Stories to tell

With all the sickness and accidents of this week, I ended it up feeling pretty good. I like to be needed, I've realized, and between my roommate falling from a moving bus and our friend still being fairly sick with malaria, not to mention a few emotional crises I've been fortunate enough to be privy to...it's been a full week! My roommate said she was going to start calling me Florence, a simple compliment that pleased me immensely.

Colombia is proving to be a somewhat humbling experience on the whole. Apparently the universe is trying to tell me to tone it down. I won't go into all the boring details, but in so many ways my self-image has been changed both by the fact of leaving the life I knew, and by the way life is turning here in Bogota.

Things are both simpler and more frustrating here. For instance, today was Election Day, and there were soldiers conducting random searches on the corner across from our apartment. The two bus explosions and general fear of disruptions surely motivated this happenstance, but to see it happening right in front of your face and be completely powerless to stop it is galling. (I do think it's wonderful, however, that elections are held on a Sunday, and the level of participation appeared simply by sight to be quite high.)

Yet at the same time, the way we live is so relaxed - time spent with friends, walking everywhere, eating fruit bought from the person who grew it - that it's hard to stay upset about the raw realities of war and conflict. It's amazing how often our focus faces inward given the national 40-year nightmare. Or maybe it's the most natural thing imaginable. I'm not sure.

The magnitude of the poverty and the very real oppression (despite what our unfortunate Kuwaaiti neighbor calls a "completely open political system") is starting to shake up my priorities. That and the violence. The student's death (which that same miserable neighbor says was "not a shame atall - he should have been focusing on his studies") in particular. That hit pretty close to home, regardless of whether he was participating in the protest or just watching, as we've heard.

Fresh graffiti on the entrace to UN reads:

Todos Somos Oscar.

We are all Oscar.

Coming here, I thought public participation and public transportation would be the themes that would guide my research career, that I'd go on to get a doctorate, that I'd lead a nice life teaching, investigating areas of interest, and publishing. Nothing fancy, but a clearly defined path. That or somehow build on the advocacy experience of CfPT, stay in Atlanta, and work to make the city more livable.

But now? I don't know. I'd like to say I've re-dedicated my life, to human rights for example. But all I know is that the things that interested me and occupied my time before seem unimportant and incredibly technical in comparison to, say, what our friends who work as peace accompaniers do with their lives. I've been so impressed with the British girl who's in charge of the organization here - she's a powerhouse but you only realize it until later because she's also terribly charming and kind. I wonder what brought her to Colombia...people here invariably have a story to tell. Increasingly, I just want to tell them.

Here's what we're reading this week, me and mine: It's What I Do and Finding Soulmates to Make a Living With, both on the blog "How to Save the World."