overall...

I don’t want to paint an overly romantic view of things here. I am, after all, in a refugee camp that exists without conveniences like enough clean water, consistent electricity and reliable medical care. But this is really more of a settlement or a community in exile than a camp responding to an immediate crisis. Because of this, I feel as though I am living in a village with all the related advantages. I love that I know my neighbors and play with their kids. I love that I can’t walk for more than 5 minutes without running into someone I know from Children Better Way, school or just prior encounters. I love that there are people everywhere you look, (playing games, hanging clothes, cooking, gossiping or talking politics), but no one is in a hurry. I love that you can never get so far inside somewhere that you are not affected by the weather. I love that I can walk to everything and everyone I need to get to. I love the little kids who run up to me all day long and so freely dispense such generous hugs. All of this is probably more of a negative comment on how isolating and alienating our society can make you feel in comparison than a bizarrely sentimental comment on life in a refugee camp.

The pace of life, connection to others and to nature does seem like an improvement over my much more convenient lifestyle in the States. But I am reminded of some of the other trade-offs when I see how often and how easily so many people here get sick and sometimes die. I’ve been here only one month and already the relatively small circle of local people I’ve met has contained an alarming amount of sickness. After about a week here, I found one of my favorite neighborhood boys, normally skipping around and bursting with energy, sitting listless next to our house and barely registering my presence. Normally competing fiercely for my attention, he barely responded when I asked him what was wrong. Turns out he was sick with malaria. Since that time the people who have come down with malaria include, the volunteer coordinator, local bartender, the women who does our washing for extra money, and my roommate! Another teacher at school – again, normally overflowing with energy – became violently ill with dysentery. I went to visit her at her house and she was lying on the floor wearing an pained expression that made her look like a completely different person. Her daughter is in my class and a bit of a over-eager pleaser-type with her hand always first in the air. The day after my visit she came to class and simply put her head on her desk nearly the whole day. I asked her how her mother was doing and she enigmatically told me that her mom’s mouth was twisted and she was not at all well. Turns out she suffered a stroke on top of the dysentery and will no longer be teaching. She is receiving very limited medical care in this critical stage.

Last week a little girl I play with came by and barely cracked a smile when I lightheartedly teased as I usually do. When I pulled her aside and asked her what was wrong, a single tear ran down her face as she told me that her uncle had died that weekend. Since I’ve been here, someone has died next to my guest house and the other volunteer guest house; so has the principal’s brother, my co-teacher’s uncle, and the micro-loan coordinators stepson. Death is just a constant companion, and familial ties are so large that so many are affected by each passing. I’ve simply never been around this much sickness and death.

Another reason not to wax overly sentimental about life here is that pretty much everyone I meet is trying in some way to get to America, Canada or Europe. I wish I could tell them what they’d miss by being there, but I know I don’t have a proper appreciation for how hopeless not having even the option of employment or improvement in your lot can be. Probably about half of my interactions with people have the subtext of how I can help them get to America. Especially those who have been here for a while are quite desperate to get out of here anyway possible. People still fall in love, marry, have kids, go to school and run businesses out of the camp, but almost no one stops dreaming of a different and better life that seems almost impossibly far away.