African Time

I am writing this because I have set a goal to blog at least one time per week. I have made a promise to myself and my diligent fans (insert stifled guffaw here) to write; to write my experiences as proof for posthumous analysis as a senile story-teller, to write as an outlet for frustration and journaling purposes, and to write just for the sake of writing. So, one of my personal goals is to blog at least once a week. Another one of my personal goals is to defecate under Joel’s mosquito net before he goes to sleep and right when he wakes up, but I’ll let him fill you in on those details.

Goals. Goals are an interesting phenomenon. It’s as if I say to myself, “Well you wrote it down, so now you really have to do it.” There’s just something about checking off the boxes next to those aspirations that really motivates me. For whatever reason, that voice in my head that tries to convince me to do stuff just doesn’t do the trick. I won’t listen to it, unless I write what it says down, no matter how loud or frequent it gets.

Goal setting is something new in my life. I have been advised as early on as the 7th grade to set goals, but I sort of just floated around it making excuses like not having a pen or not liking the way my handwriting looks. Basically, I was just the laziest sonofagun in the northwest, and my other attributes were able to make up for and even disguise this glaring shortcoming. Well, ladies and gentlemen, the secret is out. I am the worst procrastinator I know, and how I’ve ever accomplished anything in my life I did not have the answer to. Until now.

African time. Any guesses as to what that entails? It means that anybody can be late to anything in any context with absolutely zero consequences. Before I continue, it should be noted that I am attempting to write this from an un-biased perspective. I am perpetually stressed out by time in the States, and I am late to absolutely everything. I usually get lost on the way, which adds to my anxiousness like my nephew stacks legos: as high as it can get. In fact, most people I know are just stressed about something, and the wrist-watch, no matter how gaudy a commodity it may be, seems to instigate that sentiment. Therefore, I choose to reserve judgment on the contrast between the different attitudes toward time. My frustrations, however, will most definitely not be reserved.

African time simply desecrated all progress I have made since being in Africa. For example, we have been trying to organize a community-wide trash pick-up and educate the community on biodegradables, recyclables and the like. We were advised by our Uganda peers that we have to get the community to take ownership of the project, or else we will be left standing in the street with a garbage bag while people laugh at us and ponder over just exactly what the hell those crazy muzungus are doing. So we spent a full week collaborating the community leaders to meet on Friday at 2:30. The senior assistant town clerk even printed out a formal invitation for all the parties, with the explicit footnote that read, “do NOT be late.”

2:35 PM on Friday: Joel and I are sitting in the Municipal Council Office reading posters that say, “I had a bad day today. I came to work broke and I could not pay attention,” and “God looked down upon my work and smiled. Then he looked down upon my wage and God cried.”

2:36 PM: Senior Assistant Town Clerk expresses his apologies for his entire country. We have someone on our side.

3:00 PM: Henry arrives. I’m still not sure I know who Henry is.

3:15 PM: We are getting ready to leave when four of the community-appointed leaders arrive. We introduce ourselves and talk about the importance of a unified community vision. They agree. We had been preaching October 25th as the clean-up date for a full week leading up to this meeting. The clerk agreed.

3:20 PM: Quote from Senior Clerk: “Ok, it is decided then. The second meeting to discuss the environmental clean-up will be set for October 25th and I will make sure everybody who needs to be there will be there.” Everybody immediately stands up and bolts out of the conference room, leaving Joel and I sputtering nonsense, jaws flat on the floor and thumbs up our butts. October 25th is a Sunday. Nobody will be working, especially the un-paid government employees. Unbelievable.

I had a goal. I had that goal written down on paper. Together, MAPLE had a vision. We have that vision down on paper. Maybe I’m naïve, but I am going to check that box off my list no matter what it takes. If I have to be that silly muzungu at the butt of the day’s best joke, I will. The time for lethargic apathy spent at the mercy of Eugene professors is over. This is a new page, even a new book, in the story of my life, and I’m going to dance through every page of it. Whatever that means.

I told you I have figured out the only reason my procrastination has not held me back, and it’s because of goals other people have set for me. Educational, athletic, spiritual and even psychological, every goal I’ve ever really achieved was set for me by some other entity, organic or inanimate. Since I took to legibly expressing my dreams, I have come to realize that there is a LOT I want to accomplish in this life. I will live day by day staring at those unchecked boxes and chasing them straight out of the gait, a vision synonymous with that neighborhood dog that chases your car every single day like a bat out of hell, just because he wants to. A smile cracks when I see those boxes already checked, especially the one that commands I blog at least once a week. The checkmark stays for now.

“We all are the hero of our own story.”
~no idea