it's raining a soft rain, and i was really hoping for sun. but that is life, isn't it. one of my dear friends is back in the hospital for something like the 10th time this year- he wanted even less, just to not feel so sick- just to feel normal. one of jude's classmates just wants to be a six year old boy, but he has cancer. that's life, it shouldn't be, but it is, it's the suckiest part of life.
driving into kampala today, written on the back window of the matatu in front of me was, "life is struggle". it stared at me for many kilometers. for some reason, leaving out the "a" made it more firm. more definitive. it wasn't "life is a struggle" as in, life is also many other things. it was just "life is struggle"- it is- no way around it. i thought about how deeply true that is and how much more i notice that here as i watch people collecting firewood, going for water, carrying small children on their backs and large bundles on their heads. i think about it every time it rains all night and i hear it pounding down on our tin roof and i think about the majority of people here who's roofs are made of much less secure material- who have to tolerate a very wet night, a muddy floor, often with concurrent illness. i think about it when i hear people talk about the death of their family members- not as a life altering event- but as a normal life event. life is struggle. it is and it will be.
so why are we always so shocked? in africa, people seem to tolerate it more- all of it- the big struggles and the little struggles. i can get myself completely worked up over almost nothing- at the injustice of it all- showing my true muzungu-ness. florence will say, "yes, the power, it has gone." not, "i can't believe the power is out again! how are we supposed to get anything done around here when the electricity is out.. blah blah blah." she says it as if it's like the weather, something we have no control over, which is pretty much true. i think about it like it's broken and needs to be fixed. and while i envy this calm approach to life's challenges when it comes to things like power outages, it seems troubling to me, when there is such acceptance over the larger struggles- the big ones- the ones that stop most of us in our tracks and force us to ask the tough questions- the ones like, "where is God?" or "how can a loving God allow all this tragedy?"
here, there seems to be less questioning and more acceptance. maybe it's a volume issue- there is proportionally more death and sickness and loss and poverty and struggle to just live, that people can't get all worked up about it. they don't have time to be broken, again, and again, over loss. it's like after several days with mostly no power, the situation flips and instead of being surprised and annoyed that there is no power, we are thrilled and excited when there actually is power.
it also makes me wonder about our cultural response to "life is struggle". like when a child falls down, there is that brief moment when they look to an adult before they chose a response. if the adult shouts or loudly exclaims their concern, the child will instantly begin to cry and carry on. but if the adult calmly tells the child they're okay, the child will usually get up and continue playing. perhaps the american cultural response to the struggle of life is all about the adult scream factor.
i'm not at all down playing the intensity, the sorrow, or the pain of life's struggles- in america or in africa. just noticing a difference and wondering about it. and like most of the differences i notice- i think the ideal response lies somewhere in the middle- somewhere between acceptance and rejection.
i used to be so surprised doing palliative care in the US with the amount of shock and bafflement that almost everyone had over a diagnosis of cancer- or serious organ failure. not surprised by the sorrow or overwhelm or distress, just surprised by their surprise- as if we won't all get illness, even bad illness, and eventually die. but i'm sure when i get my diagnosis, when my hour is up, i'll be shocked too- 'how could it be now?' i've been equally surprised doing medicine here, by the lack of shock over death and dying. i recall a few years ago, prior to the availability of ARVs (anti-retroviral drugs for HIV), a dying man being delivered to the door of our clinic on a blanket. the healthcare workers were so annoyed- saying things like, "why are they bringing him here! as if there is anything we can do now! let him die elsewhere- let him die at home." i remember thinking how callous this was, how awful that the last words this man might hear are words of rejection, so i sat by him, rubbed his back, held his hand. but that was easy for me- because i wasn't living in a community wracked by death- i wasn't worn thin from burying my relatives.
life is struggle. it is, it has been and it will be- no matter what our response. but maybe we should submit and question, receive and strive for betterment. hold the tension of the opposites, the yin yang. there is wholeness.
it's not raining now, it's dark and i'm on my way home. the matatu in front of me is also full of truth. "life goes on" it reads. wisdom on road.
driving into kampala today, written on the back window of the matatu in front of me was, "life is struggle". it stared at me for many kilometers. for some reason, leaving out the "a" made it more firm. more definitive. it wasn't "life is a struggle" as in, life is also many other things. it was just "life is struggle"- it is- no way around it. i thought about how deeply true that is and how much more i notice that here as i watch people collecting firewood, going for water, carrying small children on their backs and large bundles on their heads. i think about it every time it rains all night and i hear it pounding down on our tin roof and i think about the majority of people here who's roofs are made of much less secure material- who have to tolerate a very wet night, a muddy floor, often with concurrent illness. i think about it when i hear people talk about the death of their family members- not as a life altering event- but as a normal life event. life is struggle. it is and it will be.
so why are we always so shocked? in africa, people seem to tolerate it more- all of it- the big struggles and the little struggles. i can get myself completely worked up over almost nothing- at the injustice of it all- showing my true muzungu-ness. florence will say, "yes, the power, it has gone." not, "i can't believe the power is out again! how are we supposed to get anything done around here when the electricity is out.. blah blah blah." she says it as if it's like the weather, something we have no control over, which is pretty much true. i think about it like it's broken and needs to be fixed. and while i envy this calm approach to life's challenges when it comes to things like power outages, it seems troubling to me, when there is such acceptance over the larger struggles- the big ones- the ones that stop most of us in our tracks and force us to ask the tough questions- the ones like, "where is God?" or "how can a loving God allow all this tragedy?"
here, there seems to be less questioning and more acceptance. maybe it's a volume issue- there is proportionally more death and sickness and loss and poverty and struggle to just live, that people can't get all worked up about it. they don't have time to be broken, again, and again, over loss. it's like after several days with mostly no power, the situation flips and instead of being surprised and annoyed that there is no power, we are thrilled and excited when there actually is power.
it also makes me wonder about our cultural response to "life is struggle". like when a child falls down, there is that brief moment when they look to an adult before they chose a response. if the adult shouts or loudly exclaims their concern, the child will instantly begin to cry and carry on. but if the adult calmly tells the child they're okay, the child will usually get up and continue playing. perhaps the american cultural response to the struggle of life is all about the adult scream factor.
i'm not at all down playing the intensity, the sorrow, or the pain of life's struggles- in america or in africa. just noticing a difference and wondering about it. and like most of the differences i notice- i think the ideal response lies somewhere in the middle- somewhere between acceptance and rejection.
i used to be so surprised doing palliative care in the US with the amount of shock and bafflement that almost everyone had over a diagnosis of cancer- or serious organ failure. not surprised by the sorrow or overwhelm or distress, just surprised by their surprise- as if we won't all get illness, even bad illness, and eventually die. but i'm sure when i get my diagnosis, when my hour is up, i'll be shocked too- 'how could it be now?' i've been equally surprised doing medicine here, by the lack of shock over death and dying. i recall a few years ago, prior to the availability of ARVs (anti-retroviral drugs for HIV), a dying man being delivered to the door of our clinic on a blanket. the healthcare workers were so annoyed- saying things like, "why are they bringing him here! as if there is anything we can do now! let him die elsewhere- let him die at home." i remember thinking how callous this was, how awful that the last words this man might hear are words of rejection, so i sat by him, rubbed his back, held his hand. but that was easy for me- because i wasn't living in a community wracked by death- i wasn't worn thin from burying my relatives.
life is struggle. it is, it has been and it will be- no matter what our response. but maybe we should submit and question, receive and strive for betterment. hold the tension of the opposites, the yin yang. there is wholeness.
it's not raining now, it's dark and i'm on my way home. the matatu in front of me is also full of truth. "life goes on" it reads. wisdom on road.
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