a note responding to my time in Mbale, now sitting on an African fabric draped seat in Kampala:
as though walls have risen abruptly out of the red, broken, imperfect dirt roads of Mbale, my thoughts stop and slow and halt. not bad. off. or good. even indifferent. just a floating feeling that occurs when one drifts to the rock of Mt. Elgon, the gray clouds surrounding, finding broken pleas of the inner being. but then she returns to a place where more cries tug. where time was spent only weeks earlier, seeking to define home in a foreign land. in africa. a place of utmost diversity, beauty, green fields lying gently on hills, mountains, and cliffs, trees reaching toward what cannot be explained. only to further advance toward a new country, a home that can only in my humbled mind think of genocide of the innocent. From Kampala, Uganda to Mbale, the same. Tomorrow a direction leading to Rwanda.
when creativity abounds, it does so intensely. yet when it is lulled and quieted, no force can come upon it. no words will come. no sketches. no paintbrush will touch a surface with color or shades of gray. no lyrics will dress the lined page. solely a mind in a blur, one of necessity and urge of the seeker, the need to know, yet still the desire to stop thought. sometimes silence awakens boldly.
where is the silence.
after 4 weeks in Mbale, full days spent between two communities, i am finding it.
i see it in the children, in the elders, in the relations that inspire.
I see it in the classes.
3 art classes, each of at least 70 smiling faces ages 5 to 9.
"Draw what makes you happy" and only giggles, joy felt. this aura of naivety and peace.
adorable children saying "this is my family" "my home" "my church" "circumcision"
(I wondered awkwardly at this last one yet humbly accepted the truth of an unknown culture)
then each day a session with young women.
Two of these groups ranging from 40 to 50 girl students.
odd that i fear public speaking yet my heart heightens and overjoys with these innocent dear ones. speaking of self image, sexual health, topics of awkardness, laughter, and pain.
and then the group of 10 girls. we met three times yet our relationships expanded and sketched freely within. open. loving. what is this body part? what is that sexual thing? awkward. awkward. awkward. and hilarious. and why am i sad? ugly? these conversations cherished.
of course moments of awful discomfort, fear, inadequacy. I broke. fell. literally actually, off of a motorcycle. yet we were going VERY slow. tip tip tip. BAM! down. Meghan is in a pile of dirt. mud. WEt red dirt. and a memory wonderful to me.
and here is the wall.
that silence.
that wall breaking through the reddened ground.
the me sitting here writing blankly. the me sitting here not sure what love means. not sure why he gives it to me. why she gives it to me. and why the relationships made are now there, sitting in mbale, in classrooms i may never again see, in hearts of little girls and young women that i can only hope continue forward.
not sure why i just cried for an hour over the pain of the world.
and yet i smile.
i genuinely allow the teeth to show and the lips to part and the joy to move in.
that time with those sweet girls, with those impoverished communities.
those children. those staff members. the locals. being the only Mzungu around for 4 weeks. dealing with an identity crisis and a broken heart and a revived soul.
Reading the journals of Sylvia Plath, the poet who killed herself years ago because of an inability to handle such things and her own creativity. reading about the man who traveled. reading Works of Love by Kierkegaard.
the manner of life sways with the wind. society has much. these words don't at all justify the month that just occured, but let me apologize at my absense as i work through this silence. let me be here, not at home. let me feel the pain, the awkward moments, the laughter, the quieted shouting silent yelling soul. and let me move forward attempting to put together a heart of depression yet love trying to be achieved.
because inside this city is a heart, and within this heart a craving, a craving that tries to achieve it. to achieve love.
the red brick cracks. the silence breaks. the fog lifts.
forgive me for my distance. this last month lacked power, electricity, internet. lanterns lit up my heart. and bucket showers were among my happiest moments.
730 tomorrow morning we enter the final walk of this journey. a new country, Rwanda. a safari and long driving hours with friends that were missed in these weeks.. and morning sunrise and simple coffee.
coffee warms my body and spirit. i think this is okay. and will last forever.
and sugar. i love it.
and mbale, you have my heart. when will i again capture it?
i miss you vicky. i miss you children. i miss you local staff.
and family, i miss you.
but you hold me while i'll hold you. even continents away spirits embrace.
