Tilling the ground

I wrote about quarantine long before it was actually a thing. Seems like the whole world is locked inside now, but it's not much of a change for us. Luckily, since we live on campus, our "back-yard" is vast. There is much to be grateful for in that sense.

I have been thinking back to other lock downs and pending evacuations. The first time it happened in Congo I was torn between having the school potentially require me to leave and feeling that there was no better place to be than exactly where I was.

In the face of these new uncertain times, no such dilemma ensued. In fact, our school borderline required us to stay. Not in so many words, of course, but there was definitely, initially, a lot of pressure. This didn't really influence my decision, as the only other place I'd rather be wasn't really available at the moment. I do think most people with families should have been encouraged to join them as soon as possible. As a result, there are quite a few families and singles waiting on evacuation flights. I've heard these last minute flights have gone off without too much of a hitch in some other West African nations. Not here, naturally.

While no one is exactly sure why, the emergency flights set up for this week were postponed and rescheduled every day, until finally being cancelled 'until further notice.' It seems to have something to do with negotiations around allowing the pilots into the airport. Clearly not successful. It might be too late.

We are in the awkward position of watching our family and friends around the globe battle this illness as it makes it way to Africa. I have been hoping against hope that somehow Africa will be spared the worst of it. She has suffered so often and bears so much of the pain of life, I would be grateful to see her sit this one out. It's time, I think. She has certainly paid her dues.

I have no doubt we all be touched this. The virus travels in humans, and witnessing the spread from country to country and across continents proves how interconnected we all are. Our family recently received that middle of the night call that everyone dreads. Except it came in the afternoon. Having the sun shining while hearing of death doesn't make the knees stronger. It doesn't stop the heart from dropping or the tears from flowing. And now we are filled up with sadness. Our personal sadness, the sadness of thousands of families losing the ones they love, and sadness at the injustice of it all. Beneath the tragedies, lies a basic foundation of injustice and we can only hope that somehow, in the rebuilding of new systems, the ground will be dug up, turned over and a truly fresh start ensues.

Abraham's story

Jan. 31, 2009
Since the beginning of time, the story of Abraham has terrified me. For awhile, it was my excuse for aversion to religion. I did not believe I could pass such a test, nor did I want to be involved with a God who would command one. But of course, we are all involved with God , through our acceptance or denial, and I’ve yet to come to terms with such a test but continue to struggle in my faith.

I remember planning, on this cusp of a year anniversary, the things I would bring here to Africa to sustain me. I remember entertaining the thought of being sustained only by the Qu’ran for a year of discovery and growth. And I have thought of this frequently as I’ve devoured nearly every (worthwhile?) book in the high school library (and am certain to complete the task by the end of next year.)

I have been reading voraciously here as there are few opportunities for socialization or entertainment. Books have become a source of company. My choices have held several lessons for me and many have involved themes of philosophy and religion. It has almost been uncanny the way they lead me back to my original plan of self-reflection and understanding. Of finding faith.

But my fear remains. I am deeply entrenched in a Christian community and often uncomfortable by it. Perhaps I should say, it serves to reinforce my own faith. I actually have quite a few Muslim students but their orthodoxy follows something either a bit too strong for me or something completely alien. There is a strand here, popular in the Indian community, that is unknown to me. And I haven’t taken the time to understand it.

I have a distinct memory, several years ago, of teaching in a NY school during the Christmas holiday period. The school allowed carolers to come around and sing in the hallways. It was early in my discovery of the truth and I was filled with all the righteous indignation and excitement of one who believes they know what others cannot yet see. When they began singing songs of Jesus in a manager, my heart began to beat wildly and my face grew hot. I retreated in a panic to my classroom and settled into a chair behind my desk, breathing slow and deep in search of calm composure.

I’ve since come to better terms with the Jesus issue and managed to merge my Catholic school upbringing with my Muslim beliefs. But I frequently feel the same sense of alienation and detachment here. While I can honor Jesus as a prophet, I cannot pray to his name, there is only one God.

But I did not mean to come here to begin a discussion or debate of religious views. Actually, I returned to the subject of Abraham as related to the dissolution of yet another relationship, as once writ and discarded under the auspices of a ‘tell some but not a tell-all.’ It has turned into yet another war, with the casualty of children.

It is not something I think I can endure again, as once proved enough to nearly undo me- and probably served grandly as a catalyst for this very moment.