Rainy Days and Sleepless Nights

There’s something about the village that simply makes everything okay.  The slow pace, the scenery, the silence, I’m not too sure what exactly it is out here that offers itself as a healing to every fear and insecurity I may have, but I welcome it, I embrace it, I need it.  I am amazed at how this place in a sense has become my sanctuary, a place that holds tears of laughter, and tears of pain.  A place that has taken me on a mental and spiritual journey, I can never, I will never forget.  This place is patient, not demanding of my time nor energy.  Not begging me to force out my emotions and thoughts at a premature stage just for the entertainment of others.  This place is understanding, it is my village, my home.

I’m in the middle of my last hot season and the beginning of my final rainy season.  Swamp ass, sweaty back, dehydration, a leaky roof, and insomnia are how I spend my days and nights.  My equilibrium has been off lately, my Zen not quite on point, so once again I apologize for my recent hiatus as the last couple of months have not necessarily been a roller coaster ride, but more or less a tornado of emotions, a hurricane of thoughts.  Ups, downs, highs, and lows cannot even begin to express my bipolar experience out here in the bush.  I swear sometimes I live the days out chasing, searching for sunsets wondering if the day coming to an end was a success, and if the night quickly approaching will lead to comfort.  I am exhausted, and work in the past couple months have kept me so busy that the highlight of my day is sitting on my front porch coloring with my kids listening to thunder in the distance, watching lightening paint the sky, as I do my best to enjoy the last bit of cool air I’ll receive for the day.

The rats are back, this time using my mosquito net as a trampoline while I try to slip into some form of unconsciousness.  The roaches have returned playing games of hid and seek under my water buckets, and the termites have moved from the polls in my roof, to the frame around my door.  With a dead rat in my roof that I cannot find, small bugs living in my flour I continue to use for cooking, and sand, dirt, and water in my bed from the rains, I’ve simply surrendered myself to much that this environment has to offer.  I told you I was exhausted.  It’s been over a year since I left America, 17 months to be exact.  And through every blood, sweat, and tear that I’ve shed, I’ve had a thousand more laughs, smiles, and awesome memories made.  I’ve meet people who have changed my life.  I’ve heard stories that will stay with me forever.  This experience has been nothing short of amazing thus far.  And despite the rat in my roof that is slowly decaying, or the walls that leak, or one of the 7,500 mosquito nets that I helped distribute that people don’t sleep under or use to fish with, I know, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.  Right here in my village, because there’s something about this place that simply makes things better.

Peace & Love,

Baby Cheers