St. Jude would shrug himself

It's terrifying to see someone inside of whom a vital spring seems to have been broken.  It's particularly terrifying to see him in your mirror.  ~Mignon McLaughlin

If there's a patron saint for pessimists out there, please stand up and take notice, you've got competition...

It's been a really rough week, and it's only half finished bruising my reserve.  I've been struggling to wake up in the morning, and by the afternoon, I'm desperately in need of a nap.  I think I'm coming down with something, but I'm not sure what.  I've never felt so utterly fatigued in my life.  Despite getting an abundance of sleep, my body feels weak and my mind isn't running on all pistons (some will argue it never was!).  I wouldn't say that I'm 'sick' per sae, but I don't feel right.  My gut tells me it's a mix of many things; mild depression, a poor diet, the heat, and among other things, being overall homesick.

I also had a few incidents with some officials of the government of Uganda this week.  I was frankly quite prepared to be on the next flight home following the second run-in.  I can't go into great detail because, well, that would just be foolish of me.  People have been arrested for blogging negative things here; so, to put things more palatably...it was an uplifting and positive experience.

I'm more and more getting the sense that coming to Gulu was a mistake, especially alone.  I don't say that with any concern about my safety, I'm fine in that regard.  I just get the overwhelming impression that I'm beating a dead horse...and trying to drag it to water in the process.  The 'research fatigue' here (fatigue seems to be a theme) is huge; it's all been said and done, published in prolific academic journals, but little has changed.  I keep coming back to the angst I hold for academia---of whose benefit is this pursuit of 'knowledge' really for?

I know that my measly stint here is not going to shape future policy, nor is it likely to raise any eyebrows in the academic world.  But most importantly, it isn't going to amount to any benefit to those I'm researching...so why bother?  Is it just so I can get my MA and ride off into the sunset while these people live in squalor?  These are the types of questions that stir incessantly in my head at 1 in the morning; and they are not so easily quieted, believe me.  If I were any less committed to 'finishing what I started', I would have long ago become a raving alcoholic.

Alarming as the above may sound to some of you, fear not!  I am keeping my chin up, it's just becoming more of an art-form and less of an exercise in practicality, so there are merits to be found in optimism.

I've obviously been stewing in my own juices for a bit too long -- not sure if I'm becoming tougher, or more tender in the process.  Regardless, my inner compass keeps coming back to why I'm here...the children; not the research, not the degree, but them and only them.  Everyday I look into some 100 beautiful little sets of eyes, and I find myself wondering about the world they see through them.  Are the colours the same? Where do they fit into it?  What do they want to be?  Do they know the challenges they face?

I once asked Robert (the program director) about this very thing---do they know how unfortunate they are? What do they see themselves as when they grow up? I asked.  His response floored me. "Yes!" he said emphatically, "They do!  They want to be doctors, nurses, teachers, policemen and women, even world leaders!"

As often happens in Acholi conversations, Robert and I sat in silence as the mid-afternoon sun continued to bake the little remaining white out of my forehead.  I felt puzzled by his answer, despite its straightforwardness.  How could these children not possibly see a world with little room for ambitions as big as those?  Where do they find the strength?

I've always had a hard time getting my head around optimism, but I think that's because it's not your head that needs to do the work...it's your heart.  Children, by nature, don't rationalize things like we do.  They are too wide-eyed, too imaginative for such petty limitations such as those that we adults place on ourselves.  It's something that doesn't comport with (most) adult minds, much as they try.

As the wild horse that is this week continues to drag me along its dusty and pot-hole ridden path, I'm getting faint glimpses of hope, although even St. Jude would shrug as to why.  Here I am with dust in my face, a battered feeling body, and not much to show for my efforts.  (It's the dry season here in this part of Africa, so the dust is only going to get worse.)

I mentioned earlier that I was beating a dead horse and trying to drag it to water...it only feels like quite the adverse right about now.  This experience has been so god-damned draining.  One day I'm riding high, the next I'm being dragged along looking for my bearings.

We'll have to see what the rest of the week holds...

Thanks for reading