Trees Tall as Mountains (The Journey Mama Writings: Book 1)
Page 25
You may have the best traveling companions ever; women who don't blink when asked to use a hole in the ground as La Toilette. Together you will laugh and laugh and laugh, almost more than you have laughed ever in a five day period. Because these people who are hosting you sure do believe in laughter.
You may arrive home and be incredibly sick, running to the bathroom more times than you can possibly count. You would go back to Burkina Faso again if you could, sixteen times if you could, even if you had to be sick like this every time.
You may arrive home and wonder who those kids are, and then realize with a shock that they are yours! And that though ten days is not a long time, you have traveled light years away, and coming back is like coming from a long, long distance. You will hug them and cuddle for hours. You will look around at your incredible wealth and feel undeserving. You will never be the same.
December 8, 2007
You think that you won't forget, but you do.
When you are there you feel that the red dust has crept all the way inside of you, that you will never look again at your world of wealth with the same eyes, that your ribcage holds a whole new heart.
You feel that this new music is yours forever, that the drums have found their way inside your bones, that the voices will never stop ringing, that the laughter will continue and you will always see white smiles flashing, that you will be able to bring some of this joy back.
You know that never again will you waste food or water, that a simple thing like a grocery store will always feel like a palace, that you will not forget the bad millet harvest, the fact that the well goes dry for four months a year. You will remember. You will not settle back in.
But you don't. And you do. And quickly wealth is normal again, and you are not sitting under the shade of a tree in a village with red dust and chickens and children all around you. You are not drinking Nescafé, you are speaking English naturally again, and you are forgetting, you are settling, you are giving a cursory nod to the teller at the grocery store rather than shaking his hand and greeting him.
December 12, 2007
Do you know when you have those days? I was having one yesterday. Tomato cans were falling off shelves all around me, I almost started sucking my thumb, I felt self-conscious and insecure with a ferocity that was sickening and pitiable. These days have not been totally infrequent lately, in adjusting to this new life, outside of the strong gravity of the Land, the structure of my days there.
Actually, because of my fairly major problems with anxiety, these days have not been totally infrequent during the course of my life, but that's beside the point.
Do you know how, when you attempt to talk to your husband about how you're feeling, and you're all- Please tell me I'm not crazy- he looks at you like he's wondering which boulder you overturned to crawl out from the bowels of the earth and pretty much says- No, you really are crazy?
(This is not to put down the absolute caring and overwhelming love of your husband, who would stand on coals to help you, either that or just juggle work and kids for eleven days so that you can take a trip to Africa, all without ever mentioning a word about the sacrifice he's making, which, you should mention, is soooo much better than you would do or have done in his place. It's just that he doesn't always understand your particular brand of insanity.)
So then, misplaced and feeling abused, you drag your feet around your carpets and then finally call your good friend Tammie, that friend who lives on an incredible ranch in your old stomping grounds to the north. The Tammie who gave you a new espresso machine- which arrived in the mail right before you left for Burkina Faso, replacing the one that died in the car accident.
And you have been using it every day but because you couldn't upload the picture of it when you wanted to blog about it, you didn't mention it to her until she asked you yesterday (YESTERDAY) whether you had received it. And you know that you are a lout (LOUT!) because good golly already.
But the point is that you tell her all about your feelings and it is as if you have been trying to speak French all along, and things keep getting missed in translation, but now you have found someone who speaks the English you speak, or maybe the Russian you speak, if you speak Russian, and she understands! And she tells you that you are not crazy, which is important, or maybe it is that you are both crazy, but there is kinship there, which is the most important. It's that kinship of women who have a language that is unintelligible, at times, to the men who love them. It emotional, it's not logical! Sometimes it's not even right, but it's understood.
December 15, 2007
It's strange how sometimes all we know of an entire continent is what is given to us by the media. We only hear of war, atrocities, tragedy, famine, and epidemic disease. Where are the people in all of this? Are they lost? Do we understand that they have stories?
I remember that we were driving in the Land Cruiser, packed in cozily with that same red dust working its way into our eyebrows and our teeth. The 4x4, or quat-quat, as they say in Burkina Faso, was being given its exercise, helping us travel along roads as pocked as the surface of the moon.
Through the roar of the air outside and the laughter of the people inside, we talked.
All we have is our feeling, he told me.
Your feeling? I asked.
When we see a poor man, we think- that could be me, he said. Or if it is a rich man, we know that maybe next year we will be in his place. Everyone can put himself in the place of his brother. It is why we help each other.
Oh- like empathy.
It is all we have, he went on. We Africans, we have no power in the world, we have no product, no money, nothing. We only have our feeling.
I see this feeling. You treat every man like a brother.
If it is taken away we will have nothing. It seems that people want to take this away- I don't know why... He shrugs, hands out. I don't know why. But we can't lose it, or we will have nothing.
December 18, 2007
Hard truths.
Sometimes people you love get sick and don't seem to get better.
Please please please please please please please please please please please please
Everything you work for erupts underneath your feet
I didn't mean to I didn't mean to I didn't mean to I didn't mean to I didn't mean to
You leave your beloved home- you have to say goodbye
I loved you I loved you I loved you I loved you I loved you I loved you I loved you
You reach out for support and find anger. You will never make it. You will never be enough. You have a fatal flaw.
I am done I am done I am done I am done I am done I am done I am done I am done
Things will never be like they were. You need to close that door.
I am sorry.
December 19, 2007
There are ten thousand beautiful things surrounding me, visible and invisible-- I shuffle along in their midst, the days trickle in and out with a cloud of joy, children are always laughing around me.
The joy of service, the service of love, the fact that love can cover and comfort and remove those black marks that end up covering our bright blue skies.
Christmas, the lights, the making of gifts and cards and my children are writing books and I am free. There is love, there is wonder, there is love. I can't say enough about it, it is the kind that will welcome us home. Birth, rebirth, the shooting star wonder of Life entering the world-- we turn our heads with tears in our eyes, look back when we can to see blinding hope.
December 20, 2007
Honey, can we talk? -
Of course we can talk.
Good.
Wha-why are you acting so strange?
Just look into my eyes and try to read my mind.
(Significant Pause)
NO WAY!
Yes way.
WHATTTT??!
I know.
But HOW?
Damned if I know.
But we-
I know.<
br />
Are you SERIOUS?
Totally serious.
When?
This morning.
Whoa.
(Hugging and Kissing and Staring in Disbelief.)
You're pretty good at reading my mind!
December 20, 2007
There were so many points along the way that I probably should have figured it out.
Like when the women at the airport in Burkina Faso said to me, "You are pregnant?" and when I shook my head and acted a little offended they craned their necks to see my belly better and discussed it amongst themselves, obviously not believing. I mean, I know I need to work on my belly a little, but jeez.
Or then, crying when I was talking to the head guy of the project I'm working on.
Crying when I was talking to my employer on the phone.
Crying when I bumped our van tire into the curb.
Crying in Burkina Faso when I felt like I was lost on a long road of translation errors.
Or the fact that my belly just kept expanding. Or meeting another old friend who happens to be a nurse at my friend's party and becoming offended because he pointed at my stomach and asked me if this was baby number four.
Turns out everyone's smarter than me.
I'm ecstatic. It's not exactly what I would have picked, but I'm not in charge. And yes, we were being careful. Like that ever works for us.
But now that I'm pregnant, (I'm pregnant!) I can be so so so excited about another little roly poly to curl up on my belly.
December 22, 2007
Does anybody else ever feel tempted to go and buy more pregnancy tests, after you discover you are pregnant, just to have the thrill of seeing that little line magically show up? Or is that just me?
*
Things I still have:
Pregnancy vitamins
About four pounds of pregnancy tea, made of alfalfa, oat straw, nettles, and raspberry leaf. I can't extoll the benefits of this tea enough. However, it takes like food for horses.
Things I don't have anymore:
Maternity clothes.
*
I am so big already. None of my pants fit. I can't believe that I went from wondering vaguely if there was something weird going on, a few days ago, to undoing the button on my pants repeatedly, only to do it back up when they fall down when I stand up, now. I look pregnant. There's no other word for it. I think I may have been in a strong form of denial, assuming there were other reasons for every symptom I had.
*
This seems like perfect timing. I think that if I had discovered that I was pregnant a few months ago, I would have stomped around whining, "It's my body! I'm not ready to share it again!" But now it's like my organs are telling me, "We were getting a little lonely in here anyways..."
December 23, 2007
I have no idea how far along I am in this pregnancy. Which is a result of my poor memory and lack of cycle recording skills. I found myself looking through my planner, thinking, Thanksgiving... someone had cramps on Thanksgiving... nope, that wasn't me, that was a friend of mine… I think it was before then...
If I had to guess, I'd say that I'm probably six weeks along. But it could be five. Oh, I really have no idea.
As for my expanding belly, let's just say that with Kai, it took four months before you could even tell that I was pregnant. But with Kenya? I was hounding the doctor at six weeks because I was sure, I was SURE that I was having twins. But no. There was just one little baby in my belly. And then with Leafy the same thing happened. Also I gain more weight every pregnancy. Also I weigh more pre-pregnancy this time than after I had Leafy. I attribute some of it to my hair. But let's not focus too much on weight gain, shall we?
We are flying to Detroit tomorrow to spend Christmas with Chinua's family. It promises to be a rocking late-night, good time. I never understood my husband's leaning toward the very late night until I started hanging out with his family, and noted people casually hanging out at two in the morning like it was the middle of the afternoon.
We are pretty excited, since we don't get out there nearly as often as we would like to. They require an arm and a leg and your lips and a few eyelashes if you want to purchase a ticket. I did find an incredible deal if only we would fly on Christmas Eve, to which I replied, sign me UP. And I've already been told to bring an extra suitcase. For gifts. I don't think I need to worry about the kids this year.
So, it may be a while before I get to see anybody about this pregnancy. This would not have gone over well in the past, but I've learned a little about babies in the womb. They usually do pretty okay if you just forget about them and eat really well and sleep when you need to and read to your kids.
December 26, 2007
I have to admit that I was a little worried about my Kenya girl. She is- how should I say it? demonstrative? particular? insanely aware? about and over and around her desires and non-desires.
For example, when I woke her up early in the morning the other day, so that we could, you know, get to the airport, she shrieked, "I NEED SO MUCH SLEEP!" and then scrambled back into her bed again and again while I repeatedly dragged her tiny behind out. She also charmingly stiffened her legs while I tried to get her dressed. I was stoked!
She's right, though. She needs a lot of sleep. If she has a lot of sleep, the sweet, wonderful, amiable girl that we love radiates like a small star. If she doesn't, well, I'm sometimes afraid. It's one of the reasons I'm glad to be homeschooling. If I had to shovel this child onto a bus at 7:30, like my mother did when I was in school, well, I whimper thinking about it.
But after a day of flying with a small sprite who seemed to be slightly offended that we were traveling without consulting her, (I should mention that all the kids were really good, even if Kenya was slightly offended) I was a little concerned about her reaction to SO much family. We haven't been out here since she was a little over a year old.
But I didn't need to worry. She is wonderful and she is herself, and she is having the time of her life with her aunties and her cousin (the one who looks like Kai, she says) and the little dog who lives here whose name is Harry and who sports a "King of Karaoke" shirt. ("He's the King of Karaoke?" Chinua's brother asked. "He really is good," I said.)
They all are taking to Detroit like ducks to water.
And this, in no particular order, is a list of what I ate yesterday:
Banana pudding (Amazing with a capital A)
Dressing
Fried corn
Greens
More greens made by someone else
Curried chicken
Turkey
Gravy of course
Green beans the likes of which I have never tasted
Macaroni and cheese the likes of which I have never before tasted in. my. life.
Yams
Potato Salad
Sweet Potato Pie
Pumpkin Cheesecake
Peach Apple Cobbler
Leafy had three pieces of Sweet Potato Pie. And I only had a bite of some things. I think my tendency to visit Chinua's family in early pregnancy is going to lead to some wild rumors about the size of my appetite.
December 27, 2007
I've written about some of the obvious signs that I should have noticed earlier; signs that I'm a raving pregnant woman, and thus, my erratic actions are completely normal. One more that I've noted is my obsession with matzo ball soup. Because it is very pregnant of me to crave Jewish food like I will absolutely die if I can't have some bagel with lox already. It's a three times proven pregnancy symptom of mine.
And so the other evening, the kids and I were making the matzo balls, which means that I was making them and they were just kind of mucking around in the matzo mix. Don't you want to come to our house for dinner now? I promise that we washed our hands.
Kai then asked me, "Is this going to be enough matzo carnage?"
I paused in my ball rolling and stared at him. "Matzo what?"
He looked back at me, a little hesit
antly, but still fairly sure. "Matzo carnage. You know, what you make matzo balls out of. Carnage is something you make bread and cookies and matzo balls out of."
I resumed rolling. "I'm not totally sure, Kai, but I think the word you're looking for may be dough."
December 29, 2007
One thing that I'm loving about being pregnant this time is Kai's special attention to it. He's always been encouraging about having more babies, this one. Kai is possibly the most socially oriented kid that I've met. He just wants to hang out with people, all the time. And since Kenya was born when he was nineteen months old, he doesn't remember not being a brother. So, every day, the child is asking me whether we can have ten kids. Sometimes he asks me if we can have 3211 kids, a show off number. To which I reply, "NO, no no." Obviously.
But I was happy to be able to tell him that we really are going to have another baby. To say that he is excited would be like saying that he likes mangoes. He adores mangoes, and he is coming out of his skin about the baby.
Every day, he asks, "Do you need to rest, for your baby?" or "Do you need some food, for your baby?" All this chivalry is making me swoon.
Yesterday he asked, "Are you going to have milk in your num-nums again, for your baby?" We've always called breast milk ";", and I have no idea where in the world the kids got the idea that the vehicle(s) for milk were the num-nums, not the milk itself. Kenya will hold up one of my bras and say, "Is this for your num-nums?" and I just say yes. I guess it could be embarrassing later on, if they continue to believe that breasts are called num-nums, but for now, it's just really cute.