Preliminary musings and random thoughts

I am consistently struck by the cadence of life here and how diametrically opposed it is from our usual fever pitch. It’s also surprising to note how easily I have slipped into the pace myself. Moving slowly, relaxing, stopping to smell the roses—or, more accurately, see the wildebeest and acacia trees.

I am also struck by the desperate poverty—with no real sense of desperation. As we drive through villages that are no more than groups of primitive mud walled huts, one of which is a small grocery and another may be a cell phone store, with skinny cows and dust and dirt, the people smile and waive at us and the children are thrilled and appreciative when we give them pencils. It is truly hard to imagine getting a similar reception while driving through blighted areas of Los Angeles in what must be the equivalent of a fancy BMW. While we did not have a chance to speak to villagers, and I imagine that such conversations would not really be possible any way, it seems as though they do not feel oppressed by poverty or their living situation, but relatively happy and content with their lives. This statement seems extremely condescending and paternalistic and I hope to learn more, but it is likely also paternalistic to assume that they would be happier living a lifestyle more akin to ours.

I don’t think I have yet to completely relax on this trip. I am ashamed on being put off by the dirt, smells and bugs, thanks in no small part to Beth Tigay, and the book she gave me How to Shit Around the World, that I foolishly read cover to cover before we left, which describes in horrifying detail all of the various diseases you can catch when traveling in the developing world, and worse, how these diseases are transmitted. Somehow, in the rush of getting out of town, getting shots, filling prescriptions and stocking up on a ludicrous array of over the counter meds, I had not really focused on the fact that any of us could get really sick. I am not talking about what everyone euphemistically calls “traveler’s tummy”, but malaria, dengue fever and the like. I am determined to get passed these fears—but also to keep my family healthy.

I am very moved by watching this whole experience through the eyes of our daughters. They are such an interesting mix of things—raised in such privilege with so many people doing things for them, yet they don’t seem to have an obvious sense of expectation and they act with appropriate respect to all (other than the reasonably frequent bickering over such slights as their feet touching their side of the seat. I love that Emma spent several meals copiously noting that Mrosso was always served last. It seemed to genuinely offend her sense of fairness. I also love that they both seem so comfortable with people of all types and are genuinely interested in getting to know them and understanding them, without being scared off by what is so dramatically different from anything they know, or to which they have previously been exposed.