Really, what can I do

Dead. Dying. Death.

Before I do something dangerous like take a tiny airplane (or helicopter) somewhere remote, say brazen things to generals, or simply live in a very remote location I always ask myself, "would I die for this?" I wonder if my friends who have died asked themselves the same thing. I don't know.

I still think about the man who told me I had to come back to South Sudan. I told him I didn't think I would go back and he confidently said I would and had to. I still think about the man who told me, "there are so many fish." when I told him Omar dumped me. He wanted to show me his home but we never got the chance. I still think about the very tiny twin baby who just couldn't handle the infection and died, leaving the other twin to struggle. I also remember a lot of people who didn't die but probably wanted to. The mother who told me she kept going after some of her children had died because what else was she to do? All she knew how to do was keep going. And then the people who still had hope but I could tell they had to fight to keep it. Those were the ones I wanted to take with me. Those were the people I felt like I abandoned. But all I knew how to do was keep going.

It is a bit lame of me to think of these things so often. Because really, what can I do? I am just one person and I am not revolutionary, particularly intelligent, more passionate than most, or anything else extraordinary. But I still think about these people all the time.

And sometimes, even when the answer is, "No, I would not die for this." I do it anyways. 

Thank you, more please.

I was watching some cheesy movie today in my hotel room with a title I had never heard of. I don't normally get into great movies so this good movie was just perfect for me. A woman was explaining that she had once taken a cab and the driver looked in the rearview mirror and started telling her how much potential she had and how she had to practice more gratitude by always saying thank you. And after she said thank you to say, "more please". "thank you, more please" HA! Imagine.

What would life be like if I could accept all the amazing parts and say, "thank you, more please." Ah! I already enjoy life but I think I allow the lows to consume too much time. There is sadness in life, happiness, sorrow, joy, suffering...but I should embrace the joy as deeply as I embrace the sorrow. Feel it all. And when it's good say, "thank you, more please." It is SO OFTEN GOOD.

Missions of Charity

Today I visited a Missions of Charity home in Addis. This is one of the homes started by Mother Theresa and is now tended by other Catholic sisters. It is amazing how they have dedicated their lives to serving those who are destitute, dying, sick, poor...people who have nowhere else to go. They give dignity to those who seemingly have none left. It was really beautiful. In the sister's words, "They come here to die like human beings, not like animals on the street."

While we were there, a man died in a ward right before we stepped into it. When we stepped in, there was a crowd praying around his bed. I didn't watch him die but I watched those around his bed say their goodbyes and pray for him and it just reminded me that we all die. It's not like the movies...you just go. She told us they cook special meals for those they know are dying. Sometimes, after eating the special meal, the person goes. Typing "the person goes" makes me feel like it's just another journey. I suppose for a christian it is an extension...us meeting our creator. Being with Jesus.

I haven't faced death and life in such a raw way in a very long time. It was a bit jarring, to be honest. Nepal wasn't like that. People were suffering, sure, but I never watched them die or become terminally ill. That sort of thing is unique. 

DART #1

DART #1 is complete and I can feel like a *real* aid worker now.

Things I liked about the DART

• I learned an incredible amount in a very short amount of time. Efficiency at it's finest.
• The freedom to do what I thought was best.
• Working with people I love and trust.
• Helping people when I had the ability to help.

Things I did not like about the DART

• Feeling helpless for the first week.
• Feeling like I was letting down people I love and trust.
• The constant staff turnover
• Knowing I would leave so soon and be just one more face of many aid workers.

The first days of the DART were hard for me. I felt like I didn't know what I was doing and every day that I had somehow failed. I learned a TON but wish i had better direction. I think I could do a better job now so I have to be okay with that. I also think I did the best I could with what I had...cliche thing to say but I do think it's true in this case.

Working in a place for only one month was difficult. I get attached quickly, it seems, and by the end of my time I didn't want to leave. I fall in love far too quickly and one month was long enough for me to think I had some sort of connection to a place I hadn't even considered visiting before. I think Nepal does that to people.

I am happy that it wasn't as emotional an assignment as South Sudan. There were emotions, there were sad times and triumphant times but there wasn't the heaviness of hopelessness and history repeating itself with violence and hate. Nepal will rebuild. Nepal will move on. Nepal will remember the good things and let go of the bitter, as it does. There were a few things I won't forget, though.

I met a man in an IDP camp who had been crying. He came up to me right as I got out of the car and started talking to me. Of course, I don't speak Nepali so my colleague had to interpret. He was a grown man, drunk, and in so much pain. He told me about his family who had all been killed in landslides that had wiped out his village in Haku. He himself had been wounded. I am not sure he wanted me to do anything and there really wasn't anything I could do for him but...he was lonely. He didn't tell me that part but it seemed that way. He followed me around for the entire time I was there. I wanted to talk to him but didn't know what to say. My colleague seemed uncomfortable talking to him. I saw that man a few days before I left Nepal and he seemed a lot better. His wounds had healed and he looked healthier. I am sure he was moving on as best he could and I was happy to see him before I left.

The difference between the aftershocks in Nepal vs. Japan will also be unforgettable. After the Japan quake, aftershocks were just tolerated. People didn't like them but there was never much reaction. That probably says more about the culture than the psychological state of the people, not to mention the faith in the building practices of Japan vs. Nepal. Aftershocks in Nepal were not just tolerated, they were experienced. Even if I never felt the shake, everyone else did and ran screaming out of any building they happened to be in. I usually heard the reaction before I realized there was an aftershock. I think that conditioned me to fear the shaking more than the shaking itself. It was interesting. I do hope people heal quickly from the emotional scars of the earthquake as rebuilding homes is easier than mending emotional scars.

January

A friend of mine recently asked me if I ever felt guilty when I was working in South Sudan. The implication being that I would feel guilty for...having a way out, a different life, the sort of life considered more comfortable. I don't think there's really an easy answer to that. Do I feel guilty....
I feel guilty for not doing more when I was there, for not dealing with things as they came up and for not taking care of myself better. I feel guilty for some of the decisions I made and mostly stupid for how inexperienced and terrible I was at times. I can feel guilty for those things but it seems so strange to feel guilty for where I was born and the life I have. There were moments when I remembered that the people I met and was trying to help really had no way out and I could fly out and leave at any time.
Whenever I was uncomfortable it was always quite clear that was temporary. I was not always going to live in a tent or exist on a diet of goat and rice. When I look back on the moments of guilt or start to feel them creep in my next thoughts are always, "What is the guilt doing? What purpose is it serving?" Guilt can be a selfish emotion, something we punish ourselves with to make up for the thing that brought on the guilt. I am not going to feel guilty because I have choices and freedoms that others don't but I will use my discomfort to motivate myself to work towards change.

But sometimes...I would rather hide.