost natural beauty - a place where I will have the opportunity to live and grow and teach and learn. It felt so right.

And that's that,

words could never do this place justice,

guess you just ought to come and see for yourself.