Words
Life Lessons from the Rear View Mirror
It wasn’t my first time in rural America, but it was definitely my first time to live in rural America. What was I doing here? How could I be studying something as worldly as international development in rural America? It didn’t make sense to me…But my expectations were so wrong about life in Athens. Because it wasn’t until a whole three years later, in June 1997, that I finally peeled myself away from this 20,000+ person college town that surprisingly stole my heart from the get-go.
Same Same But Different
But over time, I came to love my work because of the constant opportunity to interview all kinds of people and learn about their work. And in turn, share their success stories. Eventually, it just became natural to me to talk with just about anyone. I had honed my ability to listen and pepper in enough questions that eventually let things evolve into simply—a pleasant conversation.
Emotions as a Universal Language
Upon their request, we stopped what we were doing, took a seat around the living area, and quieted ourselves to be fully present in the moment. Then, one by one, each caregiver stood before us and spoke of the last few days and hours with Lola. Their words were at first calm and measured. But soon, lips quivered, voices cracked, and tears fell as they endeavored to be heard through the rush and release of their pent-up grief.
Three Americans, a Satellite Dish, and a Funeral
Bernd, Nick, and I wandered along this one road village while it was still light out. We were quickly met by a large group of local kids, rather excited to play frisbee with two tall guys from America. I stood by, taking pictures but soon got distracted by a group of people gathered at the doorway to someone’s home not far from where we were. I walked on over to see what was up and peaked through the shoulders of a couple of people.
My Afghan 15 Minutes of Fame
So, without my flak jacket, I was whisked around town in the front passenger seat for a 90-minute tour with three enthusiastic and gracious hosts. We first when to a “safe house’ to see the Buzkashi horses (the Afghan national sport, often likened to polo). We then drove out to the city park and various other spots around this beautiful, pastoral town where there was no visual evidence of a war that was already 8 years old and ongoing. Everywhere we went, my hosts eagerly took photos—me with each of them and then group photos in all combinations, each time snapped into memory with all four of our cameras—mine, and each of theirs.
Why I Got Free Coffee for Two Years
In my heart of hearts, I knew how I acted that day was not in line with who I wanted to be as a member of this community. I didn’t want to live anonymously and feel like my actions didn’t matter because of that anonymity. I wanted to contribute positively to this beautiful and burgeoning little town, just as many of my family members had done in their own communities and inspired me to do the same.
From Fear to Comfort
There were no streetlights on this rural road from the airport to the center of Udaipur. Blanketed in the pitch black darkness of rural India where light pollution was not a thing, the only lights that flickered were those of the massive trucks driving by, which both comforted and worried me at the same time. I had gotten out of the car and waited, somehow feeling safer that way. But by now, I was nervous for real, my stomach a bit in knots. Though the driver was kind and apologetic for the inconvenience, I couldn’t help thinking of what ugly things could unfold. I kept pushing the thoughts out of my mind. But the minutes continued to pass and my dread continued to increase. I silently prayed to the universe that all would be fine. And it was.
Revived by Chai
As I headed back into the wild streets of Old Delhi, I thought about how no words were ever exchanged between me and the staff during the 20 minutes I sat ill in the tea shop. Yet they saw my need and responded without question or hesitation, the Indian way – with a simple cup of hot chai.
Denied by One, Embraced by Another
I couldn’t help but smile about what had happened. Denied by one, embraced by another, it taught me the power of engagement. That a mutual willingness to connect at a personal level, even with those who are different than us, can make what seemed impossible, possible. It was also a great reminder that despite the broad-brushing of people, there are always those who will rise above the stereotype to share in our common humanity.
A New Me in a New World
Soon, we were also introduced to many other international cuisines at the homes of our diverse group of expat neighbors. The variety of people who became our friends and neighbors was so much fun and eye-opening. And I unknowingly came to feel comfortable in a way I had not felt before.
How 9/11 Changed Me
…as I reflect on the 20th anniversary of 9/11, I again feel distraught. Because sadly, two decades later, just as I worried two decades ago, the world is still full of hate. Perhaps more so, because the hate has divided what was once a united America in response to 9/11. And I find myself yearning once again to put a human face—on everything.