Monday, May 26, 2014

Ba Stanley

Ba Stanley, the man who built my new hut almost single-handedly after my first hut flooded, visited me the other day.  I welcomed him to sit with me on my veranda, and we spoke about this year's harvest, about his garden, about his plans for re-building his home with iron sheets instead of grass in the coming months.  We spoke about his neighbour who fell ill, he thinks most likely because of witchcraft (yes, this is still a strong belief in my village, and I try to work with this aspect of traditional culture instead of fighting against it).  Then, he began speaking about the end of August...

Ba Stanley is one of the most hard-working, humble, honest men I have ever met.  Each of his words, spoken slowly, softly yet deliberately, seem to hold strong meaning.  He turned to me and said, "Ba Ashley, the day you leave, I will cry.  The whole village will cry.  You have really done something with us here.  We are now moving and developing."  My heart dropped.  I explained that I would cry too.  I explained that I would stay in touch, though I do not know how easy this will be (my family rarely has their phones charged, as electricity is far away).  I told him that it was now time for the village, along with the next volunteer, to continue pushing the work I started with them.

I know that I will be forced to cope with some difficult realities when I leave Nachibanga.  I will have little control over the development of my village, over whether it continues or slows.  I cannot dictate what type of relationship the next volunteer with form with my family.  And I have no idea when I will see my village again.  All I can do is soak in every minute of these final months: continue laughing with Ba Erin when her sixteen-month-old Maya runs after me with two different oversized shoes on her feet; press sunflower oil from the seeds I planted with my family five months ago; and burn the images of mud huts scattered between dusty rolling hills that I see each time I go for a run or a bike ride into my memory.  I did not know that I could feel this much love for a place and for a community. I had no idea that a family could extend beyond blood, beyond the borders of the place and culture into which I was born.  All I can do is feel grateful for it all.