Forget Kentucky!

or "El Pollo Campero" for that matter...

Happy Left Handers Day

August 13, Left Handers Day.

Being a lefty has always been an integral part of my identity. Not sure why, but I always found solace in the fact that I was left-handed and was born in October, don't ask me why. Ever since I was little, I always noticed lefties in the room.

When I was in elementary school I hated art class because of all the rules. All those instructions felt claustrophobic. I was never given a break when it came to cutting with scissors, sewing, or mastering any basic skill with right-hand instruments. Some teachers were more understanding than others, but one or two gave me a hard time for doing things "backwards" despite the fact that I still got very good grades doing things my way. I wish back in the third grade I'd known I was in such good company. I know this would have irked Mrs. S, but I would not have resisted dropping a few names. Here you go, Mrs. S...

Some famous and infamous left-handers: Simon Bolivar, Napoleon, Charlemagne, Alexander the Great, Fidel Castro, Gandhi, Helen Keller, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Rubens, Toulouse Lautrec, Billy the Kid, Jack the Ripper, Mark Twain, Franz Kafka, Marie Curie, Jerry Seinfeld, Drew Carry, Spike Lee, and of course, my friends J, A, T, and others with whom I have bonded over our left-handedness.

My Congo Days are Numbered

My Congo days are numbered and I feel sad. I keep thinking of reasons to stay and I keep finding reasons to return to Guate. I want to go home. Home is Guate. "Home" to me also means a place where I can invest myself because I belong there. I can complain about what doesn't work but I also can legitimately invest myself in living according to my principles and accept the risks that come with this. This sounds horribly lofty and it may give you the wrong impression about how I see myself, but I don't know how else to phrase it.

As much as I will miss the Congo, I need to leave. Being here has taught me many lessons in humility and one of them is acceptance of how little impact we really have on the world. We're just passing through the world, really. The causes that we adhere to may sound altruistic but the reasons why we join have often a (strong) selfish component. In my case, this has been a desire to feel useful. And it is this need to feel useful that drives in part my need to return to Guatemala. The other reasons are obviously selfish and need not be elaborated upon: most of my family is there, most of my friends are there, D. and I like it there, the weather is nice, we love the food, the roads are better, there are far fewer power outages and water usually runs where we'll live.

The usefulness factor is the only one that I feel I need to explain. Here in Kin I feel quite useless. My work may or may not mean a thing in the short term OR in the long term scheme of things. Things in Guate may not be that much different but at least the little dent I'll make will mean something to me. Yes, to me me me.

When people ask me how I came to be in the Congo I answer with the truth: "my boyfriend moved here, I looked for a job, I moved here." I can tell from people's expressions that they find my story a bit disappointing. No, it was not the desire to navigate the Congo River, or walk in the jungle, or see elephants in the wild (I never did, btw). I did not come to save anyone or anything. If we want to talk about saving, it was rather the Congo and its culture shock therapy that saved me or at least forced me to reassess my life. This is why I am sad. In some strange way, it is the Congo that feels more familiar now. I have at least a dozen concrete dreams and plans for Guate and many enjoyable things lined up, but these are all plans that were born on this side of the Atlantic and I sometimes wonder how will they fare over there?

To end this (probably too private) entry, I need to clarify that I am thoroughly enjoying all these thoughts and reflexions. I am happy to be sad about leaving and I am grateful for every day that I've had to say goodbye to my favorite baobabs and rambling Art Deco houses, the strangers that I've come to recognize on the street, the sunsets and the tiny, electric blue Martin pecheurs and all the other birds that live, to quote my friend G., in this giant "cage" that is Kinshasa. I have fewer and fewer days to spare some change for Moïse, my little cheguez friend, to look for the Writer of Wagenia, to wave at the Incorruptible Traffic Cop, to gossip with my friends at work, and for so many things that up to last year would have been easier to leave behind. I'm happy to be sad.