Finding the Hunger

October 1, 2012

2 days later and the fairy tale is shattered. Well not quite that far, but certainly things have progressed, and not, in ways that I probably should have expected, but somehow didn’t. To put a face to my troubles, last night and the night before were a bit difficult. I don’t have internet at the moment, and so having a few withdrawal symptoms from going cold turkey after my splurging over the past few weeks in the US. I finished writing the previous entry about the high quality of sleep available here, only to be beset by a sleepless and restless night. Awakening only a short time after drifting off several pages into The Shadow of the Sun, I was possessed of a horrible thirst, while at the same time feeling overly warm and needing to urinate. Arising after several minutes of trying to regain my slumber, I drank from the bottom of the water jug, used the restroom, and turned on the fan, attempting to address the triple threat of issues which had been plaguing me. Turns out these were mere smokescreen obscuring something deeper that had really stolen my repose, as for the next many hours I tossed and turned, until finally I gave in, switched back on the light, and proceeded to complete the aforementioned novel. Still not drooping, though highly irritated from being open so long, I screwed shut my eyes as best I could and held on till near morning, at which point I finally drifted off into a doze until sun light seared my face.

The day proceeded in fits and starts, which a lengthy taxi trip with a pleasant man named Jared placing me far afield, in a village called Gasieka, where a meeting was supposed to commence. The meeting was running a little late, and later still, and so I sat, in a chair in the shade of a large tree, for the better part of 2 hours, until finally several farmers arrived to be trained in how to spot the dreaded MLND (Maize Lethal Necrosis Disease). The training lasted the better part of an hour, all in Kisii/Kiswahili, allowing me to retain the same oblivious sitting position. Upon its conclusion, myself, the Field Manager, and the Field Director, began our ascent, climbing straight up a very large hill, in search of delinquent farmers who were behind on their payments. Almost an hour later found us still climbing this monstrous hill, though considerably winded, prompting passersby to exclaim “why are you making the mzungu climb so high?” Finally reaching our destination along the crest of this mountain, we stated our claims at several homesteads, only to have our demands shut down by the majority, including a monstrous woman who would not have looked out of place in the immediate family of Shrek.

By the time we had done what we could and were considering returning back to Kisii, it was near 5pm, and my stomach was more aware than any nerve in my brain that I had failed to eat anything since the small bowl of yogurt I had slurped down at 9am that morning. During the taxi ride home, as I briefly bemoaned my sad fate, of having essentially eaten too small a breakfast and skipped lunch, an internal debate arose. Perhaps this was intentional, perhaps all new hires are sent into the field without lunch so as to cultivate a proper appreciation of those who go hungry. It was, after all, hungry farmers, who inspired the founding of this organization in the first place. And part of this consideration was accompanied my some measure of anger: had I not experienced hunger before? Had I not gone long without a bite for lack of funds, or while observing Ramadan? Did it not make a worker less productive, less motivated, unhealthy, to engage in such blatant starvation practices? And as I was fuming about all this, I caught my mental breath, and released a cerebral sigh. No one had arranged this for me. I had failed to seek out food, or failed to pack a lunch, or any manner of oversight or lack of effort. Part of what had stopped me was seeing no one else I had been with throughout the day eat a morsel. And I realized, this anger was really the hunger talking, the gnawing feeling in my stomach had gotten the better of my rationality, my self-criticism, my sympathy. And those around me must all have had the same ache. It was, as I had related in my interview, very difficult to work well while hungry. Yet these people did it every day. So though I may be tired, and hungry, I had barely sprinted through a period of deprivation, skimmed the surface of a feeling many run marathons through day in and day out. So to have brought this on myself was really my brain making up for the lack of empathy it had possessed previously. I wouldn’t bemoan my sad state for lack of a lunch again. Instead, I would be proactive, seek out my own sustenance, and appreciate every meal as the blessing it is, for all too many around me had no such blessing in their life with anything like the regularity that I did.