Tag Archives: Year of Presence

YOP – July

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It’s the end of July and I am trying to reflect on the month that was.

At so many moments, I felt being here was not only right but a union of every moment before this one to bring me to this exact spot as if something big is going to happen, the something that put me to sleep during dark hours. I said yes to new adventures, tried to break bad habits and just smiled at the simplicity of this life.

At the beginning of the month, I was hopelessly in love with Lesotho. I was making new friends and memories each day. I was proud of my work in the village and thought I was being “ a good volunteer.” I felt strong connections to other volunteers and content in this new life I’ve built.

But with the month gone, all of that seems reversed. My thoughts are lingering to home as I miss out on family vacations and celebrating my friends’ new adventures. I feel alone and am operating on the last piece of optimism that I have.

I guess that is why I started this whole Year of Presence project in the first place. They are times when all is right in the world and others when my head can’t stop running, but if I hold on long enough through the tough moments something spectacular, albeit small, will bring back the sunshine and rainbows.

I am happy in Lesotho, but that doesn’t mean each moment is good. There are struggles and tears.

And the present is good escape. When the world seems against me, I can stop, breathe in the mountain air and watch a child playing in the dirt. Slowly, I am learning to tune out the anxiety of things beyond my control and give into what I don’t know.

When I learn to be in the moment, life doesn’t seem so hard, even manageable. It’s something I need to remind myself for the upcoming months and challenges, but I know now I have the resources to trump frustrations, doubt, fear and loneliness. I must be present.

YOP – June: Finding my present

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Walking home from school Wednesday, I reflected on the day’s events. It had been the usual work frustrations and breakthroughs. Some projects seemed hopeful, others hopeless. I tight-walked across the rope between optimism and frustration all day, but at the end of the day my spirits were high. It’s just going to be like that sometimes, I said as I walked my usual path home.

After several days of cold rain, the sky was bright blue. The slightly warmer sun seemed to shed a stage light on the village, making it appear new and more beautiful than I’ve ever seen before. The daily sites of my commute stop me, although unchanged from than any other day. Something about this day seemed fresh and exhilarating. The women calling out to each other as they washed clothes against the mountain backdrop, still sprinkled with snow from three weeks ago. Men gathered around the football pitch, playfully tossing the ball back and forth with sharp kicks as others cheered on.

At one point I couldn’t draw myself away from a group of kids playing. The children, the same ones I see every day, were playing a game with a few dirt-filled polish containers on a hopscotch-like board etched in the soft brown ground. I had seen them play this game before, and even joined in one day, but something about their amusement memorized me. I stopped and stared. I watched each of their faces and youthful movements. I pretended that I knew what they were saying and cheered them on as they made assumingly successful moves. Why did I always rush to get past them? Why couldn’t I let whatever it is that I think I need to do right after school to be and enjoy this very special moment? Kids being kids, in the purest of ways.

Finally I decided to turn home but couldn’t get there. My house lays part way down the dissension into a valley and you can see the other side from the road, near our compound’s entrance. On the other side is a prairie like landscape with rolling hills and six trees in a singular line. The trees seem like they do not belong, alone and exposed by the flatness. Yet, they are calming and reassuring. In this crazy thoughtful state, they begged me to pay them attention. So I sat just outside of the fence to our compound and stared across and into the valley. The moment was so calm and spontaneous and I decided to use it for my daily meditation and prayer.

During this period of enlightenment, I was fasting. Last September, shortly before leaving for Lesotho, I did a juice fast and really enjoyed it. It was my first fast and, although it was difficult, I liked the sense of purifying myself, shoving out the bad and making way for the good. I decided that it would be a good time, physically and mentally, for another.

The last one was a juice fast and seven days. Well, I don’t have a blender or an income to buy that much fresh produce from the grocery store, so I decided to do a shorter one with one broth meal a day and lots of tea and lemon water. I paired it with heavy meditation and prayer and lots of journaling.

My hunger pains roared since the first day, but I was never hungry. Food was on my mind, but I didn’t need it to satisfy my days. Instead I conquered meetings, planning sessions and tutoring appointments. I felt strong, invigorated on an empty stomach. 

Much of my centeredness came through my meditation and prayer, which has been focused on presence. I asked my mind and heart to be still so that I could enjoy each day and spend all I had in it. What I found was a productive, happy me. I took time to look up at people when I greeted them. I explored into my Sesotho in ways I hadn’t before. I didn’t hesitate at any moment; I just jumped in.

My thoughts dived deeper into the meaning of presence and mine here in Lesotho.

What if I took that counselor job at the Montana Christian camp out of college instead of deciding to look for a reporting position?

What if I had stayed in Idaho?

What if I had never started The Post? What if I kept with it?

What if I had taken one of the several reporting jobs offered to me?

What if Peace Corps Niger hadn’t been evacuated?

Would I be here now? No. If I would have reversed my decision in each of those scenarios, I honestly believe that I would not be sitting in a hut, listening to the cows come in for the night. Yes, my life would have been different. Would have it been better? It doesn’t matter.

This is my present.

Not all days in this country are filled with joy or reassurance. Sometimes I do wonder what if and have to talk myself into staying. However, when I actually let go and live each moment to moment, knowing the good will replace the bad if I hold on longer and not worry about the future until it comes, there is so much beauty to be found and the notion that I live in Africa never gets realer. In the present, I am coming to learn, is filled with the greatest satisfaction. It’s here that I see my life and every decision I’ve made to this point a blessing. It’s here, in this moment and in this country, a remarkable destiny, that I smile at children, at trees and the idea that I am truly happy.

YOP – April

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Saturday morning. I allowed myself to turn off the alarm the night before and sleep with no programmed awake time. When my eyes did open, I rolled over and pulled out a copy of the “The New Yorker”. The story – about an author who plagiarized a spy novel by pulling from several other novels – was only semi-fascinating and my mind wonder about the writer of the piece and her reporting methods along with word choice.

But the mornings of this specific day in the week often bring about self-reflection, or at least more than other days. Am where I should be to reach that ultimate goal, and, what exactly is that ultimate goal? The laziness and self-doubt had made me hungry, so I whipped up a brunch of eggs, potatoes, onions and tomatoes with too much Heinz. I washed it all away French-pressed coffee, a blank Word document and something indie on the speaker.

If I didn’t attach 2012 to this entry, a historian of my life could have picked this moment out from my post-college years in Brookings or the short stint in Sioux Falls. The routine is identical but the backdrop is practically on another planet.

On those days, between 2008-2010, after publishing a post I would wander downtown, Main Street or Philips Avenue, and pop into different shops, hoping they would transport me to somewhere else. Cottonwood for a mocha and then Brookings Library for a book that would be left unread until it was due a month later. The Market for a bottle of wine and then Zandbroz for lusting over accessories out of my price range. My restless thoughts would settle with no big event of the day to define it. Maybe I would join up with friends for drinks or Saturday Night Live later, but I would go to bed, call the day a resting one and fall asleep to the possibilities.

However, this Saturday, although equally as mundane, appears to be from generations ago. A mooing cow dominates the background music and bathroom breaks require a trip outside. Chores, such as washing dishes and cooking an evening meal, will take twice as long without the conveniences of modern technology.

To me, these mornings seem more alike than different—I have just moved locations. I am still the wondering, confused person I was two years ago, with a hint more clarity. As I reflect on April for a Year of Presence post, I see this as the theme, my true self settling into this life.

When I left the daily showers, turning on lights when I walk into a room and other luxuries of South Africa, I came back to site with a new sense of purpose. This feeling that at any moment I might be pulled out had slightly faded and I transitioned into a two-year focus, like a sprinter trading the 200-meter sprint for the marathon. Having passed the Niger evacuation benchmark in this service, I finally allowed myself to sink into my life here and think about it more than just something I did one time.

With that came comfort. Instantly, I was more comfortable in the classroom. Having acquired new techniques and ideas at Phase III training, I had a frank conversation with my students about how I could be a better teacher for them. Their answer: be happier. I mixed up lesson plans and almost felt like a real teacher.

That ease spilled over into my village life. As if there was a village meeting overnight, everyone seemed to know my name and greeted me with joy each day. My persona as a stranger vanished, or it appeared to it, and it revealed me. My silliness came out to create interactions when words couldn’t. Friends came knocking at the door when I wasn’t sure if I had any. And, the biggest improvement, the constant bashing from my inner voices eased up and a supporting one was more vocal.

A great example of this newfound comfort came later in that Saturday. I was out running and passed a group of gaping boys. Other times I would have yelled something at them to stop or been annoyed. Instead I smiled. They took it as invitation to join me, another action that brought great annoyance two months earlier. Yet, I embraced it. We danced and exchanged passes in Sesotho and I even included a short English lesson. It was a small moment, but left me feeling like I took the opportunity instead of trying to combat frustration.

For all the ups and downs I seemed to have in my first three months at site, the parts moved into place during month four and what came together was a large flashing sign that said, “Yes, this right.”

The whole point of this Year of Presence was to absorb every moment of this life, to leave here at the end of 2013 without a single regret. I am far from reaching that but April showed me that I could be in Lesotho as myself, not some modified version, and that crawling into bed with a large smile is the best kind of reassurance. But to have all that I needed to stop and embrace the moment while pulling in elements of myself. I am not prefect at this present living but I am getting better.

YOP – February

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In high school I belonged to the swim and track teams. Long distances were my preference in both sports. For the mile run and 400-meter swim, the third lap or 100 was always the hardest. The first leg contained energy from the start the carried into the second and last piece was always a hard push to the finish. The third bout took focus and maintenance. This is where your mind could trip you up.

Although I am only in the second month of my Year of Presence project, I hit that third lap. My focus was off and thoughts all over the place and not very often in Lesotho. I dreamed of home, a life beyond Peace Corps and some place with a beach. Sticking to what was in front of me was more of a struggle this month than last.

One thing that helped was meditating and praying quite a bit. I would start each day with calm, deep breaths and a reminder to be here. Some days it worked, some days it didn’t. I lost my temper with my students a few times, which I immediately felt guilty for afterwards. But there were a few instances that I remembered to stop and give them a break, they are teenagers after all.

Many volunteers get caught up in living at the ultimate minimum – no electricity, few showers and tasteless local food. Those things are part of the experience but we don’t need to let the stereotype life ruin our happiness. This month I did little things to take care of myself to make me feel better. So what if I have to go the pump a few more times so I can have an extra bath? Feeling clean makes me feel better so I will do it. Same with food. Instead of papa and moroho for lunch everyday, I can bring beans or lentils once a week to school if it means I will teach and interact with more enthusiasm.  This job is hard and I have to remember that I need to take care of myself if I am going to survive the two years.

I may be almost six months into my first year as a teacher, but I think I now know all of my students’ names, which is incredible since most of them sound like a slur of letters to me.

I am not entirely proud of this month and really hope to do better in March, my last month in Phase II. I really want to focus on the village and dive into it.

For the next month I plan to take a break from social media. I still will check and respond to emails and I’ve changed my Facebook notifications so that all messages and wall posts will go to my email and I can respond to them. But I want to use the time I browse Twitter and Facebook timelines watching the herd boys come in from the fields or greeting the women from the well. My life is here, not online. To keep in touch, I’ve got a phone and mailing address :) .

As for the blog, I am unsure what I will do. I am not really happy with the blog as it is now and am not sure what direction I want to take it in. However, I write about my life here every day so I am sure there will be some posts throughout the month.

March will be a good month for me: Moshoeshoe’s Day (a huge cultural day in Lesotho), my first set of visitors from an outside country (a Niger PCV!) and reunion with ED 12s at Phase III training, all leading to my South African vacation in April.

The YOP project has forced me to deal with a lot of issues that have plagued me for years and I can already feel the growth. Yet, I have a way to go. March, however, has a lot of potential.

Happy Leap Year, all.

P.S. If you can, you should watch ‘Leap Year’ the movie. It is my absolute favorite. It’s cheesy and the dialogue is terrible, but it’s Ireland and still wonderful.

YOP – January

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I am not sure about you, but I am glad January is over.

The first three months of the year always seem to tug on and, no matter where I am in life they tend to be emotionally down points. Even though spring is a ways off, in my case fall then winter, a new month is upon us and that feels good.

As part of my Year of Presence project, I want to recap each month and hone in on a few items that really need my focus.

January was a good to start to the YOP. After a bad class, I would take a breath and remind myself to have more patience, or give people a break. I don’t want my short temper to ruin relationships here, so I constantly am reminding myself to breath and try again. It’s helping, I think. Recently, I was extremely frustrated with one of my classes because I can’t motivate the students and get them to participate. I vowed the next day that I would walk in with a smile and encouraging voice. The class started rocky, but I continued to smile and eventually hands started to rise when I asked questions. I left the class skipping.

Lately, a strong bout of loneliness has set in. I miss my friends and family back home and my relationships here still developing, so I crave life chats, silly antics and just retelling my day to someone besides my journal. The loneliness directs me to Facebook, which I really need to wean myself off of. To battle both issues, I’ve written more letters this month than I did in all of training. If I want to hear from a friend in the U.S. I write a letter instead of a wall post or message. I love the feeling of taking a stack of thick envelopes to the post office and imagining people’s reactions as they open their mailbox and find a letter from Africa.

This month, I’ve also really focused on my health. If I feel strong and happy about how I treat my body, I’ve realized, it impacts how I react to the rest of the world. Before 6 a.m., I am usually out the door, enjoying familiar tunes and a hard run as the sun peaks over the mountains. It’s an amazing start to the day.

Although I’ve made some adjustments, there are still many things I need to do in order to live fully in the present. It’s OK for me to miss home and certain comforts, such as coffee shops and yoga classes, but I need to let go of worries about what will become of me when my service is finished. The next phase will happen when it does, but I can’t let anxiety about it now overshadow the incredibleness of this experience.

The first month of the YOP was a great experiment and am I excited to continue work on it and grow in the second month.

Happy February.