Wednesday

Wednesday morning we arrive in yet another village. Welcomed by the chanting and singing of women all around. All that I notice before me is the sea of colors; reds, purples, blues, deep and bold, richer than I remembered. Much different from the drowning grays that consumed me at home. I breathe deep to take it in. I want to close my eyes and embrace it all. I want to live in it. Instead I pull out my camera and begin snapping. My role here is photographer. It is a blessing and a curse. To see the world through a lens, holding moments still after they are gone. I am documenting their lives, our lives when I would rather just live in it.

There is something homey in this foreignness, a part of me that knows I could stay forever.

Soon we are off to the clinic. I ride in the back, Teresa’s hand in mine. In front of us sit six doctors and village leaders. Its like something from a movie that I have never seen. Another reality, surely not my own.

We step out of the car to a courtyard of people, young and old. There must be 400 or more. Broken tooth smile, bitter sweet scarred face. They are all here to see Teresa. Her eyes meet mine and we exchange speechlessness. She is pushed to the center of a large circle, they all dance around her. Her arrival means hope, health, possibility, opportunity, as they think.

I am unsure, and overcome with emotion. Tears flow as I slowly melt into a jumbled mess. The melting pot, I am apart of it now. Our world. The world we pretend not to know. But once you have been here, you cant pretend anymore.

A woman no less than 80 looks at me with contentment. She takes my hand gently into her own, She looks deep in my eyes as tears fall down my cheeks. She touches my tears with her fingers and then points to her own eyes. She whispers something in Swahili that I take to mean tears. She is asking why I am crying. I wish I could understand or tell her its of beauty and love and trust and brokenness. Instead all I know is to put my hands to her heart and say “ya kupendeza “ “beautiful”. I know no other words. She holds my face and kisses the tears on each of my cheeks. I lay my forehead to hers. There are no words, even if I knew them. I will never forget this moment.

Through the day these people wait. They wait for Teresa. They wait for hope. But there isn’t time, and seeing patients is not why we have come. We are here to learn and teach and share. It is hard, but valuable this way. Of the few women she sees, there is cervical cancer, TB, and severe anemia. In the small white room I try to be present but without answers, all I want to do is hide. When we climb into the car hours later, grasping hands, holding onto all we known, we are a wash of tears. Uncontrolled in a way, in a truth, that I cannot hide.  My mind hurts, my heart hurts, my soul is aflame. In this moment there are no solutions, no answers, nothing I can claim. I am lost in it. 

“Just be with it” Anne says. And for now, it is the beginning and to be with it is the only way.