this post is my stalling on the other post that i have been working on all week–it is regarding facebook and globalization and friendship.(and how easy it is to be consumed by consumer -culture in the west and forget about, you know, the rest of the world.)
it is taking longer to write than i thought–so here’s this for now, perhaps to serve as a pre-that-post-reminder.
a few weeks ago the woman who is in charge of mcc orientation, in akron PA, sent an email to my “class” from orientation–asking us what we see outside our window. i found it a prompt that was easy to write to–and so have included my response below. or course, it includes pictures. because-this is me.
about an hour ago when i opened this reply-window to reply to your now weeks old email there was a group of primary school children running by–doing their afternoon physical education. they sing as they run—at around 4:00 every school day. its one of my daily highlights.
sometimes i want to just go run with them.
usually i hear the women and babies waiting in line for their WFP allotments just a few yards from my office–they line up, their jerrycans making that sound that only plastic against plastic can, and the sound of chatting women (the same in every culture) wafts through my open window– i often wonder what they are talking about while they are waiting for their share of sorghum flour and USAID oil.
there is also a clinic just next to the food distribution point–currently there is a baby crying, who has been crying for about 15 minutes now. i usually just pray these occurrences are because which ever baby is currently crying just got a shot, or just wants to be handed back to its mother.
i suspect that is not the case, however.
HIV/AIDS has come to karamoja care of the [local] army–so the number of people living at the clinic are hoping for ways to have ARVs.
a lot of them come into my office at the diocese to ask for help.
help for medicine.
to put their kids in school.
to buy something to eat.
sometimes the language barrier is too great for either of us and a mother will sit in my chair for thirty minutes–we sit in silence–usually both of us end up looking out the window.
regardless of my inability to converse or help, i am usually thanked by whomever has come to sit in my chair–
and i wonder about this
and try not to cry
as i watch them through my window wander back to the clinic
just outside my window.
there is no snow on the ground here–its sandy and dry. and hot. sometimes there are guinea foul outside my window, or a goat. i prefer the goats- they aren’t as loud.
while i do miss snow, and friends and family… and as difficult as it may be, i also love what is outside my window.
peace to you,