June 12, 2008

#18: The Straw That (Almost) Broke the Camel’s Back

In most northern African countries, camels are used as tools in agriculture and the trade markets. Kings and peasants use camels alike, however, it costs a pretty penny to own one. Camels carry so much weight and trudge on for days without water or support from the shepherds. They bear the heat, the situations and when it is time to die, they don’t notify the rider. It just gets on its knees and dies right away.

I feel like a camel, almost. Since I’ve been living in the desert, I have experienced heat to a high degree, carried so much weight (literally and figuratively) and facing situations that test my will to continue as a volunteer. But I am still walking on my two legs (hobbling, actually) and determined to finish what I started.

The past two weeks has been more so incredibly hard. First, I had suffered injuries: cutting my fingers twice, spraining my pinky finger, burning the same leg twice on separate occasions on a kabu kabu, and scratching my calf deep. It had seemed like I had upset Karma and he was getting back at me with a vengeance. I had been without my laptop for three weeks, some items had broken in the house, costy spending had almost drained me of my month’s savings already, situations that came up at work and at home. I was bearing the brunt of all the stresses from these situations and I was becoming unhappy. No matter how hard I tried to fix the problem, it seemed to persist or become worse. I held it all in, with an occasional grumble or throwing up my arms in frustration. It didn’t help that Marufat, my intervenor, communicates 80% of the time in fingerspelling and she is the only one “able” to interpret conversations between me and people here. Sure, I do write back and forth but most situations did not allow for me to do that. So, when she would not understand and I had to repeat a long sentence again in fingerspelling, I become frustrated and bite my tongue.

The last injury I had was burning myself on a motorcycle (kabu) exhaust. It was hotter than a red-hot coil on a stove, and it could cook an egg in 30 seconds. When I hopped on one, my bare leg touched the exhaust briefly, and unfortunately my skin had melted so fast some skin stuck to the exhaust. Pretty gruesome sight, it was. Over a few days, the dead skin began peeling off and muscle was exposed. Infection set in and it was unbearable to walk. The weekend was approaching fast, and I would be hostesses to six VSO volunteers coming up for the Great Blackout of Birnin Kebbi party. To make matters worse, I had a stomach virus and wasn’t feeling well. On Friday, Kristel and Glenn, two vols went with me to the Federal Medical Center two miles outside of Birnin-Kebbi, with the principal of my school and Marufat. Marufat tried to interpret for me in the doctor’s office but she was not able to fill me in on a lot of the happenings or what was being said. It was so stressful.

Friday afternoon came, and it brought Susan, Eunice, Helen and Jane into my home after a long 8 hour drive from their cities. We set off for the fish and chips place by the military market and we enjoyed a beautiful sunset by the desert horizon. My leg was killing me.

Morning came and everyone was up and about, making a delicious breakfast for everyone while I was still in bed, feeling ill from the infection and stomach pains. The volunteers told me to relax, that they would take care of me instead. I had to return to the hospital that morning per the doctor’s orders. I waited for the keke nepap from the school to appear at 10am, but it never did. I can’t really elaborate on the serious situation that led to the keke not coming, but I can say this: I had enough. I was not about to take a kabu to the hospital because I had hurt my leg on one in the first place, and secondly, the hospital was a little too far for me to ride a kabu. In the northern states, taxi cars are forbidden, only keke nepaps and kabu kabus are allowed for some unforeseen reason.

I walked into the living room after waiting outside for a bit and finding out that my ride was not coming – and I signed fiercely to everyone that I have had it and the problems were just getting worse. I ran off to my bedroom and started crying and releasing all of the stress that had consumed me for the past few weeks. I had no friends in town for moral and emotional support, limited communication and time did not matter. Jane, a volunteer who had picked up some signs and fingerspelling when I was in Akwanga and taught her, had caught on my signing and interpreted for the volunteers. She came in, consoled me and said that they all were here for me and it was OK to cry. It all came spilling out, and I can honestly say I have never felt better. Jane and I talked on MS Word, typing back and forth and talked about the situations and solutions. It was a blessing to have the volunteers up here, it was in the nick of time.

I went back to bed in the afternoon, and the volunteers waited for their camels to come. I had arranged for camel riding through the principal, for the vols to have a real desert experience. But the camel herd never came, but the vols found something to do by browsing the market nearby for food and souvenirs.

Today, my leg is healing nicely. I have talked to the principal about the situations and he understands it has to improve. I have a loaned computer at home now with internet access so I can start working. I have lost over 50 lbs and feel so much lighter. I have the prospect of going to the States this summer and getting a much needed injection of tactile love from family and friends. After the volunteers left, everything seemed different. I was willing to stick it out a bit longer – and if the situations persist, no problem. I’ll just transfer out of this state to another, helping other Deaf organizations prosper.

For camels, there isn’t much choice. They are forced to walk the long way across the Saharan desert, without water for days to come. They drop at their feet and die, without any mercy. I felt almost like that: forced to walk all the way to the end of this placement, with no end in sight it would seem. But after being fed and nurtured by a team of caring people, I have strengthened, able to walk a bit longer with two choices: go on or die. And I pick to go on and choose another path.

Tactile love,

Coco

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