Leaving

December 17, 2009

It has recently occurred to me that life is a series of leaving or being left. Sometimes it is intentional, sometimes it just can't be helped and sometimes it is an accident all together. It has made me realize how precious the moments we have with someone really are. There are so many types of connections to be made with people. When I got on the airplane a second time, I ignored it. It was too hard to picture being thousands of miles away from Oregon and all the people I love. I have two pockets of important people that reside on opposite sides of the world- Portland, Oregon and Njombe, Tanzania. Who knew that an invisible red thread would be stretched between these oh so different places? I know what it feels like to be left too. I know what it sounds like- footsteps down the deck, waterfall drops into a ponds, a Jeep starting. I know what leaving feels like- my family all asleep in their beds, except the gaping hole where my dad should have been, but instead is at the hospital miles away. I know what it looks like- the back of someone I love, the empty phone call from someone who is already gone. It looks like me with a backpack on, ignoring the fact that I want to turn around. A tear and a kiss and a dance that is over.

Osmond's mother just died unexpectedly. It was even unexpected for Africa. He and I are the same age but his mother was about 15 years younger than my parents. I am squatting in an overheated courtyard with my village women. I am comtemplating all the different types of leaving and being left while the women wail, for this death they are all crying for real. I sit quietly, holding the corner of Mama Max's skirt like a child, tears roll down my cheek, for some reason I am afraid. After three hours of this, William shows up and I feel relieved. He has been in Njombe, but since he is Osmond's cousin and best friend, I feel grateful that he is there. I shouldn't have... He grabs my wrist and says, "Osmond wants you in the room." I am not sure what the room is all about but suddenly I know that I would rather say with the sobbing women. But instead I am lead through the wailing masses of women to "the room". A dirt floor, a thatched roof, Osmond and Nicky (also their cousin) next to the dead body laying on a piece of cloth on the dusty floor. I am seated between Osmond and Williamlike I am a member of their family. Osmond is dry eyed and stares straight ahead. He breaks my heart. His mother lived across the street and I wonder if he has ever gone a day in his life without seeing her. He takes my hand immediatly. I don't really want to be there. It is hot, it smells bad, the wailing scares me, but I can't just run away. We sit for hours as is the custom. We don't talk, he doesn't let go of my hand, eventually I try to escape my body and go somewhere else in my mind. This way I can ignore the sweat pooling in my bra, my clammy palm in his, the flies playing "red rover, red rover, dead body come over" between the cuts on my feet and legs, Osmond's mother's body and the cuts and sores on William, Nicky and Osmond. When dusk finally arrives we go to a cornfield to bury her. Osmond's sister throws her body on the crude wooden coffin begging God to take her also. I cry. Why did she leave?

The dance together is so short in Africa. It reminds me that you can sorround yourself with as many people and distractions as you want, but in the end all you really have is yourself. I am pleased with the Peace Corps experience for challenging each of us to cultivate that realationship with ourselves. When you are alone in an African village, you really have to be okay with who you are. As Osmond grips my hand like a lifeline, I wonder if there will ever be a point that I don't feel like leaving? That I don't get left? I wonder if there will ever be a time that I am not haunted by foorsteps on the deck, a hole in the bedroom upstairs, the weight of my backpack, women wailing, sweat gathering, flies landing? Then I know that is impossible. All I can do is continue to dance, everything might come and go, but I am my life's constant.