Today, I thought i would take a break from the search for tools just to catch up on the day-to-day. The great relief I experienced from the constant wind off the Casamance river is dissipating as we edge closer to the hot and humid season known here as hivernage (winter). It is still a good three months away but the days of high temperatures and low humidity and cool nights are being replaced with slightly lower temperatures and much higher humidity. The heat is the central topic of discussion among strangers on a crowded bus or shared taxi. Across the brows and glowing exposed arms and shoulders of people on the street, you seen a sheen from the sweat. The streets have less hustle and bustle. The energy is more lethargic. People just seem to have less 'pep in their step' as my grandmother used to say. That may be due in part to Lent, which people celebrate here by fasting all day and eating only at night. Regardless, life is noticeably slowing down.
The slower pace of life here and now takes me back to when I lived in D.C. At the end of my day, I would pat my metro card on the electronic reader and skip through the open doors to await the red line train traveling north to Cleveland Park. D.C. moves at an established pace. I don't know who the pace setters are but the pulse is umistakable. I remember the unspoken rule about how quickly you needed to go up or down the escalators or stairs or through the doors of the metro trains when they arrived. During tourist season, I could feel the disgust and sometimes hear a disaproving "tsk" or two from "regulars" when someone moved too slowly or stood on the left side of the escalator reserved for those coveting the option of walking up the incredibly long and steep climb at Dupont circle North. When I emerged at street level, I felt another impetus to race to my apartment. People walked fast, passing me on the sidewalks in a dash to reach home first. To do what? Start enjoying life? Perhaps work was so foreign to life's greater purpose that only at home in surroundings that defined us could we start to feeling like we were fullfilling that special purpose. Can't really speak to the motivation of others. I think I was just fitting into the cultural buzz that was D.C. On the Hill, we were presented with impossible tasks and ludicrous deadlines. But we got it done and moved onto the next challenge. It made for a pretty heady, competitive, and energized work environment that followed me and my workmates home. By 8 pm, an hour of yoga and meditation put things back into perspective just in time for the evening radio show (no television for me) followed by a quiet dinner of stir-fried delights over ginger rice.
Here my days are no less stressful but far less competitive. The stress comes from timelines designed in Washington and forced upon a social landscape that moves according to a different rhythm. I arrive at 8 am, check emails, meet with staff, plan excursions to the field, cut corners to meet the donors' needs, and spend lots of time painting a picture in words of what kinds of processes are unfolding as a product of our work. It seems that peacebuilding work is 10% action and 90% report writing. That is a gross exageration of course. It is really closer to 99% action and 1% writing, because the real work is what is happening among the people grappling with conflict, with dialog, acceptance, truth, forgiveness, justice, and inclusion in decisions about the course of their lives. Doing justice to that process in a 15-page monthly report is the challenge. I stay late most days, glancing time and again to watch the fishing boats return to the harbor - a sign that I need to leave today's demands for tomorrow - and hail a rickety yellow taxi for my bouncy commute home. Climbing out of the taxi at the edge of a road too difficult for most taxis to navigate, I walk two blocks very slowly down a mango tree-lined street, pausing often to salute families sitting outside waiting for temperatures to drop. Boys playing soccer in the street prepare to make their separate ways home. A deep breath of relief and satisfaction. Another beautiful sunset.
Today began like any other. No pranks at work (so far). Maybe April fools day is safely thousands of miles away. But when I think of the manic pace of life on other horizons, of the life I used to lead and perhaps will do so again sometime, it is hard not to wonder, if I am the fool for sometimes craving the pulse of American cities. A wise teacher once told me that it is good to acknowledge my desires and realize my relationship to them, without grasping, without forcing. Life has already set the pace. It is up to me to recognize my place among its complex rhythms and simplicity of design,
Hope you find that understanding in your lives as well.
On my way to work a week ago, I saw two donkeys struggling to make progress. They were both lashed to a wagon carrying 10 very large bags of cement. One donkey was leaning his entire body weight to the right, his hooves scrapping on the uneven pavers to pull the wagon to make a right turn, The other donkey had its head down pulling with all his might to go straight. All the while, the owner whipped them both from behind but with a mixed message. The one to pull harder to the right and the other to stop pulling straight. Not sure the guys were getting the message.
