Ugh.

July 27, 2008

I’m sitting here in my room and, for those of you who are keeping track of the various metaphors in this blog, that means I’m floating. Basically, I’m trying not to have a meltdown.

I feel like throwing up; there’s a low-frequency buzz running through my brain, maybe like snow on old TV sets, and I’m trying really hard not to cry. Maybe I need to cry; maybe that will wash these feelings away.

I miss my family so much. But I will miss Patrick (who calls me “mom”) and my friends here too.

Oh, and on my way back from Sunday breakfast at Bourbon, I saw my first accident. When Dr. J tells us that motos are so dangerous, we have always responded, “But we haven’t seen one accident yet.” Well, that response won’t fly anymore. It happened right under the bridge/sign that indicates where the road splits off from the rond poin. As I was about 50 metres away, I saw children running and then noticed a crowd gathering. I thought maybe the President was passing, but then I noticed that traffic wasn’t moving. Then I realized. I asked a man on my right, “C’est une accidente?” He gave the Rwandan verbalization for assent.

I didn’t see what happened, but a white sedan and a moto collided. There was broken glass on the street, but I didn’t see a moto down. I think the driver was okay, but there was much happening in the back seat of the car, and I believe someone was hurt. I don’t know if the person was a passenger in the car or on the moto.

There were so many people at the scene, and I figured they would know whether a doctor or ambulance was needed, so I kept walking. I passed an older white man with a huge camera, clearly a tourist, and I swear, if I had seen him taking photos of the scene, I would have pushed him over the side of the hill.

So there is this terrific dissonance within me: wanting to stay, wanting to go. But I think the division is a false dichotomy. I know, of course, that I will be physically in one place—and that could be anywhere—but I can live in two cultures. I almost wrote “two worlds,” but my home in the US and my sense of home and belongingness here are in the same physical world.

So if I have any great breakthrough, a new discovery, a major surprise during this trip, it is relearning to trust myself more deeply than I ever have. I am remembering now what it was like being a brand-new mother, having to absolutely trust my instincts about what my son needed, but that lesson in trust seemed easier than now. Then, I could assess either right away or soon if I needed to keep doing what I was doing or adjust or change or call someone for help.

So now I have to trust myself that I can live and work in the US and Rwanda and that that life can have coherence and meaning. It means, of course, that my world is quite a bit larger than it was just a month ago, which may mean that balance will be an issue. Having someone I love like a son on the other side of the earth is mind-boggling (and frankly, heart rending), though I took this into consideration when I committed to sponsoring Patrick. Sustained work with my partners here certainly helps bridge my two personal worlds. I mean, it’s not like I have two lives—wouldn’t that be great?—but I have only the one and for me, there needs to be coherence, alignment between the two places and among all the relationships in my life.

I suppose that this means that my sense of self or my self-identity is stretching a bit. And maybe that’s why I feel like heaving. I do feel afraid. The thing is, though, that I’m not sure of what. Maybe I should try a list:

What if the world economy collapses and the cost of flying over here skyrockets and I can’t afford it?
What if my college closes and I lose my job?
What if something happens to Patrick while I’m in the US?
What if something happens to W and T while I’m in Rwanda?

So the thinker, the technical communicator, in me wants to classify, analyze, sort out these fears. A common denominator looks to be power:
What if something happens beyond my control and I can’t take care of it?

Are these a mother’s fears?

I’m suddenly so sleepy, although it’s 11:00 a.m. here and I’ve slept seven hours. At least I don’t feel like barfing.

Maybe I’ll take a little nap. Everything is too big right now.