I've been having trouble uploading photos but will continue trying. I believe it is actually a problem with the site and they are working on it.
11.8.08
6.8.08
Campus
These few days have been getting to know each other, the campus, and Kinshasa. It has been wonderful for developing cohesiveness but hard on the kids. I am torn between wanting to be around others and needing to be alone. It is a process of listening and watching to see who might be a friend and a test to see if I can really manage the children alone. No. Well, it’s not too bad but Nabih throws fits with regularity. He’s tired and overwhelmed and sometimes I think it would be easier to just stay home. Which is what we did tonight.
There is every kind of character here and I am in flux about the many ironies confronting me. We are in the middle of Africa but it is not the same as being welcomed by the family of dance. I appreciate my secure surroundings and the fact that I can walk home on a dark street in complete safety. I am coming to appreciate some of the neighbors and quick chats or informal stop bys. It could be a community. I wonder if I could fit here.
Just outside the wall I hear the sounds of city life. Children are playing and chickens are roaming. Tonight as I read the boys to sleep, I heard the night drumming with energy. Sometimes it feels like out there is Africa. In here is just a lovely place to be.
The rain forest is beautiful (and I’m told it’s not even really green yet. My eyes cannot prepare for the feast awaiting them.) Today I saw my classroom and became excited about the business of being here. In the summer, I forget how much I love to teach. But the school really is amazing and seems to have so much to offer. I am looking forward to being part of a team again.
Mohamed has made some friends and had some fun riding his bike around. He was so bold as to make his way home alone one day and, though frantic at his absence, I can be glad that he has so quickly learned the way and knew the right place to go. There is a volleyball game on Sundays that will make him happy to join and even a Congolese dance class we may try.
But this is all here, in relative safety and seclusion. It is a different way to be in Africa. I miss the warmth of being around artists, the music and dancing. The easy way of talking without speaking.
With patience things will come, connections that are meant to happen. That is what I am really doing this week; learning how to slow down and to have patience. Life on campus.
There is every kind of character here and I am in flux about the many ironies confronting me. We are in the middle of Africa but it is not the same as being welcomed by the family of dance. I appreciate my secure surroundings and the fact that I can walk home on a dark street in complete safety. I am coming to appreciate some of the neighbors and quick chats or informal stop bys. It could be a community. I wonder if I could fit here.
Just outside the wall I hear the sounds of city life. Children are playing and chickens are roaming. Tonight as I read the boys to sleep, I heard the night drumming with energy. Sometimes it feels like out there is Africa. In here is just a lovely place to be.
The rain forest is beautiful (and I’m told it’s not even really green yet. My eyes cannot prepare for the feast awaiting them.) Today I saw my classroom and became excited about the business of being here. In the summer, I forget how much I love to teach. But the school really is amazing and seems to have so much to offer. I am looking forward to being part of a team again.
Mohamed has made some friends and had some fun riding his bike around. He was so bold as to make his way home alone one day and, though frantic at his absence, I can be glad that he has so quickly learned the way and knew the right place to go. There is a volleyball game on Sundays that will make him happy to join and even a Congolese dance class we may try.
But this is all here, in relative safety and seclusion. It is a different way to be in Africa. I miss the warmth of being around artists, the music and dancing. The easy way of talking without speaking.
With patience things will come, connections that are meant to happen. That is what I am really doing this week; learning how to slow down and to have patience. Life on campus.
The First 24
The plane ride, while long, was rather uneventful. Or rather, when I arrived at the airport I was initially told the flight was closed. With beads of sweat pouring down my face I wondered exactly how I was going to call with the news. I did my very best to concentrate on deep breathing (this is not happening, this will not happen,…) aware that all the passengers were watching me, waiting for a spectacle. Denial works sometimes and after looking at my ticket (not just to Paris but then to Congo...no, there is probably not another connecting flight), some arrangements were made to hastily get me on the plane. The baggage was deemed too heavy and I was frantic to make the flight. I tore open the bag and tried to decide what things could go. Books? Yes the books on teaching poetry and enriching the lives of youth, gone. Not the bag of medicines. String? Yes the bag of string I wanted to make the Huichol Indian yarn paintings, gone. I‘m tearing things out of the bag dropping stuff on the floor and feeling completely ridiculous. There was no maximum weight listed anywhere. Lamine has done this a million times. Isn‘t this what overweight fees are for?!?!
The man eventually helps me out and passes the bag. I rush through security barely saying goodbye, …..all so we could then sit on the tarmac for an hour and a half. I went from running to the gate pulling children and bags behind to sitting impatiently in a cramped airline seat. Only two of the seats were together but the flight attendants managed to work things out. After that, things were fairly uneventful. Nabih had one small moment of being very over tired and hyper active but by then we had nearly arrived. In Paris we did meet 2 other people going to TASOK and so we became a group.
The arrival in Kinshasa, again, uneventful. Perhaps the night air softened things a bit…..the military guys look less severe with their weapons in the shadow of night (though nothing really softens the acrid smell of burning toxins.) There are areas marked by long yellow lines to walk in imposing a rigid military stride on us all. Anytime the group got too wide, we were ushered back to the marked areas. Guinea was that way as well. It seems so strange to be walking in straight lines and corners when the pavement is vast and open (due of course, I suppose to the crowd control technique.) We were quickly ushered to the VIP area where we found ourselves in comfy chairs and sipping Cokes. Nabih had a pretty major meltdown here but it was really nothing compared to the Conakry airport. For that, I suppose I am grateful. Once I may have had the energy to figure it out, but not this time, not with two children.
After our bags had been corralled, we descended into the night. Outside the airport was full of children selling eggs and others just asking for money or singing things of America. Mohamed was confused by this. He saw children looking like his brother but acting so different. It took awhile for everyone to sort their gear and so the kids sat in a car surrounded by other kids gawking in the windows wondering if they “speaka Englis?”.
“Can we go back to America tomorrow?” Mohamed wondered. He then set about the task of comforting Nabih by explaining how we would be leaving tomorrow and Baba would come to get us.
Perhaps here is where it started, listening to the children and their fears, spoken so openly and with a ready solution. Perhaps it grew when there was talk of missing bags or when my last finally arrived but was split open down the side. Somewhere along the way I began to panic.
The house was a complete surprise. I’m not exactly sure what I had been expecting but it was certainly…LESS. I was not prepared for the enormity of the house. I felt swallowed up and overwhelmed. I did not pack any of the things that would be necessary to cozy this place up. It seemed to be vast tile and freshly painted wall space. Three bedrooms (though one is not considered that I suppose. In my world, it’s perfect for 1.) It seemed so big and empty and there wasn’t much hope of us filling it up.
Mohamed made a valiant effort and decided to put away his clothes and toys. He alone unpacked the suitcase and informed me of where, exactly, I could find the clothes for Nabih.
“We are lucky,” he said as he lined up all his toys: a row of cars followed by a row of lizards and then a few wrestling guys. I could tell he was thinking about the airport. “We have a lot of toys. See?” and he passed his arm across the meager collection. It could fit inside a gallon zip loc bag. I love this side of him, seeing his riches for what they are and making no presumptions.
I imagine his little six year old body straddling two worlds- one of nannies and drivers and European vacations with one of boys in the night trying to sell boiled eggs to jet-lagged Americans. It’s up to me to keep his fragile wisdom whole.
So the small storm began again, swirling in my stomach. By the time we had readied for bed it was a raging hurricane of doubt and fear. Surely I had made the biggest mistake to come here alone. I wanted something comfortable and known as much as the children. I wanted to embrace their simple answer of going home to all things familiar. Failing that I wanted someone else to be here to help weather the clouds of change. There was no way to sleep through the inside noise.
Somewhere in the night, my worries turned to the open bag and what might have fallen out. I worried that I had foolishly placed a box of blank checks in there and that it had been stolen. I was certain at that very moment my bank account was being raided of its whole $500 and then drawn negative. I felt so completely and utterly alone. I prayed all night.
In the morning I found my box of checks securely placed and thanked God for supporting me. The next nights passed nearly the same, full of smaller storms of self-doubt. It was not until Monday night that my stomach calmed enough for real sleep. And it is not until tonight that I have remembered why I came. Slowing down is hard and I resist…but I have passed through the most difficult part of the change and am ready to embrace the adventure.
The man eventually helps me out and passes the bag. I rush through security barely saying goodbye, …..all so we could then sit on the tarmac for an hour and a half. I went from running to the gate pulling children and bags behind to sitting impatiently in a cramped airline seat. Only two of the seats were together but the flight attendants managed to work things out. After that, things were fairly uneventful. Nabih had one small moment of being very over tired and hyper active but by then we had nearly arrived. In Paris we did meet 2 other people going to TASOK and so we became a group.
The arrival in Kinshasa, again, uneventful. Perhaps the night air softened things a bit…..the military guys look less severe with their weapons in the shadow of night (though nothing really softens the acrid smell of burning toxins.) There are areas marked by long yellow lines to walk in imposing a rigid military stride on us all. Anytime the group got too wide, we were ushered back to the marked areas. Guinea was that way as well. It seems so strange to be walking in straight lines and corners when the pavement is vast and open (due of course, I suppose to the crowd control technique.) We were quickly ushered to the VIP area where we found ourselves in comfy chairs and sipping Cokes. Nabih had a pretty major meltdown here but it was really nothing compared to the Conakry airport. For that, I suppose I am grateful. Once I may have had the energy to figure it out, but not this time, not with two children.
After our bags had been corralled, we descended into the night. Outside the airport was full of children selling eggs and others just asking for money or singing things of America. Mohamed was confused by this. He saw children looking like his brother but acting so different. It took awhile for everyone to sort their gear and so the kids sat in a car surrounded by other kids gawking in the windows wondering if they “speaka Englis?”.
“Can we go back to America tomorrow?” Mohamed wondered. He then set about the task of comforting Nabih by explaining how we would be leaving tomorrow and Baba would come to get us.
Perhaps here is where it started, listening to the children and their fears, spoken so openly and with a ready solution. Perhaps it grew when there was talk of missing bags or when my last finally arrived but was split open down the side. Somewhere along the way I began to panic.
The house was a complete surprise. I’m not exactly sure what I had been expecting but it was certainly…LESS. I was not prepared for the enormity of the house. I felt swallowed up and overwhelmed. I did not pack any of the things that would be necessary to cozy this place up. It seemed to be vast tile and freshly painted wall space. Three bedrooms (though one is not considered that I suppose. In my world, it’s perfect for 1.) It seemed so big and empty and there wasn’t much hope of us filling it up.
Mohamed made a valiant effort and decided to put away his clothes and toys. He alone unpacked the suitcase and informed me of where, exactly, I could find the clothes for Nabih.
“We are lucky,” he said as he lined up all his toys: a row of cars followed by a row of lizards and then a few wrestling guys. I could tell he was thinking about the airport. “We have a lot of toys. See?” and he passed his arm across the meager collection. It could fit inside a gallon zip loc bag. I love this side of him, seeing his riches for what they are and making no presumptions.
I imagine his little six year old body straddling two worlds- one of nannies and drivers and European vacations with one of boys in the night trying to sell boiled eggs to jet-lagged Americans. It’s up to me to keep his fragile wisdom whole.
So the small storm began again, swirling in my stomach. By the time we had readied for bed it was a raging hurricane of doubt and fear. Surely I had made the biggest mistake to come here alone. I wanted something comfortable and known as much as the children. I wanted to embrace their simple answer of going home to all things familiar. Failing that I wanted someone else to be here to help weather the clouds of change. There was no way to sleep through the inside noise.
Somewhere in the night, my worries turned to the open bag and what might have fallen out. I worried that I had foolishly placed a box of blank checks in there and that it had been stolen. I was certain at that very moment my bank account was being raided of its whole $500 and then drawn negative. I felt so completely and utterly alone. I prayed all night.
In the morning I found my box of checks securely placed and thanked God for supporting me. The next nights passed nearly the same, full of smaller storms of self-doubt. It was not until Monday night that my stomach calmed enough for real sleep. And it is not until tonight that I have remembered why I came. Slowing down is hard and I resist…but I have passed through the most difficult part of the change and am ready to embrace the adventure.
31.7.08
Fair-well
I need to write about the last few days while we are here. I think once we are a thousand miles away, this time will seem a thousand days away. It has been very intense. I am feeling crabby and irritable and it is showing. Even escapes to the park do little to dampen the fires that spring between us, myself and the children, the children amongst themselves. I would almost be content to pass my days reading, and actually have read several interesting novels. But I feel I should be doing something. I'm just not sure what it is.
The children seem more physical lately, and fighting incessantly. Perhaps I am just more sensitive to the insults. Or maybe it is easier to say goodbye when you are mad, as was pointed out by an observant someone.
Last night we went to the fair and had a chance to truly enjoy ourselves. For awhile, the fighting subsided and the children were running hand in hand from one thrilling ride to the next. I wondered only briefly at our strange customs of building these metal machines whose only purpose is to scare and entertain. Because our lives are not scary enough? We do not live with daily fear of sickness or death. We live in pursuit of fun and happiness. For once, I was not feeling guilt about this but enjoying the luxury for what it was. A simple time with all of us together. A perfectly fine way to say farewell....for now.
The children seem more physical lately, and fighting incessantly. Perhaps I am just more sensitive to the insults. Or maybe it is easier to say goodbye when you are mad, as was pointed out by an observant someone.
Last night we went to the fair and had a chance to truly enjoy ourselves. For awhile, the fighting subsided and the children were running hand in hand from one thrilling ride to the next. I wondered only briefly at our strange customs of building these metal machines whose only purpose is to scare and entertain. Because our lives are not scary enough? We do not live with daily fear of sickness or death. We live in pursuit of fun and happiness. For once, I was not feeling guilt about this but enjoying the luxury for what it was. A simple time with all of us together. A perfectly fine way to say farewell....for now.
27.7.08
A quest for light
I am trying to purchase the last minute items for the trip. We are standing in an un-named department store and Mohamed is wheeling the cart up and down the aisle behind me. I'm contemplating flashlights and trying to keep an eye on him all the while feeling as if I just can't think, I can't make a decision. It's a flashlight. Apparently I can think because I am suddenly plagued with a storm of questions. I realize how much I don't really know.
I frame it in issues:
There is the budget issue, which narrows things...somewhat. There are quite a variety of flashlights available for under $20. There is an issue of space and weight. I'm looking for a compact light that will last (did I mention the issue that one of the boys might get a hold of it one day and wear it out entirely...) So I don't really want a battery operated one and the rechargeable is soo big. There's a shaker one that strikes me as completely unreliable. And I begin to ponder what, exactly do I need the flashlight for?
Will I be trying to read by flashlight? Dress by it? Will we be eating meals in the dark? I can depend on the power going out frequently but when does the sun go down? Surely, it is not like a northeast winter with our 4:00 nights. Being fairly close to the equator, can I expect 12-hour days? This is the kind of detail I want to know, sunrise and sunset, temperature highs and lows for each month, rainfall intensity (I guess we won't really be able to 'make a run for it' as we'll be walking to school everyday. I have got the impression it is a bit of a way. I can't even begin to contemplate the variables associated with umbrellas- size, sharpness of tip point, wind speed and durability, one for each or just one for all......?)
I'm used to thinking of a flashlight for outside, tromping through the grass and trees, maybe even for protection (big is good when camping outdoors.) But my whole idea is changing, my whole world and I suddenly feel completely unprepared.
In this new world, a flashlight is no longer a temporary device to walk me through a midnight trip to the bathroom or shed just enough light to gather children and blankets to settle in for a stormy night at home. Its become more of a necessary tool for everyday use, or, certainly, weekly. The problem is I'm just not sure what to expect and I want to know exactly. I lose a sense of adventure for a minute, there in the store with Mohamed wheeling away and other shoppers contemplating fishing poles. It is obvious they know what they're in for. The more I think about it, the more I wonder why no one bothered with the details on this one. Maybe it is included with the house (like the iron.)
I am flooded again. Should everyone have their own? Will I be able to charge it? Should I go for LED and batteries? Will there even be batteries? Too many questions, too few answers. I look longingly at the nine-hour camping candles.
I am rescued by my friend who spots an economical, electrically rechargable, lightweight illumination device. Saved.
Now that this crisis has been averted, I can go back to being adventurous and composed.
I frame it in issues:
There is the budget issue, which narrows things...somewhat. There are quite a variety of flashlights available for under $20. There is an issue of space and weight. I'm looking for a compact light that will last (did I mention the issue that one of the boys might get a hold of it one day and wear it out entirely...) So I don't really want a battery operated one and the rechargeable is soo big. There's a shaker one that strikes me as completely unreliable. And I begin to ponder what, exactly do I need the flashlight for?
Will I be trying to read by flashlight? Dress by it? Will we be eating meals in the dark? I can depend on the power going out frequently but when does the sun go down? Surely, it is not like a northeast winter with our 4:00 nights. Being fairly close to the equator, can I expect 12-hour days? This is the kind of detail I want to know, sunrise and sunset, temperature highs and lows for each month, rainfall intensity (I guess we won't really be able to 'make a run for it' as we'll be walking to school everyday. I have got the impression it is a bit of a way. I can't even begin to contemplate the variables associated with umbrellas- size, sharpness of tip point, wind speed and durability, one for each or just one for all......?)
I'm used to thinking of a flashlight for outside, tromping through the grass and trees, maybe even for protection (big is good when camping outdoors.) But my whole idea is changing, my whole world and I suddenly feel completely unprepared.
In this new world, a flashlight is no longer a temporary device to walk me through a midnight trip to the bathroom or shed just enough light to gather children and blankets to settle in for a stormy night at home. Its become more of a necessary tool for everyday use, or, certainly, weekly. The problem is I'm just not sure what to expect and I want to know exactly. I lose a sense of adventure for a minute, there in the store with Mohamed wheeling away and other shoppers contemplating fishing poles. It is obvious they know what they're in for. The more I think about it, the more I wonder why no one bothered with the details on this one. Maybe it is included with the house (like the iron.)
I am flooded again. Should everyone have their own? Will I be able to charge it? Should I go for LED and batteries? Will there even be batteries? Too many questions, too few answers. I look longingly at the nine-hour camping candles.
I am rescued by my friend who spots an economical, electrically rechargable, lightweight illumination device. Saved.
Now that this crisis has been averted, I can go back to being adventurous and composed.
20.7.08
on a shoestring
It is definitely getting closer and I am definitely getting a little nervous. I've repacked each bag at least twice, trying to be more practical each time. It is my goal to stay within weight limits and have only one extra bag. I keep finding things I want to bring. So much for the hundred thing challenge. I have actually discarded a lot through my repacking rituals.
Right now I'm grappling with the bike issue. I really want to take Mohamed's bike. It is small enough to consider and reliable for hours of entertainment. He loves his bike. I do not want to be trying to purchase a bike in my first month there.
It shouldn't be an issue, except I'm trying to get to Congo on a shoestring. (After all, why should this part of my life be any different than the rest of it?) Somehow I missed the incredible visa fees and so am running very close to low right now. Maybe we'll make it. Getting reimbursed isn't much help if you haven't got it in the first place.
I've done this before, travel to Africa on a shoestring. I remember we went to a doundoumba, a large celebration with drumming and dancing. Kakilambe showed up, the traditional African bogeyman. Only when he shows up, it is on large, towering stilts. He is covered in long, flowing raffia and a dark mask. Somehow, he is able to dance and drum from up high on his perch and is truly a terrifying spectacle. He began to follow me around the crowd. I had a very distinct feeling of being in a spotlight. The field was too barren, he was too high and my skin was too white. Nowhere to go. He wanted money, a gift, a small sacrifice. Only I had nothing to give. For a moment I felt completely desperate; he was going to follow me around all night, demanding the riches he knew I must have. He did eventually move on to someone else, but for those moments, I felt completely exposed.
My trip went something like that. I had used every penny I had just to get there, maybe I had some in reserve for bottled drinking water (ahh, Coyah.) But there is no way to convince people in such a country that you have come all the way from America and have nothing to spend. It is quite rude actually, not to give small sacrifices to those around you. I suppose it is a bit like tipping the service industry here. It becomes a small way to show you are pleased.
It was impossible to talk about how hard it was to find the money for such a long voyage across the ocean. Hard work? Difficult times? In America? Surely, you jest.
Which is how I ended up, days later, holding a tiny African queen. She was a little beauty whose young parents were encouraging me, yes, take her to America with you. I was quite shocked. I could only smile politely and decline. It is not so simple really.
In my youth, I became easily frustrated by this argument, remembering my two little ones and how much I struggled to provide something like a home and a life for them. Yet, here I was, halfway around the world by a stroke of luck. There was no way to explain the contradiction. People are starving everywhere.
It's been a long seven years since my last journey. I have definitely become something of a different person. But I'm still traveling to Africa on a shoestring. There are things to remember here.
Right now I'm grappling with the bike issue. I really want to take Mohamed's bike. It is small enough to consider and reliable for hours of entertainment. He loves his bike. I do not want to be trying to purchase a bike in my first month there.
It shouldn't be an issue, except I'm trying to get to Congo on a shoestring. (After all, why should this part of my life be any different than the rest of it?) Somehow I missed the incredible visa fees and so am running very close to low right now. Maybe we'll make it. Getting reimbursed isn't much help if you haven't got it in the first place.
I've done this before, travel to Africa on a shoestring. I remember we went to a doundoumba, a large celebration with drumming and dancing. Kakilambe showed up, the traditional African bogeyman. Only when he shows up, it is on large, towering stilts. He is covered in long, flowing raffia and a dark mask. Somehow, he is able to dance and drum from up high on his perch and is truly a terrifying spectacle. He began to follow me around the crowd. I had a very distinct feeling of being in a spotlight. The field was too barren, he was too high and my skin was too white. Nowhere to go. He wanted money, a gift, a small sacrifice. Only I had nothing to give. For a moment I felt completely desperate; he was going to follow me around all night, demanding the riches he knew I must have. He did eventually move on to someone else, but for those moments, I felt completely exposed.
My trip went something like that. I had used every penny I had just to get there, maybe I had some in reserve for bottled drinking water (ahh, Coyah.) But there is no way to convince people in such a country that you have come all the way from America and have nothing to spend. It is quite rude actually, not to give small sacrifices to those around you. I suppose it is a bit like tipping the service industry here. It becomes a small way to show you are pleased.
It was impossible to talk about how hard it was to find the money for such a long voyage across the ocean. Hard work? Difficult times? In America? Surely, you jest.
Which is how I ended up, days later, holding a tiny African queen. She was a little beauty whose young parents were encouraging me, yes, take her to America with you. I was quite shocked. I could only smile politely and decline. It is not so simple really.
In my youth, I became easily frustrated by this argument, remembering my two little ones and how much I struggled to provide something like a home and a life for them. Yet, here I was, halfway around the world by a stroke of luck. There was no way to explain the contradiction. People are starving everywhere.
It's been a long seven years since my last journey. I have definitely become something of a different person. But I'm still traveling to Africa on a shoestring. There are things to remember here.
11.7.08
Kindergarten Congo
When I was in college I used to pass the last weeks of the semester by counting only the days of class left. A class meeting on Tuesday and Thursday with 3 weeks left would really only have 6 days. Six days is a lot easier to manage mentally then 3 weeks. College flew by in this way.
It is exactly what I'm trying not to do now. Old habits surface easily however and I occasionally find myself in a Sunday dance class thinking: Only 3 more Sundays. I don't want to think this way, I don't want to rush the time by. As if we're ever really in control of such a thing. I think we must be though because time itself is so illusory. I can will the time to pass at a reasonable rate if I just remember to enjoy every minute and take my time.
I am actually enjoying my summer and, scientifically speaking, there are really too many variables to determine a true cause. I always vote for plenty of sunshine first. Vitamin D to the rescue. But I am not blind to the tremendous relief associated with not going to school everyday. I can see how great the negative energy was there and the real effect it had on my psyche, my ability to handle the everyday ups and downs of having 5 children. It is so much easier to manage now. Summer is a wonderful thing.
I am starting to get just slightly nervous about traveling. Pele has begun to speak of Kindergarten Congo, though he remains several years away from school. He says quite firmly that he wants to go to "my Congo." Sure, I tell him, we're going to your Congo but not until August. He's very funny that way.
I can tell Mohamed is more like me and starting to get a bit anxious. What is it really going to be like? I have this sense that there will be no privacy and all of our meltdowns (Pele is getting really great at meltdowns) will be witnessed by all. Though it is a fact of childhood, I am mortified by this.
It all comes down to control. And that is why I reply that my stay in Congo is 10 months. It seems an easier time frame to manage. It will be difficult to be somewhere that I am unfamiliar with. I suppose that will take some time to develop. No more running off to the store if I need something, or even if I don't. A bit less autonomy I think and that is never good for an independent person like me. (Or maybe it is good for humility. Perhaps it will help me to understand what has been going on in my house this past year.)
Step by step we're on our way. And I can get excited about teaching again, even if I'm enjoying my time off.
It is exactly what I'm trying not to do now. Old habits surface easily however and I occasionally find myself in a Sunday dance class thinking: Only 3 more Sundays. I don't want to think this way, I don't want to rush the time by. As if we're ever really in control of such a thing. I think we must be though because time itself is so illusory. I can will the time to pass at a reasonable rate if I just remember to enjoy every minute and take my time.
I am actually enjoying my summer and, scientifically speaking, there are really too many variables to determine a true cause. I always vote for plenty of sunshine first. Vitamin D to the rescue. But I am not blind to the tremendous relief associated with not going to school everyday. I can see how great the negative energy was there and the real effect it had on my psyche, my ability to handle the everyday ups and downs of having 5 children. It is so much easier to manage now. Summer is a wonderful thing.
I am starting to get just slightly nervous about traveling. Pele has begun to speak of Kindergarten Congo, though he remains several years away from school. He says quite firmly that he wants to go to "my Congo." Sure, I tell him, we're going to your Congo but not until August. He's very funny that way.
I can tell Mohamed is more like me and starting to get a bit anxious. What is it really going to be like? I have this sense that there will be no privacy and all of our meltdowns (Pele is getting really great at meltdowns) will be witnessed by all. Though it is a fact of childhood, I am mortified by this.
It all comes down to control. And that is why I reply that my stay in Congo is 10 months. It seems an easier time frame to manage. It will be difficult to be somewhere that I am unfamiliar with. I suppose that will take some time to develop. No more running off to the store if I need something, or even if I don't. A bit less autonomy I think and that is never good for an independent person like me. (Or maybe it is good for humility. Perhaps it will help me to understand what has been going on in my house this past year.)
Step by step we're on our way. And I can get excited about teaching again, even if I'm enjoying my time off.
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