Today was a very hard day for me. I have debated whether to really fully share it all in this blog. I hesitate partly from a concern that I will fail in finding the right words to describe today, and partly from a concern of how transparent I really should be in a public blog like this. I wonder if it is wise to really be so transparent and vulnerable.
But yet, here I am writing, mostly because I am hoping that this process will help me sort out what is stirring in my soul.
I have struggled all day, all week really, wondering how much I should let myself feel. How much can I really let in. How much a wall should I put up so I don’t fully feel all the emotion stirred up by being around so much poverty, need and injustice.
The group of us here have been talking about the Celtic spirituality understanding of being in a “thin place”, which describes those times and events in our lives that put us and our soul in a position so fully open to the presence of the divine, that there seems to be only a slim veil between us and God. These are times when we seem the most aware of God’s presence in the world and in our lives. These are times when we find our own emotions running close to the surface.
The whole group here agrees that being in Africa, and especially in this setting of service to the children, is holding us constantly in that “thin place.”
But for some reason, for me, today, it has been particularly acute. Maybe it’s because I know that in only a few days I will be leaving, and emotionally I have started that process of disconnecting, and looking for some closure. All morning, I was just feeling emotional, making connections in my head about how deeply I have been affected by these children, and the loss they have suffered as orphans, and the extreme poverty that surrounds their lives. And yet, in some twisted-upside-down-world kind of way, they are the lucky ones. These 42 children, unlike the other 400 who attend school with them from this area, have food to eat, every day, more than once a day, and they know there will be plenty more food tomorrow. These children have clean clothes to wear. They have a safe, dry place to live and sleep. They have clean water to drink at every moment, they can flush their toilet, they bathe everday. They have access to health care. They receive one-on-one attention and tutoring. They are loved, hugged, and cared for everyday. They are not beaten and abused.
This brings me to today.
This afternoon, we visited the local primary school again, this time during the school day, in order to see it all in action. We were warmly and excitedly greeted by the principal and other teachers. The school is yet another extreme example of the paradox of Tanzania. The school facilities are awful, and beyond the imagination of what is acceptable for children to learn. 50-60 children crammed in a rundown barren room, sharing 5 or 6 textbooks. There are only 8 teachers serving the whole school, so many classes actually don’t even have a teacher in them, so when a teacher can slip away, they pop in and spend time with that class.
And yet, each class we visited, we were greeted with joy, and a song. The first moment we walked in the first class, all the kids stood, and began to sing us a song of welcome. I, along with others in the group, were caught so off guard, we had to fight back falling into tears because we were afraid we would frighten the children with our emotional response.
With each class, the welcome was repeated. They would also sing their motto “Education is the key to life.”
There is such a palpable eagerness to learn from the children at the schoo, in spite to the overwhelming lack of possibilities for these children to escape their parents fate of picking coffee beans on the mountain all day long, only to struggle to live off the $300 a YEAR such work may bring in.
The presence of four white people walking around the school, taking pictures. certainly stirred up excitement in the school
It was a beautiful and awful experience all at once.
The Rift Valley Children’s Village will soon be moving into fuller oversight of the school, and many things will be improved in terms of facilities, supplies, curriculum, and teachers. It will likely become a bit more beautiful, and a little less awful. But it seems like it can’t happen soon enough, and I admit, I found myself walking around thinking we ought to be a part of that solution.
And I fought the whole time wondering how much I could afford to allow myself to feel.
Our walk home took us by the local plantation workcamp, filled with falling down, brick walled, mud floor huts. This housing has no electricity or indoor water or plumbing. There is common spigot in the field for the villagers to access contaminated water. A rush of young children dressed in rags came at us smiling and laughing, almost seemingly to serve as an exclamation point to the day.
When we got back, I finished reading another book that was giving to me by a young adult at St. Paul’s, Mountains beyond Moutains, the story of Dr Paul Farmer (more about that another time.) I went to meet up with one of the children here, Benja. We had an appointment to play a little video game on my cell phone before dinner. It’s a really fun way to connect with him. As we sat on the steps of one of the buildings, India Howell, the Director and Founder of The Rift Valley Children’s Village, came over and touched Benja’s head and said, “Hey bud, you doing ok? I am doing everything I can to make sure nothing like that happens ever again.”
What I soon found out was sometime after we left the school, Benja was physically beaten by one of the teachers at the school. We was hit on the thighs with a stick, as he lay on the ground in the middle of the school courtyard. He was beaten so hard, it left welts on him. The other students witnessed the abuse, and reported it to India. Why was Benja being punished so severely? For being late in returning to class after recess.
Corporal punishment in school is still legal, under some very strict guidelines, none of which were followed in Benja’s case. But these laws aren’t in line with lingering cultural morays, and the abuse of children in school, and women at home, still occurs at alarming rates.
As the orphanage moves into greater influence and management at the school, these not only will the physical improvements happen at the school, but so will these type of incidents, and abuse will not be tolerated.
Every child deserves as much.
And I fought the whole time wondering how much I could afford to allow myself to feel.
And yet, I decided I want to feel it all, I even had to say the words out loud while on a walk, “God, I want to feel it all! I can do this, I can make it, I can be that open, that vulnerable. I am afraid, but I know I can do this.”
Sam,
I commend you for continuing the struggle to remain open, and for linking this struggle to your faith journey. Thank you for sharing your experience with us. There is suffering and beauty all over the world, if only we open our eyes and hearts to it. Keep breathing peace - your positive energy is indeed a healing balm.
Thich Nhat Hanh wrote his classic, "The Miracle of Mindfulness" as a letter of encouragement to social service students and workers in Viet Nam in the mid-1970's. Much of what he writes has to do with this spiritual discipline of being present to each moment in order to gain strength to be present to what is in front of you. I know it can be exhilarating and draining all at the same time. Sometimes all you can do is ask God for help.
I also thought of this poem/prayer, as you share with and learn from the children there:
Give Us the Child
Give us the child who lives within —
— the child who trusts,
— the child who imagines,
— the child who sings,
— the child who receives without reservation,
— the child who gives without judgment.
Give us a child's eyes, that we may receive the beauty and freshness of this day like a sunrise;
Give us a child's ears, that we may hear the music of mythical times;
Give us a child's heart, that we may be filled with wonder and delight;
Give us a child's faith, that we may be cured of our cynicism;
Give us the spirit of a child, who is not afraid to need; who is not afraid to love. Amen.
Sarah York in Into the Wilderness
I wish you peace and joy in this, your thin place.
Kate.
Posted by: Kate | August 17, 2007 at 06:32 AM