I think I know why I have been having such a hard time explaining my experiences, and I have to thank Billy Hagwood for dragging this out of me.
Of course culture shock, jet lag, overarching tiredness, waiting for my energy to return, etc. have played a big role in making me "not normal," but part of the reason why I began to blog was to perhaps sort out some thoughts and reflections on my South Africa journey. Still, when I talk to people and they ask me questions, I have had a really hard time expressing just what this journey meant. And I think I know why now.
There were some really, really good days--days when I did nothing but teach children how to paint with a brush and teach adults how to paint with their fingers; days when we celebrated CD4 counts rising to over 700 or births of new family members. There were days when I sat with people who were first discovering light inside of them. And then there were days when people saw no light. There were a lot of days when people came into the office hungry and tired and beaten by the sun and the streets. There were days when family members died or were killed. There were days when I sat with people who were too drunk or high to even understand that they were being listened to.
Good days and bad. Days when everyone who came in the office tested HIV negative. Days when everyone who came in the office tested HIV positive--men, women, children just getting out of school.
And I haven't been able to talk about it much. A big part about it is confidentiality, but another really big part is how those days haunt my mind, my dreams, my spirit. What an honor to sit with someone who is on the very edge of crossing over into death or someone who is struggling with living life on life's terms or someone who is just coming into the knowledge of their HIV status (either + or -)--an honor that I do not feel worthy of, an honor that has forever changed me. At the same time, what an intense and trying time.
I think that's why when people ask I say it was a really wonderful, really challenging time.
My friend just came back from two weeks on the pilgrimage of pain and hope in South Africa, where they toured around the historic places, and in a sense, walked through the sorrowful history of the country into the places of hope that are happening now. She said to me, "two weeks was enough for me, I can't imagine two months." Granted, I didn't have days with information overload, but sometimes as I look back, I can't imagine two months either.
Okay, so that's what's on my mind right now.
I'm not at home, but when I get there this evening, I think I'll post some of the pictures I have enlarged and hung up. They're light and fun. I won't bog down the internet blog-world too much with heavy thoughts. :-)
Of course culture shock, jet lag, overarching tiredness, waiting for my energy to return, etc. have played a big role in making me "not normal," but part of the reason why I began to blog was to perhaps sort out some thoughts and reflections on my South Africa journey. Still, when I talk to people and they ask me questions, I have had a really hard time expressing just what this journey meant. And I think I know why now.
There were some really, really good days--days when I did nothing but teach children how to paint with a brush and teach adults how to paint with their fingers; days when we celebrated CD4 counts rising to over 700 or births of new family members. There were days when I sat with people who were first discovering light inside of them. And then there were days when people saw no light. There were a lot of days when people came into the office hungry and tired and beaten by the sun and the streets. There were days when family members died or were killed. There were days when I sat with people who were too drunk or high to even understand that they were being listened to.
Good days and bad. Days when everyone who came in the office tested HIV negative. Days when everyone who came in the office tested HIV positive--men, women, children just getting out of school.
And I haven't been able to talk about it much. A big part about it is confidentiality, but another really big part is how those days haunt my mind, my dreams, my spirit. What an honor to sit with someone who is on the very edge of crossing over into death or someone who is struggling with living life on life's terms or someone who is just coming into the knowledge of their HIV status (either + or -)--an honor that I do not feel worthy of, an honor that has forever changed me. At the same time, what an intense and trying time.
I think that's why when people ask I say it was a really wonderful, really challenging time.
My friend just came back from two weeks on the pilgrimage of pain and hope in South Africa, where they toured around the historic places, and in a sense, walked through the sorrowful history of the country into the places of hope that are happening now. She said to me, "two weeks was enough for me, I can't imagine two months." Granted, I didn't have days with information overload, but sometimes as I look back, I can't imagine two months either.
Okay, so that's what's on my mind right now.
I'm not at home, but when I get there this evening, I think I'll post some of the pictures I have enlarged and hung up. They're light and fun. I won't bog down the internet blog-world too much with heavy thoughts. :-)
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