This morning, I told my friend Premila over our mosaic
projects that I was having serious questions about what I was doing here in
Malawi. As I watch all my friends on Facebook having first (and second…and
third) kids, I’m sitting here, at 34 with a great guy waiting for me back home.
What was I doing? What am I getting out of this experience except exposure to malaria and
frustration? And having the occasional naked guy running loose in front of my
house?
Of course, I know the answer to this, otherwise I wouldn’t
be here: I’m here for the experience of living in Africa, helping others, career
advancement, adventure and the ability to pad my savings. I’m here because it
means I’ve committed myself fully to my career goals; I’ve resisted convention;
I’ve overcome the trap of the cube walls. I get to see a baboon run on the roof
of the lake cabin. I get to feel proud about doing something hard. I get, in
some small way, to help farmers. It means, it means…so much.
But Premila added another one to the mix, one that I had
tangentially identified but hadn’t really grasped.
Time, she said, this place gives you time.
What? Time is what I don’t have, I exclaimed. Did you not
hear the part about me being 34 and childless? I’m wasting the twilight of my
childbearing years gluing glass shards to a plywood board.
She laughed, and then elaborated. In America, we are so
busy, we don’t have any space to enjoy what we have. When I was living in
Michigan, she said, it was all my husband and I could do to get our daughter to
and from daycare, take her home, wash her, feed her, and put her to bed. We
never had any energy just to _be_ with her. Here in Malawi, we have a live in
nanny. Suddenly, all those things are gone. We enjoy the best parts of each
other.
Also, she continued, there is too much to do in America. What
is there to do in Malawi? There are
limited amounts of things to drag my daughter to (birthday parties, dance
lessons, etc). As a result, we stay home and watch movies or play board
games. You know, Quality Time.
I thought about myself. Since coming here, what have I done?
Learned rugby. Taken a painting class. Attended home-made costume parties. Watched
several sunrises. Learned how to make hummus. Listen to innumerable TED talks. Looking
back at that list, it sounds like I’m at summer camp.
Of course, I could do any and all of those things in America,
but I don’t. Premila was right. With more distractions at my disposal, I would
usual wile away a Saturday afternoon being “productive”, e.g running errands,
cleaning house and watching TV. I still do those things here, but they somehow
don’t take as long.
We don’t do well with extra time in America. I think it
makes us nervous. I remember when I first experience the abundance of time in
the United States; it was terrifying. I was a freshman in college, and had just
gone from the highly structured high school to the optional class going liberal
arts curriculum. Without distraction, my mind picked at silly anxieties until
they bled. What if I failed? What if I got the freshman 15? What if my parents
died? What if I ran out of money? As that first summer post freshman year
inched closer, I dreaded the void of long summer days with nothing to “do”.
Frantically, I filled my time working two jobs. Even surrounded by co-workers
(and roommate in a studio apartment) the summer passed slowly in an endless
chatter of anxiety and loneliness.
Fast forward to the first time summer I spent in Malawi; it
was much the same. One of the last weekends, I had absolutely nothing to do for
two whole days, and no car. I felt that old familiar dread of time yawning
endlessly before me. I knew that if I didn’t keep my mind distracted, the beast would come around and pick at the scabs of old worries, some of which by that
time had hardened into full on scars.
I ended up sitting by the pool from 10 am to 6pm, reading an
entire book. I remember wanting to stop, but there was nothing else I should’ve
(could’ve) been doing, and the book was humorous, so I just kept going. At the
end of the day, I felt like I binged on a giant chocolate cake. It felt both
disgusting, scary….and a tiny bit glorious.
I felt (and still feel) the drive to be constantly
productive. Given big spaces of time, yes, I still do get nervous (probably why
I hadn’t thought of time until Premila mentioned it.) But I’ve discovered that
extra time is nothing to be frightened about. With practice, I can guide my
mind away from silly anxieties. They will always lurk, especially here in
Malawi, but I can live with them. With
practice, I can perhaps truly grasp this Time as a gift, instead of something
to be waded through. I’m certain that I will never have this space again. God
grant me the ability to play around with it, enjoy it, productive or not.
