25 June 2009 ----------- One Week Until Pilli!
“[...] he learned that when people are very poor they still have something to give and the impulse to give it” – Steinbeck, ¬East of Eden
Truer words have never been writ. Its lovely and its tragic and we all should give in to it.
Give it. Love it. Feel it.
Although I have so much pity and admiration and find myself in complete awe of these women, I feel as though it is all washed away in the utter stupidity of some of their ways.
(This is not fair and it is quoted directly from my journal. Observations made against large groups are often a signature of failure by the observer. I’m very aware of that. But this is honest and it is how I felt at the time. Bear with me, please.)
There are a few women in particular that erk me beyond reason; that infuriate me to a breaking point with their inability for empathy and their misunderstanding of goodness.
Wurdia, pure in heart, good in mind, hardworking for the right reasons; she never asks for anything and because of that I give her everything I can. Not necessarily gifts, but I take potable pump water to her every morning in hopes that she might not have to make that extra trip later in the day; I pay her to do laundry that I am very capable of doing, knowing that she needs and uses the money wisely. She cannot read or write and yet she is both wise in life and in heart.
I find myself infuriated by some of the requests and demands and the incessant mockery… in some women there is no subtlety, no empathy, and no self-awareness.
This is not only about West African women. This is us as a unit, as a people.
Today I miss my name. My identity. My life has been masked for the ease of their tongue and my inability to converse in it. I wish someone would call me Sydney today. Oumou has its cute qualities. But Sydney is me.