this is me trying to sound clever

I am ever learning, growing, re-evaluating. And that makes things hard. Friendships feel the effects. And at times, my dignity gets a slap around as well. So, even sharing here can be a struggle.

I’m on a constant battle. I am fighting for my knowledge, my view-point. And this creates ripples in others’ thinking. And that means friends start to feel uncomfortable….

And what can I give to those moments? It might have looked like crying apologies. Or yelling louder than the “opponent”.

But I offered up, “I am listening”.

I may not agree. I may think you’re full of shit. But I must listen. I need to ask “what can I learn?” rather than shouting obscenities cause I think you’re an idiot.

No, this doesn’t mean I stop speaking up. Rather it provides avenues to share my opinions more freely. In a  mentality of moving forward, not creating walls.

Funny what listening can do.

And so here goes. A new mantra… what should have been written on my door post long ago:

“Before you act, listen

Before you react, think

Before you spend, earn

Before you criticize, wait

Before you pray, forgive

Before you quit, try” via

Right? One of those common sense moments…that smacked me upside the head.

my response? neither sweet nor witty

I finally was able to open a bank account. I imagine the only reason for the delay was because Tshelofelo, the bank clerk, hated me (the only logical explanation). But after my second trip to this particular branch, and an hour-long process I, Sheila West, am a proud owner of a bank account.

After the initial process was complete, I was told to go to another entrance, and another teller, to cash my first deposit, and that I was to skip the queue. Clearly, I should have been given a large sign as to the reasons of my queue skipping. But because this wasn’t the case, a man yelled at me.

Now, here’s the issue. By now it was 2 pm. I hadn’t eaten anything (if you count a cup of coffee as eating), I was hot, and just generally frustrated at the process.

He yelled. And I cursed back, waving my letter, andsweetly stating I could go directly to teller 6. Now, teller 6 finally opened up and this, man, pushed me out of the way, and started his deposit.I then proceeded to wave my paper now at the teller, and explain to her the situation. She looked at me, pointed towards an extremely long queue and said,

“Wait.”

The man smugly looked back at me, and said “you can wait for the man.”

I literally guffawed, cursed, and sadly waved my flimsy bit of paper in defeat.

We ended up leaving at the same time. And as he pushed in front of me yet again, he said,

“Let me open the door, I will serve you now”

My response was neither sweet nor witty, of this I can assure you.

The moral of the story? Never bank on an empty stomach.

I blame MTV & fatcakes

I swore I would never ride a combi again after I first purchased my first car. But after an accident almost two months ago, with a variety of delays I don’t even want to get started on, I am still without transport.

And so I ride the combis. And walk. And at times, hitch.

My feet are full of blisters and dirt. My wallet full of change.  But through it all my humor has remained intact (?).

But to be fair, I am one second away from drop kicking the next guy who hits on me.

And so on Sunday morning, as I found myself with zero coffee, I missioned for my first cuppa.

And during the one of many combi rides, I found myself in a traumatizing situation, and having to sms a friend saying,

“there was a reason why colour blocking and spandex should never have been introduced to Gabs…”

I blame MTV and fatcakes, no not for my lack of transport, but for seeing a beautifully curvaceous woman literally stuffed into a pair of electric blue spandex, which she naturally paired with a low cut canary yellow blouse.

You can thank me later that I do not travel with a camera.

this could be important…

I am really starting to do what I love. Those dreams I had in college are actually coming true. And each decision I make, no matter how inconsequential they seem, will make an impact for development, or something.

It’s good. And I am scared shitless.

Shanley wrote a bit on what a career in development looks like, and you know other things too. Shockingly, it has nothing to do with creating hipster videos. Go here.

Random rant: I can’t get a bank account. It’s annoying.

Happy Holi!

It has been hot. And quite frankly, I have been cranky. It seems only right and fair then, that I participate in a Hindu celebration focusing on joyousness.

We threw off our self-consciousness and painted one another, got into water fights, and naturally ate good food. In amidst the dancing to loud Bollywood music I asked my fellow Caucasian… “I hate our lame holidays, I wish I was Indian!” To which he replied, “But think of Christmas. We get presents at Christmas.”

almost ready to get into the throes of dancing

Yes, giving up presents would be hard. But a holiday that is based on ignoring the caste system and just being totally without reservation with strangers was a great experience. My favourite moment? Watching a man pour an entire bottle of juice over a woman’s head, and amidst her sputtering, he yells -

“It’s Liquifruit – Mango and Orange!”

I couldn’t wish for a better way to spend a hot summer’s afternoon.

we're almost "too clean!"

Bonus? My white tank is now a colourful tie dye. Not to mention while in the shower I found out how I would look like as a Herero woman.

more than… bacon

In amongst the politics in an organisation, the feelings of why am I still in Botswana?, and the realisation that this Christianity needs to be bigger than just another set of rules to be live by…I bring to you, no, not a chapter in my own book (one day people, one day), but rather an exert from Lamb, The Gospel according to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore. Here is a conversation from Jesus as named Joshua and Biff.

Biff: “Joshua (Jesus), you’re the Son of god. You’re the Messiah. That implies – oh, I don’t know – that you’re a Jew! You can’t eat bacon.”

Joshua (Jesus): “God doesn’t care if we eat bacon. I can just feel it.”

“Really. He still feel the same way about fornication?”

“Yep.”

“Masturbation?”

“Yep.”

“Killing? Stealing? Bearing false witness? Coveting thy neighbor’s wife, et cetera? No change of heart on those?”

“Nope.”

“Just bacon. Interesting. You would have thought there’d be something about bacon in the prophesies of Isaiah.”

“Yeah, makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“You’re going to need more than that to usher in the kingdom of God, Josh, no offense. We can’t go home with, ‘Hi, I’m the Messiah, God wanted you to have this bacon.’”

“I know. We have much more to learn. But breakfasts will be more interesting.”

“Go to sleep, Josh.”

 

I love that. The concept that in life and in faith, this thing needs to be about something bigger, something beyond ourselves. Something ‘more than’. Though, right now, I just want some bacon. Mmmmmm, bacon.

the ramble that is life

And so life is like that.

A signed document to get paid out on a totaled car. Actual physio (that hurts so bad I want to punch her face). Awkward moments with my neighbor downstairs. Worry over days on my visa. Drinks with friends. Hilarious moments in the office. The constant worry over money. A man who I wish liked me more. Watching and being happy for friends who are winning, even when I am not. The intense heat, that makes me want to cry and sit in an air conditioned corner.

note, I am the one prepping!

And with that, I continue to stay. Some moments questioning my sanity. Some thinking Plan B sounds like a good option. But I stay. And that decision is enough to get me through.

 

it’s not about the strawberries

I adore a cheesy love story. In my sarcasm I pretend to be better than the romance, but a look through my dvd collection and bookshelf would prove otherwise. I had always said I was happy to be single. But more importantly, in the last few months I have come to understand that my happiness is based on liking myself, regardless of my status on Facebook.

Through a messy breakup, a loss of job, friends betraying confidence… this is what should have broken me, made me hate my life, myself, and just wish for the easier road. But weirdly it didn’t do that… it has only made me stronger, a desire to love myself more, and I feel even more free, even more open.

because anytime should be for dancing

I used to have so many boundaries in life – rejecting good and bad before I was the one being rejected. It made me feel like I was in control.

I met this guy in the supermarket. Your typical “meet cute”. I dropped a carton of strawberries all over the floor. He came to help pick them, meanwhile making fun of me. We finished the task, and I chose a different carton. He looked at me shocked, “you mean you’re not going to take that carton?”

And I replied, “No! Those have been all over the floor!”

A few months later yet another supermarket, and then a handed out phone number.

I love being in the place where sometimes it doesn’t matter if he calls, it was just good to flirt and to be open to possibilities.

And so, no matter what happens. I am happy to be me.

I read this from the beautifully written Bel Canto, and my heart knows it to be true.

“He kissed her. There was such an incredible logic to kissing, such a metal to magnet pull between two people that it was a sooner that they found the strength to prevent themselves from succumbing every second. Rightfully, the world should be a whirlpool of kissing in which we sank and never found the strength to rise up again. ” Bel Canto by Ann Patchett

So there it is. I can be happy and single. And confident. And kiss. Clearly, I need to kiss. And in my world, none of those are exclusive.

Favourite moment no.47 from Uganda

I can’t help but laugh as my new friend of one day whispers in a desperate voice in the middle of the night,

“I need to pee in the bucket.”

We are in one room together, sharing the space of a few feet and the pit latrines too far to wander outside at this time of night.

I start laughing and tell her, “Well, better in the bucket in the bed.”

more from Uganda

We sat down on the bench outside a rundown house, in a yard full of sick children. I was ready to start my job as assistant, camera in hand, where I could remove myself a bit from the poverty that surrounded us.

And then the woman we were visiting handed me a baby. I gasped as his head flung back with the weight of it, with a condition where the head is larger than normal. Additionally this little boy’s body was that of an infant, at one and half years.

She has become lame as she was placed on ARVs, the life saving drug, much too late. Along with her four kids, there are two more: orphans of AIDS. And one of them was this sick little boy that I am holding in my arms, heavy with the weight of his head.

I looked into the eyes of this woman. Her bravery and strength is apparent as she sits on her woven mat. I ask myself, “how do you find the strength to take in two more children, while practically dying from AIDS?”

We learn that she wasn’t even able to make any beads this season. Her hands are crumpled in her lap. We encourage her that maybe once the ARVs kick in she might start again. I know that our hopeful talk is probably just that: talk.

I hand back this precious baby boy, to a strong courageous woman. Then, as we handed out bits of protein bars for all of the children to gobble up, I take a deep breath.

And I start to compare myself to these women.

I think nothing of my nice clothes, my flat back in Gabs, or my health. Rather, I begin to compare myself, and I come up short.

She stands strong in the face of poverty and AIDS, and takes on even more responsibility. I fall short as I compare myself to how strong she is. How much courage it must take to wake up every morning.

I falter at a car accident, not knowing the next steps, no job, money. But through it all… I have a plan B. I can go back home, and start again. She has no such luxury.