I've been gardening like crazy. Pulling weeds, planting vines. When I went to the nursery, Steve the owner said, "You know it is August don't you" and raised his eyebrows when I told him I just felt like working in the dirt. I realize that it is likely that none of the plants will live, but for some reason I just have to be out working in the yard.
People who do research on cross cultural adjustment have found that reentry (coming home) can be even more difficult than the initial adjustment to a foreign country. This can be true even when the trip is relatively short. The first time I came home from Africa (after being there for a year), I was miserable. I felt disconnected from my friends and family. I felt like everything I was doing in my life was trite and unimportant in light of the tremendous injustice and suffering in the world. I did not know how to reconcile life in the US with life in Ghana. I moved into an apartment with a bunch of my college friends, but I couldn't handle it. Too much smoking and too many hair products. I moved out and went to live with Rob's parents. During the first few months I had trouble doing normal things like going to grocery stores or the shopping mall. Rob and I went to a mall in the Bay Area and I was so overwhelmed the loads and loads of clothes, shoes, accessories, CDs, trinkets, fake plants and scented candles that I practically had a panic attack and ran out in tears. It was a disorienting time.
Thankfully I had not had such strong reactions the last few times I've traveled. But, even so, I still feel surprised at how I feel when I get back. I am glad to be home and excited to see friends and family but there is part of me that is not ready to talk about my experience. People have called and asked me about it and I sort of stammer like I don't really know what to say. Even though I've been thinking about it and writing about it, it is still really hard to put into words.
To be honest, I feel a little sad. Not depressed, not discouraged, just mildly sad. I am not sure the exact source of it. It is not like I am sad to be home or sad about Ghana. I guess it is like how plants feel when they have been freshly transplanted- a little wilty.
Perhaps I should be journaling and processing the details of everything. It would be wonderful if I could get through the sadness and on to the stage where I am able to summarize my experience into a set of bullet points.
For now I am just going to sit in the garden and let the transplants soak for awhile.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Monday, August 08, 2005
Return
Rob and I are back in Cali. We had a wonderful time in London. It was sunny and cool- perfect weather for riding around in open-top tour buses. We saw most of the major city sites, ate fish and chips and even popped into Madam Tusad's Wax museum for a brief tour.
We returned to sunny and hot LA and are both in the throws of jet lag. People have different strategies for jet lag. None of them seem to work perfectly. Yesterday we went hiking at 6:30 in the morning after being awake for almost two hours. We did so much physical activity (hiking, surfing, tennis, swimming) that we were both walking dead by 10 last night. Now it 5:30 and I'm up and ready to start another day. Not too bad at all!
Rob is going back to work this morning. That's the saddest part of coming home. When we are away together we spend so much time together. I really like hanging out with my husband! He'll be back at work and I'll be based at home the next few weeks- working on my dissertation, doing house projects, and preparing for my clerkship and classes that begin the second week in Sept. I am also planning to spend a lot of time with friends and family and keep processing (and blogging about) my experience in Africa.
We returned to sunny and hot LA and are both in the throws of jet lag. People have different strategies for jet lag. None of them seem to work perfectly. Yesterday we went hiking at 6:30 in the morning after being awake for almost two hours. We did so much physical activity (hiking, surfing, tennis, swimming) that we were both walking dead by 10 last night. Now it 5:30 and I'm up and ready to start another day. Not too bad at all!
Rob is going back to work this morning. That's the saddest part of coming home. When we are away together we spend so much time together. I really like hanging out with my husband! He'll be back at work and I'll be based at home the next few weeks- working on my dissertation, doing house projects, and preparing for my clerkship and classes that begin the second week in Sept. I am also planning to spend a lot of time with friends and family and keep processing (and blogging about) my experience in Africa.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Two women
I’ve spent all day the last two days at the refugee camp. Today I spent time with an elderly woman who has been at the camp for 15 years. We sat together for a couple hours each holding sleeping babies (so that the teen mothers had their hands free to take notes about a presentation on HIV prevention). She was wonderful company, warm, insightful and articulate. While we sat in the breeze, she told me some of her story.
She lost her husband and three sons during the war. They were killed while she watched, hidden nearby with the smallest son. Her remaining son will soon turn 19. Refugee life is the only one he has known.
She makes her living by selling small things- cans of tomato paste, small packets of salt, pieces of ginger root. Every morning she prays that people will come to buy something. If many customers come, she and her son will eat that day. If only a few customers come, she will insist that her son eat, but she will not buy food for herself. If no one comes, neither of them eat. She told me this very matter of fact. She was not complaining. She didn’t ask me for help. She told me about her life because I was curious and I was kind.
We talked about the future. She is not hopeful for Liberia. She said, “There are too many people who want to rule- too many selfish people who don’t care about their fellow countrymen.” She is concerned that the coming elections will cause more violence. Regardless of the outcome, she told me that she is simply too scared to go back. There are too many terrible memories for her there. She fled in fresh grief, with her four-year-old in her arms and walking through the ruins of her country as she went. While she talked, she exuded a deep sense of grief. Not depression, not apathy, not hopelessness, but profound grief.
Our conversation made me wish I had more time to spend with her, perhaps the chance for therapy… some way to extend more care, some way to share the tremendous burden that she has carried alone. When I left for the day, my last full day in Ghana, I gave her all the money I had. With tears in her eyes she said “May God bless you, my daughter.”
I spoke with another woman who was waiting in the camp office. She is leaving tomorrow for resettlement in the US. I asked her which city she was going to and she responded, “I am a refugee. I do not know where I will go or how I will live.” It made me sad to hear such a statement: I am a refugee. Because my nation is ruined, I am at the mercy of other nations. I will go wherever they will take me.. I touched her shoulder and said, “May God guard your journey and may my people greet you warmly when you arrive.” and in my heart I desperately prayed that we will.
She lost her husband and three sons during the war. They were killed while she watched, hidden nearby with the smallest son. Her remaining son will soon turn 19. Refugee life is the only one he has known.
She makes her living by selling small things- cans of tomato paste, small packets of salt, pieces of ginger root. Every morning she prays that people will come to buy something. If many customers come, she and her son will eat that day. If only a few customers come, she will insist that her son eat, but she will not buy food for herself. If no one comes, neither of them eat. She told me this very matter of fact. She was not complaining. She didn’t ask me for help. She told me about her life because I was curious and I was kind.
We talked about the future. She is not hopeful for Liberia. She said, “There are too many people who want to rule- too many selfish people who don’t care about their fellow countrymen.” She is concerned that the coming elections will cause more violence. Regardless of the outcome, she told me that she is simply too scared to go back. There are too many terrible memories for her there. She fled in fresh grief, with her four-year-old in her arms and walking through the ruins of her country as she went. While she talked, she exuded a deep sense of grief. Not depression, not apathy, not hopelessness, but profound grief.
Our conversation made me wish I had more time to spend with her, perhaps the chance for therapy… some way to extend more care, some way to share the tremendous burden that she has carried alone. When I left for the day, my last full day in Ghana, I gave her all the money I had. With tears in her eyes she said “May God bless you, my daughter.”
I spoke with another woman who was waiting in the camp office. She is leaving tomorrow for resettlement in the US. I asked her which city she was going to and she responded, “I am a refugee. I do not know where I will go or how I will live.” It made me sad to hear such a statement: I am a refugee. Because my nation is ruined, I am at the mercy of other nations. I will go wherever they will take me.. I touched her shoulder and said, “May God guard your journey and may my people greet you warmly when you arrive.” and in my heart I desperately prayed that we will.
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