I just finished reading What is the What, the story of a Sudanese refugee who eventually moves to the US. The book is great but one small detail struck me and has stayed with me over the last week or so since I read the passage. At some point during his years running from war, walking from one refugee camp to another, and learning about readjusting to life in the States, the young Sudanese kids were told to think of their favorite day, the best day ever. They were to summon the thought of this day whenever necessary whether hiding from soldiers, bombs or stressed in some other form. I imagine if you were to ask American kids to describe the best day, it would be dramatic, surreal, probably several highly unlikely events would occur or they would visit a place they imagine as heaven like Disneyland or a house made of chocolate. Maybe I am wrong but that is my hunch, I think before reading this book, I probably would have tried to come up with some impossible day that would be logistically, physically and/or fundamentally impossible. Maybe this is all the practice and emphasis on being creative that I received throughout my childhood and what I have experienced of adulthood.
The main character’s best day is simple. He is about seven years old on this day, before he ever left his home or was separated from his family, before he knew the meaning of war, first hand. Of course, school is cancelled for the day. I am sure this would follow suit in most cultures, even from kids who generally enjoy school. From there on, the day consists of helping his mother, leaning on his older sister as she labors through chores, fetching water for an older girl on whom he has a crush. He even imagines falling as he runs at top speed with his water can, trying to impress the girl of his affection. His best day seems so realistic. It is a day that could easily have been real. The mundane details of his dream day immediately struck me. What would the best day ever actually be like? The more I considered this, the more I think our young Sudanese friend is on the right track. I think the best day ever would be more or less like any other but where all the minor details fall into place and in your favor, or mine. I may have experienced this day.
I woke before my alarm Thursday morning which is not unusual. That I actually got out of bed before the third snooze is a minor miracle. I caught the free bus to the high school, another great feat for me. I miss this bus almost everyday and therefore pay for the public bus which passes through town about 10 minutes later and drops me off on the side of the highway, about a 10 minute walk from the school. I spent the entire school day giving an HIV/AIDS prevention workshop to eleventh graders, including a condom demonstration. Before coming here, I could not have imagined talking to high schoolers about sex ed, abstinence, condoms, etc but I have found that it is one of my favorite projects here. I feel I am giving kids the capacity to make more informed decisions, hopefully empowering the girls to make their own decisions and postpone a few from having their first child before graduating from high school. Of course I will never know the exact impact of these talks, but at least the information is now available to them.
Following the HIV talk, I headed to Tegus for physical therapy. While waiting for a bus to pass, the challenging mayoral candidate offered me a ride. It definitely beat sitting on an old school bus for an hour and a half. Physical therapy is always great. I cannot complain about electric stim with heat, ultrasound and a massage, followed by what I have dubbed “el crecedor” or the growing machine. I am strapped on a table which separates to stretch my lower back. Supposedly it will add a centimeter or two to my height. No complaints here! From PT, I headed to the office to check email and say good bye to a few volunteers finishing their service. I ended up receiving my second back rub of the day! Ten minutes sitting on the tile stairs of the Guadalupe II , 10 minutes I greatly appreciated. A few volunteers hung out on the patio of the Maya, enjoying the evening view of the hills around Tegus before sharing an excellent meal of carne asada and BBQed ribs with all the Honduran tipico. After dinner I somehow ended up the recipient of a double foot massage amidst the company and conversation of various PCVs whom I do not see regularly. I think it may have been the best day of my life…
…or have I been here too long? Or am I finally acclimated enough to appreciate these things? Either way, I realize more each day that it really is the little things that make the difference. The small things people do to help things fall into place, to show you they care, evidence of effort and priority.
The main character’s best day is simple. He is about seven years old on this day, before he ever left his home or was separated from his family, before he knew the meaning of war, first hand. Of course, school is cancelled for the day. I am sure this would follow suit in most cultures, even from kids who generally enjoy school. From there on, the day consists of helping his mother, leaning on his older sister as she labors through chores, fetching water for an older girl on whom he has a crush. He even imagines falling as he runs at top speed with his water can, trying to impress the girl of his affection. His best day seems so realistic. It is a day that could easily have been real. The mundane details of his dream day immediately struck me. What would the best day ever actually be like? The more I considered this, the more I think our young Sudanese friend is on the right track. I think the best day ever would be more or less like any other but where all the minor details fall into place and in your favor, or mine. I may have experienced this day.
I woke before my alarm Thursday morning which is not unusual. That I actually got out of bed before the third snooze is a minor miracle. I caught the free bus to the high school, another great feat for me. I miss this bus almost everyday and therefore pay for the public bus which passes through town about 10 minutes later and drops me off on the side of the highway, about a 10 minute walk from the school. I spent the entire school day giving an HIV/AIDS prevention workshop to eleventh graders, including a condom demonstration. Before coming here, I could not have imagined talking to high schoolers about sex ed, abstinence, condoms, etc but I have found that it is one of my favorite projects here. I feel I am giving kids the capacity to make more informed decisions, hopefully empowering the girls to make their own decisions and postpone a few from having their first child before graduating from high school. Of course I will never know the exact impact of these talks, but at least the information is now available to them.
Following the HIV talk, I headed to Tegus for physical therapy. While waiting for a bus to pass, the challenging mayoral candidate offered me a ride. It definitely beat sitting on an old school bus for an hour and a half. Physical therapy is always great. I cannot complain about electric stim with heat, ultrasound and a massage, followed by what I have dubbed “el crecedor” or the growing machine. I am strapped on a table which separates to stretch my lower back. Supposedly it will add a centimeter or two to my height. No complaints here! From PT, I headed to the office to check email and say good bye to a few volunteers finishing their service. I ended up receiving my second back rub of the day! Ten minutes sitting on the tile stairs of the Guadalupe II , 10 minutes I greatly appreciated. A few volunteers hung out on the patio of the Maya, enjoying the evening view of the hills around Tegus before sharing an excellent meal of carne asada and BBQed ribs with all the Honduran tipico. After dinner I somehow ended up the recipient of a double foot massage amidst the company and conversation of various PCVs whom I do not see regularly. I think it may have been the best day of my life…
…or have I been here too long? Or am I finally acclimated enough to appreciate these things? Either way, I realize more each day that it really is the little things that make the difference. The small things people do to help things fall into place, to show you they care, evidence of effort and priority.
photos: Dental Brigade in Cantarranas (those would be tooth extraction tools... this is why we brush our teeth, so the dentist doesn't need these!), Dia de la cruz, kinder kids. Yep, Bello is getting big.
