I was going through some old writings and found a journal from October 2013 (one of my first months at site). The scene is me house/dog-sitting for a neighbor while Scott was away for work (which was just starting to happen at that time). I think it encapsulates some of the roller coaster of emotions you feel when you are just beginning to start real life in a new place. Enjoy.
"10/28/13
I sit staring blankly at a white wall. The paint is cracked and chipping. I need something to help me express the stifled frustration I feel but every wave of creativity crashes impotently against a dam instead of the shore.
Foreign crickets sing a familiar song outside the bars on the window. Each sound makes me jump.
Everything is foreign. Everything is unnerving. Even the dog sighs in
frustration- bored with the walls, bored with the crickets, bored with this
waiting.
I want to write a story. I want to paint a picture- to do that,
however, requires an idea and paint, all of which I don’t have.
I miss my husband. The strange thing is that if he were here
I would never get a word out. I’d never experience this frustration and boredom
that plagues every other volunteer. I’d watch a vapid movie, make a kissy face
and go to bed. Is this feeling a plus? It’s not- I know it’s not. But it does
give me something besides happiness and contentment to feel which is at least a
new experience and that’s something to grow from.
We got a package today. It was like Easter morning. Jean is
really a fantastic gift giver. One of her surprising talents. It’s probably because she asks people for
exactly what they want even when they don’t realize it.
The faint and familiar beat of Rhumba music thuds in the
distance. What should be growls and bird calls are just another of the same 12
songs that always play at this point in the evening. It’s a Monday night, but I
guess that’s little worry for many Zambians who have a completely unstructured
workday.
I talk about Zambians too broadly. It’s racist. I keep saying
“they do this” “they like that” when I’ve seen many Zambians who have never fit
that mold. It’s the same thing I rail against. I stereotype to make it easy,
but that’s just backward and more importantly wrong.
Mangoes keep hitting the roof. I think, “Is that someone
jumping over the fence to weld off the bars on my door, slit my throat and take
my laptop?” No- it’s just a mango. Go to sleep and quit being an
idiot.
When Scott’s not around I’m a much more negative and
critical person. When he’s around everything is better and that’s not just
blowing smoke, it’s just a fact.
Someone throws trash in the pit outside. I self-consciously
realize I don’t know the number for the police. I do have a dog and for about 3
minutes that will make a difference until they stab or shoot it. I should really stop thinking about it.
I took a cab from Choma today. On my own. I am strangely
proud of myself anytime I am outside of the house by myself. I feel like a kid on the
first day of school. I have no idea who my friends will be or who will try to
take my lunch money. Most of the time I’m all too comfortable staying in and
being frustrated and bored. That’s not okay. I blame the hard knock life of the "city" but if I were to be honest the village would be just as intimidating- although
I’d have a host family in my corner telling the other villagers, “Nah man, she’s
cool.” Here, I’m just Muzungu.
I’m surrounded by things I should be doing but don’t.
A car door slams. My heart pounds. Then I
worry about my heart. Why does my chest hurt so much? Probably because you’re a
ridiculous hypochondriac. I think most people who are prone to anxiety and have
any medical knowledge should be. Maybe if I became a medical doctor I’d quit
fearing things and just smile bemusedly at people like me who think they know
something but obviously have no clue. I’d probably be an arrogant dick like
that but I’d mask it because I do genuinely care about people.
Was that a rat? What could make that noise besides a rat? A
stuck handle on a faucet?
I watched City of God last night. It was a gritty movie
about hard people living hard lives. It made me a little more nervous that
1960/70s Brazil happened on the same planet as me.
I ate lunch with a new PCV yesterday. It was a bit awkward and kind of felt like a
date. I feel like I have to somehow be prove my worthiness as a mate through
conversation. Which is, in all lights, ridiculous.
I really want to write a book. They say write what you know
but who wants to hear another PCV story? It’s pretty much rehashed in about a
million different ways at this point- left all that you know to find something
you didn’t expect. I can hear the daytime Emmy nominations now. Julia Roberts
will play me in the movie and I’ll just shake my head because, really, she
looks nothing like me. Her skin's too nice.
It’s almost Halloween but it doesn’t feel like it. Even if I
got a costume, dressed up and ate candy, I’d still feel like I was in a play
because there is absolutely no context for it. I live in a vacuous time without
holidays. There aren't really seasons here, so, it just makes it feel like one
long summer vacation. Even cold season is just less hot season or not quite
rainy season. I want a pumpkin and people to appreciate it. I want to realize I
should have brought a jacket. Or get in an automatic car and drive…anywhere. I
hate driving, by the way, but I want to do it for at least a little bit until I
realize how much I hate it again or realize how I never gave it a fair shake.
The dog wants me to pet her belly. When I don’t, she gets up
to breathe in my face.
I’m reluctant to get up from my post near the entrances to
the house to take a shower and/or sleep. This, too, is crazy since I’ve stayed
here several times alone without any indication of insecurity. Mood changes
without stimulation or evidence from the environment is certainly a sign of
insanity.
Stream of consciousness writing is a much more effective way
to journal. I’ll remember more of how I feel moment to moment rather than how I
remember feeling in general years later. Maybe Faulkner was on to something.
Maybe… he was fucking crazy though."
