Thus, the visitors’ drunkenness started my day.
Noonish stepped out of my little sanctum of a bedroom to
peer out into the silent patio. Somehow elvis’ father had managed to pull
himself to the other side of my doorstep towards the corral. Passed out flat on
his stomach missing a shoe I scurried by him to go wash another load of laundry
before the rainy season starts and the water is brown and there isn’t enough
sunlight to dry clothes before it rains again.
As I passed the kitchen I saw Elvis’ mother passed out with
her head on the stump we use as a seat. Her dirty cheeks covered in flies. It
was such a sad sight I now wish I had thought to take a picture. Poor elvis.
The poor animals they tend. These poor people who’s lives are so boring and
depressing that the only way they get excitement is to make fools of
themselves.
I opened the faucet and it echoed an empty gurgle at me. No
water. Thank god that I thought two days ago to fill a bucket so we at least
have water to cook with.
My irritability fumed.
Last night I was irritable because toys were stolen from the
library, and my frustration didn’t wane because I was awoken my singing drunks,
and now: no water.
I can feel my mind checked out. I am tired and frustrated
and bored. I fear that I am not fully serving because I am so listless.
I doubt so much. I am reading the book Living Poor by Moritz
Thomsen (his chronicle of Peace Corps). I will write more about my experience
with the book later, but what astonishes me the most is his confidence. He
seems to know what he wants, he has confidence that he knows what these people
need. He even extends his service 2 years to ensure that the programs he starts
are successful.
I feel like I am doubting myself and everyone around me all
the time. I envy his confidence. Should I be nurturing these drunks instead of
avoiding them? Should I be scolding them? Should I take Roxana and Elvis
elsewhere so they don’t come across their drunken parents when they come home
from school? Should I tend to the cows for Doña Juana so she can sleep off her
drunk? Should I not let her go to the fields for fear that she could fall and
hurt herself? Should I go with Roxana to the fields when she gets home just to
be there as moral support? Should I buy and cook dinner for the family tonight
because I know Doña Juana will not? Should I leave town for the weekend so that
I can avoid the rest of the drunken fiesta that makes me so uncomfortable and
resentful of the community members?
Chanting isn’t bringing me peace or answers like I want it
to. I usually leave my chanting sessions more upset than when I went in (good
for self discovery, bad for patience with the locals).
Sometimes I wonder why I feel so irritable. It isn’t like
what I came here to do isn’t working. The program is working so marvelously
that it doesn’t really need me anymore as long as there is someone else to run
it the way it is written. This is dis-animating instead of animating because I
want to continue my life. I feel I have
done what I came here to do. I have learned, I have taught, I have developed
something effective and sustainable. I am about ready to go back to school, to
start living for me and my
family instead of this foreign community.
Have I become selfish? Is this just irritability speaking and it will pass?
One month from today I will be in the United States visiting
family and friends in Ohio. I can only hope that that time reinvigorates me to
come back and finish my service with a strong and patient ‘bang’.
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