Life in a Valley

"We are all meant to shine as children do,
And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same."

Many of you may recognise the above quote. Many South Africans do. Nelson Mandela said these words in 1994 during his inauguration speech. They were not written by him. But by saying them, they became his words.

When I first encountered these words I knew nothing of Mandela or his presidential address. I, like others of you, recognise them as being spoken in a very emotional scene in one of my favourite movies, Coach Carter. They are performed by the character Tairo Cruiz at a dramatic moment where Carter's teaching methods seem to have their first breakthrough, with the troublesome Cruiz. They are a symbol of a noble, gracious and determined man, believing in the goodness of his students, encouraging them to be the best they can be, to let their 'own light shine'.

The poem from which both Mandela and Samuel L. Jackson draw, is 'Our Deepest Fear' by Marianne Williamson.

These words have certainly had a profound effect on me and characterise a lot about what this trip, this african life, was meant to be for me. Coach Carter was the first dvd I bought for the children, back in 2008. Mandela's long walk to freedom [abridged version] was the first book I bought for the children, also in 2008. It therefore follows quite rightly, that this poem which joins those two key moments, holds a special meaning for me also.

Letting my light shine, to enable others to learn to shine too.
Liberating myself from my fears, facing that fear, and helping others to freedom from their fears.
'Making a tangible difference' that's the statement of intention that I stated almost a year ago when I created this blog.

But somewhere along the way things begin to change. A subtle sliding movement that we don't begin to feel until we pick up speed on the downwards slope. When we hit the bottom and look back up we can't believe we have fallen so far. But that's how it goes. Day by day you cannot feel the change but when you look back over a period of weeks and months you begin to see the small changes and tough moments that have put you down where you are.

For me, I have reached it. My all time personal low. When the downward slope began I can hardly say, perhaps April, perhaps May. I've known I was on the slope for sure since June. Luke's visit was a lot of fun but also opened my eyes to the problems I've been facing and the things which my life here lacks. Since he left, those problems have become my ever present companion.

Make a difference. Be with people who need me. Feel needed.

It seemed like a simple enough aim but reality is always a long way from a romanticised idea, made whilst sitting in the safety of my own country and home.

I never thought I would become cynical. But I also never thought I would see some of the things I have seen. Or experiences that I have had.

You simply cannot just walk into another culture, 'shine your light', teach some Shakespeare, direct a few gospel songs, and think that you can make a difference. Maybe it did something for a day or so, or a few weeks, but in the long term it means nothing. In my first few months I thought everything I did was a breakthrough. That I was getting somewhere, changing someone's life. But it's all just some conceited belief that we matter to others, that we can change things, that we are capable of making a difference.

In the end I am my own person. They are their own. Our lives touch momentarily but all our lives all we are really interested in is ourself and what we will do, and become and achieve. This trip is part of MY life, about who I AM and what I will become. I convinced myself it was about the kids, and africa and the disadvantaged, but in the end all I can think of is me. I will leave and go back to my 'normal' life and maybe, and thats a big maybe, have some kind of contact with perhaps two of these children through their lives, but CYNICALLY, they will just be locked away as a chapter of my life's scrap book.

I have been so absorbed in my own problems and depression that those around me have not been my primary concern for weeks. Why then, should I be at ALL surprised, that I am of no concern to them either? If I feel lonely, uncared for, unappreciated...is it at all surprising when I have only been looking after and thinking about myself?

And I don't hear from people at home either. I think 6 months is about the limit that people can go without seeing you before they forget that you are still out there. The human memory, and the number of hours in a day, mean that you can easily drop off of other people's radar without them even noticing a thing. But when you had been kindly treated to a piece of mail at least every week, when that becomes one every 2 weeks, or one a month...you begin to feel you have lost touch. And when the world you are in isn’t going to plan, once you feel you have lost grip on the world you came from, then you can really feel stranded. Should I stay and regain this world? Or should I cut my ties and see if I can leap the gap I have put between myself and the world I left? What if I get back only to find the world has moved on without me and I am left far behind? Either way I live without half of my life. Africa and England will always be a world apart.
I went on a staff workshop last week, we spoke a lot about the ‘Peaks and Valleys’ of life. It made me realise I am in a personal valley. But when you compare that with the people in my group, who’s valleys are the death of a partner to AIDS, or the loss of a child, or the terrible reality of poverty, or having to face a ‘loan shark’, it does little to help me feel that my problems are also worth something. They win hands down! I’ve lived my entire life on a ‘peak’ in their opinion.
But taking the phrases used on the course I understood more
‘a peak is a moment when you appreciate the good things you have’
‘a valley is a moment when you long for what is missing’
‘longing for what is missing’ is exactly what I have been doing for the past several weeks. I am missing my family, my friends, conversation, socialising, having friends here, teaching, working with children, fulfilment, people.
All I can think about is what I am missing. Of what my life is missing. My dream of shining lights and changing lives. It is all missing. The vision of a year ago has gone M.I.A.
Apparently to ‘get out my valley’ [oh god I hate self-help books and their inane phrases] I must do the opposite of what put me in there, so...I will expose you to the horrid truth of my situation:
Becky’s personal self-help strategy:
1. Find people to talk to
2. Find people to spend time with
3. Do fulfilling work
4. Have a routine
5. Teach in a school
6. Contact friends/family overseas
7. Learn zulu
8. Don’t let people take me for granted/take advantage
My personal prediction that I can achieve these things lies at about 5%...I guess that means my valley is a hell of a lot deeper than I can climb out of. Perhaps a plane will be needed in this instance, one that is Heathrow bound preferably.