Thanksgiving in Kenya

November 22, 2007

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Karissa, my roomie, and I are attempting to make some turkey and mashed potatoes tonight, which is going to be interesting considering that we don’t have an oven in this hostel – just two burners – but we’re gonna be BALLER and do it anyway! There’s also no gravy mix or stuffing available in all Kenya, so we’ve gotta kind of do it by the seat of our pants, but perhaps that is for the best. We’ve also got a bottle of South African wine for the evening, so I’m taking the day mostly off and looking forward to a little R and R.

These past couple weeks have been wonderful, but very different from the rest of the term. There isn’t much here to do in Kisumu, besides walk along the Lake, so my typical day has been waking up, making some tea, heading off to a hospital or an NGO to do interviews and field work, coming home, watching an episode of bootlegged Lost, dinner, work and sleep. But it’s nice to have somewhat of a reprieve, since we had no vacation in the first two and a half months of the term to speak of, so getting to lie in bed in PJs and watch something American-pop-culture-y is grand. Varun has also joined us here in Kisumu, but he has his own room. I’m making good progress – by the end of the week, I should have 20 of my 30 seropostive mothers/pregnant women interviews done, and I already have more than enough interviews with health workers. I need to start writing this actual bitch soon, however.

Since we’ve had a little free time and not much to do, I have indeed watched season 2 (and am currently watching 3) of Lost over these past couple weeks, throwing in an odd episode here and there. The quality is crap-tacular, as the only kind of DVDs available here are bootlegs, but I’ll buy the real ones once I’m back in the states to assuage my guilt. It’s sparkly; my love for Dominic Monaghan knows no bounds. My roomie got Veronica Mars, so I’ll move onto that if I run out of Lost.

I’ve also had a little time to disconnect, reconnect and think a lot. One of the other things I’ve been doing to kill time in these quiet, lake-humid evenings is going back and reading my archived livejournal, all the way from January 2003 when I was 16 years old and a junior in high school, all the way back to that first post where Lissie and Joyous spammed my journal and I had no idea who the hell these crazy people were, but I liked them. It’s amazing just how much small decisions and actions can change the course of one’s life forever. Had I not decided to drop five dollars on that initial invite code, had I not posted shyly to u2slash, I never would have met all those wonderful U2slashers, I never would’ve road-tripped to Cleveland at Christmas ’03, I never would have sat outside in a queue in Chicago impersonating “babies everywhere!” or in the hot Philly sun with a certain Kiwi reciting West Wing dialogues, I never would’ve cried my eyes out at Croke Park during Running to Stand Still surrounded by people whom I loved beyond comprehension. Small choices. Small actions. Great, truly great results.

The same is true for Chapel Hill. After reading over my journal from all those years, if I am truly honest with myself I will admit that my first three semesters of Carolina were not the greatest barrel of laughs. It’s a large part of the reason that I didn’t become great friends with Katie and Jess (or really, anyone at Carolina if we’re being honest) until Spring 06. The first three semesters were marked by the initial craziness of college and dorm life and new classes and shows and too much work, of course, but they were also marked by my distinct hatred of not being able to be in St. Louis as my father fought for his last months and days on this good earth. I hated it, I really did. I hated that during the week at Carolina I could happy and care-fee, I could go to parties and line my eyes and hike up my skirts, and yet when I would call home on weekends, I would be wracked with guilt for allowing myself to be footloose and fancy-free while my father slowly lost his battle with cancer. It was an absolutely impossible situation that had no good answer – as most of you know, my father would have slit his wrists before he would have allowed me to take a semester off school to care for him. We Finnerans can be awfully stubborn, no?

That was now two years ago. I remember coming home to Chapel Hill after sophomore fall break, the entirety of which I had spent bed-side at St. Luke’s with my father. When I left his hospital room that Saturday night, it was the last time I ever saw him coherent. I hugged him when I left, and he drew me in close and kissed my temple. It was a gesture from a man who was never physically affectionate with us, and somewhere in the bottom of my heart I knew that meant it would be the last time I would ever really see him alive. I hadn’t cried in front of everyone that whole weekend, seeing him emaciated and IV’ed and graying, but when I got back to the dorms, Katie and Jess got back from their camping trip in Asheville. They asked me how it had gone, and I got through about six words of the story before I absolutely lost control of myself – and I remember hearing their luggage fall to the floor and they just surrounded me with love and sympathy and support as I cried and cried and cried. That is one of those moments in my life I can never forget, and I am forever thankful to them for that.

I’ve also come to realize, over these past few days, that I have pretty much responded to my father’s death in the same way I responded to my mother’s – by throwing myself head-long into school and into work, namely. You kind of hit the ground running and don’t even think to stop to look back. And honestly, I’ve barely had any time to do that – both 2006 and 2007 were (and still are, natch) years that I filled with work and school and friends, with trips and journeys and nights out till 4 AM. Wonderful, crazy, whirlwind dizzying years – which is how, I guess, I’ve always chosen to live my life. I like it. But a large part of the reason I’ve chosen to live my life thus far like that is exactly because of those events – I’m looking for to fill that God-shaped hole. And in the process, I’ve know I’ve left some things behind that I shouldn’t have. Mostly this applies to my U2slashers, people like Claire, Izzy, Sunny, Shannon, Lissa, Joyous, Lis, Ally, NotDrey, Courtney, Charlie, Cheryl, Frog and Occ, to name a few. These were people who, like Katie and Jess, like Tania and Mama K, like Mandy and Brian, were absolutely there for me during some of the most difficult times of my life, unflinching in their support in spite of the distances and the oceans and the time zones. It also applies to some of my St. Louis friends, for it also with them that I have let distances and time zones come to matter too much. But it’s slightly different for them, as everyone makes their own lives but always comes Home for Christmas.

At the same time, I have been inordinately blessed with a community of friends at Chapel Hill that could, truly, not be more perfect. And since I became able to stop angsting about not being in St. Louis, I found such happiness at Chapel Hill that I find it still hard to put it into words. We’ve had make-up Thanksgivings and nights in HPT till 3 in the morning, we’ve had birthdays and cocktails and far too much fun, we’ve had drunken waltzing out in the rain and all-nighters in the UL, we’ve had heartache and true love, we’ve had fucking Urinetown, locopops and high tea. And I know I’m getting Very Rambly, and perhaps even A Bit Too Personal, but this is what I mean to say, for I truly believe it:

There are some things, some events, some times and some places and some small choices that put people into your life in a way that is permanent. They etch out a place in your heart that cannot be erased or diminished; it will be there forever. You may try to run away or to escape it, you may bury your heart under work and responsibilities, you may board a plane for Nairobi to see what it’s like to be on your own for four months, but at the end of the day, they will always, always be there. This goes for my St. Louis friends, who cried with me at my father’s funeral and bore my mother’s palls. This goes for my Irish family, with whom I have scattered my father’s ashes in the shadow of an ancient mountain. It’s true for my Chapel Hill friends, with whom I have shared stage makeup, backstage warmups, the infinity of performance and the terrifying truth of Growing Up. And it’s still true for my slasher friends, with whom I have screamed out my lungs at Chicago and Croke, with whom I have stayed up all night with pots of tea and Chats of Doom, laughing at terrible jokes and awfully-written gay porn.

There’s no way around it; it’s True.

There was, in truth, a good deal of Running Away in my decision to come abroad, as there is for most students who choose to, I imagine. It wasn’t the only reason, and it wasn’t the most influential reason by a long shot, but it was still there. And, in truth, I have learned so much this semester, so much beyond development and Kiswahili and the role of breastfeeding in mother-to-child transmission of HIV. Part of it comes from being literally unable to communicate as you would want. It makes you realize the importance of communication when you can, of keeping those people who are etched upon your heart close to you, for they know your secrets and your lies and your sorrow and your joy. They know you. They know you, and that in itself is such a blessing it’s nearly incomprehensible. Nearly.

This is all to say that I have learned this lesson, perhaps the hard way, but perhaps not. Friendships happen by accident, but they don’t stay that way on accident. And when I return to the states, I will try again to do my utmost to keep you all near to me. This is also true for my Chapel Hill friends, for my darlings, many of us only have a few short months until that dreaded G word, and who knows where we shall end up after then. But I do not fear. I know you all will always be in my life somehow. I don’t simply believe this, don’t simply trust this, I know it. We will dance at each other’s weddings and cry over the cradles of our newborns. And I know that despite whatever the future may bring, be it distance or oceans or time zones, all of you will always be in my life.

What a blessing.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. We all have a great deal to be thankful for.

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