Sunday, April 4, 2010

Mad world

Maybe it's because I'm coming down with something (my throat's all swell-y and everyone around here seems to have something from the grab-bag of illness we've been passing between each other) but I still can't shake what happened yesterday. A staff member showed up to Serengeti this morning and, able to tell we were angry about something, asked what was up. We told her. All morning, I was grinding my teeth with "How dare she?" and "What the hell is wrong with this place?" thought bubbles surrounding my head.


On our way to breakfast, the volunteer in question approached Bill and I and apologized for her behaviour. That was a mark of maturity I was certain was alien to this place. I plan on going to her later today and thanking her for acting like an adult and showing more respect than any other volunteer who has wronged us or the community while hammered has. Seriously, this is the first time anyone has owned up, and I can respect that. We all have done stupid things while drunk, but the amount of folks here who are unrepentant after they sober up because their egos are too fragile is overwhelming.


I am still angry, though, because this will happen again. Maybe not in this form, but drunken jackassery is not going to end here. It was so disempowering, last night, watching what happened happen, knowing that we couldn't say anything because (A) we wouldn't be backed up by the staff, at least effectively and within a good amount of time, (B) we aren't in a position where other volunteers take our criticisms professionally rather than personally, and (C) every little bit of friction here causes too large an amount of stress for me and I am losing my ability to stay invested while handling that kind of stress. On days when I am physically unwell or mentally fed up, why should I bother? they aren't... flows through my head. There's no clear and enforced standard of conduct, here. There's a lacking in intrinsic motivation to put effort into the work, and there's an absence in extrinsic motivation to stay in line beyond the minimum. I'm tired of hearing that something is "too hard". Too hard for what, I do not know. This morning, I had to talk to one of my pre-teens about what happened last night; a conversation he started with Bill and I. He said he was uncomfortable, that he could smell it on her breath, that he knew she fell asleep because of the alcohol, and that he knew she was going to be "grumpy" this morning. That's what's hard. The only thing Bill and I were able to say: "Yeah, that was wrong. We're sorry that happened," because we couldn't say "it won't happen again" and maintain the rapport of honesty we've established with Serengeti kids.


Bill and I are pesimistic in our outlook. Our only option is to, in our own house and with our own responsibilities here and at Gyetighi, exceed. Otherwise, we could sulk around all day because there's ample reason to crestfallen, it seems. The line started with the outside community, travelled within the community with the Primary School teachers, and got closer and closer to the kids until it actually involved the kids. What the hell are we supposed to think?

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