How it is.

I was not prepared for this. I was not prepared for the feelings I would have, the thoughts that would cross my mind, nor the depth of apathy that could cloud my spirit in a hurting and impoverished country. I, who cries when I see an add about dying children in Africa, who would adopt a hundred if I had the money, or would give my right arm just to hold the hand of a child here who was dying. Wild, what difficult experiences can do to your mind. How does it feel? Like hands and feet are tied, and you just watch. Like begging amputee street children come and touch you and have you nothing to extend to them. When we dreamt of our trip here, of our experience, I assure you this was not in the picture. Sure, some confusion, things moving slowly, insufficient resources, broken hearts, unnecessary death, but these have not been our battles. I was prepared for those. I did not envision this level of frustration, or lack of significance essentially. Amazing how closely tied in your self-worth and work can become. Especially when you travel thousands of miles to one of the world’s poorest countries and hope to in some minute way lend a hand and alleviate the suffering that is the reason you came in the first place. But instead, feel as though you just watch it everyday, passing you by. In that respect, it is even more shameful and discouraging to have been here for one month and have frustration and apathy as your biggest and most lingering sentiments. These sentiments raise a few questions: Have I not tried hard enough? Am I throwing in the towel to soon? Have I lost faith? Why is this becoming all about me? I wish I had the answers. In fact, I spend much of my day pondering these questions. What angle of contribution have we not exhausted in attempting to alleviate anything?

Our days have been spent trying to get by without answers. Strange hu? We know the plight of the people here, we have heard about the war, we have listened to the horrendous fates families have faced, and yet we just are. We met with a priest the other day who is opening an orphanage, and he phrased it perfectly, “it is an African system, you understand, it does not make sense, but it just is.”

Everyday, we have beautiful views. We can see the Congo, as far as the eye can see. And there too, tragically, conflict and violence destroys the lives of many. Africa is an extreme place. No in the middle. Sadness is stronger here, hope is brighter, and apathy, is well more apathetic. The response from the people here on the streets often is tragic. You can read their stories in their eyes. Smiles are often returned with glares. Amputees everywhere, missing eyes, begging children, fancy Land Rover’s, mansions, you know, just the everyday occurrence of extremes co-existing.

I want to do more. We keep waiting. We fight our every desire to be productive. We have one foot on the plane back home, and another desperately trying to find reasons to stay. Such a bad feeling. We have thrown the idea around of not being able. That is not it. I know we have things to contribute, but how is the question? Kenton and I have become every-other-day cheerleaders for one another.

When I think of why we came, why we left our families, our jobs, our studies, it was all for a purpose. A goal of alleviating, a goal of improving, an objective of bringing hope in hopelessness. I still think this potential is here. And I hope one day, we look back on these days, these incredibly idle days and know that they were so worth it, that our momentary trials were for the greater good. That merging our lives together in the heart of Africa, facing the every day trials of uncertainty, discomfort, and frustration, were the glue that made us stronger.

For now, we will keep doing what we are doing. Hoping, praying, and waiting. Smiling, when a smile is needed, holding a hand, reading, and merely learning to exist in a world that has a new set of rules. Hopefully, we will contribute one small thing, to someone, at some point, and it will be something that can be passed on in a sustainable way.

Rachele